by Shin Towada
Tojo was almost in tears. Morimine cut in between them.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said. “We only came in here because of Tojo, and what’s more, he’s the one who finished this Ghoul off. Right, Tojo?”
“Uh … yeah.”
“Huh? Did you say Tojo did this?”
Morimine had offered Tojo a lifeline. And he wasn’t lying, either. Amon gave a nod in agreement to Yanagi, who was torn between belief and doubt. His expression was complicated, and he sighed.
“But what happened, Tojo? Your Quinque is broken. It doesn’t look like you’ll ever be able to use it again,” Yanagi said.
Knowing he couldn’t tell Yanagi that a Ghoul had used his Quinque as a shield, Tojo’s face looked drawn.
“Forget that, Yanagi. We don’t know the whereabouts of Otokaze, the lady in her fifties who was the housekeeper here. She looked after Koharu Utsumi, who was a Ghoul, so there’s a strong possibility that she’s a Ghoul too.”
“Right, got it. I’ll get an emergency search going.”
“And we also need to investigate Koharu’s adoptive father.”
“Okay, okay. To think that … she was a Ghoul. And I didn’t see it at all. I’ve still got a lot to learn.”
Then, asking Yanagi to take over, Amon and Morimine left the scene.
“I’ll take you back to the CCG,” Morimine said, but when they got into his car they both went silent.
As he drove, Morimine’s expression was the same as always. But the look of pain on his face earlier was burned into Amon’s mind.
“What the hell are you staring at?”
Amon had been looking at him without realizing it. “Sorry,” he said, looking away.
“She was my girlfriend,” Morimine said with a little smile. “We went together that night to watch the fireworks. It was a long way home for her, so I offered to take her home, but she told me she’d be fine … That was the last time I saw her.”
Amon didn’t know what to say.
“The police barely investigated it. That’s why I became a policeman. I thought that once I was a cop I’d find out what happened to her. A childish idea. I wanted to find the guy who did this and kill them.”
I wonder if he feels like he did that today. If it might give him a measure of peace. But there’s nothing gleeful about the way he looks right now.
“But, you know, when I got to be a cop, I realized something. Vengeance or revenge or whatever is for idiots. There are just so many reasons why people commit crimes. And if you go way back, maybe they were hurt by someone, maybe they were tormented, you know, it all goes back to reasons like that. Those kinds of negative emotions become a driving force and it just causes more pain for those around them.”
Morimine gripped the steering wheel tightly.
“When I saw that the hatred I had might drive me to hurt someone one day, it scared me. I thought I had to catch criminals in order to break the cycle of evil. But now, I …” He went quiet. After a long silence, he spoke again, putting emphasis on every word. “Now, I can’t help but pity them. Even her.”
Amon looked at him again.
“I mean, if I’d been born a Ghoul, what would I do?” Morimine said. Then he apologized. “Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t say that to a Ghoul investigator,” he added, and stopped talking.
Amon thought to himself. About whether they had seen all of the personal effects of the girls that Koharu had taken. He wondered if Morimine had remembered that notebook that had belonged to Haruka Seta, the one that the photograph had fallen out of.
Perhaps, when Morimine had taken her statement that time, Koharu had realized that this guilt-tormented man was the right age, and maybe that’s why she put that barrette in front of the police station. Maybe she wanted him to catch her, to break the cycle of evil.
VII
Once the report on Koharu Utsumi was done, a replacement for Amon was assigned and his work in the 8th Ward was over.
“Amon! We heard you found and destroyed a Ghoul who wasn’t even suspected of being one!”
When he returned to the 20th Ward, Seido Takizawa came over to talk to him in a state of excitement. Where’d he hear that?
“No, it was all thanks to the cooperation of the police.”
“Don’t be so humble! You put an end to the deaths of young girls, targeted and eaten in such a despicable, ghoulish way. You’re amazing!” rambled Takizawa, his fist clenched.
He’s so happy you’d think he’d done it himself.
“Nice work, Kotaro.” It was Kosuke Hoji, a gentle man from the Combat Division, who next came to thank him.
“Yanagi’s been talking you up, you know. If you hadn’t been so attentive he could’ve been the one to save all those people.” That praise from Hoji, an associate special investigator, punched Amon in the gut.
“Thank you all,” he said, and bowed. But then he realized that one person was missing from the scene.
“Where’s Juzo?”
He didn’t see Juzo Suzuya, who had his own special way of getting at people.
“Oh, he’s at Shinohara’s.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Since Shinohara is injured he can’t give hands-on education, so he’s drilling Suzuya from bed.”
Juzo was not an Academy graduate, and he had problems with his temperament, meaning he was woefully lacking in some of the knowledge an investigator needed.
Shinohara had been confined to bed since being injured in the Aogiri battle, but he was still finding things he could reasonably do and continuing to teach. He’s an example to us all.
“Next, about the Rabbit case …”
“Have you made progress?!”
Hoji shook his head apologetically. “No, actually, there’s been no news since the incident. It’s almost scary how quiet it’s been,” he said.
“Oh … I see.”
When Amon got to his desk, it was covered in reports and documents that had piled up while he’d been gone. He went through them all, catching up on what had happened while he’d been away.
The results of Koharu’s autopsy confirmed that the Ghoul-specific bodily fluids left on Mai’s barrette belonged to her. And the bones and hair they’d found had allowed them to identify her victims—without a doubt, she had killed all the girls who had gone missing.
But Koharu’s adoptive father, Yujiro Utsumi, was still in intensive care and his condition was deteriorating, meaning that he was in no state for an interview. Otokaze was still missing too. And the identity of the man who had been blackmailing Koharu was still unknown.
Beyond a doubt, Koharu had been kidnapping girls and eating them, but Amon still felt a dark cloud over him that he couldn’t quite dispel.
“I hope the future … that you want … comes to pass.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling from her red eyes. Unexpected words from a Ghoul. They remind me of the tears I saw from the Ghoul with the eye patch crying that day.
“Please … don’t kill me.”
Amon set aside his work and went over to the window, looking down at the tree-lined street below.
Fiendish Ghouls wearing masks are perverting this world. That’s undeniable. But is there really only one version of the truth?
When I told him I was going back to the 20th Ward, Morimine said: “Koharu Utsumi might’ve been a Ghoul, but I don’t think she’s the only one to blame in those cases, if you see what I mean. So I’m gonna find out what happened.” Then he added, “Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with,” and laughed.
It was hard for Amon to understand how a man who’d had someone so important to him taken away could think like that. But he didn’t think Morimine’s outlook on life was wrong either.
I’ve got to talk to the Ghoul with the eye patch. The thought now filled Amon’s mind
. If I can talk to him, I might see something I haven’t been able to before.
“I will find him …”
Amon gave his face a little slap and returned to his duties. Because there’s no time for stalling.
Spin and spun, the hempen thread
stitched and stitched and tied at the end.
There were few streetlights to cast aside the dark of night on this side street not too far from downtown. On one corner, right next to one of the trees that lined the roadside, was a street vendor whose features were hidden beneath a hood. Set out in front of the proprietor was an assortment of masks, their designs all strikingly unique, unusual enough to get passersby to stop and stare, but none took it upon themselves to purchase one.
“Hey, that’s kinda neat,” said the latest customer, stopping to look at one such mask before just as quickly turning to move on. “It’s impressive, but who’d wear something like that?” As he went to leave, however, he was startled by the stallkeeper’s voice calling out through the darkness.
“Hey! What did you say just now?”
The passerby let out a short, startled gasp and went wide-eyed as the stallkeeper stood up, eliciting a louder cry of shock as the hood drew back to reveal garish blond hair and flashy piercings. The threatening and ill-bred demeanor marked the stallkeeper as a young thug, and the customer bolted off in a panic at the very sight.
“Bah. What a wuss,” muttered the stallkeeper, pulling the hood up and sitting back down in irritation. “Dammit. If he’d just take me on as his apprentice, then—”
A new arrival broke that train of thought.
“Could I have a moment, miss?”
She was somewhat surprised to be called “miss,” given her mannish facial features and body devoid of any real feminine curves. That, along with her height of over 170 centimeters and her rough disposition, led to her frequently be mistaken for a man.
She looked up to see a man in an unkempt suit, probably in his mid-30s, hunkered down and regarding her face keenly.
“Actually, let me be up-front with you,” he said, taking out a police notebook.
As soon as she saw it, the stallkeeper braced herself to dart off, just like the customer had earlier. The detective must have seen him run off screaming as he had, or maybe he’d noticed that she was operating a stall without a permit.
“No, no, it’s not like that,” the detective said. “I’d like to ask you about masks. Could I, ah, have your name, miss?”
“You’re really not gonna try and arrest me?”
“Nah. This isn’t my jurisdiction. The name’s Morimine. I’m a detective from the 8th Ward. The 23rd Ward’s outside my beat.”
Bordered on one side by the river and on another by the sea, the 23rd Ward was adjacent to the 8th Ward. The detective who’d introduced himself as Morimine was waiting intently for a response. Still holding on to her suspicions, the stallkeeper answered hesitantly.
“I’m Asa,” she offered, giving at least her name. “So, what did you wanna ask about?”
Morimine produced a photograph in turn. The picture showed a leather mask adorned with fine embroidery. It was simple, but a single look was enough to make the sheer degree of craftsmanship possessed by its creator obvious. Asa was unexpectedly impressed, her gaze fiercely drawn to it.
“I’m looking for the person who made this mask. Do you have any thoughts as to who it might be?”
“This? I mean I can tell it’s not one of mine. Beyond that …” It didn’t appear to be the work of the mask maker Asa so revered, either. That being the case, she didn’t have the information Morimine was after, but she did now have an interest in this mask.
“Hey, mind if I borrow this picture?” she asked.
“Borrow it? Why?”
“Because if I check with some other mask maskers, maybe they’ll know something! I mean, right?”
Morimine mulled it over for a bit. “All right,” he said, handing the photograph over.
“Okay then. If I find anything out, I’ll give the police a call.”
“Much obliged,” Morimine said, bowing his head. “Any information you can find, no matter how trivial, would be greatly appreciated.”
Morimine’s face was all business, but Asa merely gave him a quick, “All right,” before turning away.
Behind her, she heard the detective mutter to himself, presumably thinking he wouldn’t be overheard. “Guess this case still isn’t over …”
“As if I’d ever get in touch with the cops! Your little photograph’s all mine, now, dumbass!” Asa laughed as soon as Morimine and any other bystanders were out of sight, her attention fixed on the picture, a complacent smile on her face. “Still, he oughta be grateful.”
Asa ground her molars tightly together. Several seconds later, power coursed through her body, her eyes turning red as she stared at the photograph. She licked her lips, pushed off the ground with a kick, and a moment later was atop the nearby roof. “After all, I did let him leave without eating him!”
Standing at the top of the food chain, feared by humanity for their special abilities, were Ghouls—and Asa was one among their number.
II
Back in the 4th Ward, her old hometown, Asa left the train station and wove her way between the buildings, through narrow streets, making her way farther and farther in until she arrived at the mask shop HySy Art Mask Studio. The store’s logo was emblazoned on the wall outside, masks peering out through the windows. The very sight stirred Asa’s excitement, and somehow instilled in her a sense of pride.
“Howdy!” she called out as she knocked on the door, and when she stepped inside, one of the mannequin heads fitted with a mask caught her eye. “Whoa! This’s a new one! Oh, wow, this is beyond fine! This is beyond amazing!”
She had meant to exchange pleasantries first, but unable to resist the allure of the mask, scurried right on over to it.
“Same as always I see, Asa,” came a leisurely voice from farther back in the shop.
“Ah! S-sorry! Guess I sorta spaced out, there …” She turned around to see a man staring back at her from the workshop.
“Uh-huh. Been a while.” The man sported countless piercings and was tattooed all the way down to his fingertips. He was Uta, who once had reigned over the 4th Ward. He’d since been driven from that position of leadership, and now put his manual dexterity to use to get by running a mask shop.
Asa had been a little girl when Uta ran the ward, but she’d always admired his aura of sheer strength. She was further enamored of the masks he fashioned, and she resolved to one day have a mask shop just like his.
“You masks really are awesome, Uta! Please take me on as your apprentice!” Asa got down and prostrated herself before him. “I beg you!” she said, lowering her head.
“Our styles are too different, Asa.”
Time and again, Asa had come to Uta and begged to be his apprentice like this, only for him to calmly refuse her.
“How’s the 23rd Ward? I hear things are pretty rough there right now.”
The change in subject told Asa that it was a no-go this time as well, and she bit her lip as she stood back up. “Cochlea was attacked, and things have been a mess because of it. The doves are swarming all over the place. Heck, same goes for the pain-in-the-ass Ghouls who broke out. I hear there are lots of Ghouls who’re refugees from other wards too.”
As a matter of propriety, Asa couldn’t open a shop in the 4th Ward, where Uta dwelled, so she’d settled in the 23rd Ward, which was now embroiled in strife. Rather than seeing their brethren as having been liberated from their human captors, the Ghouls of the 23rd Ward resented them more than anything else.
“Lately I’ve been considering moving to another ward until the situation there dies down. But enough about me! I actually came because I wanted to ask you something, Uta.” She handed over the photo sh
e’d gotten from the detective.
“What’s this?”
“Some detective came to ask me about it today. Do you recognize this mask?”
The reflection of the mask in the photo was visible in Uta’s eyes. “A policeman? Not a Ghoul investigator?”
“Yeah. I guess he was on some sort of case. But anyway, isn’t it super pretty? Who could’ve made something like that?”
Asa had a hard time reading Uta’s face; he was always placid and calm, ever composed and unwavering. She regarded him casually for a few seconds, his thoughts a mystery to her, before he put away the tools on his workbench and stood up. He slipped on the coat that hung next to him and donned his hat.
“Uta? You goin’ out somewhere?”
“Yeah. Think I got a little hunch.”
“A hunch? Wait … Uta, you think you know who the crafter of this mask might be?!”
As Asa brimmed with excitement, Uta stepped out of the shop and flipped the door sign to Closed as he said, “Not quite a crafter, per se. Tsumugi used to make masks. And I know a place where she was a regular customer.”
“Tsumugi …” So that was the mask maker’s name. Asa was growing more and more curious about what sort of person she could be. “Would it, ah, be all right for me to go with you? I’d love to see her work in person!”
Asa clenched her fists in fierce anticipation. “You’re the one who came to me to do the talking,” Uta said to her. “It’s all you.”
Uta took Asa to a café in the 20th Ward called Anteiku.
“Hey, I know this place. Doesn’t Yomo work here?” she asked. Renji Yomo was one of the many Ghouls who’d mysteriously shown up back when Uta ran the 4th Ward.
“Yeah. But we’re not here for Renji today. We’re just here to see the owner.”
The café looked to already be closed for the evening, the lights all off, but when Uta rang the bell, an elderly, white-haired man showed up. “Uta? Well, this is a rare sight. What’s going on?”
“Sorry to show up so late, Yoshimura, but there’s something I wanted to ask you about, if you don’t mind.”
