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Prologue
. . . I think we have no choice but to kill him.
These words emerged from the depths of darkness while I regained some consciousness.
I tried to move my arms and legs, but they wouldn't even twitch. How's my brain? It seems to be barely intact.
First, my name. Hayata Takiyanagi, fifteen years old, a freshman in high school. Okay, my memory still works.
I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids merely fluttered, seemingly unwilling to obey. And there was a slight pain deep inside my nose. What exactly happened? Where am I?
. . . It happened suddenly, so it can't be helped.
And who does this clearly female voice I've been hearing belong to? Who is she talking to, and what is she talking about?
. . . We're running out of time.
I'm not opposed to killing. I'm just saying it can't be decided unilaterally.
And after all, disposing of the body costs money . . .
I heard one unsettling word after another. Cold sweat stains streaked across my back.
I don't want to die!
As I wished this fervently, a light burst in. Finally, my eyelids cracked opened. Through the still spasming slits, I could faintly make out a face.
My eyes were finally able to focus on someone—it was a girl with refined features and she was looking down at me.
But still, I think we have to kill him.
What in the world did I do to deserve this?
In short, I was to be killed.
1
I remember the events leading up to now.
It was two weeks ago that I said goodbye to my grandparents, who raised me after my parents died in an accident when I was little, and moved to Koganei City.
Last night, I quickly took care of all the miscellaneous paperwork for the high school I would be attending, feeling relieved that the next three years would be peaceful.
Since my range of activities were limited to the route connecting my apartment, school, the convenience store, and the supermarket, I decided a few hours ago that it wouldn't be a bad idea to expand where I went a bit.
The nights were still chilly, even though it was mid-April, so I put on a jacket and went outside.
Determined to focus on walking around my new neighborhood, I left my smartphone behind and only took my coin purse.
. . . If I can't find my way back, I should head for the area under the Chuo Line tracks.
I reassured myself, and set out to explore.
Drawing a map in my head, I wandered through Koganei City at night, thinking it was about time to head back home.
That's when I saw the arcade.
In the middle of the residential area, a small arcade stood silently like an open door. Illuminated by a weak fluorescent light, the faded sign read “Hinode Market Street.”
Drawn to the weak fluorescent light, I approached and entered the arcade.
. . . This is more like a back alley than a street.
It was narrow, barely wide enough for one person to pass through, and short, probably only about fifteen meters. Along this short road were several shops: a butcher, a greengrocer, a second-hand bookstore, and a café . . . There were two bars still open, but everything else had their shutters down.
At the end of the small shopping street was an abandoned theater. The shutter on the right side was rusty, with the words “Mawaruza Theater” barely readable.
To the left in front, a staircase descended to the basement, and its entrance was sealed with wooden boards at the reception window. Beneath the window, a black cat with a silver-tipped tail was curled up.
Are you the caretaker?
Meow.
With a small cry, the cat relunctantly stood up and vanished into the darkness at a leisurely pace.
This theater probably hasn't been in operation for many years.
It reminded me of a small theater my grandpa had taken me to when I was a kid.
A local university club had been performing a play there and I didn't understand its story at all, but I remembered that it was interesting.
Compelled by these memories, I descended the stairs leading to the theater's basement.
In hindsight, this was my first mistake.
The theater doors opened easily, and as soon as I stepped inside—I heard a voice.
It was a faint, weak voice.
Not expecting anyone to be there, I almost shouted in surprise.
Could I have misheard? Though, perhaps it was just—the voice repeated itself.
No mistake. That was definitely someone groaning.
A groan heard in a completely unknown building in an unfamiliar town.
Usually, I would have run away at the first chance.
However, perhaps because it was a theater, the words my grandfather had said while we were on our way back from that play long ago suddenly came to mind.
If you find someone in need of help, you must reach out to them.
If someone inside needed help . . .
I knew better than to get involved. Yet my feet moved towards the source of the voice.
That was my second mistake.
As expected, the inside of the theater was dark.
No performances seemed to be happening, but there was still electricity, and a dim orange light could be seen at the end of a narrow corridor. The groaning came from that direction.
Passing through the narrow corridor, a small stage, dimly lit by stage lights came into view, with someone lying there.
Their face was stained with blood.
At that moment, fear vanished, replaced only by the thought that I had to do something so I rushed over.
Are you okay?
Uh . . . who are you?
The person was a man.
Just a passer-by.
Fortunately, the man was conscious, which was a relief . . . but that moment of relief was short-lived. I noticed a large tattoo on the left half of the man's face that extended down to his ear.
Probably not a proper citizen. I had a sinking feeling I was getting involved in trouble. I was starting to regret speaking, but there was no turning back now.
Stay away.
Despite his pained expression, the man shot a sharp glance this way.
Uh . . . I'll call an ambulance!
I instinctively looked away and searched my pockets, but then I remembered I left my smartphone behind.
That was my third mistake.
Don't need it. Just get lost . . . quick, or you'll be killed.
But, you see . . .
What?
The tattooed man glared with bloodied red eyes.
Ah, no, I understand! You mean, calling an ambulance, getting taken to a hospital, that would lead to a lot of trouble for you, right? Like in the movies, where they get interrogated afterwards—I get it.
Words spilled from my mouth as I tried to suppress my fear.
I should have just immediately run away, without saying anything else.
Um . . . at least allow me to leave some money for you, so you can buy some water or something. Ah, I'm not saying this because I pity you or anything.
My fingers trembled as I pulled out a few coins from my coin purse, making senseless excuses.
Just go, quickly. Before you get dragged into this. You’ll be killed.
It didn’t sound like he was joking or bluffing. I felt as if centipedes were crawling around on my back, instantly sending a shiver through my body.
Then, take care.
It was at that moment.
Suddenly, from behind, a cloth covered my nose and mouth.
What’s going on?
Don’t move.
At the same time that voice spoke, I could hear the sound of metal clashing violently and sparks flew into the edge of my vision.
The tattooed man cried out in pain.
In the shock of it all, I took a deep breath and then lost consciousness.
2
And that brings us to now.
As I recall what happened, my consciousness gradually becomes clearer.
The result of making three mistakes. At that time, it seems likely that I inhaled chloroform, causing me to lose consciousness, and be brought here. And now, the girl who the voice belonged to, is deciding what to do with me.
I think we really have no choice but to kill him.
Is there really no other option?
Now, calm down, Tekka.
At this point, I heard a male voice talking to the girl I now knew was named Tekka.
This talk of whether or not to kill him has made this conversation rather ominous.
Exactly. I definitely do not want it to come to that.
First of all, we should figure out why he is even there before we decide anything about killing him.
Am I ultimately going to be killed? Are my only choices related to how I'm going to die?
By the way—has he woken up yet?
Those words almost made my heart leap out of my chest.
Because I've actually been conscious for a while now.
Due to the method used, and amount, he should be waking up soon.
A slightly lisping voice answered, different from the one I had been hearing up until now.
How many people are actually here right now?
We're short on time, let’s wake him up. Uh . . . should I just hit him hard?
That's not a good idea at all. I'm not sure I'd ever wake up again if you did.
I tried to raise my hand to signal that I was awake, but I couldn't muster any strength.
No way. Hey, Fuyara, do you have any ideas?
If you don't mind the chaos, I'll use this week’s surprise gadget.
A calm voice spoke to the girl with a lisp, and it was then that something else happened.
Suddenly, a pungent smell entered my nose, and I involuntarily inhaled it, causing my vision to go white. I started coughing.
Whoa! Cough! Cough cough!
What the hell?! What just happened?!
I was coughing and crying uncontrollably and my nose wouldn't stop running! It was clear something awful had just happened. Was it some kind of poison gas?
Hey, hey. You alright, kid?
Huff, huff, huff, p-please, don’t kill me!
Somehow managing to catch my breath, I screamed without even wiping away my tears or stopping my runny nose.
You heard us, huh?
The man sighed.
Please, don’t kill me . . . I beg of you, don’t kill me . . .
Despite my pleas, the thought of my breathing becoming shallow and eventually stopping, along with my heartbeat, haunted me—but it seemed that was all it was, just a thought.
Eventually, my breathing calmed, and my heart showed no signs of stopping; in fact, it was still racing.
I didn't kill you. I only woke you up. Start by calming down.
Those words brought some relief. I could move my arms a bit now, so I wiped my tears and looked around where I was lying. The floor was wooden, and the walls covered with aged timber. There was warm indirect lighting, several potted plants, and that smell was—
. . . Coffee?
Exactly. Wait a moment. I'm just brewing some now.
Across the large counter, a tall, thin man with slicked-back hair and light-colored sunglasses spoke in a composed voice. In his hands, I could see a vacuum coffee maker.
The counter, potted plants, several tables and chairs . . . could this possibly be a café?
Now that he's awake, our task is complete.
Suddenly, a lisping voice spoke near my ear. I turned to see a blonde girl with a joyful smile holding a brown bottle and something like a handkerchief.
Wait, Fuyara.
A black-haired girl sitting opposite me, who was called Fuyara, stopped the blonde girl.
What is it, Tekka?
What exactly is that?
Tekka asked, pointing at the little bottle Fuyara was holding.
Heheh! It's this week's suprise gadget!
I see, that doesn't really answer the question, does it?
If you want details, this is a concoction I recently developed that acts as a stimulant.
I can see that, but what about him? His nose is still running, isn't that a problem?
Indeed. While my coughing and tears had subsided, my nose continued to run like a faucet someone forgot to turn off, so I couldn't speak properly.
. . . It's a consequence of waking up after being unconscious.
Then it can't be helped.
At least it wasn’t poison.
Finally able to sit up, I found myself on a large black leather sofa, courteously covered with a blanket. Across the sturdy wooden table in front of me sat Tekka in her school uniform. There was also a sunglass-clad man who stood behind the counter, and Fuyara, in casual attire, yawning while seated at another table.
Alright, you’re awake, so let’s talk. First off, why were you in that place?
Tekka narrowed her large eyes in a glare.
Her sleek black hair swayed over her translucently fair skin.
Wait a moment, names. If we don't introduce ourselves, it wouldn't a conversation—it'd be an interrogation.
The man in sunglasses placed freshly brewed coffee on the table in front of me.
My name is Yokkaichi. Go ahead, drink it. It’s fine, I haven't tampered with it.
Yokkaichi glared from behind his sunglasses.
. . . Plea . . .
Hmm?
Please . . . don’t kill me.
No can do. I'll kill you.
Tekka coldly rejected with her well-shaped lips.
I felt like crying.
I stared intently at the coffee in front of me. There was a brown stain on the saucer. I tried to wipe it off with my finger, but the stain wouldn’t come out. It must have been there for quite some time.
That stain seemed to overlap with my own life.
Surely, they could take my life with the same expression as they would wipe away that stain.
No, that's not it.
Neither the saucer nor the stain could speak, but I'm not like them. Meekly repeating the same words won’t change anything. I must resist.
Keeping me alive might be slightly better than killing me—whether I can steer the situation that way, I don’t know, but I refuse to be killed without doing anything.
I made up my mind and gulped down the coffee. My nose was stuffed with tissues, so I couldn’t taste much, but the slight bitterness and warmth gave me strength.
3
Now then—
Tekka, who was sitting across from me, took control of the conversation again.
Let’s continue our conversation. Introductions first. My name is Tekka, and you are?
Uh . . . I'm . . .
Hayata Takayanagi.
Suddenly, I heard my name be called out from behind me.
Surprised, I turned around to see a short girl in a classic maid outfit, sat at the table behind me, tapping away on a laptop.
When did she get there? Had she been there all along?
Fifteen years old. He moved from his grandparents' house in Minami Kumagun, Yamanashi Prefecture, to Koganei City, and enrolled in Kasane Academy during the spring of this year. He's in Class 1-D, he is number two on the roll call sheet. He's yet to start a part-time job. He has no licenses, qualifications, or awards. His phone number is 070-xxxx-xxxx.
As the maid-clad girl rapidly finished listing my personal information, Tekka nodded in satisfaction.
. . . I see. Well spoken.
Uh . . .
I hadn’t said anything. The maid girl just revealed my personal information without my consent. Who is she, really?
Shimiko’s Unique Skill 'Personal Information Disclosure' has been activated.
Fuyara pointed at the maid girl, apparently named Shimiko, from the next table.
How . . . how do you know about me . . . ?!
I didn’t even have a smartphone or wallet on me, so how on earth did Shimiko dig up information about me?
I looked it up, that’s how I knew.
Shimiko proudly held up her laptop, exhaling triumphantly through her nose.
Looked it up . . . but how?
Confused, I watched as Shimiko arched her back proudly.
It’s simple! First, I checked Hayata’s dental records—
Alright, alright. Let’s save that story for another lifetime.
Tekka clapped her hands and cut off the conversation.
Dental records revealing personal information? Could such a thing be possible at an individual level, and by such a young girl?
Ah. By the way, Tekka.
Ignoring my confusion, Shimiko changed the subject.
What is it?
Are you sure you have enough time?
Eh?
When Tekka glanced at the wall clock, it was pointing to 7:45 a.m.
Ah! I really need to go! That’s why I said I’m running out of time . . . Yokkaichi, has there been any word from Abara yet?
None.
Yokkaichi answered while pulling out a new cigarette.
Abara—could that be a name? Is that person giving them orders?
Geez! I'll come back after school, but . . . there should be an answer by then, right?
Don’t know.
Seriously . . .
Tekka took a red sukajan jacket from a coat rack near the wall, put it over her uniform, and grabbed her bag.
Um . . . I’ve asked this several times, but you’re joking about killing me, right?
It’s no joke.
Tekka answered in a flat tone.
What do you think happened to the man who was with you in the theater?
Tekka pulled a glass bottle from her sukajan pocket and placed it on the table.
The bottle was filled with ice water and in the center floated an ear wrapped in a plastic bag.
The ear had a tattoo on it.
Aaaaah!
I couldn’t help but scream.
He was killed, thoroughly.
Tekka spoke as she put the glass bottle back in her pocket.
To kill means to transfer someone’s physical and existential being, their family registry, their history, and even someone’s memories, to a different dimension, erasing all traces from this world.
Not just death.
But obliteration.
The idea that such an ending existed was beyond comprehension.
Shall I make you understand that this is no joke?
Tekka quickly slipped both hands into the pockets of her sukajan.
She quickly raised her hands, and on her fist, there was an object like none I had ever seen before.
She raised her right elbow high behind her . . .
Tekka!
Yokkaichi shouted.
I know. I'm just kidding.
Tekka opened the fingers of the clenched fist and removed the object attached to it.
It looked like an iron knuckle, but unlike any knuckle he knew it had a nearly flat surface with square protrusions on each edge.
I didn’t know what the protrusions were for, but it was clear that being hit repeatedly with it would certainly be fatal.
And at the same time, I realized that when humans encounter true terror, their bodies become immobile as a stone statue.
Well then, Hayata Takayanagi.
Tekka grabbed her bag and headed toward the shop's door.
The door she headed to was like none I knew from any café.
It appeared to be a thick iron plate. In fact, it was a thick iron plate, more like a door used on a giant freezer than one of a café.
The iron door had a rotating knob and above it, a numeric keypad.
So, I’m off then.
Without looking back even once, Tekka flicked her fingertips in farewell, then turned the ship-like doorknob by operating the keypad and left.
That's when I truly realized. There wasn't a single window in this shop.
4
This seemed more like a gigantic safe than a café.
When I lightly tapped the back wall, it made a solid packed sound.
Yokkaichi approached, still clenching a cigarette in his mouth.
Can you stand?
Ah . . . yeah, probably.
I was waiting to dispose of you, but it seems it will take a bit more time.
Disposal. The thought of being treated like waste nearly brought tears to my eyes.
But we need to open the shop now, so I’ll confine you to the back room. Come with me.
Confinement. Yokkaichi mentioned such a dangerous word as if it were nothing.
I didn’t want to stand up.
The back is off-limits.
Fuyara stood up briskly.
As she rubbed her green eyes vigorously, she seemed to shrink in on herself,
From now on, this place will be where Fuyara sleeps.
Yokkaichi made a visibly displeased face.
Fuyara, how many times must I tell you not to stay overnight in the shop?
I didn't sleep last night, so I can't talk anymore. I'm closing the window on this conversation.
Wobbling, Fuyara stepped behind the counter, fetched some cola and cereal from the fridge, and began to shove them into her mouth simultaneously.
There you go again. I keep telling you to get a proper night's sleep and eat well.
Does that mean you'll make me something? Something other than coffee.
Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t make anything but coffee.
Yokkaichi retorted, sounding somewhat proud.
Come to think of it, I haven't eaten since yesterday either—but perhaps due to fear and tension, I don't feel hungry.
What my brain currently needs is the memory of having eaten, so this should be sufficient. If I get it, chew it, and gulp it down, then my task is complete.
Fuyara chugged the cola in one go, then carelessly tossed the empty bottle and cereal box into the trash before looking over as she stepped away from the counter.
Wake me up when you decide to kill him. Or, please update me with the details on social media.
I don’t use social media! And stop staying over at the shop!
Unresponsive to Yokkaichi’s interjection, Fuyara walked towards the back of the shop.
That girl really . . .
Yokkaichi grumbled with disgust.
I removed the tissue that had been stuffed into my nose. It seemed my nosebleed had stopped.
Um . . . what’s going to happen to me now?
There were many other questions I wanted to ask, like where this place was, who these people are, what do you want from me, but for now, I wanted to hold onto some hope for the future.
I don’t know.
Yokkaichi answered succinctly.
It’s not for us to decide. Someone else in a different position will make that decision.
You mean Abara?
Yes, the owner of this establishment.
Yokkaichi pushed up his sunglasses.
She is currently gathering information and assessing it.
Information about what? I’m just a normal high school student with nothing particularly interesting about me, and my family isn’t wealthy or anything . . .
I already know that. However, we can't just take your word for it and let you go.
Something occurred to me.
It wasn’t just a normal walk at night that led to this situation. Last night, I had illegally entered the theater and found a person covered in blood there. Moreover, that person even told me:
Get out of here quick.
Having gone through such an ordeal,
I wasn’t about to say,
I didn’t do anything.
At least, I realized that I had stepped onto a different stage, far from the ordinary, by my own series of mistakes.
Because of the mistakes I continued to make . . .
I have no choice but to kill you.
It was the only conclusion they could make.
However, I couldn't just blindly accept their perspective.
That's true, the choice to kill me simply can't be helped.
I couldn’t just accept it.
There must still be something I can do.
Perhaps, I am still allowed to express my own will.
I thought of the stain clinging to the saucer.
Washing it off and calling it quits just didn’t sit right with me.
I won’t tell anyone.
Hmm?
Not about this shop, nor about Tekka, Fuyara, and Shimiko either . . . and of course, not about you, or that injured person . . .
Ah . . . I see, I see.
While folding the newspaper, Yokkaichi nodded several times.
Indeed, that is what people in your situation usually say. Yes, it’s almost a cliché. Saying something like that is the right thing to do. But you know, Hayata, have you ever seen a movie where a character who says those words is simply let go?
I couldn't think of an example.
I thought not. So, you might want to think a bit more about what you say next. It seems we still have some time.
Was I being tested? Was I being put through a trial to struggle for my life? —it seemed that was the case.
But what should I say? How should I respond?
