Kara no Kyoukai Vol 1 Epilogue

Epilogue
It’s July 1998, and I celebrate a little in my head as I finish up the day’s
work early, just before lunch break. I say “work” but really, I’m just more
of a secretary to Miss Tōko than anything, mostly doing the odd job she
needs doing. I’m lucky to even get work at all, having dropped out of college
halfway.
“Kokutō, isn’t today your weekly visit?”
“Yes, ma’am. Soon as I finish this up, I’m going there right away.”
“Oh, don’t delay on account of me. You can go early. There’s nothing
more for you to do here today, anyway.”
I have to say, Miss Tōko’s temperament when her gla.s.ses are on is much
more preferable. And after all, this is a good day for her too; since it’s the
day she cleans that car she’s so proud of to an immaculate sparkle. She
always likes doing that.
“Thanks, ma’am. I’ll be back in about two hours.”
“Bring me back a snack or two, all right?” She waves me a goodbye just
before I close the door to her office.
 Ryōgi is still in the hospital, still in a coma unable to do anything. I
still go to visit her every Sat.u.r.day afternoon. She never told me about any
pain she was holding in, or anything she thought about. I don’t even know
why she tried to kill me. But at least she smiled in the end, even if it was a
faint one. At least she smiled, and that was enough.
Gakutō had it right a long time ago. I was already crazy. I guess that’s
why I am the way I am today even after a brush with death.
I still remember the last time we stood in the sunset lit cla.s.sroom. Under
that burning, blood red sky,  asked me what part of her I believed in.
And I still remember my answer.
“I don’t have any basis, but I trust you. I like you, so I want to keep believing
in you.”
A premature answer, perhaps. I said I didn’t have any basis, but the truth
is, I did. I just didn’t know it at the time. She didn’t kill anyone. That, at
least, I could believe in. Because  knew how painful murder was. She,
above all others, knew the suffering that the victim and the murderer went
through.
That’s why I believed: in , who couldn’t express herself, in s.h.i.+ki,
who wasn’t given a chance to be a person, in , who was far from pain,
and in s.h.i.+ki, who knew nothing but pain.

The three pieces now lie poised on the board.
One a mind entwined with a specter floating, and
on death, dependent.
One a life in paradox eternal , and in death, pleasure.
One a predator with origin awakened, and to death,
gnosis.
Three now swirl and dance, and in the spiral of
conflict they wait.
84 • KINOKO NASU / LINGERING PAIN • 84
Part I: Lingering Pain
/ LINGERING PAIN • 85
When I was little, I played house a lot. I had a pretend family, with a pretend
pet, a pretend kitchen, and I would cook pretend food.
But one day, a real blade had accidentally been mixed up in the artificial,
pretend ones.
I had never seen a toy that sharp before, and I used it to play, and in the
process cut myself deeply between the fingers.
I approached my mother with red soaked palms outstretched, and I
remember her scolding me for it, then crying and embracing me, saying “I
know it hurts, but we’ll fix it,” over and over again.
It was not her consolation that made me happy, but her embracing me,
and so I started to cry as well.
“Don’t worry, Fujino. The pain will go away once the wound heals,” she
said while wrapping a bandage around my hand.
At the time, I didn’t understand what she was trying to say.
Because not even for a moment did I feel any pain.
86 • KINOKO NASU
Lingering Pain
“Well, she certainly has her way of introducing herself,” the professor
remarks.
The university science lab has that synthetic smell of chemical disinfectants
that reminds me more of hospitals. But the laboratory equipment
dispels any notion of that quickly. As does the white-coated professor who
Miss Tōko sent me to meet today, who now displays a reptilian smile of full
white teeth while offering a handshake. I take it.
“So you have an interest in parapsychology, eh?” he asks.
“Not really. I just want to know some minor things about the topic.”
“And that’s what you call ‘interest.’” He wrinkles his nose, satisfied at his
show of wit. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’d expect nothing less from
her a.s.sociate. I mean, she asks you to hand her business card as an introduction.
She was always a unique one, and talented. I wish our university
had more students of her caliber.”
“Er…yes, I’m sure your student problems are important.” I’m starting to
see where Miss Tōko gets her ability to ramble so much from. “But I was
asking about—“
“Ah, yes, yes, parapsychology. There are many different phenomena that
fall under that label. Our university doesn’t really deal with it, however. I’m
sure you can understand when I say it’s treated as quack science by most in
my field. There are very few universities here in j.a.pan still giving grants for
parapsychology studies. Even so, I’ve heard a few have had some marginal
successes, though the actual details don’t really—“
“Yes, professor, I’d imagine those studies are fascinating, but I’m more
interested in how people end up having them in the first place.”
“Well, to simplify, you can liken it to a card game. You play card games,
don’t you? What card game is the most popular right now?”
I scratch my head, deciding to go along with this man’s logic. “Erm…
poker, I guess?”
“Ah yes, poker. I’ve had my own fond memories with that game.” He
clears his throat for a moment, then moves on. “Let us say that human
brains are all playing a game. Your brain and mine are playing poker. Most
everyone else in society is playing poker as well. There are other games,
but we can’t play them. Everyone is in consensus that poker is the game
we have to play, because that’s how we define being normal. Are you following
me so far?”
“So you’re saying that everyone plays a boring card game?”
/ LINGERING PAIN • 87
“But see, that’s what makes it better for everyone. Since everyone plays
poker, we’re protected by arbitrary, but absolute rules of our own creation,
and thus we can live in a peaceful consensus.”
“But if I’m getting you right, you’re saying the other games aside from
poker aren’t so clear cut?”
“We can only speculate. Say some other minds are playing a game with
rules that have an allowance for plants to communicate, and maybe other
minds prefer a game that has rules that say you can move a body other
than your own. These are not the same games as poker. They have their
own consensus, their own rules. When you play poker, you play by its rules,
but those playing by the rules of other games don’t conform. To them,
poker doesn’t make a lick of sense.
“So you’re saying that people not ‘playing poker’, so to speak, have some
mental abnormalities?”
“Exactly. Consider a person that knew no other game than the game
where you could communicate with plants. In the rules of his game, he
talks to plants, but he can’t talk to people. People who see him then brand
him as crazy and put him in the funhouse. If he really could talk to plants,
then that’s a person with paranormal abilities right there: a person that
plays a different game, follows different rules, than the game society plays.
However, I’d imagine most people with these sorts of abilities are still capable
of switching their mindsets, so that they can still live mostly unnoticed
in society.”
“Which makes the person that only plays the game where you can talk
to plants a crazy person, since he lacks the shared subconscious experience
and consensus inherent in playing poker, am I right? If he only knows
the other game, and can’t switch between the two, then he’s considered
mentally damaged.”
“That’s right. Society calls these people serial killers and psychopaths,
but I would phrase them more appropriately as ‘living paradoxes’: People
who, because they play by irregular rules of reality, make their existence
itself a contradiction to reality. People who shouldn’t be able to exist, who
can’t exist.” He pauses for a half beat to collect himself, then added. “This
is all hypothetical, of course.” As if he needed to say it.
“Of course, professor. Is there any way to correct a living paradox like
you said?”
“You’d have to destroy the very rules they play by within their minds.
But destroying the brain just equates to killing them, so there’s really no
easy way, or really no other way but to kill them. No one can just suddenly
alter a state of mind or ability like that. If there was, then that person him-
88 • KINOKO NASU
self would also be playing a different game with different rules. Something
like solitaire. I hear that game has some pretty complex rules in it.”
The professor laughs heartily, apparently immensely amused at his own
joke. I can’t say I share the sentiment.
“Thanks, professor. You’ve helped loads. I suppose now I know what I’ll
do when I encounter psychokinetic people.” I say it only half sarcastically.
“Psychokinesis? Like bending spoons, things like that?”
Oh, brother, here we go again. “Or heck, why not a human arm?” That
one was less of a joke.
“If we’re going by spoon bending, then you have nothing to fear. The
force required to bend a spoon would take days to distort a human arm. If
there was someone who could bend an arm, I suggest a hasty withdrawal.”
Now that he mentions it, now’s probably the right time for a hasty withdrawal
myself. “I’m sorry to cut this short, professor, but I really need to go.
I have to get to Nagano, and I’d like to do it today. Sorry for eating up too
much of your time.”
“Oh, no, it’s quite alright. Any friend of hers is a friend of mine. Come by
any time you need to. And send my regards to Aozaki, won’t you?”
/ 1 • 89
/ 1
Fujino Asagami, still in a state of confusion and disorientation, pulls herself
up in the middle of a darkened room. The silhouettes of people standing
and milling about, once so familiar, are now gone. The light isn’t turned
on. No, not quite right. There was no light in the first place, and darkness
stretches all over the room, with nary a peek or a beam of light seeping in.
She exhales a long sigh, and brushes her long, black hair lightly with
trembling fingers. The loose ta.s.sel of hair she once hung lazily on her left
shoulder is now gone, probably cut off by the man with the knife while he
was on top of her. After remembering that, she slowly surveys the room
around her.
This is– was –an underground bar. Half a year ago, this bar ran into
financial difficulties, and it was abandoned. Not long after, it became just
another abandoned establishment blending in the dying city, a haunt for
various delinquents and robbers. Much of the effects from its better days
still lay forgotten inside. In the corner rests a banged up pipe chair. In the
middle of the room, next to Fujino, is a single pool table. Everywhere in
the room, convenience store food is scattered in rotting, half-finished piles
with c.o.c.kroaches scrabbling all over the remains, and a mountain of garbage
is stacked haphazardly to one side. In a corner, a bucket is almost
filled with urine, a communal container to compensate for the lack of a
working toilet. The combined stench of it all is potent, and almost makes
Fujino vomit.
With no light and no way to know where you are, this dark, secluded
ruin could have been in a skid row of some far off country for all anyone
knows. One wouldn’t even think there was a normal city on the other side
of the door on the top of the stairwell. The faint smell of the alcohol lamp
those men brought here is the only thing that maintains any sense of normalcy.
“Umm…” Fujino mumbles. She looks around slowly, as if this scene is
completely routine. Her body had gotten up from the pool table, but her
mind still has some catching up to do.
She picks up a nearby wrist, flesh showing tears and seemingly twisted
off from the arm. Wrapped lovingly and securely around it is a digital wrist.w.a.tch,
and in glowing green text, it shows the date: July 20, 1998. The
time: 8:00pm, not even an hour after what happened.
All at once, Fujino is a.s.sailed by sudden, blinding pain in her abdomen,
and she lets slip a strained grunt. She staggers from the ache, and barely 
90 • KINOKO NASU
stops herself from falling face first to the floor by supporting herself with
her hands. As soon as her palms touch the floor, she hears a soft splash.
Remembering that it had been raining today, she realizes that the whole
room is flooded with water…and something else.
She takes a moment’s glance at her abdomen, and sees the distinct
spatter of dried blood—right in the place where those men stabbed her.
The man who stabbed Fujino was a familiar face to anyone in this part
of town. He seemed to be the ringleader of a crew that consisted of high
school dropouts and various drifters of similar minds and motivations.
They did what they felt: stick-ups, a.s.sault, robbery, arson, drugs, you name
it. They plied their trade in the forgotten maze of backlanes between the
buildings of the commercial district, where no neon glow or curious glance
could ever reach. They emerged from these alleys to the harsh lights of the
peopled avenues for only short intervals, to catch their victims through
coercion or force and had their twisted entertainment for the night. It is on
one such normal night that this crew and Fujino crossed paths.
It was a perfect setup. A student of Reien Girl’s Academy, and quite good
looking, Fujino became a prime target for the men. Perhaps fearing public
vilification, Fujino never told anyone of how she was victimized. This
fact eventually reached the ears of the men, however, after which whatever
hesitance they might have had about being found out disappeared.
They raped her again and again, bringing her to this underground bar after
school. Tonight was supposed to be another routine night, like always, but
their leader apparently got tired of just doing Fujino.
He brought out a knife, probably to bring something a little new to the
table. He’d felt offended by what Fujino did: how she just lived her days as
if they hadn’t done anything to her at all, as if what they did to her didn’t
humiliate her. He felt he needed more proof of Fujino’s humiliation and his
dominance. And he needed just that little bit of violence, that little ounce
of extra pain for that, hence the knife.
But Fujino didn’t even react, her face a blank expression, even when he
had a knife ready to dig deep in her face. This made him truly incensed. He
pushed her down to the table, and got to work.
Casting her eyes downward, Fujino looks at her blood-soaked clothes
and thinks: I can’t go out looking like this.
/ 1 • 91
Her own spilt blood is concentrated only on her abdomen, but she’s
soaked in their blood from head to toe. How stupid of me to get dirtied like
this. Her foot hits one of their scattered limbs on the floor, and it gives a
little shake in response. She considers her options.
If she waits one more hour, the number of pedestrians will start to dwindle.
And the fact that it’s raining only helps. It’s summer, so it’s not too
cold. She’ll just let the rain wash some of the blood of her, and go to a park
and clean herself up there.
After coming to this conclusion, she calms down. Walking away from
the dark pool of water and blood, she takes a seat at the pool table, taking
a count of the scattered limbs to find out how many corpses are lying on
the floor.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Four. Four. Four? No matter how many times I count, it only comes down
to four! A mix of astonishment and terror. One is missing.
“So, one of them managed to escape,” Fujino murmurs to herself. She
lets slip a small sigh.
If so, I’ll be caught by the police. If he’d already run to a station, I’ll be
arrested for sure. But could he really tell the police? How would he be able
to explain what just happened? Would he tell them how they kidnapped
and violated me, and told me to shut up? He’d need a cover story. And none
of them were ever smart enough for that.
She lights the alcohol lamp on the billiard table to get a better view. Its
flickering orange glow illuminates the entire room, making the shadows
twirl and dance. The story of violence in the room is quite visible now: sixteen
arms, sixteen legs, four torsos, four heads, and wet blood spatters in
every direction. Fujino is unfazed by the brutality of the scene before her.
No time to think on that. After all, the count was missing one, which meant
she still had something to do.
Do I have to take revenge?
Her body trembles as if to reinforce her lack of conviction. No more
killing, she tries to tell herself, as earnestly as she possibly can. But she
remembers what they did to her, and what they could do to her if she
doesn’t permanently shut the mouth of the one who escaped. Her body
trembles again, not in anger, but in something else. Delight? A relis.h.i.+ng of
what is to come? And, for the moment at least, what doubt lingers in her
mind vanishes.
92 • KINOKO NASU
On Fujino’s blood tinted reflection on the floor, a little smile plays across
her face.
/ LINGERING PAIN - I • 93
Lingering Pain - I
July is about to end, but not before it dumps a lot of business in my plate.
Starting from my friend who, comatose for two years, has finally regained
consciousness, to finis.h.i.+ng my second big job since dropping out of college
and working for Miss Tōko, and even having my sister who I haven’t seen
for five years coming here to Tokyo for a visit, I’ve had little time to even
stop and take a breath. I don’t know if starting my nineteenth summer like
this is the good earth’s way of saying “nice job” or “Mikiya Kokutō needs to
be screwed over with greater frequency.”
Tonight is one of those rarest of nights, my night off, so I went with
some of my old high school friends to go drinking. And before I could so
much as glance at an hour hand, I’d noticed it was late and the train had
long since made its last run, leaving me with few commuting options to go
back home. Some of my friends took taxis home, but since my payday was
held off till tomorrow, my budget can’t cooperate. Left without a choice, I
decided to walk back home. Fortunately, my house was only two stations
and a block or two away, not too far a distance.
It was the 20th of July up until a few minutes ago. In the midnight of
the 21st, I find myself walking in the shopping district, which, seeing as
tomorrow is a weekday, sees little foot traffic at this hour. It had rained
particularly hard tonight. Luckily, it stopped just as me and my friends were
going home for the evening, but the asphalt, still wet, is emitting its potent
petrichor smell, and my footsteps make little splashes on the scattered
puddles of the streets and sidewalks.
While the above 30 degree Celsius temperature and the humidity of
the rain work to make this the most miserable stroll in recent memory, I
come across a girl, crouching on the sidewalk and putting pressure on her
stomach with her hand like she was in pain. That black school uniform she’s
wearing is one I’m familiar with. The uniform, made to resemble a nun’s
habit, is the school dress of that academy of ladies of refined taste and
upright morals, the Reien Girl’s Academy. Gakuto jokes that half the reason
for Reien’s popularity is precisely because of the uniform. Not that I’m one
that goes in for that kind of thing; I only know it because my sister Azaka
studies there. I know they’re a boarding school, though, which makes that
girl’s presence here at this late hour doubly suspicious. Or maybe she’s just
some delinquent that doesn’t like to follow school regulations.
Seeing as she’s from my sister’s school, I decide to lend a helping hand.
When I call out a simple “h.e.l.lo” to her, she turns to face me, and her black 
94 • KINOKO NASU
hair, wet from the rain, sways when she does. I see her gasp once, though
quite silently, as if trying to suppress it. Her face is small, with sharp features.
She wears her long hair straight down her back, and it separates
around her right ear to form a ta.s.sel that goes down to her chest. It seems
there is supposed to be a similar ta.s.sel on her left ear but it looks like it’s
been cut. That, along with her bangs, cut straight and clean in the school
prescribed manner, makes me think she’s the daughter of some rich, wellto-do
family with an eye for proper grooming standards.
“Yes, what is it?” Her voice is faint and her face is equally pale. Her lips
are tinted purple, the mark of someone with cyanosis. With a hand on her
stomach, she’s trying her best to look at me normally, but the little muscle
movements and the folds in the face that mark a person in pain are obvious.
“Does your stomach hurt?”
“No, er…that is, I…I mean…” She’s pretending to be calm, but she’s
already stumbling all over her words. She looks fragile, like she could suffer
from a mental break down at any moment, not unlike s.h.i.+ki when I first met
her.
“You’re a long way away from Reien Academy, lady. Miss the train? I
could call a taxi for you.”
“No, you don’t need to. I don’t have any money anyway.”
“Yeah, join the club.” Before I’d realized it, I’d already given her an impolite
answer. Try to salvage this one, Mikiya. “Yeah…so I guess you must live
near here huh? I heard it was a boarding school but you probably have
some special dispensation to go out.”
“Not really. My house is quite far.”
Right. Scratch that.
“So what are you, a runaway?”
“Yes, I think that’s the only thing I can do right now.”
Oh, man, that means trouble. I just noticed that she’s soaked right
through. Maybe she couldn’t find an umbrella or a shade the whole time it
rained, because she is dripping wet all over. The last time I was face to face
with a girl soaking wet in rain, I almost got killed, so I guess that’s why I’m
so awkward around this girl now. You never can trust girls in rain. Still, it’ll
be a waste of time if I don’t help her now.
“So, you want to sleep over at my place just for tonight?”
“…can I?” she asks, still crouching and looking desperately at me. I nod.
“I have a place all to myself, but I’m not making you any guarantees.
I’m not planning on doing anything questionable that might offend your
person, and as long as you don’t do any funny business, we can keep it that 
/ LINGERING PAIN - I • 95
way. If that’s fine with you, then you can follow me. Now, since my employer,
in her infinite wisdom, has decided to delay my paycheck, I can’t give
you much money, but I do have painkillers for whatever’s bothering you.”
She looks happy and smiles. I extend a hand to her to help her up, and
she gently grasps it and stands. I notice, for a moment, that there are red
stains on the sidewalk where she was sitting.
Taking her with me, I start to lead her back to my apartment and get us
both out of this wretched night.
“There’s a short walk ahead of us. Tell me if you’re having a hard time. I
can at least be burdened with one girl on my back.”
“You needn’t worry. My wound has already closed up so it doesn’t really
hurt anymore,” she says. The hand that she has yet to remove from pressing
on her stomach, however, says otherwise.
“Does your stomach hurt?” I ask again, as much for her own peace of
mind as mine.
She shakes her head, saying “no.” After that, we continue to walk, and
she keeps her silence for some time. But after walking for a few more minutes,
she nods.
“Yes, it…it really hurts. Is it…all right for me to cry?” When I nod an affirmative,
her face turns into an expression of contentment. She closes her
eyes, looking like she’s dreaming.
She hasn’t really told me her name, and I haven’t told her mine, and I
feel it’s more appropriate that it stay that way. As soon as we reach the
apartment, the girl asks me if she can use the shower, to which I say yes.
She also wants to dry her clothes, so with the lame excuse of buying a pack
of smokes, I vacate myself from the premises for an hour to give her some
time. Man, and I don’t even smoke the d.a.m.n things.
After an hour, I come back to find her already exploiting the living room
sofa by sleeping on it. With all indications pointing to tons of work tomorrow,
I decide to make good what little time I have left for sleep. I set my
alarm clock to 7:30am, and I’m off to bed. Before falling asleep, I take one
last look on her uniform, and can’t help noticing it has the littlest of tears,
just around her midsection.
I wake up the next morning to find her sitting in the living room doing
nothing. Apparently she was waiting for me to get up. Once she sees me
awake, she gives a quick bow.
96 • KINOKO NASU
“Thank you for what you did last night. I don’t have any way to
repay you, but I can at least thank you.” She stands up and makes for the
door.
“Wait up, wait up.” I call after her while rubbing my eyes awake. I can’t
have her leave just like that when she waited for me to get up. “I can at
least get you a breakfast.”
That stops her. Food must really get to her. As I thought, she’s just as
hungry as anyone else would be after her ordeal last night. Now then, I’ve
got some pasta and olive oil at the ready, which makes spaghetti the obvious
choice for breakfast. I quickly whip up two portions of it and carry it to
my dinner table, and we eat it together. Since it seems like she’s not in a
talking mood, I turn on the TV to watch some morning news. It’s the usual
diet of homicide in the city, but this one gave me a strange feeling.
“Ah, strange whodunits with a tinge of the weird. Just the kind of news
that Miss Tōko would love.” If I had said that in the office, I’d probably
already be smacked upside the head with a projectile shoe. But the news
item is bizarre.
The reporter on the scene told the story. Seems four bodies were found
in an underground bar that had been abandoned for a half a year. All four
of them had had their limbs torn off, and the crime scene was filled with
blood. The scene is pretty close by, maybe four stations or so away from
where we were drinking last night.
I make a mental note of the fact that the news said that their limbs were
“torn off” and not “cut off.” Regardless, the news has nothing more on that
angle, and goes on to describe the details on the victims’ lives: all teenagers,
and delinquents who frequently hung around the neighborhood. It
seems they were slinging drugs too; corner boys. They have a citizen on the
mike now, commenting on the victims.
“Those kids knew what they were getting into, and they got it. I think
they deserved to die.”
And with those words, I turn the TV off. I hate it when people say those
things, and I hate it even more when the media goes out of its way to give
people like that the time of day. I turn back to look at my guest only to
find her with a hand on her stomach just like last night. She hasn’t even
touched her food. There really must be something wrong with her stomach.
She looks down, such that I can’t see her face.
“n.o.body deserves to die,” she says in between ragged breaths, causing
her next words come out in whispers. “Why does it still throb? It’s already
healed over, but why—“
Suddenly, she stands up not altogether calmly, making the chair fall to 
/ LINGERING PAIN - I • 97
the floor with a noise, and runs to the door. I start to stand up to go after
her, but with head still cast downwards, she raises a palm towards me, as if
to say I shouldn’t come near her.
“Wait, calm down. I think I can—”, I start to say, but she cuts me off.
“No, please. Now I know…I can never go back.” That face—a face of
pain and resistance, a face of contradiction—somehow reminds me of
s.h.i.+ki. The girl calms down a bit, bows deeply before me, and then turns
the doork.n.o.b.
“Goodbye,” she says. “I hope we don’t see each other again, for both
our sakes.”
Then she opens the door and runs out. The last thing I see is her eyes,
because she looked like she was about to cry.
98 • KINOKO NASU
Lingering Pain - II
After my guest leaves as suddenly and unexpectedly as I found her, I try
to push it out of my mind. She was just a normal girl I found in the street
and, in a spark of altruism, decided to help. She had some kind of pain,
though, that much I can be sure, but the how eludes me at the moment.
Still, no need for me to think on it more than that. She’s gone, and there’s
nothing I can do about it. More importantly, I’m going to be late for work
if I don’t hurry. As soon as I finish up my morning rituals, I’m out the door
instantly.
The place I work in isn’t exactly what you’d call a “company”, not in any
official capacity anyway. My employer is an eccentric sort of woman, the
kind of woman who buys an abandoned building only halfway finished
and makes it her office; a woman in her late twenties, a collector of old,
obscure trinkets, purveyor of ambiguous counsel, and all around weirdo,
Miss Tōko Aozaki.
Ostensibly, she’s a maker of dolls and puppets, but she seems to dabble
in all manner of engineering and architectural work as well. These are, of
course, her hobbies. I may have complaints about how she runs the place,
but she’s managed to keep this little enterprise of hers running before I was
there so she must be doing something right. Besides, I’m not about to challenge
the wisdom of my one and only source of income, especially when
I don’t have a degree in a time when actual job pickings are slim. In fact, I
should consider myself lucky to find any kind of work at all.
The building, which in the middle of my musings I have managed to
reach, is a four story structure, with the office at the top. Nestled between
the industrial district and the housing projects, it projects a feeling of emptiness
and solitude, like it doesn’t belong. The longer you stare at it, the
longer you gain this feeling of imposition, and going inside would be the
last thing on one’s mind. The building lacks modern 21st century luxuries
such as elevators, so I start to climb the staircase.
As I enter the room, one person alone sits atop Miss Tōko’s desk, a girl
that looks decidedly out of place among the stacks of discarded papers and
blueprints scattered all across the room. The girl in a fish-patterned indigo
blue kimono turns her head at my entrance, looking at me with listless
eyes, and I address her.
“Wait a minute. s.h.i.+ki? What are you doing in this miserable dump?”
“Um, Kokutō? The owner of the place is right behind me, pal,” she says
in a tone of warning, while pointing behind her with her thumb.
/ LINGERING PAIN - II • 99
s.h.i.+ki moves aside to reveal Miss Tōko seated across the desk, a lighted
cigarette positioned in her mouth, and sharp eyes burrowing into me with
pointed glares. She wears the same simple pattern of white blouse and
black pants, a combination she has upheld so religiously since the day I met
her that you would think she’d wear the same thing at a funeral. She always
seems obliged to wear at least one orange-colored accessory though, and
today it is a single orange earring.
“Yeah, I’d say goodbye to your paycheck if I were you,” s.h.i.+ki adds. I gulp.
“Hmph. The Lord Tōko Almighty forgives you for your transgression since
you arrived here earlier than I expected. Seriously, Kokutō. I told you there
wouldn’t be anything for you to do for a while so it’s okay to show yourself
around noon, and yet here you are.”
“Miss Tōko, you know I’m not that kind of person.” I can feel my wallet
practically coaching me the words in my head. It’s gets a bit lonely in there
with only the stored value train ticket and phone card keeping each other
company. “So, why is s.h.i.+ki in this miserable dump?”
“Called her in. Thought there was a little business matter she could help
me with.”
For her part, s.h.i.+ki seemed uninterested and withdrawn. She probably
went out last night again, since she’s rubbing one of her eyes. It’s barely
been a month since she recovered from her coma. We still find it hard to
talk to each other, but we’re taking it slow for now. Since she doesn’t seem
to be interested in talking to me right now, I sit myself down on my desk.
With no real work to finish, there’s nothing to do but chat.
“Did you happen to see the news this morning, Miss Tōko?”
“You’re talking about the news on Broad Bridge, right? I keep saying it,
but j.a.pan doesn’t need a bridge that big, G.o.ddamit.”
What Miss Tōko is talking about is none other than the big ten kilometer
bridge construction project scheduled to finish next year. This part of town
is about a twenty minute drive away from the city port, a short distance.
The port is situated in a crescent shaped coastline that forms a bay, and
the bridge is planned to cross the gap between the extreme upper and
lower parts of that crescent coastline in one straight highway, supposedly
to divert traffic from the coast. The city’s development council made a joint
venture with some big construction company to “answer the complaints
of the community.” And of course, considering the history of the local
government, a public works project that big has to have some taxpayer’s
money mysteriously disappearing into people’s pockets. It’s a typical story:
the government makes public development projects to answer some new
“problem” the citizens have, which doesn’t exist except in their heads, and 
100 • KINOKO NASU
everyone gets money. Worse, it’s going to have its own aquarium, a museum,
and a gigantic parking lot for G.o.d knows what reason; you don’t know
if the place is a bridge or some weird amus.e.m.e.nt park. The locals had been
calling it the Bay Bridge since it started, but going from what Miss Tōko
said, I suppose it’s been officially christened as the Broad Bridge. It goes
without saying that Miss Tōko and I do not hold this project in high esteem.
“Well, yeah, you say that, but I thought you already had an exhibit s.p.a.ce
there?” I comment wryly.
“That was just a complementary ‘thank you’ from the company. If it
were up to me, I’d sell it, but how do you think it would look for Asagami
Construction if I, the designer, refused the offer? But it’s a stupid location,
and it won’t make me a lick of cash.”
Uh oh. She’s talking about deficit again. This has to be going somewhere
I don’t like. I have to find out about this now or else she’s never going to
give me the money.
“Um, Miss Tōko? About the cash. Pardon me for being so blunt with it
but, you had promised me my salary today and—“
“Oh, yeah,” she stretches the word out in a long drawl. “That. Unfortunately,
I’m going to have to postpone your pay for a month.” She spits it
out like an unwanted curse, as if I was the one at fault for asking in the first
place.
“But you had a million or some yen wired to your account yesterday!
How could it all be gone?”
“I spent it, how else?” Miss Tōko rebuts nonchalantly, sitting in her chair
and swiveling it from side to side making squeaking noises and adopting the
general annoying air of feigned ignorance one receives from self-important
people. s.h.i.+ki and I just affix her with frustrated stares.
“But what on Earth could you spend that much money on?” I cry in
outrage.
“Oh, nothing, just a silly little thing. A Victorian era Ouija board to be
precise. I don’t know if it works or not, but the hundred year value it has
makes it fetch a high price. And if it’s a numina container, then so much the
better. It’ll be a nice addition to my collection.”
I can’t believe how she’s taking all of this in stride. It would have been a
lot more convenient if she was just some two-bit illusionist with some hand
tricks, but her actual sideline is being a mage; like, the real deal. Which is
why she can talk all about esoteric topics such as “numina” or whatnot
while keeping a totally straight face. And yet she can’t even use her magic
to make up some convenient excuse for my lack of pay.
“Come on, Kokutō, even you couldn’t have resisted the bargain price. 
/ LINGERING PAIN - II • 101
Don’t be so mad. At least now our wallets finally have something in common.”
Having been shown by her what miracles mages are capable of doing, I
was willing to be tolerant in how she handled things, but this was way too
much. “So that’s it, then? No pay for me this month?”
“Yep. All employees are to find other means of obtaining funding.”
I stand up, and make my way towards the door. “Then, you’ll excuse me
for leaving early, since I’m gonna have to beg, borrow, or steal money to
get by this month?”
“Early in, early out, huh? Just don’t get caught stealing or I’ll feel guilty.”
Then, she switches to a serious tone, as if to indicate the gravity of what
she was about to say. “By the way, Kokutō. I’ve got a favor to ask you.”
Thinking it’s the business between her and s.h.i.+ki, I try to listen as hard as I
can.
“What, Miss Tōko?”
Then smiling, she says “Can you spare me some money? I’m pretty
broke.”
I pinch my thumb and forefinger together in front of me and say, “This
close to resignation.”
I close the door with resentment; cutting off Miss Tōko’s playful chuckling
soon after.
102 • KINOKO NASU
/ 1
After witnessing the amusing exchange between Tōko and Mikiya, s.h.i.+ki
at last speaks her mind.
“Tōko, you were saying before we were interrupted?”
“Ah, right. I didn’t really want to take a job like this, but money comes
first. If only I were an alchemist, then I wouldn’t have to worry so much
about living expenses. d.a.m.n Kokutō for not sharing some of that money I
know he saves over,” Tōko says with indignation. She extinguishes her cigarette
on the ashtray. Mikiya is probably thinking something similar himself,
s.h.i.+ki thinks.
“Well, about that incident last night—“ Tōko starts saying.
“I don’t need to hear any more on that. I get it, for the most part.”
“That so? Crime scene description only, and you can already read this
girl? Sharp one, aren’t we?” Tōko looks at s.h.i.+ki with eyes laden with meaning.
Tōko has only described the details of the crime scene to s.h.i.+ki, and yet
s.h.i.+ki understands that the girl’s story is writ large all over that vivid scene:
proof, if anything, of her natural intuition when it comes to these matters.
Tōko knew she’d understand; they come from the same dirty side of the
world, after all.
“Our benefactor for this job has an idea who the target is. If you encounter
her, orders are to try and see if she goes along quietly. But if she shows
any willingness to fight back, any at all, then oblige her. ‘Least you’ll see if
those blade skills of yours have rusted some.”
“I see.” s.h.i.+ki’s only answer. To her, the job was simple. Hunt her down,
and kill her. “What do we do about the body?”
“If you kill her, then the client has the means to make this look like an
accident. Don’t worry about the fallout on this one. She’s dead to the
world, as far as our client is concerned. Got no moral qualms about killing
dead people, right?” Tōko gives a little laugh. “So, you in on this? You ask
me, it’s tailor made for you.”
“I don’t even need to answer that.” s.h.i.+ki starts to walk towards the exit.
“You’re eager to start. Are you spoiling for blood that much, s.h.i.+ki?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Hey, you forgot this.” Tōko tosses a folder at s.h.i.+ki. “Some photos and
the particulars on her profile. What the h.e.l.l are you going to do without
even knowing what she looks like?” s.h.i.+ki doesn’t catch the folder, and it
falls harmlessly to the floor.
“I don’t need a file on this one. You’ve told me where it started, and 
/ 1 • 103
that’s where we’re gonna start too. We’re all the same, us murderers: we
attract each other. And when me and this girl meet, there’s definitely going
to be some blood on the floor afterwards.”
And with a rustle of clothes, s.h.i.+ki departs from the office, the coldness
of her glare the last thing peeking in through the small gap of the closing
door.
104 • KINOKO NASU
Lingering Pain - III
Though I really didn’t want to resort to this, I am left without any other
alternative. I decide to contact an old high school friend to see if I can borrow
some money. I know what places he haunts. I go to the university I
dropped out of not two months ago and wait for him in the cafeteria. Just
a few minutes after noon, right on schedule, the large, imposing shadow
of Gakuto comes into view, easy to pick out among the crowd smaller than
him. Spotting me, he swaggers on over to my table.
“Well, look who decided to come back! How you hangin’, man? Here to
stay for good this go around?”
“Unfortunately, no. School treating you well?”
“Ah, you know, this here’s a game that needs to be played, so I play it.
How about you? If I know you like I know you, you ain’t gonna holler at me
just for a social call. What’s the trouble? How’d that job hunt go?”
“Great, actually. Got a job.”
“So what’s wrong?”
“The job,” I reply dryly. “My generous employer has decided that she’ll
forego the usual paycheck this month, so that leaves me hanging in the
wind.”
Gakuto makes a face halfway between disappointment and genuine
bemus.e.m.e.nt. “That ain’t so bad, man. And here I was thinking it was gonna
be some profoundly life changing s.h.i.+t, and you drag your broke a.s.s all
the way down here for extra dough? You sure you’re not some alien in
disguise?”
“Very funny. When you’ve got your back against a corner like this, you
can expect the same hospitality.”
“But to have money being the first thing out of your mouth; it just ain’t
like you. And anyway, ain’t your folks supposed to have your back on this
one?”
“Me and my parents haven’t talked since the big fight we had when I
stopped going to university. How can I go back to them right now like this?
It’d be like surrendering.”
“You got as thick a head as me sometimes, I give you that. Now, don’t tell
me you called your folks names and shouted in their faces or something?”
“I’ll thank you to leave that out of the discussion and focus on the real
topic. So are you gonna lend me some or aren’t you?”
“d.a.m.n, man, you in a fighting mood today. But there ain’t no need to
be, ‘cause I’m feeling awful generous. Plenty from our school called you a 
/ LINGERING PAIN - III • 105
friend back then, Mikiya, and that includes me. If I put it out that you’re
in need of cash, we’d all be pitching in to help. So don’t worry, man. We
got your back.” Gakuto pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t misunderstand,
though, this ain’t charity,” he adds. “Friends gotta look out for each other,
after all.”
Seems Gakuto’s got his own favor to ask as well. He looks over the crowd
carefully to see if no one is listening in, then leans his head in closer to me
and whispers.
“The short of it is that there’s some youngin I want you to look for. Old
junior from back in the day, actually. Seems he gone and had his a.s.s caught
up in some heinous s.h.i.+t, and he hasn’t come home yet.”
Gakuto continues to explain, mentioning the name of the person in
question: Keita Minato. Gakuto knows him as a member of the bunch that
got cut up last night in the bar, but apparently he’s alive. Whereabouts
unknown, but at a period of time after the time of the killings put out by
the police, Keita called up a mutual friend of him and Gakuto. The friend
then contacted Gakuto, saying Keita was acting strange and incoherent.
“He just kept shoutin’ that he was gonna die and someone be hunting
his a.s.s down. After that, nuthin. Don’t even answer his cell now. Guy who
took the call says he was mixing his words and s.h.i.+t, sounding really doped
up.”
The fact that even a high school kid like Keita could purchase dope without
us so much as being surprised was just a fact of the times. Many of the
corners and alleys of mazelike Tokyo have quickly turned into open-air drug
markets, proof of the increasingly high demand for stimulants and depressants
that so many people turn to for the clarity and solace that they felt
society could not give them. However, when you’re the survivor of a ma.s.s
murder and you feel that the killer is coming for you next, when you’re a
person like Keita Minato in other words, your next fix should really be the
last thing on your mind.
“I kinda feel like I’m being thrown into the fire without a hose here. Do
you really think I can survive talking to these hoppers on my own?”
“I’ve faith. You always been like a bloodhound, finding people with next
to nuthin to go on.”
“This Keita kid—does he often do drugs?”
“Far as I know, no. Only them corner boys killed last night were married
to them acid blotters. But if what the friend’s saying be for real, he might’ve
had a change of heart. Come on man, you still can’t search your head for
Keita? He’s that kid that like to tail around your a.s.s some in high school.”
“I kinda have a vague idea, yeah…” During high school, there were some 
106 • KINOKO NASU
juniors who liked to hang around me for some reason, possibly because
of me being friends with cool kid Gakuto here. “Well, if he’s just having a
really bad acid trip, then that’d be good…or at least better than what we’re
suspecting,” I mention with a sigh. “Guess I got no choice if I want to live
this month. I’ll check it out and see what I can do. Can you tell me about his
friends? Contacts, connections, anything?”
Gakuto reaches into his pocket to retrieve a small notebook, as if he
was just waiting for me to say it. There’re a lot of names, aliases, addresses
for hang outs, and phone numbers in that notebook, which means a lot of
ground to cover if I want this done quick.
“I’ll be in touch if I find out anything. If I manage to find him, I’ll try to
see him protected as best as I can. That good?” By protection, I mean in
the form of my detective cousin Daisuke. He didn’t have anything to fear
from him. Daisuke’s the kind of guy that can let you go for a drug abuse
charge if you were witness to a red ball murder, which this one could end
up as, what with the mutilation and multiple homicide. Far as Daisuke was
concerned, nabbing the users is small game and a waste of time. Gakuto
nods his a.s.sent, thanks me, and gives me 20,000 yen to start me off.
Once me and Gakuto go our separate ways, I start to make my way to
the crime scene. I’ll have to work this one at least vaguely similar to how
cousin Daisuke works cases if I would have any chance of finding Keita.
I know that I shouldn’t really get involved in this, but Gakuto was right.
Friends have to look out for each other, after all.
/ 2 • 107
/ 2
The sound of a ringing phone resonates in my empty apartment. I screen
the call, as I am wont to do when I’m tired, and sure enough, after five rings
it switches to the answering machine with a beep. Cue his voice: familiar,
yet still feels alien enough so soon after recovering from the coma.
“Morning, s.h.i.+ki. Sorry to call you so early, but I’ve got a small favor to
ask if it isn’t too much trouble. Azaka and I promised to meet at a café near
Ichigaya station called Ahnenerbe around noon, but something came up
and it looks like I won’t be able to go. You’re free today, right? If you can,
drop by there and tell her I’m not coming.” The message ends there.
I roll my body sluggishly over to the bedside and take a look at my clock,
a digital green “July 22, 7:23am” on its screen; not even four hours since I
came home from my nightly outing. Christ, do I need sleep. I pull the sheets
back over my head. The summer heat doesn’t really bother me much. I’ve
been able to deal well with the heat and cold ever since my childhood days,
and it seems that trait carried over from my…previous life.
Just as sleep was about to take me again, the phone rang a second time.
This time, when the answering machine picked up the message, it was a
voice I knew, but definitely one you didn’t want to hear at just half past
seven in the morning.
“It’s me. Watched the news this morning? Probably haven’t. That’s all
right, I didn’t either.”
What the h.e.l.l? It’s always been at the back of my mind, but now I can
definitely say that I have absolutely no idea what the f.u.c.k goes on in Tōko’s
head; it is an incomprehension that sometimes continues on to her speech
more often than I’m comfortable. It requires at least a few precious seconds
of cranial spelunking before you can start to understand what she’s
saying, a trait which always tends to leave you at a disadvantage when
talking to her.
“Listen up. I’m gonna phrase this in a way even your sleep-deprived
brain can process. Three interesting deaths last night. Another jumper that
hit pavement, and some girl who killed her boyfriend. I know, I know, same
s.h.i.+t, different day, right? But here’s something that’ll help you out:” she
pauses. “Our little killer struck again.”
Tōko hangs up abruptly, leaving me to wonder what she thought I would
feel when confronted with these facts. Did she expect me to feel a rush
of n.o.ble intention, and a renewed commitment to this job? How could I,
when I still see the world I just awakened back into in a hazy grey veil, when 
108 • KINOKO NASU
I am yet to even feel the world of my senses in a manner that seemed
coherent and real? Harsh as it may be to admit, but the deaths of these
people with no relation to me faze me less than the rays of the sun beating
down on me.
After sleeping in for a while more, I get up much later, only when my
fatigue finally gives ground. I cook breakfast in the manner that I remember,
after which I start to dress. I choose a light orange kimono, which
should be cooler if I’m going to walk around town all day. It’s then that I get
that feeling again, which causes me to bite my lip: a feeling that someone is
watching me do all of this from afar. Even my wardrobe choice is one from
a memory that I feel far removed from. I wasn’t this way two years ago. The
two years of emptiness created a rift, a boundary line between the past
and now, as if creating two very different people, yet sharing the same collective
memory. It felt as if the weight of that memory, those sixteen years
of life before the accident, kept pulling the strings attached to me. I know
it’s probably just an after effect of the coma, some brain damage from the
accident at the worst. I know that no matter how much I spit on this emptiness,
this fabricated dollhouse of a lie, in the end, it’s still me pulling those
d.a.m.n strings. h.e.l.l, maybe it’s always been me.
By the time I finish dressing up it’s almost eleven o’ clock. I press the
“Messages” b.u.t.ton on my answering machine, repeating the first message.
“Morning, s.h.i.+ki…,” repeats the voice I have heard many times in the
past.
Mikiya Kokutō. The last person I saw before the accident two years ago.
The only person I trusted two years ago. I have many recollections of being
with him, but all of it missing details, as if I was looking at a tampered
photograph, something in them not squaring with what I know. And one
memory is a gaping hole, completely gone: my last memory of him and
the accident. Why was  in an accident? Why was Mikiya’s face the last
thing I saw?
It’s the reason I still feel awkward talking to Mikiya: I feel like I should
know something important about him but it’s missing in my head, and
without it I won’t be able to carry out an actual conversation without
them. If only these memories lost to oblivion were stored in an answering
machine too.
“…tell her I’m not coming.” The answering machine stops and falls silent.
It’s probably just another after effect of the coma, but hearing his voice
softens the annoying itch in my mind. Problem is, that’s the itch that makes
me feel alive. It’s the itch that tells me to kill.
/ 2 • 109
It’s only a short forty minute walk to Ahenenerbe. The café sports their
unusual German name on a sign hanging above the entrance, which I
spare only a momentary glance at before entering the establishment. Once
inside, I immediately notice the dearth of customers, despite it being noon,
the hour when college kids frequent cafés to write a novel or do some other
boring activity. The café has little lighting. Its sole sources of bright light
come from the entrance and four rectangular windows placed on either
side of the shop, admitting the sunlight and silhouetting the tables and
customers sitting there in a dark, hard-cut outline. The tables further inside
the shop aren’t so lucky. It paints a nostalgic picture, as if some European
middle ages tavern had stepped out of antiquity into the modern age.
I spot a pair of gaudily uniformed girls in a table way in the back, and a
quick glance confirms that it is indeed Azaka Kokutō, along with another
girl. Strange—Mikiya never mentioned another girl. Oh well, no biggie.
“Azaka,” I call out, while walking briskly to their table.
Azaka herself is quite a character on her own. She goes to a fancy girl’s
boarding school, so she acts the part, complete with a tendency for being
ladylike. But you take one look at the way she carries herself and you realize
it’s all an act. At her best, she has an amazingly compet.i.tive streak in
her, as well as a boldness that is sorely lacking in many people these days.
In contrast to her brother, who endears himself to people by sheer likeability
and charm, Azaka is a figure who commands respect with a single, solid
look in her eyes. Those eyes now turned to me as she does a quick about
face at my voice calling out her name.
“s.h.i.+ki…Ryōgi,” she says, each syllable uttered and spat out like an insult.
The lingering animosity towards me that she tries so hard to keep in is so
palpable I can swear I almost feel the temperature rise. “I have a prior
engagement with my brother. I have no business with you.”
“And it seems your brother has a prior engagement of his own,” I say,
egging her on. “He said he can’t come. You know, this might just be me, but
I think you just got stood up.”
A single restrained gasp. I don’t know if she’s shocked that Mikiya just
treated their promise like trash, or the fact that it’s coming from me and I
came down here to tell her.
“s.h.i.+ki, you…you put him up to this, didn’t you?!” Azaka’s hands tremble
in barely suppressed anger. I guess it’s the latter, then.
“Don’t be an idiot. He’s done his level best to p.i.s.s me off too. I mean
really, asking me to come all the way here just to send you away?”
Azaka glares at me with eyes full of fire. At that moment, her friend, 
110 • KINOKO NASU
who has until now remained silent, interrupts; and a good thing too, since
Azaka looks like she’s about to abandon her carefully cultivated demeanor
of placidity by seeing how well she could throw a teacup to my face at
point blank range.
“Kokutō, everyone’s staring,” the girl says in a voice as slender as a wire.
Azaka looks around the café for half a beat, and then embarra.s.sed, she
sighs. “I’m sorry, Fujino. I don’t know what came over me. I just ruined your
day, didn’t I?” she says apologetically. I haven’t really looked at this Fujino
clearly up until now. Though she and Azaka look somewhat similar by virtue
of the uniform and their school’s grooming standards, their demeanor
cannot be more different. While Azaka has a hidden strength behind the
prim and proper façade, her companion Fujino looks, at a glance, more
fragile, as if she were sick and could collapse at any second.
“Are…you okay? You look kind of—“, I involuntarily say. She answers only
by looking in my direction. The way her eyes pa.s.s over me feels as if she’s
looking at something beyond me, like I was just an insect on the ground
to be ignored. My gut tells me she’s dangerous, and my mind itches again.
My reasoning tells me that there’s no way a girl like her could do anything
like what happened to the victims in that underground bar, and the itch
recedes. “Never mind, pretend I didn’t say anything,” I conclude.
That crime scene was the handiwork of someone who enjoyed murder,
and a girl like this Fujino could be someone like that. Reason says her hands
are too weak to twist and tear off their limbs like that anyway. I turn my
attention away from her an