by Mamare Touno
The waves of people that had swallowed Akatsuki passed under the elevated tracks and climbed the sloping road within the urban canyon. Where was this enormous crowd going? Layered structures of glass and concrete bristled as if to pierce the sky, completely burying the ground, and the people went in and out of them. This oppressive state, as if a grotesque giant were chewing and excreting at the same time, was nearly the entirety of the town. Akatsuki and the others traveled in order to be swallowed by buildings, and after being spit out by those buildings, they wandered through this compressed town to be swallowed by different buildings.
The evergreen shrubs caked with red-brown soot were dingy things. They were insignificant plants that only existed to be used as a sort of excuse, an alibi: “This building belongs to a highly-conscious corporation that has taken care to create an abundant natural environment.” Artificial was really the only word for them. Although they weren’t quite trampled, they were pressured by the human wave—the one that was currently pushing Akatsuki along—8,760 hours per year, and they drooped, unable even to keep up appearances.
Akatsuki only glanced at them and kept walking. For all the residents of this city, not falling behind the pace of the surrounding black crowd was a survival strategy. Breaking step was nearly synonymous with dropping out.
Asphalt streamed past Akatsuki’s eyes. She was walking with her head down, and the asphalt, struck by a great variety of shoes, was the main element in her field of vision. Even though they should have been washed away by the previous night’s rain, broken convenience store chopsticks, unidentifiable flyers, plastic bags, cling wrap that had once been silver, key chains that had soaked up muddy water and would no longer be retrieved by anyone, and many other things appeared on the dirty, exhausted road. These were things she was seeing for the first time, of course, and there was no point in really noticing them; they were trampled by the crowd, flowing away into the past as far as the moving Akatsuki was concerned. Still, at the same time, they were unique, and they appeared on the road again and again.
Naturally, any single plastic bag had probably held a product purchased at a store somewhere, but when they appeared on the road as garbage, their individuality was long gone. Now, in every sense, there was no difference between the plastic bag that was stepped on by the crowd and mercilessly shredded and the bag that appeared five minutes later…and this was the same for everyone. Probably for Akatsuki as well.
Time seemed to pass at both a furious pace and as slowly as a snail. The advertising music that was interjected at irregular intervals like sudden, heavy rain sounded like an explosion, and it chopped up Akatsuki’s time in ways that had nothing to do with her feelings. It became a pacemaker, controlling Akatsuki’s daily life. However, it wasn’t that she was too busy to think. On the other hand, in the midst of her thinly sliced time, there was no space for studying or playing, so she inevitably did the things that could be done in small increments.
For the people around her, this seemed to mean talking on their cell phones in loud voices or listlessly buying game items on their smartphones. For Akatsuki, who had no interest in these things, her minced time was a depressing prison of self-awareness. She had to grit her teeth to endure that idleness. The emotion that resembled anger had already cooled completely, decaying into self-loathing. Could she even be called human when she lived a life that was broken down into minimal units like this? Akatsuki thought it was like being livestock. As proof, she had no way to escape this place.
The line stopped, all at once. A traffic signal. It blinked a few times, then turned red, letting traffic that ran at right angles to it move as it did so. The herd of cars rushed by as if pursued by a hunter, setting up a harsh din as it passed in front of Akatsuki. Akatsuki knew that here, in the heart of the city, the distance to the next signal wasn’t even fifty meters. Even if that one was green, these cars would probably stop again at the next one, or the one after that. Even though it was such a short distance, the cars accelerated as though they couldn’t stand it, spraying fumes around. She couldn’t understand what they meant by it. Akatsuki couldn’t drive, and possibly it was some secret she didn’t know.
The cars charged down the road as though they loathed blank space. As Akatsuki gazed at them without really seeing them, she sneezed. She felt as if she’d been doing this frequently since she began commuting through this town, and she rubbed her nose. A faint regret remained after she’d rubbed it. It wasn’t a ladylike gesture, and she was constantly thinking she should stop, but she couldn’t seem to correct it. Because of the acrid, acidic car exhaust, Akatsuki’s nose was always sneezing.
Akatsuki began walking briskly, moving to the front of the human wave. Even if she had begun to “walk,” her steps were short, so it was really closer to a trot.
Abruptly, a doubt welled up inside her: Where was she going? If she was putting herself through this sort of pain to get there, she must have a destination. Not only that, but she was heading there on some sort of schedule, for a meeting or an appointed time. That’s right; she’d been heading to—to school. She thought it had been some sort of learning facility. Probably university. However, for some reason, it had vanished from inside of her.
Despair assailed her first, faster than confusion. She felt as if she’d be crushed by a sense of uneasiness with no outlet, here in this town that was like a conveyor belt line. Laughter. Electronic parade noises of the sort that stirred up a fondness for gambling. The scream of car brakes. The echoing rumble of the Yamanote Line going by. Her throat hurt as though there was a lump in it, and her vision blurred. A desire to stop and stand still flooded her, but Akatsuki desperately kept moving, so as not to trouble the people around her. She crossed at a blinking signal, passed by the front of a convenience store, turned the corner at a bank, moving onward, onward, in the midst of a familiar crowd. Going somewhere that wasn’t here. Maybe none of the people here had anywhere to go, just like that plastic bag. Not even the replaceable Akatsuki. However, to Akatsuki, she was the only Akatsuki there was, and she needed proof that this was true… Even if that proof didn’t exist.
Before she knew it, Akatsuki was running up concrete stairs, taking them two at a time. The dreary emergency stairwell reminded her of the desolate view at a housing development somewhere. It was an extraordinarily familiar view, she knew on sight, but it wasn’t distinctive, and so she didn’t really know where it was. What was important was that she was running up the stairs, and that there was nothing the least bit thrilling about it: It was an escape, nothing more.
She wasn’t clear on what she was running from, but this was because she knew that the moment she specifically imagined it, it would catch her. If she had to say, it was that plastic bag. Akatsuki felt like a plastic bag—trampled by the crowd, clinging as if it were wet, nearly torn—was plastered to her back. Or, no—to the soles of the feet as they struck the stairs, making a rustling noise. But she couldn’t hear it, even if she strained her ears. It wasn’t really plastered to her; that was a mistake. However, for some reason, Akatsuki kept running, unable even to look at her feet. An unpleasant sense of urgency was rubbing her spine like cold needles.
It felt as though there wasn’t much oxygen; she couldn’t get enough air, and she was out of breath. She thought this was wrong, but since she didn’t know what the right answer was, she couldn’t prove it. She ran up the concrete stairs, leapt out onto a landing, doubled back, leaning as though to shake off the inertia, and continued climbing the stairs. The repetition had the absurdity of wasted effort about it, like a rat running in an exercise wheel. Akatsuki fled desperately, spurred on by the sound of concrete excavation echoing from somewhere. It was almost as if she couldn’t stand the concrete stairway itself. Still, in order to escape, she had to run up it. How far would she have to go to reach the end of that chain?
Akatsuki didn’t know how many dozens—or possibly hundreds—of landings she’d passed, but when she reached the next one, she realized it wasn’t a l
anding at all. Her feet were buried in a creamy gray substance; she lost her footing and fell, dragging the exhaust-stained crowd with her. Car horns. The strident parade. Voices she couldn’t understand. As she fell endlessly through screams and violent wind, Akatsuki was sure she saw that plastic bag again.
2
It was a white beach.
A perfectly clear sky stretched on and on.
A cerulean infinity that seemed to have been sketched lightly in watercolors was full of rippling wavelets.
Akatsuki walked along that shore by herself.
She was alone in that vast space, which was deserted in the way only a winter beach can be.
She felt awed by the sand that crumbled, crisply and easily.
When she looked down, her small toes took another step.
She made one more footprint in the pure, unspoiled whiteness.
Far, far away, she saw a small flying shadow. Was it a seabird?
Crunch, crunch.
All she heard were those quiet footsteps and the sound of the cerulean surf as it lapped the beach.
Hugging her coat around her against the chill, Akatsuki walked.
Slowly, without being rushed by anything.
When she raised her head, the surface of the water sparkled with irregular reflections.
The winter light was simply bright; it held no heat.
Her small footprints and their tiny sound continued across the sandy beach in a chain.
Every time her bare feet touched cerulean, particles of light burst and vanished.
Akatsuki didn’t know where this was, but the irritability from a moment before was gone.
This wasn’t her destination, but she thought it was a safe place.
Strolling along the quiet beach was a pleasant, calming experience.
How long had she walked?
She approached the water’s edge and touched the blue with her bare toes, then pirouetted away.
She dragged her footprints out like a honeybee’s dance.
Because she was all alone, Akatsuki did these things seriously.
However, it was a little funny, and she gave a tiny smile.
Akatsuki’s loyal footprints adored her, following her everywhere.
Even that was fun, like a journal being written.
She had to strain her eyes in order to see into the distance, but she saw a human figure.
It was a tall one, and it was rocking and gazing at the sea as if it was mildly troubled.
Startled by how light her body was, Akatsuki realized belatedly that she’d broken into a run.
She covered what had seemed to be a long distance in so few steps that it surprised her; she slowed her pace.
She wasn’t the type to slam into him bodily and hug him.
However, even so, drawn by feelings of longing, she looked up at the man.
Noticing Akatsuki, Shiroe broke into a smile.
Shiroe normally wore an obstinate expression, and whenever Akatsuki saw him smile like that, it made her feel really satisfied.
As if embarrassed, dazzled, awkward…
After Shiroe narrowed his eyes in a smile, he hesitated a bit. Then he turned to Akatsuki, asked her a question with his eyes, and started to walk down the beach.
Akatsuki began to walk with him, as though chasing the tail of his coat.
Shiroe seemed to be walking slowly on purpose.
Akatsuki, who walked wordlessly beside him, did the same.
There was an elegance about the beach, where the only sounds came from the gentle movement of the atmosphere and the waves.
They were both hesitant to break that stillness.
My liege’s hands are big.
She thought this as she saw him scratch his head two or three times, then adjust his glasses.
She watched the hand go into the pocket of his white coat, then quickened her steps.
Or, no, would slower be better?
If she fell behind a little, it might give her an excuse to catch the tail of that coat.
As she thought that, Akatsuki’s mouth fell into a stubborn line.
The expression she was making wasn’t the least bit cross.
To hide her face, Akatsuki twirled at the water’s edge.
Her camel-brown coat flared out, and she was sure she was smiling.
Shiroe turned back and waited for her for a little while.
The two of them began walking again, crunching across the sandy beach, which might have been made of spun sugar. They could feel the fragile sand changing shape under their feet. The wind that stroked their cheeks was rather cold, but now it didn’t bother them at all. There was a steady warmth in the center of their bodies.
To Akatsuki, everything was novel and fun. Shiroe’s big shoes bit into the sand with a crunch. His footprints were deeper than hers; that was fun, too. A mildly strong wind blew through every so often, setting Shiroe’s coattail fluttering, and she thought it was cute.
Shiroe’s pockets looked five times bigger than Akatsuki’s own, and she thought she’d like to stick a hand into one of them, but of course she couldn’t. Instead she turned back, saw the way Shiroe’s footprints and her own stretched across the beach, and was satisfied.
Something cool brushed Akatsuki’s small nose, and her eyes went round.
White snow fluttered down silently, scattering.
It didn’t bring the slightest hint of coldness with it, and when she touched it with her fingertip, it vanished, delicately.
Snow had begun to fall.
When Akatsuki looked up to tell Shiroe about it, he nodded, smiling calmly, and she realized that no report was necessary.
Shiroe had pulled the hood of her duffel coat up for her, and she put it over her head and continued walking.
She didn’t feel tired, but she thought they’d come quite a long distance.
The turquoise sky grew even clearer, turning a deep indigo, and jewel-like lights appeared in the heavens.
The surface of the water reflected the lights, making everything transparent. It accepted the snow, swaying and pale.
“I didn’t think it would be such a quiet place.”
As Shiroe murmured, he stopped walking.
Before they were aware of it, they’d reached a small inlet.
“Mm,” Akatsuki replied in agreement.
She’d really wanted to respond with something cleverer or more ladylike, but she hadn’t been able to think of anything. Still, it didn’t seem to have made Shiroe cross. He was gazing at the sea, where night had fallen.
Toom.
Toom.
She thought she heard a sound, as though someone had softly struck a great crystal.
It was as if a distant signal was echoing from beyond the enormous sea.
Suddenly, a new awareness came into being in the back of Akatsuki’s mind, but it dispersed the moment she noticed it.
Something inside Akatsuki that was not Akatsuki, something transparent, had blown through and gone.
Even though it hadn’t been her, its loss colored Akatsuki’s emotions with sorrow.
When a big hand touched her shoulder gently as though to encourage her, Akatsuki realized that Shiroe had felt the same thing. His expression wasn’t grim, but it was stern.
Shiroe had taken a box cutter out from somewhere; he lightly ratcheted the blade up, then, awkwardly, cut off a bit of his bangs. The black hair had a mysterious sandy luster to it, and there wasn’t enough of it to really call it a “tuft.”
Taking the box cutter from Shiroe, Akatsuki cut a little bit off the tip of her ponytail. She had no idea why they were doing this, but she did know it was necessary.
The two of them tossed the hair into the cerulean ocean that moistened the ground at their feet.
Somewhere, as if in acceptance, the crystal sounded, and the snow that held no chill fluttered and danced.
At that, finally, Akatsuki understood that these pale fragments were everyone’s memories.
Death
doesn’t steal people’s memories, she thought. We offer our memories here for a chance to return. Even if they didn’t remember it, she realized, they stood up again because they wanted to.
“Amazing.”
The words Shiroe had let fall expressed Akatsuki’s feelings exactly.
Just how many thoughts were in the snow that drifted down?
How many people had renewed their resolutions on this shore?
The vast number and weight made Akatsuki feel dizzy.
She was also certain, without reason, that this wasn’t a legitimate, guaranteed right, but unbelievably precious good fortune.
…As was the fact that Shiroe was beside her.
“You fell, Akatsuki?”
At Shiroe’s words, Akatsuki brooded for a little while, then nodded.
That was right.
She’d died.
By the murderer’s blade.
That was all right.
Not because she’d be able to revive in the Temple, although that was all right as well. Akatsuki had fought because she wanted to, and she’d fallen. She had no regrets about that.
However, the awareness that she had died woke Akatsuki’s memories. They were memories of dashing out of Raynesia’s mansion and racing through the sky, and of the enormous “something” Soujirou had pointed out to her. Of the intent profile of the Kannagi who’d protected him, and of the showy yet serious “something” that Riezé, and Henrietta, and the other women who’d gathered for the tea parties had…
—And that was all.
What is that “something”?
Akatsuki realized that “something” was the only word she had for it.
She’d gone through that battle, but she hadn’t made any progress at all.
She felt frustrated and guilty over the things she didn’t understand, and she couldn’t do anything but cry.
She’d touched that important “something.” She finally realized that. However, she had absolutely no idea what it was, or what she should do. Even though she knew how valuable and important it was, she hadn’t been able to put it to use. Even though it had been a present…
