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うわっ……読み終わった直後、ちょっと呆然としてるわ。 まさかあの巨大土偶が「虐待を受けた子どもだけを選別して連れ去る装置」だったとは——しかも渡教授自身の過去が重なる伏線、エグすぎない？ それでいて「家族の絆」って言葉で無理やり連れ戻そうとする大人側の欺瞞に、最後の会議シーンで「それは絆じゃなくて呪いだ」って啖呵切ったとこ、マジで震えた。 「鬼子母神伝説＝過去の同種遭遇の記憶」説も痺れるし、社会全体への問いかけで終わる余韻が深い。 SFでありながら児童虐待という現実問題を真正面から描いてて、めっちゃ刺さりました🔥
It was early April — a time of fluctuating temperatures where a warm spring day could suddenly turn cold. As the members of the Watari Lab were packing up to leave for the day, their eyes were instantly drawn to a breaking news alert on the wall-mounted television.
A female announcer on the screen spoke with a grave expression and tone.
“According to an announcement by NASA, an object — believed to be a large meteorite or asteroid — is approaching Earth. Japan’s space agency, JAXA, has also locked onto the target, and reports indicate a possibility that it could land near the Japanese archipelago.”
Tsutsui leaned over her desk, staring at the screen as she spoke in a trembling voice.
“W-w-wait, does this mean the end of the world? Is it going to be like the massive meteorite that wiped out the dinosaurs?”
Watari, who had been intently watching the news, spoke up.
“150 meters long and 80 meters wide, huh? At that size, it might not burn up completely from atmospheric friction and could reach the ground, but it’s unlikely to turn into a sci-fi movie scenario. Still, it would be troublesome if it hit a densely populated area.”
Matsuda muttered as he gazed at the predicted time of atmospheric entry.
“Even if it does collide with Earth, that wouldn’t happen for another three days. Even if it were to land on Japanese soil, there would be plenty of time to deploy the Air Self-Defense Force’s Patriot missiles. Of course, as Professor Watari said, it would be best if the Self-Defense Forces didn’t have to get involved at all.”
Toyama resumed packing his belongings into his bag as he asked Matsuda: “Patriot — you mean those interceptor missiles?”
“Yes, the ones used to shoot down ballistic missiles. Since the trajectory of a meteorite is relatively easy to predict, destroying it in mid-air shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Three days later, on a morning much like any other, Watari was watching the news in his living room. It had been officially announced that the meteorite in question was passing over the Japanese archipelago and was on a trajectory to land in the Pacific Ocean shortly.
“Well, it looks like we dodged a bullet. Time to head to work as usual.”
As he arrived at the university’s main gate after his train ride, his smartphone began to vibrate and ring in his pocket.
Watari glanced at the screen and frowned. The caller ID displayed a number he had saved in his contacts but had never actually received a call from before.
“A direct line from the Cabinet Secretariat? What on earth is this about?”
He answered the call. After listening for a moment, he couldn’t help but interrupt the person on the other end.
“Hold on a second. Why is the Watari Lab being approached about that meteorite? That’s not really within my team’s purview, is it?”
He walked through the main gate while listening to the reply. Watari involuntarily raised his voice — loud enough to make several students walking nearby jump and glance back at him.
“You say it decelerated right before atmospheric entry? A controlled descent rather than a free-fall? And it’s heading for Toshima Ward in Tokyo?”
Two hours later, the five members of the Watari Lab — having briefly regrouped at their laboratory — drove their van, led by a police car, to a place called Zoshigaya Park.
Situated atop a hill characterized by long, sloping terrain, the vast, lush green park was encircled by police cordon tape; residents from the neighborhood below had stepped out onto the streets, gazing anxiously toward the park.
The object stood in the center of the park, with the skyscrapers of Ikebukuro visible in the distance.
It was a misshapen, doll-like figure — roughly 150 meters tall and 80 meters wide — though one could only call it humanoid if one really stretched the definition.
At its center was a flat, cylindrical torso, supported by two pairs of leg-like appendages that tapered downward — resembling inverted bells — and were planted firmly in the ground.
Extending downward from where the shoulders would be on a human were a pair of arm-like appendages — also shaped like inverted bells — while the head section featured two horizontally elongated ovals side by side, looking for all the world like a pair of eyes.
These eye-like features had smooth surfaces, each marked by a straight, horizontal groove running through the middle; if they were indeed eyes, they appeared to be closed.
Atop the head rose a complex, tower-like structure about ten meters tall, composed of numerous thin, rod-like elements intricately intertwined — resembling the radar array of a warship.
The entire structure appeared to be made of a blue-black metal, and the central torso section was adorned with a variety of complex, raised geometric patterns.
As the members of the Watari Lab were admitted into the park, they could do nothing but stand there, gazing up at the object in stunned silence.
A man who appeared to be the commanding officer, dressed in Self-Defense Force field fatigues, approached and saluted Watari.
“Thank you for coming all this way, Prof. Watari. That is the object that flew in from outside the atmosphere this morning.”
Watari gave a slight bow in return and asked the officer.
“So, is that the true nature of the thing that looked like a meteorite?”
“Yes. Radar stations across Japan were tracking it, so there is no doubt. It decelerated sharply just before atmospheric entry, then flew at a speed comparable to a helicopter before descending to that spot.”
“Then it is clearly an artificial object.”
Watari muttered this while stroking his beard — a habit of his when deep in thought. The officer looked up at the object himself and asked Watari.
“Professor, what do you think it is?”
Watari answered with a sigh.
“That’s what I want to know. But if it came from space, it’s impossible to predict what might happen next. Is there any danger from radiation or the like?”
“No, no radiation has been detected. Nor have there been any signs of biological contamination, such as microorganisms.”
Toyama frowned and muttered as he tapped away at his tablet.
“That shape … it looks familiar. Ah, here it is — this is it.”
Toyama showed the tablet screen to everyone. It displayed an image of an unglazed earthenware vessel. Its shape bore a striking resemblance to the massive object before them.
Matsuda, Miyashita, and Tsutsui all narrowed their eyes, trying to recall something. Miyashita spoke up:
“I remember seeing that somewhere, too — maybe in a school textbook or something … What was it called?”
Watari glanced at the screen and spoke.
“It’s a Jomon-period dogu — specifically, the type known as a ‘snow-goggle-style’ figurine. They earned that name because the eyes resemble the snow goggles used by indigenous peoples of the Arctic. But are you telling me that something identical to a Jomon dogu has fallen from space?”
Miyashita asked the Self-Defense Force officer:
“Has there been any damage to the surrounding area? After all, something that massive came down from the sky.”
The officer quickly shook his head.
“Surprisingly, there hasn’t been any damage at all. Well, the park fence seems to have sustained some minor damage. But the object is just standing there; there’s been no movement or change whatsoever. We’ve had the local authorities advise nearby residents to stay indoors, but aside from their anxiety, there are no signs of danger.”
Because the area surrounding the massive, dogu-like object was densely packed with detached houses, the Self-Defense Forces couldn’t set up a base there; instead, the head priest of a nearby temple offered the use of his grounds.
Several large tents were set up on the temple grounds — located across the tracks of the Toden Arakawa Line, a streetcar route that has become a rarity in Tokyo — and members of the Watari Lab took turns staying in one of them.
On the first night, Watari, Matsuda, and Miyashita manned the tent. Although it was called a “tent,” it was a sturdy, A-frame structure standing three meters tall and measuring six meters on each side; even after moving in work desks and computers, there was still plenty of room for the three of them to sit comfortably.
Matsuda sat on a folding chair, configuring the laptop on the desk, and spoke to Watari and Miyashita, who were sitting on the floor drinking coffee.
“I’ve connected the surveillance cameras at the site to this laptop so we can monitor the situation directly. For safety reasons, the instruction is to avoid getting too close to that object.”
There were no signs of change in the massive object, so they decided to turn in early for the night. Just as the three of them had finally drifted off to sleep — wrapped in the Self-Defense Force-issue sleeping bags Matsuda had brought — the sound of hurried footsteps approached, followed by a loud voice from the tent entrance.
“Pardon the intrusion!”
The tent flap was lifted, and a young Self-Defense Force member entered. He saluted the three, who had hastily sat up in their sleeping bags, and reported:
“I apologize for disturbing your rest. A change has occurred with that object.”
The three sprang to their feet, and Matsuda turned on the laptop monitor. On the screen, the tower-like ornament atop the dogu-like object was glowing.
Or rather, it was more accurate to say that multiple lines of red, green, and blue light were darting about in a circular motion through the space just off the surface of that ornamental tower.
A cacophony of bird cries echoed through the area. Somewhere in the distance, the frantic barking of a dog could be heard.
Watari asked the young officer, “Is there anything unusual in the surrounding area?”
“Many animals nearby — dogs, cats, birds, and the like — appear to be in a state of extreme agitation. However, aside from that, no other significant anomalies have been observed.”
The chaotic dance of light came to an abrupt end after just ten minutes. As Watari and the others stepped out of the tent and strained to listen, the sounds of animals gradually grew fainter and then faded away.
For the next thirty minutes or so, they watched the situation via the computer monitor, but the massive object showed no signs of change; it simply stood silently in place.
Watari checked his watch, saw that it was nearly midnight, and spoke to Matsuda and Miyashita.
“Let’s try getting some more sleep for now. There’s no telling when we might be roused again. We should sleep while we can.”
Early the next morning, Watari was strolling through the grounds of the temple where the Self-Defense Forces had set up a temporary camp.
As he wandered aimlessly, feeling the chill of the morning air — crisp despite the arrival of spring — he found himself in front of a wooden structure that appeared to be the temple’s main hall.
He climbed a few steps of the large wooden staircase and peered inside, catching sight of a massive Buddhist statue. A sign nearby bore the characters for “Kishimojin.”
“Prof. Watari!”
Miyashita called out loudly from behind him. Matsuda was with her, and the two of them jogged over to where Watari stood. Miyashita spoke, slightly out of breath.
“So, this is where you were. When we woke up, your sleeping bag was empty, and we were worried something might have happened.”
Watari replied with a wry smile.
“I see — sorry about that. I woke up unusually early and just couldn’t get back to sleep. Getting old is a nuisance, you know. So, I decided to take a morning walk.”
Matsuda cast his gaze toward the back of the main hall and spoke.
“Is that the temple’s principal deity? Let’s see … hmm? Oniko …?”
“It’s read as Kishimojin — or sometimes Kishibojin.”
Hearing Watari say this, Miyashita also studied the statue intently.
“Is that the same deity as the one in Iriya, Taito Ward?”
Watari answered.
“Rather than a Buddha, it’s more of a kishin — a fierce deity or demon-god. Originally, she was Hariti, a figure from the Hindu pantheon in India.”
Miyashita tilted her head thoughtfully.
“I believe she’s worshipped for safe childbirth, isn’t she? What is the story behind that belief?”
Watari sat down on the wooden steps and began to tell the tale.
“According to one legend, Kishimojin was a mother goddess who had a thousand children. Yet, to feed that vast brood, she was also a terrifying ogress who would indiscriminately snatch up and devour human children.”
Matsuda spoke up in surprise.
“So, she was a man-eating demon?”
“That’s right. Distressed by this state of affairs, Shakyamuni — the Buddha — once hid the youngest of her thousand children. Driven half-mad by the child’s disappearance, Kishimojin searched the entire world but could not find the little one. Finally, she turned to Shakyamuni for help.”
This time, Miyashita interjected.
“The story has shifted to Buddhism, hasn’t it?”
“Indeed. Shakyamuni admonished her, saying: ‘If losing just one of your thousand children causes you such profound grief, imagine the sorrow of a human mother — who may have only a few children — if one of hers were snatched away and devoured by you.’ Upon hearing this, Kishimojin reflected on her past deeds and repented. Witnessing this change of heart, Shakyamuni returned the hidden child and made her promise to act for the benefit of humanity from then on.”
Matsuda slapped his knee.
“So that’s why she is now considered a Buddhist deity?”
“Buddhism originated in India, you know. There are many other instances of Hindu gods being incorporated into the Buddhist pantheon. In Kishimojin’s case, she became a guardian deity for human children and a figure to whom people pray for safe childbirth. Today, there are Buddhist temples dedicated to her all across Japan.”
Even as the afternoon wore on, there was no change in that massive, dogu-like object.
Watari and his team — who had been eating their meals at a nearby eatery — were inside their tent discussing what to have for dinner when the young Self-Defense Force officer from the day before came rushing in.
“Excuse me. Is Assistant Inspector Miyashita of the Metropolitan Police Department here?”
Miyashita stood up and answered.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“We need your urgent assistance.”
Watari also stood up and asked: “Has there been some change in that object?”
The officer replied: “No, there’s been no change to the object itself. However, the police officers on guard duty reported that a minor is walking toward it — and that her behavior seems highly unusual.”
Miyashita asked further: “About how old is she?”
“She looks to be in her mid- to late teens — likely a female junior high or high school student. My superiors decided that if we need to take her into custody, it would be best to have a female officer present.”
“Understood. Please guide us to the scene.”
Watari spoke up, “We’ll go along, too. Matsuda, you come as well.”
As the three of them arrived at the edge of the residential area, led by Self-Defense Force personnel, the girl came into view in the distance.
Dressed in ordinary attire — a moss-green dress and sneakers — she walked with a steady gait toward the low hill where the massive object stood, her eyes fixed on a single point in mid-air.
A uniformed police officer called out to her from a short distance away.
“Hey there, where are you going? Access is restricted up ahead. Hello? Can you hear me?”
But the girl showed no reaction to the officer’s voice, continuing to walk forward with unfocused eyes.
Words escaped her lips, intoned with a cadence reminiscent of a Buddhist chant.
“Potalaka …”
Miyashita hurried over to the uniformed officer, flashed her police badge, and asked for details.
“Please tell me the sequence of events leading up to this.”
The officer saluted and began his explanation.
“Yes, Ms. It appears she walked here from Ikebukuro Station. We received reports from local residents along the way about a child who was clearly acting strangely.”
“Acting strangely — do you mean drugs, for instance?”
“No, I can’t say for sure. We couldn’t detain her simply for walking, so we notified the Self-Defense Forces.”
“Potalaka …”
The word escaped her lips again in a low, faint voice. She then began to climb the gentle slope. It was clear she was heading straight for the site of that massive object.
Watari, watching the scene unfold from a short distance away, muttered:
“What is that word? She certainly is acting strangely. It’s as if she’s sleepwalking.”
A van pulled up behind Watari and the others. It was the laboratory’s van; Toyama and Tsutsui jumped out and hurried to Watari’s side.
Toyama asked him, “We rushed over after hearing from the Self-Defense Forces. Prof. Watari, what is happening?”
Watari slowly shook his head as he replied.
“We don’t know anything yet. All I can tell just by looking is that the girl isn’t in a normal state of mind.”
The girl continued walking up the slope between the houses, looking as though her mind were elsewhere.
A police officer who had been following behind whispered to Miyashita:
“There’s a police line a hundred meters ahead. If she tries to cross it, we’ll be authorized to temporarily detain her for her own safety.”
Miyashita nodded firmly, moved up behind the girl, and closed the distance. Seeing the girl’s knees brush against the yellow police tape, a uniformed officer rushed toward her.
Reaching out to grab her arms from behind, he called out loudly, “You are in violation of traffic restrictions. You’ll need to come with us to the nearby police box.”
They were already so close that the massive, dogu-like object dominated almost their entire field of vision.
A sudden change occurred in the eyes of the massive object that had previously remained motionless. Two rugby-ball-shaped eyes split open vertically from the center, unleashing a blinding radiance that washed over the surrounding area.
Everyone was momentarily blinded by the sudden flash. As they rubbed their eyes and regained their vision, a brown, two-meter-tall silhouette appeared right in front of the uniformed police officer who had been about to grab the girl’s arm.
At first glance, it resembled a horse. However, its muzzle was abnormally short, and its forelegs were freakishly thick — far longer than its hind legs.
Sharp claws lined the ends of its forelegs; the digits were curled inward, pressing their front surfaces against the ground.
It stood with its body slightly tilted, much like a gorilla walking across flat terrain. With a swift sideways sweep of its right foreleg, it flung the uniformed officer several meters away.
Several Self-Defense Force personnel, who had been watching from a distance, raised their rifles and prepared to rush in. Yet, they could not open fire because the girl’s body was positioned in a way that shielded the creature.
Watari muttered in a daze, “What is that creature? Where did it come from?”
Tsutsui instinctively raised a large digital camera in one hand and a compact video camera in the other, beginning to record the scene.
The bizarre creature loomed over the girl from behind, emitting a low growl. As if protected by the beast, the girl advanced further toward the massive, dogu-like object.
The strange creature followed slowly behind her, appearing to act as her escort. Eventually, the girl reached the base of the colossal object; she looked up, fixed her gaze on the features resembling the eyes of the dogu figurine, and murmured once more.
“Potalaka …”
Beams of golden light shot down from the figure’s eyes toward the ground, enveloping the girl’s body. Before the stunned eyes of Watari and the others, she lifted off the ground and began to rise slowly into the air.
Her body was drawn toward the center of the giant dogu-like object’s torso, and then, in an instant, she simply vanished from sight.
The broad, golden beam emanating from the dogu figure’s eyes vanished, followed by another blinding flash that swept across the area.
When everyone managed to rub their eyes and regain their vision, the bizarre, horse-like creature had disappeared as well.
The dogu’s eyes closed — shutting tight from top and bottom to meet in the middle — and the surroundings returned to the quiet serenity of a spring afternoon, as if nothing had happened at all.
A heavy silence settled over the area, broken only by the faint sound of traffic from a distant main road.
Regaining their wits, the group began to murmur and stir, still wearing expressions of disbelief.
The uniformed police officer who had been tossed aside by the creature had fortunately escaped without serious injury.
Looking up at the massive, dogu-shaped object before him, Watari muttered in a low, gravelly voice:
“What on earth is this thing? What did it come to Earth to do?”
Shortly after 9 p.m. that night, news arrived at the command tent where the team was stationed: the identity of the girl who had vanished — seemingly sucked into the massive object — had been confirmed.
Watari quickly read through the documents handed to him by a young Self-Defense Force member and passed them to Tsutsui and Miyashita. Miyashita frowned as he spoke:
“Fifteen years old, a first-year high school student, lives in Kanagawa Prefecture. Why would she come all the way out here?”
Toyama, who was seated at a desk working on a computer, let out a soft sigh and addressed the group:
“Found it — this is it. It looks like we might have figured out the true nature of that creature from earlier today.”
Watari, Matsuda, Miyashita, and Tsutsui all leaned in to peer at the computer screen over Toyama’s shoulder. A color illustration appeared on the screen, showing a creature that certainly resembled the one seen earlier that day.
Watari stroked his beard as he spoke.
“I see — it bears a strong resemblance. But Toyama, judging by the description, this isn’t a species that exists today, is it?”
Toyama answered while enlarging the image.
“It’s an extinct species called Chalicotherium. It was an odd-toed ungulate that is believed to have inhabited various parts of the world until about 3.6 million years ago.”
Tsutsui tilted her head and asked, “What’s an ‘odd-toed ungulate’?”
“It’s a collective term for terrestrial mammals that have an odd number of toes — either one or three — on their feet. Horses, for instance, have a single toe. In that sense, you could say this creature is a distant relative of the horse. Though, unlike horses, Chalicotherium had claws on its toes instead of hooves.”
Matsuda gazed intently at the screen and asked Toyama, “It isn’t an extraterrestrial life form, then? It seemed to emerge from that massive object that came from space.”
“I can’t rule out that possibility, but based on its appearance, this is the closest match. If it were a creature from another planet, the question would be whether it could even survive in Earth’s atmosphere.”
The tent flap opened again, and a young Self-Defense Force officer — different from the previous one — spoke to Matsuda. After a brief, hushed exchange, the officer left, and Matsuda, holding a USB flash drive, turned to Toyama.
“Dr. Toyama, could I trouble you to switch places with me at the computer? Prof. Watari, the analysis results you requested have come in.”
Toyama rose from the chair in front of the computer, and Matsuda took his place. Matsuda plugged the USB drive into the port and switched the screen display.
A blank map of the Japanese archipelago appeared, dotted with scattered red points. The red dots were heavily concentrated around Tokyo, with a dense distribution extending as far as Ibaraki and Shizuoka prefectures.
Tsutsui peered at the screen and asked Watari: “Prof. Watari, what does this distribution represent?”
Watari answered, his eyes fixed intently on the screen.
“Last night, when that strange luminous phenomenon occurred above the object’s head, dogs, cats, and birds in the area suddenly started making a commotion, didn’t they? I had the Self-Defense Force investigate whether similar phenomena had occurred elsewhere. Those red dots mark the locations where large numbers of animals became abnormally agitated and noisy.”
Miyashita also stared at the screen and said, “Does this mean the impact reached places this far away?”
Matsuda replied, “Yes, these are the locations — such as ranches, pig farms, poultry farms, and zoos — where animals raised in captivity all became abnormally agitated at the exact same time. These are just the clearly confirmed cases, of course; there are likely others.”
Watari asked Matsuda, “Matsuda, what about the other matter?”
Matsuda pulled up a different file on the screen and shook his head.
“It was a total bust. Just as you instructed, Prof. Watari, we enlisted the cooperation of universities and research facilities across the country that possess observation equipment — in addition to using Self-Defense Force facilities — but there is absolutely no trace of any anomalies in electric currents, radio waves, magnetic field lines, sound waves, or ultrasonic waves.”
Toyama looked at Watari with a puzzled expression.
“What kind of connection did you suspect there might be, Prof. Watari?”
Stroking his beard, Watari instructed Matsuda to display the map from earlier once more. Then, he spoke in a measured tone.
“That girl who was sucked into the giant dogu figure — don’t you think it’s possible she was summoned by something?”
Miyashita started in surprise and spread out the documents regarding the girl from earlier once more.
“She left her home in Kanagawa Prefecture this morning. She certainly arrived here as if drawn by something. Prof. Watari, are you saying that massive object sent her some kind of signal?”
“That would certainly make sense, yet the distribution pattern is odd.”
Watari spread the thumb and index finger of his right hand against the screen, then swept his index finger around in a circle like a compass.
“The red dots extend as far west as Hamamatsu City. If the effect reached that far, it would be strange if the distribution didn’t also extend northward into Nagano, Gunma, and Tochigi — and even parts of Niigata and Fukushima. If electromagnetic waves or sound waves were emitted, it would be unnatural for the affected areas not to spread out in concentric circles.”
Matsuda zoomed in on the map on the screen and murmured:
“You’re right. The distribution of the red dots forms a band.”
Watari scratched vigorously at his hair as he spoke.
“Some kind of signal meant to draw in higher-order animals must have been emitted. But what exactly was used?”
Late that night, just as the day was about to turn, a luminous phenomenon occurred once again above that massive, dogu-like object.
When Watari and the others rushed out of their tents and reached the vicinity of the park, the Self-Defense Forces had already set up various measuring instruments and begun their observations.
The light show continued silently for about thirty minutes — accompanied by the clamorous cries of animals all around — before suddenly ceasing.
Watari hurried over to a Self-Defense Force officer who appeared to be the leader of the observation team and asked, “How is it? Did you pick up anything?”
The officer gave Watari a brief salute and shook his head.
“No luck. We didn’t detect any phenomena that could be interpreted as a signal.”
The Self-Defense Forces were already accustomed to handling data on animal agitation; the information reached Watari and his team before noon the following day.
This time, the distribution of red dots was far more widespread. They were scattered across Gunma and Tochigi prefectures, Niigata Prefecture on the Sea of Japan coast, and throughout the Tohoku region and Hokkaido.
However, Watari pointed out a pattern: the dots seemed to be distributed in a way that neatly avoided the area north of Tokyo where the red dots had been observed previously.
Anticipating that people might try to approach the massive object, numerous uniformed police officers were deployed to the area.
However, the park where the object sat was so close to nearby residential homes that it was impossible to enforce strict restrictions on movement.
In an area densely packed with detached houses — where local roads were narrow, winding, and convoluted — it was not feasible to completely restrict the residents’ daily lives, inevitably leaving gaps in the security perimeter.
Inside the tent, Watari and the others were attempting to organize information on their tablet devices. Yet, there were far more unknowns than knowns.
Watari asked Tsutsui, who was repeatedly running searches on hr tablet.
“Did you find out anything about that word, ‘Potalaka’?”
Tsutsui grimaced as she replied.
“The most frequent search results are for assisted-living facilities for the elderly.”
“Huh? Oh, you mean nursing homes?”
“Something like that. Aside from that, there are results related to Buddhist temples. There is simply no way any of that is connected to this incident.”
That evening, a Self-Defense Force member lifted the tent flap and called out to Watari and his team.
“Prof. Watari, we’ve received a report that several boys are walking toward that object.”
“Understood. I’ll go right away.”
When Watari and the others arrived at the side of the wide road where the Toden Arakawa Line streetcar runs, they found two uniformed police officers in a heated standoff with four boys in plain clothes — teenagers, likely high school students.
The boys were shouting at the officers:
“What’s the big deal? We’re just walking down the street.”
“Police overreach. Just let us through.”
“We just want to take a look at it — that UFO.”
“It’s not like it’s a restricted area or anything.”
With grim expressions, the officers tried to turn the boys away, explaining that access restrictions were technically in place.
Watari grimaced and clicked his tongue.
“What a nuisance — just a bunch of rubberneckers.”
Watari and Tsutsui headed toward the park to check on the massive object, while the other members of the Watari Lab returned to the tent.
Just then, a bicycle zipped past the spot where the boys and the officers were still arguing.
It rode by so naturally that neither the police nor the lab members found it the least bit suspicious.
As Watari and his team made their way to the park where the giant object stood, they noticed a familiar-looking bicycle lying carelessly on its side in the middle of the road.
“Hey, look at the way this is parked. It’s blocking the path.”
Watari righted the bike, lowered the kickstand, and parked it properly. It was a rather worn-out model, but it was a sporty type popular with young people.
Tsutsui, who had glanced toward the park, let out a high-pitched cry.
“Prof. Watari, someone is approaching the park. It looks like he’s crossed the police line.”
Looking over, Watari saw a boy standing at the bottom of the stone steps leading to the park, appearing unsure of which way to go.
Watari glanced around, but all the police officers had left the scene following the earlier commotion caused by the onlookers. He sprinted toward the boy.
“Hey, you shouldn’t be getting close to that area. Go back.”
As if he hadn’t heard Watari’s voice, the boy took a few unsteady steps forward and removed the pointed plastic helmet he had been wearing. Beneath it emerged the face of a boy — likely a junior high student — who still retained a look of innocence.
That was when it clicked for Watari.
“That bicycle I passed earlier! Was that you riding it?”
The boy seemed to finally catch sight of the massive dogu-like object; he murmured in a flat, emotionless tone:
“Potalaka …”
Hearing this, Watari quickened his pace and sprinted toward the boy. The eyes of the dogu-like object opened and emitted a flash of light.
Suddenly, a massive quadrupedal beast appeared before the boy. It resembled a shaggy ox, but its horns extended horizontally straight out to the sides, spanning a width of over two meters.
Watari instinctively circled around toward the giant beast’s rear and grabbed the boy’s arm.
“Don’t go — you mustn’t go.”
Golden beams shot from the eyes of the dogu-like object, enveloping the boy’s body. Watari, too, was swallowed by the light of the beams.
The boy and Watari — still clutching the boy’s arm — lost their weight and floated into the air as if they had turned into balloons. Then, they were sucked into the massive dogu-like object.
It seemed he had lost consciousness for a few seconds. As this thought crossed his mind, Watari opened his eyes to find a bizarre scene spread out before him.
At first glance, the space looked like a vertical cavern. Yet, Watari’s feet were hovering in mid-air; it was as if he were performing a spacewalk.
The area was bathed in a soft glow, and when Watari strained his eyes, he saw numerous capsule-like objects arranged in a spiral pattern along the walls.
The capsules were large enough for a person to fit inside comfortably, with wide, transparent sections at the front. Though the material was unknown, they were clearly artificial; Watari could tell at a glance that they were products of Earth’s cutting-edge science — or perhaps technology that surpassed even that level.
Watari flailed his limbs desperately, trying to move through the open space, but he could not maneuver as he wished. A hissing sound came from the capsule directly behind Watari; when he desperately twisted his neck to look, he saw the body of the boy — who looked to be about junior high age — being drawn into the capsule.
Once the boy was inside, the capsule’s transparent door slid shut. He appeared to be asleep, his eyes closed.
Even though he knew it was likely futile, Watari raised his voice and called out to the boy.
“Hey, you! Hang in there! Can you hear me?”
Ironically, the act of shouting exerted some kind of force on Watari’s body, propelling him to a position in front of another capsule located about one tier lower.
Through the capsule’s transparent door, he could see another human figure. It was the girl from the other day — the one who had been sucked into the dogū-like object first. She, too, appeared to be in a deep, peaceful sleep and showed no reaction whatsoever to Watari’s calls.
“What on earth is this? Is this the work of extraterrestrial intelligence? Aliens?”
Watari’s muttered words echoed against the surrounding cave-like walls. Suddenly, a voice — sounding mechanical yet speaking with a human cadence and in Japanese — addressed him from out of nowhere.
“You cannot board this. I apologize, but there is an age limit.”
Watari shouted back.
“Who are you? What do you intend to do with these children?”
The next instant, a flash of light so intense he couldn’t keep his eyes open seared his vision. When Watari opened his eyes again, he found himself outside the dogu-like object, suspended in mid-air about ten meters above the ground.
He plummeted, obeying the laws of gravity. Just as he braced himself for death, he spotted something huge and dark brown directly beneath him.
He landed squarely on the back of the giant, ox-like beast he had seen earlier, his fall cushioned by its thick, soft fur.
The massive beast tilted its body forward and to the side, gently rolling Watari off onto the road.
As Watari rolled across the ground and scrambled back to his feet, a flash of light darted from the eyes of the dogu-like object, and the giant beast vanished in an instant.
Watari felt over his body to ensure he hadn’t been injured, then muttered:
“Did that creature save me?”
Tsutsui came running over, a digital camera slung over her left shoulder.
“Prof. Watari! Are you all right? You vanished for just a few minutes … and then suddenly reappeared.”
“Yes, I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt.”
“What was that huge animal? It disappeared the moment I tried to take a picture. I wonder if I’ll be able to explain this to Dr. Toyama?”
“I can identify that much without needing Dr. Toyama’s help. It was a type of bison — specifically, the Giant Bison that used to inhabit North America. Though, it’s a species that supposedly went extinct tens of thousands of years ago.”
Tsutsui waved vigorously at the police officers running toward them from a distance, then spoke to Watari.
“What happened to that boy from earlier?”
Watari stroked his beard as he replied.
“We’ll have to write up a formal report on that. This looks like it’s going to be a more troublesome affair than I anticipated.”
The details of the interior of the massive, dogu-like object that Watari had witnessed sent shockwaves not only through the police and the Self-Defense Forces but all the way up to the highest levels of government.
The following day, Watari was summoned to various government departments from morning until evening; he was made to recount the same story over and over and was even forced to sign a pledge not to disclose any information regarding the object’s interior.
When Watari returned to his university laboratory shortly after 5 p.m., looking utterly exhausted, the other members of the Watari Lab were all waiting for him.
As Watari sat at his desk and held his head in his hands, Matsuda brought over a teacup on a tray. Placing the cup — filled with hot Japanese tea — in front of Watari, Matsuda spoke.
“You must be exhausted, Prof. Watari. It sounds like it was quite an ordeal.”
Watari immediately grabbed the cup, gulped down the tea, and replied with a sigh.
“Yeah, I’m worn out. Honestly, just how many times do those bureaucrats need to hear the same thing before they’re satisfied?”
Miyashita walked over to Watari’s desk, a faint, wry smile playing on her lips.
“Professor, I hate to bother you when you’re so tired, but I have a report to make.”
When Watari nodded silently, Miyashita began to speak while scrolling through the screen of her tablet.
“It concerns the girl and the boy who were swallowed up by that massive object. The girl lives in Kanagawa Prefecture, so it wouldn’t have been difficult for her to reach that location. However, the boy — the one who arrived on that bicycle — lives all the way in Hokkaido.”
“Hokkaido?”
Watari instinctively set down his teacup and looked up. “You mean to tell me he rode his bicycle all the way from Hokkaido?”
“No, it seems he boarded a late-night ferry in Tomakomai, Hokkaido, arrived in Oarai Town in Ibaraki Prefecture, and cycled to the location from there. However, we’ve received a rather peculiar report from the Tomakomai police station.”
“What’s so strange about it?”
“It involves the testimony of a ferry terminal employee. He claims that after the boy mentioned the word ‘Potalaka,’ he went ahead and issued him a ticket. The boy didn’t pay the fare.”
“What? Are you saying he knowingly allowed the boy to board for free?”
“That’s the odd part. The employee felt that doing so was simply the natural thing to do. He reportedly told the local police that he couldn’t even explain to himself why he had acted that way.”
Watari called out to Toyama and asked, “Toyama, have we learned anything about the phenomenon where animals over a wide area became agitated when that object’s ‘head’ lit up?”
Toyama shook his head wearily as he replied, “We haven’t discovered anything other than the fact that the affected creatures were higher-order organisms — mostly mammals.”
Watari crossed his arms and addressed the group.
“This is a classified matter. I trust you all understand that this is not to be discussed with anyone outside the Watari Lab.”
He then continued, stroking his beard — a habitual gesture of his.
“When I entered that object, I heard a voice speaking to me. In Japanese. I wondered why an alien would speak Japanese, but is it possible it was a form of telepathic wave?”
Toyama looked dumbfounded.
“Telepathy? I see … that would certainly make sense. However, that is something beyond the analytical capabilities of current human science. It remains nothing more than a concept found in science fiction.”
The next morning, the area within a radius of several kilometers around the massive dogu-like object erupted into chaos.
Reports poured in that a total of fifty-two boys and girls were walking — separately and from all directions — toward that park.
Watari and his team headed to the scene and observed the youths from a distance. The boys and girls all wore blank expressions with vacant eyes; muttering “Potalaka” under their breath, they kept walking straight toward the park where the massive object stood.
Miyashita received a call on her smartphone, and after hanging up, she spoke quietly to Watari and the others.
“The top brass at the Metropolitan Police Department have made a decision. They’re going to use force to take those kids into custody.”
Watari asked back in surprise, “Are they arresting them? On what charges?”
“No, it’s officially classified as ‘temporary protective custody’ for the safety of minors. You could call it a welfare intervention.”
Tsutsui grimaced and said, “Won’t that just trigger the appearance of another monster or something?”
As the members of the Watari Lab walked down the hill from the park and out onto the main street to keep watch, the eyes of the dogu-like object behind them flashed brightly once more.
The next instant, ten massive entities appeared in the sky above and began to glide. They were so large that the sunlight was clearly blocked out for a moment when they passed overhead.
“Birds? Just how big are they?”
Watari muttered as he looked up at the giant shadows soaring through the air. They were a flock of birds with light-gray plumage, spanning six meters from wingtip to wingtip.
The ten monstrous birds glided off in various directions, swooping down upon a group of uniformed officers who were attempting to forcibly shield the boys and girls heading toward the massive object.
One of the creatures descended toward Watari and his group as well. They scrambled to take cover, and the bird flapped its wings, rising back into the air and flying off toward the police squad.
Matsuda darted out from cover and, gazing in the direction the creature had flown, spoke excitedly:
“Are those really birds? There were teeth — rows upon rows of them — deep inside their beaks.”
Toyama quickly tapped at his tablet, bringing up an illustration. Showing it to the group, he said:
“It’s likely this one: Osteodontornis. It’s a bird that lived up until the Neogene period of the Cenozoic Era — sort of an ancestor to the pelican.”
Watari stared at the screen and said, “So, it’s not a species that exists today?”
Toyama nodded.
“It’s a species that should have gone extinct at least 2.6 million years ago. It looks like Ms. Tsutsui’s fears were well-founded.”
The police squad fell into a panic after being suddenly ambushed from above by the giant, monstrous birds. When one officer suffered a minor injury from a bird’s beak, the order to open fire was given.
The officers drew their service pistols and fired at the birds charging toward them. However, the creatures moved with surprising agility, making it difficult to land a hit.
While the police squad struggled with the monstrous bird, the boys and girls reached the park; one by one, they were enveloped in golden beams emitted by the massive, dogu-like object, lifted high into the air, and then vanished without a trace.
Even Watari and his team, who had followed the children to the vicinity of the park, were powerless to intervene.
As the last child was sucked into the colossal object, flashes of light erupted once more from its eyes, and the ten monstrous birds circling overhead vanished instantly, as if erased from existence.
As Watari and the others left the park and descended the slope, they saw uniformed police officers — some nursing minor injuries — surrounded by their colleagues. Although some were bleeding, the wounds appeared to be nothing more than scratches; their lives were in no danger.
Looking up at the massive, dogu-like object from the bottom of the hill, Watari muttered:
“So, it won’t let anyone interfere with the children. But how is it able to control animals that have gone extinct on Earth?”
Watari and his team returned to the Self-Defense Force tent set up within the grounds of the temple — home to the Kishimojin Hall — near the park.
Despite the injuries being minor, the fact that police officers had been hurt by the giant creatures caused widespread anxiety among local residents.
In response, the Tokyo Metropolitan Government requisitioned hotel rooms across the city to provide temporary shelter for those who wished to evacuate.
Every resident living around the park chose to evacuate, leaving their homes for the hotels. The quiet residential neighborhood transformed into a deserted zone, wrapped in an eerie silence that made it feel like a ghost town.
As Watari walked through the temple grounds to take his mind off things, he ran into the head priest. Watari bowed and spoke to him.
“Aren’t you evacuating, Reverend?”
The priest, dressed in a suit rather than his clerical robes, smiled and scratched his completely shaved head as he replied.
“Oh, I am actually staying at another temple of the same sect for the time being. I just came back today to pick up some paperwork.”
“I see. I apologize for the fact that we’ve been occupying the temple grounds for so long.”
“Not at all; it is the duty of a monk and his temple to be of service in times like these. It is you and your colleagues who have such a difficult task ahead of you.”
Just as the priest bowed and turned to leave, a thought occurred to Watari, and he decided to ask a question.
“Excuse me, Reverend — if you happen to know, there is something I’d like to ask you.”
“Yes? What is it?”
“Do you know anything about the word ‘Potalaka’? It might be a Buddhist term, but I simply can’t figure out what it refers to.”
Upon hearing this, the priest’s expression turned serious, and he pointed to a nearby bench.
“In that case, shall we sit down and talk? It’s not something that can be explained in just a word or two.”
Watari sat down on the bench as invited, and the priest began to speak. “Are you familiar with the concept of the Pure Land?”
“Yes, I know at least that much. I am Japanese, after all.”
“When ordinary people — as opposed to monks or Buddhist scholars — speak of the Pure Land, they are referring to the realm where Amida Nyorai resides. It is said that those who lead a virtuous life can go there after death.”
“I see — Amida Nyorai. I wasn’t aware of that specific detail.”
“However, there is not just one Pure Land. It is likely little known to the general public, but it is said that other Tathagatas and Bodhisattvas possess their own Pure Lands as well.”
“I am embarrassed to admit that is the first time I have heard that.”
“Among them, the Pure Land where Kannon Bosatsu resides is known in Japan as Mount Fudaraku. In Sanskrit — the ancient language of India, the birthplace of Buddhism — it is pronounced ‘Potalaka’.”
Watari was left speechless. The head priest returned to a gentle smile and asked:
“Was I of any help? Does this have some connection to the recent commotion?”
“That is a confidential matter for the time being. Though, it might well serve as a clue. My apologies for detaining you while you are busy.”
“In that case, I shall take my leave. Please take care.”
Watari bowed deeply to the departing priest, then gazed at the massive, dogu-like object visible in the distance and murmured:
“The Pure Land of Kannon Bosatsu … Does it mean this is an invitation to heaven?”
Rain began to fall as noon approached. Amidst the fine, steady drizzle characteristic of early spring — droplets falling like thin threads — the eyes of the massive, dogu-like object opened, emitting a blue light unlike any seen before.
The light detached itself from the object, forming a glowing blue sphere that drifted slowly through the air. Hovering just over ten meters above the ground, the sphere moved silently toward the Buddhist temple where the Self-Defense Force had established a temporary command post.
The Self-Defense Force personnel grew agitated as they noticed the approaching blue sphere. Several of them raised their assault rifles, keeping their eyes fixed on the sphere’s trajectory.
Ignoring the large Self-Defense Force tents entirely, the sphere floated gently through the entrance of the Kishimojin Hall.
When the armed personnel cautiously entered the hall, the blue light rapidly converged inward and vanished. In its place stood a green statue, roughly one meter tall.
It resembled a human figure — specifically a young woman — sitting cross-legged. Her hands were clasped at her chest, holding what appeared to be a pure white, lotus-like object.
The platoon leader entered the hall and approached the seated statue with caution. Suddenly, a voice rang out from the statue, causing the personnel to jump back in unison.
“We harbor no hostile intent. This humanoid device was sent to negotiate with you.”
A high-pitched voice, like that of a young girl, emanated from the green statue. Speaking in Japanese with a calm tone, the statue addressed the personnel once more.
“There is someone we would like to have represent you in discussions with us. Could you bring that person here?”
The squad leader signaled his men — who were aiming their assault rifles at the seated figure with fearful expressions — to lower their weapons. He then took a few steps toward the figure, stooped slightly, and spoke.
“Do you understand me?”
“I do. I am capable of processing Japanese, a regional language of this planet.”
“You mentioned negotiations? What are they about?”
“They concern young human individuals who wish to come to us. If you continue to respond as you have in the past, there may be casualties — not only among them but also among you who attempt to stop them. That is a situation we, too, wish to avoid.”
“Who is the person you want to act as our representative? Do you know the name?”
“We do. It is the man you call Professor Ryuzo Watari.”
The squad leader was momentarily speechless; he straightened up, stood, and then murmured:
“You mean … Prof. Watari, from the Watari Lab?”
Watari, who had briefly returned to his laboratory to attend to administrative tasks at the university, was immediately summoned back to the scene.
Upon hearing the situation from the squad leader, Watari agreed to act as the negotiator without a moment’s hesitation.
He donned a raincoat and headed to the Kishimojin Hall; he removed the coat at the entrance steps and took off his shoes before stepping onto the hall’s wooden floor.
As Watari entered the dim hall, he saw the statue of Kishimojin at the far end; to its left, a green seated statue sat enthroned.
Its surface gleamed in the faint light filtering in from the rainy sky. It had a smooth appearance — resembling jade — with absolutely no visible seams or joints.
Watari sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, facing the green seated statue directly. He checked the positioning of the small CCD camera attached to his shirt collar and the microphone, which was no larger than a fingertip.
The video and audio of the exchange between Watari and the statue were transmitted in real-time to equipment inside a Self-Defense Force tent on the temple grounds, where they were simultaneously recorded.
With a tense expression, Watari cleared his throat lightly, then steeled himself and spoke to the green seated statue.
“I am Watari. Can you hear me?”
A dignified, girlish voice replied from the seated statue.
“I am glad you came. I thank you for accepting the proposal.”
“First, let me confirm the basics regarding this so-called negotiation.”
Saying this, Watari glanced toward the Self-Defense Force personnel waiting outside the hall and pointed to the camera and microphone attached to his left chest. One of the Self-Defense Force members raised both arms and formed a large circle above his head — a signal indicating clear communication.
“Our objective is the protection of the children. Is it your demand that we cease doing so?”
When Watari asked this, the seated figure replied in the same calm tone.
“That is effectively the case. However, our objective is also the protection of that young human population. We share the same goal.”
“Let me rephrase the question. ‘You’ — or should I say ‘you all’? What you are doing amounts to the kidnapping of minors. For what purpose are you doing this?”
“That is a matter of differing perspectives. The concept of kidnapping implies moving someone’s physical location against their will. We are merely gathering individuals who wish to relocate, based on their own free will.”
“Relocate? Relocate to where?”
“To the planet where our creators — an ancient civilization — once flourished. In terms of your astronomical units, it is a planet within a star system located 5.67 billion AU away from this planet you call Earth.”
“One AU is the distance between the Sun and Earth. That is an incredibly long way. How do you get there?”
“Our civilization has achieved interstellar travel at speeds exceeding that of light. To the people of Earth, the journey would seem to take very little time.”
“What is the planet’s name? That is, assuming it is a celestial body known to us humans.”
Watari gasped at the answer that came from the seated figure.
“It does have a name. To the vocal organs of Earth’s humans, it would sound like this: the planet’s name is Potalaka.”
Large drops of sweat streamed down Watari’s forehead. Potalaka — that was the name of the planet, located in the far reaches of space, from which that colossal, dogu-like object had arrived.
Potalaka was also the name of the Pure Land — an ideal realm — said to be ruled by the Kannon Bosatsu in Buddhist tradition. Was this merely a coincidence?
With his heart pounding wildly, Watari directed another question at the green seated figure.
“What do you intend to have those children do once you take them to that planet?”
A clear, girlish voice resonated from the seated figure.
“That planet holds several cities built by an intelligent life form that went extinct long ago. We simply want them to live there. Every one of those cities still maintains the perfect functionality required to sustain the comfortable survival of all manner of life forms.”
“Just live there? Are you saying they can spend their days at leisure?”
“That is possible, should the individuals desire it. However, once a community of a certain size is established, roles for each individual will naturally emerge. No matter how advanced the technology comprising a city may be, it will fall into ruin if there are no living beings to inhabit it.”
“I actually managed to get inside that massive object once before.”
“We have a record of that.”
“At the time, I was told I couldn’t board it — that there was an age limit. Not that I had any desire to emigrate, mind you.”
“If the plan is to sustain a life in that city over the long term — and ideally, to leave behind descendants — then we are limited to taking young individuals.”
“Is that planet truly a place where human beings from Earth can survive?”
“The natural environment is somewhat harsher than it is here on Earth. However, the atmospheric composition is nearly identical, and various technologies ensure the safety and comfort of the migrants’ lives.”
“Is this your first time visiting this planet — or ‘Earth,’ as we call it?”
“We have visited the third planet of this star system periodically. We have dispatched numerous probes to many planets where intelligent life exists or has the potential to emerge.”
“When was the last time you visited Earth?”
“About a thousand of this planet’s orbital cycles ago.”
“A thousand years ago, then …”
“So, current Earth humanity refers to that unit of time as a ‘year’? I shall make a note of that.”
Watari’s mind was on the verge of confusion at this completely unexpected turn of events. He racked his brain desperately, trying to formulate his next question.
“What happens if a prospective colonist suddenly he or she wants to go back to Earth?”
“That is, frankly, a difficult request. That’s why we are meticulously verifying the colonists’ intent — delving deep into their subconscious — before they board the ship. We want to avoid repeating the mistake we made last time.”
“Last time? You’ve taken humans from Earth before?”
“We’ve transported colonists twenty-four times so far. Among the group we moved last time — about a thousand years ago — there was one individual who wished to return home.”
“How did you handle it?”
“Records show that a spacecraft happened to be passing near this star system, so we altered the schedule and had him specially transported to this planet.”
” ‘Him’ — so it was a man? What became of him?”
“We sent him back to Earth in a small capsule, though we didn’t monitor what happened afterward. However, just in case, we provided him with a device for self-termination.”
“Self-termination? You mean suicide?”
“Even if he made it back home, about a century would have passed in Earth time. We didn’t tell him the full truth; we simply instructed him to open the device’s lid if he found life back home unbearable.”
“So it was like a box. And what happened when he opened it?”
“It was rigged to disintegrate his body — along with his clothes — to ensure no traces of extraterrestrial technology remained. Had any humans on Earth witnessed it, it would have looked as though he aged instantly and his vital signs simply ceased.”
Watari’s breathing quickened. A young man returning from a paradise-like realm. Finding everything back home utterly changed. Opening the box he’d been given, only to instantly turn into an old man …
The legend of Urashima Taro!
A high, clear, girlish voice emanating from the seated figure addressed Watari.
“We, too, wish to know what became of him — specifically, whether he employed the self-termination mechanism. Has no word of it reached you?”
Watari pondered for a moment, then gave a listless shake of his head.
“No, I don’t know. I’ve never heard any such legend.”
He did not understand why himself, but he felt a vague sense of unease about revealing the outcome of that old tale.
“I see.”
The voice from the seated figure spoke matter-of-factly.
“If he chose self-termination, then we have done him a grave injustice. The psychological makeup of you Earth humans appears to be quite advanced. That is why we wish to verify the intentions of this batch of prospective migrants with even greater care than before.”
Watari fell into thought for about a minute. Although the information was shocking, his intellect was capable of grasping it. Yet, he could not simply decide on his own whether to accept or reject their request.
“Those children — if your account is to be believed, they are prospective migrants — but how did you summon them here?”
In response to Watari’s question, the green seated figure replied in the same calm, composed tone.
“We broadcast a signal — what you call telepathic waves or telepathy — across this entire archipelago. Young individuals who responded to it are coming to our spacecraft of their own volition.”
“How did you recruit them? Did you fill their heads with promises of some earthly paradise?”
“We surmise that they share some common mental or psychological trait. However, we do not know exactly what that is.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“We are not intelligent life forms like the Creators; we are merely programs created by them. Consequently, we cannot share in the actual thought processes of intelligent beings.”
“One final question: why did you choose me as the negotiator?”
“Professor Watari, you share a certain commonality with those seeking to emigrate. While we cannot analyze exactly what that trait is, the psychological analysis device left by the Creators detected a matching pattern. That is why we judged you to be the appropriate representative for humanity.”
“I understand your position. However, I cannot give you an answer — yes or no — based solely on my own judgment. I need more time.”
“We understand that. There are still ten days remaining before the spacecraft departs. We, too, hope that those in leadership positions among humanity will reach a carefully considered conclusion.”
As he stepped out of the Kishimojin Hall, Watari was overcome by a wave of light dizziness. A Self-Defense Force officer rushed over to steady him, and together they made their way to the command headquarters tent, where the temple’s head priest was gazing at a screen.
Displayed on the screen was an image of the green seated figure Watari had been communicating with just moments before. The SDF platoon leader asked the priest:
“What do you think? Does this ring any bells?”
The priest tilted his head thoughtfully before replying:
“If I had to venture a guess, the figure resembles Tara Bosatsu. She is said to be the only Bosatsu, or Bodhisattva, in Buddhist lore to have attained enlightenment and become a Buddha while retaining a female body.”
The platoon leader asked, “Is that unusual?”
“Ancient Buddhist teachings held that women could not attain enlightenment — that to do so, one had to be reborn as a man. Well, in this day and age, that’s the sort of thing that would likely earn one a scolding from every woman around.”
“I see. Thank you for taking the trouble to come here; we appreciate your cooperation.”
“Not at all — I only hope I could be of some help.”
The priest turned toward the tent entrance; upon noticing Watari standing nearby, he bowed deeply before taking his leave.
That night, just past ten o’clock, the smartphone Watari had stowed in his tent rang. When he answered, the caller was an older man identifying himself as a staff member from the Prime Minister’s Official Residence.
As the conversation progressed, the tone of Watari’s voice grew increasingly bewildered.
“I see … well, I suppose that’s fine, but … Huh? An expert panel? Yes, yes, I follow … Wait, what? I’m to be a member of this expert panel? How did this even come about … Right, well, I understand. So, I should go to the Residence at 9:30 tomorrow morning?”
The next morning, when Watari visited the Prime Minister’s Official Residence, he was shown into a heavily guarded conference room.
The other people gathered there were all prominent figures — such as education critics — whom Watari had seen on television.
There were six members on the panel, including Watari. Once everyone had assembled, a thin, elderly man identifying himself as a secretary to the Prime Minister took the chair at the head of the table and began to explain the situation.
“Thank you all for taking the time to gather here today. As you are likely already aware from the news, we are seeking your advice regarding the massive object — shaped somewhat like a dogu figurine — that has appeared in Toshima Ward.”
An elderly woman among the members raised her hand to speak.
“I’m familiar with the incident, but why were we chosen for this panel?”
The secretary acting as chairperson replied:
“It has been determined that the individuals who have approached the object and been taken inside are all boys and girls in their adolescence — specifically, between the ages of ten and seventeen. And so, regarding you …”
The chairperson gestured toward Watari with an open palm and continued.
“We are receiving cooperation from Professor Watari of Teito University of Science; he reported that yesterday, he established contact with an entity presumed to be an extraterrestrial life form.”
Watari explained only the key points of the exchange he had held with that green, seated-statue-like object to the other members.
A female member, a sociology professor around forty, spoke in a shrill voice.
“Isn’t this a case of aliens luring in emotionally unstable adolescents? We have to get those children back at all costs!”
In the end, the expert panel meeting adjourned after two hours without reaching anything resembling a conclusion.
Watari’s smartphone rang as he was heading back to his university lab; he answered the call from Miyashita.
“It’s me. Right, I’ll stop by the lab before heading to the site. Huh? Someone wants to see me … What? You mean someone connected to one of the children sucked into that massive object … A child welfare caseworker?”
After ending the call and slipping his phone into his pocket, Watari stood frozen on the street for a moment. Then, he murmured:
“That seated figure mentioned a common link between me and those children. Could it be …”
When Watari returned to his university lab just past noon, the visitor had already been shown in and was sitting demurely on the sofa in the reception area.
Matsuda brought over a teacup for Watari and whispered something quietly in his ear. Watari nodded, took the cup, and sat down on the sofa opposite his guest. He placed the cup on the table and extended his business card.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Watari, the person in charge here.”
The visitor was a woman in a suit, appearing to be around forty. She, too, extended her business card across the table.
“I apologize for showing up unannounced. My name is Sakata.”
Watari gazed at the card he had received and murmured, “I see!” in a tone of genuine interest.
“So, on top of being a child psychologist, you also hold a clinical psychologist certification? Child guidance centers really have become specialized these days.”
The business card bore the name of a child guidance center in the Chubu region. Sakata pushed up her black-rimmed glasses and, with a somber expression, placed a photograph on the table.
It showed a bust-length shot of a girl who looked to be of high school age. Her hair hung loosely down to her shoulders, and she stared out with a gloomy, sickly complexion and a face devoid of even the slightest smile.
“She was one of the children under my care, but I saw her on the TV news. Among the children who climbed into that massive dogu figure … she was one of them …”
Sakata said this, then took a deep breath and appealed to Watari.
“When I consulted the police, they referred me to this laboratory. I understand you are conducting an investigation into that large dogu?”
Watari began to explain, sticking to the least sensitive details.
“Well, something like that. It is a case worthy of scientific investigation, after all. By the way, you mentioned that she was under your care. Does the fact that a specialist from the child guidance center was handling her case imply there were some issues involved?”
“The truth is, there was a possibility she had been suffering abuse at home. It started when the police picked her up for wandering the streets late at night; that raised suspicions, and we had just begun counseling her at the center where I work.”
Watari’s eyes widened, and he leaned forward.
“What was the specific nature of the abuse? I assure you, I will not speak of this to anyone else. Everyone in my laboratory is bound by — shall I say — a very strict confidentiality agreement.”
After hesitating for a few seconds, Sakata let out a long, heavy breath and answered.
“Sexual abuse. And it was at the hands of her own father.”
Toyama, Matsuda, Miyashita, and Tsutsui — listening from their respective desks — all audibly gasped.
Watari, however, showed no sign of being rattled and continued his questioning.
“Could you tell me a bit more detail?”
Sakata took a sip of the cold tea that had been served, straightened her posture, and resumed her story.
“She’s only sixteen, but it appears there’s a possibility she had been repeatedly sexually assaulted by her biological father since her junior high school days. She had made comments hinting at this, so our child welfare center was considering whether to intervene — but just as we were looking into it, she seems to have gone off to that place with the dogu-like object.”
“Was there anything unusual about her behavior before she went missing? Any sort of warning signs?”
“It’s something one of our staff members happened to overhear. She was always an unusually quiet girl, but one day, she suddenly started muttering nonsensical words over and over, staring off into the distance.”
“Was the word ‘Potalaka’?”
“Yes, that sounds like the pronunciation. I didn’t hear it myself, of course, so I can’t say for certain.”
“I understand. We will help you.”
“Really? Thank you.”
“However, we will need your cooperation as well, Ms. Sakata. Is that alright with you?”
“Yes, if there is anything I can do …”
Watari twisted his upper body around and called out to Miyashita. As Miyashita sat down next to Sakata, Watari began issuing a rapid series of instructions.
“Ms. Miyashita. I want you to work with Ms. Sakata to look into something. I need to know if there were any other cases involving Child Guidance Centers among the children who were absorbed by that dogu-like object. Please have the Metropolitan Police Department issue a formal request and make inquiries with Child Guidance Centers across the country.”
Taken aback by this unexpected instruction from Watari, Miyashita replied with a bewildered look.
“I … I see. That should be possible, but … Prof. Watari, do you have some reason to suspect a connection there?”
Watari drained his tea in one gulp and answered in a grave tone.
“There must be some common thread among the children who willingly let themselves be absorbed by that dogu-like object. We might just find it.”
Five days passed. Day by day, the number of boys and girls — moving like sleepwalkers while chanting the word “Potalaka” — swelled as they headed toward the massive, dogu-like object.
Eventually, the situation escalated to the point where more than ten children were marching in a line. However, whenever police officers tried to stop them, a flash of light would shoot from the dogu’s eyes, summoning that colossal creatures or the giant bird-monsters to stand in their way.
Fearing collateral damage to local residents and passersby, the police stopped trying to intervene; they simply kept a watchful distance whenever they spotted such children.
As Watari and Tsutsui observed the dogu-like object, a uniformed officer approached and spoke in a low voice.
“Prof. Watari, please be careful. We’ve received information that a child abduction suspect is heading this way.”
Watari furrowed his brow and asked, “Child abduction?”
“Yes. A young man who abducted a nine-year-old girl is reportedly fleeing on a motorcycle. As if things weren’t difficult enough already, we have to deal with a guy like this.”
No sooner had the officer spoken than the roar of a motorcycle engine echoed nearby. Watari and Tsutsui looked down the slope to see a mid-sized motorcycle speeding up toward them.
On the back of the bike, a figure clearly identifiable as a small child — wearing a light-blue dress — was clinging to the driver’s waist, pressing her face against his back.
The uniformed officer standing near Watari and Tsutsui tried to step in front of the motorcycle, a look of astonishment on his face.
“You on the bike — stop!”
The man riding the motorcycle slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding striking the police officer. He tried to plant his feet to steady himself but failed, causing the bike to tip over onto its side.
His face was obscured by his helmet, making his age impossible to tell, but the man — who appeared quite young — scooped up the little girl who had tumbled off the back of the bike and started to run toward the dogu-like object.
The officer stepped in his path, attempting to grab his arm.
“Don’t move! I need to ask you something.”
The man removed the child-sized helmet the girl had been wearing. Beneath it appeared the face of a small, scrawny girl with messy hair.
Swinging the child’s helmet to keep the officer at bay, the man shouted, “If you want to arrest me for kidnapping, go right ahead! But just let this girl go!”
His voice sounded surprisingly youthful. He lifted the hem of the girl’s dress, exposing her back. The sight made the officer freeze in shock, and Tsutsui let out a small, stifled scream.
The girl’s back was covered in countless red welts and blue bruises. A large, purplish patch — clearly a burn — was unmistakably shaped like an iron.
Still cradling the girl in his arms, the man inched his way up the slope, skirting around the officer.
When he removed his helmet, he revealed himself to be a timid-looking young man, barely old enough to be considered an adult. With a look that suggested he was on the verge of tears, he shouted:
“You saw the state of her body, didn’t you? Please, let her go. If she stays at home like this, she’ll end up getting killed! I’m begging you — look the other way!”
The girl looked up at the massive, dogu-like object looming overhead and murmured, “Potalaka …”
The dogu’s eyes snapped open, and a flash of light engulfed the area. Countless golden figures appeared, stretching from the park where the massive object sat enthroned all the way to where the girl stood.
They resembled humanoid statues, roughly two meters tall. What made them bizarre was that ten pairs of arms — twenty in total — lined their bodies from shoulder to waist.
These myriad golden statues formed two rows along the path leading to the park, extending their arms to create a tunnel-like shape.
The girl stepped down from the man’s grasp and approached the entrance of the tunnel. The countless golden arms suddenly parted, moving as if to welcome her inside.
Through the gaps between the golden arms, one could catch fleeting glimpses of the girl unsteadily making her way up the slope toward the park.
Eventually, as she passed through the tunnel, the girl’s body floated into the air and then simply vanished. The dogu’s eyes flashed once more, and the golden humanoid statues — with their ten pairs of arms — disappeared all at once.
“It looks just like the Thousand-Armed Kannon.”
Watari muttered this as he watched, unable to do a thing.
The young man who had been riding the motorcycle sat down on the ground in a daze once he saw the girl vanish.
When a uniformed police officer approached and urged him to move, he stood up without resistance and was taken away.
As Watari and Tsutsui stood there, dumbfounded, gazing up at the dogu-like object, Watari’s smartphone rang. He answered the call and heard Miyashita’s voice.
Watari turned to Tsutsui.
“We’re heading back to the lab right away.”
“Did you find something out?”
“Yeah. It looks like my hypothesis was correct.”
Back at the university lab, Watari and Tsutsui briefly described the girl they had just witnessed to Miyashita and Sakata, who were waiting there.
Toyama and Matsuda, they learned, were stationed at the tent at the scene. After hearing the story, Sakata frowned and said:
“That is clearly a case of abuse. I can now fully understand why you gave those instructions, Professor Watari.”
Miyashita placed a thick stack of documents on the table in the reception area. The bundle — over a hundred printed sheets — landed with a heavy thud. Miyashita spoke to Watari with a sigh.
“I’ll give you the conclusion first: every single child absorbed into that dogu-like object had, at some point, been taken into protective custody or had their home life intervened in by the child consultation centers in their respective area.”
“What?”
Tsutsui let out a high-pitched cry of surprise.
“By ‘everyone,’ you mean … every single one of them without exception, right?”
Sakata nodded emphatically and began to explain.
“Yes, the Child Guidance Center has the authority to intervene in a family if there is a suspicion of abuse, inadequate parenting, or excessive delinquency on the part of the child.”
Watari asked in a grim tone, glancing at the stack of documents on the table.
“What’s the current count?”
Miyashita answered immediately.
“It’s 107. And that brings the total to 108, including the girl you and Ms. Tsutsui just witnessed.”
Watari turned to Sakata.
“Is there a common thread among the cases requiring Child Guidance Center intervention?”
“They all involve abuse by parents or other guardians. The law now mandates that citizens report any suspected abuse they witness.”
Just then, Watari’s smartphone rang. He answered it to find Matsuda on the line. Watari suddenly stood up from the sofa.
“What? You’re saying that ‘seated-statue-like device’ wants to speak with me again? Understood — I’m heading to the site right away. Get everything ready.”
As he slipped his phone into his jacket pocket, Watari spoke to Sakata and Miyashita.
“As you’ve heard, I’ll be taking my leave for now. In the meantime, please examine the children’s records to see if there are any other commonalities.”
By the time Watari arrived at the Kishimojin Hall, the sun was already setting, and the interior was dim.
Several large candle stands had been placed beside the seated statue so as not to disturb it; illuminated by the flickering candlelight, Watari sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, facing the figure.
“I apologize for summoning you, Professor Watari.”
A high, clear voice — like that of a young girl — emanated from the seated statue. The voice continued:
“The group is now complete. I seek approval from the surrounding individuals to take this young Earthling specimen with us. The young specimens have already confirmed their intent to emigrate.”
“Please … stop calling them ‘young specimens.’”
Watari grimaced and voiced his objection to the statue.
“At the very least, call them children. As for us — well, we’re the adults.”
“I see; I shall correct my phrasing. I wish to send the children who came to that emigration ship off to the planet Potalaka. It would be simple to depart while ignoring the will of you adults, but I wish to obtain your approval to avoid trouble a thousand years hence.”
“You said the group was complete just now. Does that mean there are 108 of them?”
“Precisely. The effect of the telepathic waves has been nullified. No more children will be coming toward the emigration ship.”
“Why 108?”
“That is the capacity of the emigration ship. There is no other particular significance to the number.”
Watari repeatedly stroked his beard with his right hand, choosing his words carefully as he asked:
“Why did you gather only children who have suffered abuse?”
The girl-like voice emanating from the seated figure replied in a tone of unwavering composure.
“I do not understand the meaning of your question. Once one arrives at the planet Potalaka, returning to Earth is, in principle, impossible. Even if a return were possible, more than a century would have passed on Earth by then. We have explained this to the children repeatedly, and they understand it.”
“Are you saying this is the result of gathering only those with a firm resolve to emigrate?”
“The gravity of an intelligent life form permanently leaving the planet where it was born and raised is clearly stated in our program. Even with the scientific capabilities of our creators, interstellar travel is a one-way journey for intelligent life. We invited only those children who possessed a strong will to emigrate despite this; the current composition is the result.”
“So, when do you want to depart?”
“Considering the timing for rendezvousing with the mothership, we wish to leave Earth no later than ten days from now.”
“Then, please wait until the very last moment to depart. I will convey this request to the adults and have them make a decision. Also, is it possible to transmit the voices of the adults outside to the children?”
“It is possible.”
“The children’s parents … ah, do you understand the concept of ‘parents’?”
“We understand. If you wish to transmit the voices of their parents, please come within a radius of two kilometers; we can then transmit the sound directly into the children’s brains.”
“One last thing. Can you prove whether those children truly want to leave Earth?”
“Professor Watari, it is possible to transfer a portion of the children’s memories directly into your brain, allowing you to experience them vicariously.”
“Very well, do it. Right now — here.”
“Understood. Commencing the process.”
A halo of blue light hovered around the head of the seated statue, then glided smoothly through the air to settle over Watari’s head.
Minutes later, Self-Defense Force personnel, alerted by piercing screams, rushed into the main hall. The halo of light was already gone; Watari lay on his side on the wooden floor, clutching his head and tearing at his hair, writhing about while letting out a low, roaring cry.
The personnel grabbed Watari and hurriedly carried him outside. Left behind in the hall was the seated statue, motionless and solitary, illuminated by the flickering flames of the candles.
Faces of a man and a woman — contorted in demonic, furious rage — flashed in and out of his vision. Shouts rang out one after another.
“You brat! You make me sick.”
“I told you not to get sick — it costs money. Why the hell are you in the hospital?”
“Here, take this. Learn your lesson!”
“I wish I’d never given birth to you!”
Between the shouts, adult fists, feet, and sticks flashed into view, accompanied by the sound of blows striking flesh.
He saw the glowing tip of a lit cigarette thrusting toward him. He glimpsed a scene where he was being shoved out into the pouring rain.
A middle-aged man thrust the tip of a kitchen knife right in front of his face and bellowed:
“Go sell your body and bring back some cash! What? What’s with that look? Didn’t they teach you at school to respect your parents?”
Then came the voices of children — or perhaps the voices of their inner selves — ringing out faintly.
“It hurts! It hurts!”
“I can’t breathe!”
“It burns! It hurts! Stop it!”
“Why do I have to go through this?”
“Mom! Come and get me!”
“Someone help me!”
“Someone help me!”
“Anyone — please, help me!”
“Why won’t anyone help me?”
“Child welfare worker, come back! If things stay like this, I’m going to be killed!”
“I just want to die! If no one’s going to help me, just kill me already!”
“Why doesn’t anyone understand?”
“Why won’t anyone help?”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Whyyyyyyy?”
“Waaah!”
Watari bolted upright with a loud cry. He was drenched in sweat. What met his eyes was the ceiling of his university laboratory.
Watari’s body was trembling violently, and a faint, pained cry was still escaping his lips. All the members of the Watari Lab rushed to the sofa, while Sakata leaned forward anxiously from behind them.
Matsuda supported Watari by holding his upper body from behind.
“Prof. Watari, please pull yourself together! Are you alright?”
Watari regained his composure and, still breathing heavily, took stock of the situation. He had been laid down on the lab’s sofa and covered with a blanket. Glancing at the wall clock, he saw that about three hours had passed since he had been conversing with that seated statue.
Watari lightly patted Matsuda’s arm — which was still holding him — with his palm and spoke.
“I’m fine now. Sorry, Matsuda — could I get some cold water?”
“I’ll get it right away.”
Matsuda dashed off toward the kitchenette; Watari threw off the blanket, sat up properly on the sofa, and wiped the large beads of sweat from his forehead with his fingers.
“Professor, what happened?”
Matsuda asked as he handed Watari a glass filled with ice cubes. Watari downed the water in one go, exhaled deeply, and began to explain.
“I asked that seated statue to let me vicariously experience those … children’s memories, so to speak. What happened to me after that?”
“We received a report that Self-Defense Force personnel on-site found you in a state of delirium and immediately brought you out. It seems you had lost consciousness, but since there were no external injuries and nothing seemed amiss with your physical health, we brought you back to the lab for the time being.”
“I see. I’m sorry for the trouble.”
Miyashita asked, looking concerned. “Prof. Watari, the police hospital accepts patients for after-hours care. Shall I get in touch with them?”
Watari gave a weak shake of his head in reply.
“No, there’s no need for that. It was just a psychological shock.”
Sakata asked hesitantly, “Prof. Watari, you mentioned something about a ‘simulated experience of memories.’ Could it be … the memories of the abuse those children suffered?”
Watari nodded slowly and silently, casting his gaze into the air for a moment as he searched for the right words. Then, he spoke to everyone.
“It seems so. And another question has been answered, too. I’ve realized why that extraterrestrial life form designated me as the liaison.”
Toyama tilted his head and asked, “What do you mean?”
“I am the same as them — the children who were absorbed by that massive object.”
Miyashita asked back, looking puzzled.
“The same? In what way?”
Watari turned to face them and spoke in a low voice.
“I, too, grew up suffering abuse. For over ten years, starting when I was twelve. That was the common bond between those children and me.”
Then, Watari slowly began to tell them about his own upbringing.
“My father was the heir to a family of major landowners in a provincial city in western Japan. I was his son, but born of a mistress — the child he had with a woman outside his marriage.”
Everyone else audibly gasped. Watari continued speaking.
“My biological mother came from an impoverished family in the countryside. She wasn’t very bright and scraped by working in the nightlife industry — hostess bars and the like. She wasn’t a bad person, though.”
Toyama spoke, looking dumbfounded.
“I had assumed — well, I thought you came from a rather refined background, Prof. Watari.”
Watari gave a slight shake of his head.
“My father was already legally married to another woman at the time, but they couldn’t conceive. The woman who would later become my stepmother — it seems she was physically unable to bear children.”
Tsutsui asked tentatively:
“So, to secure an heir, they turned to your biological mother?”
“That’s right. Wanting a son to carry on the family line, my father kept my biological mother as a mistress; he provided for her living expenses in exchange for her bearing me. The plan was that if his wife — my stepmother — failed to produce a boy, they would take me in.”
Matsuda spoke with a tone of suppressed indignation.
“What a story. But surely you aren’t that old, Prof. Watari?”
“It was around the end of the Showa era. Things like that still happened quite a bit in rural areas back then. My biological mother had me out of greed for money, but since there was no chance of becoming my father’s legal wife, their relationship was reduced to her simply receiving monthly living expenses. Naturally, there was no love between them. Eventually, she became obsessed with a religion.”
Miyashita asked, “Was it some kind of cult?”
“No, not quite that extreme. It was — and still is — a Buddhist-affiliated new religious movement. While they seem fairly mainstream now, the group was radical back then. My mother started pouring a huge chunk of the living expenses my father gave her into the organization as donations. Making large donations meant the monks and other believers would fawn over her; I suppose she enjoyed that attention. So, even though she must have been receiving a substantial amount of money from my father, we were always living in poverty.”
Miyashita asked further.
“Did you subscribe to that group’s beliefs as well?”
“No. Even as a child, I could tell the teachings were bizarre. I had no interest in it myself. But when my own mother — the only parent I live with — tells me to go to their gatherings, I couldn’t exactly say no, could I? They made me, an elementary school kid, sit in seiza — kneeling formally— on hard tatami mats for hours, chanting sutras until I’d memorized them. The other believers around us were all from impoverished backgrounds, too. The hardest part was that I couldn’t make any of the memories typical of childhood.”
Toyama asked with interest.
“What do you mean, specifically, by not being able to make those memories?”
“That group held some rather extreme views, believing that any faith other than their own was evil, heretical cults. Since we lived in a provincial city, local festivals were usually tied to the local shrines or temples. My mother, who blindly believed in the group’s teachings, forbade me from going to festivals; she strictly prohibited me from participating in any community event that had even the slightest connection to another religion — like Christmas parties, for instance. Naturally, my friendships suffered, and it seems I was regarded as an oddball by my classmates, teachers, and neighbors alike.”
Sakata interjected, looking apologetic.
“You might find this unpleasant to hear, Prof. Watari, but that — in itself — constitutes child abuse.”
“By today’s standards, yes. Having experienced it myself, I’ve read quite a bit on the subject.”
“True, freedom of religion must be respected; however, forcing a school-aged child — whose sense of self is not yet fully formed — to engage in practices far removed from general societal norms is considered abuse nowadays.”
“I learned to chant sutras quickly, and I suppose I was a convenient child for satisfying my biological mother’s need for validation. That part alone wasn’t all that painful. But just before I entered junior high, she suddenly told me: ‘Starting next month, you’re going to live with your father. This is goodbye.’”
Tsutsui asked, her voice trembling as if on the verge of tears.
“What did you say in response, Professor Watari?”
“I wasn’t even asked for my opinion. The adults decided it on their own, and I was simply forced to comply. My mother was given a large severance payment and moved away somewhere. I was suddenly thrust into the home of a father I had only seen a few times a year.”
“What about your biological mother now?”
“I don’t know. I have absolutely no idea.”
“Huh?”
“I haven’t seen her even once since then. All contact with me was cut off. Where she is now — or even whether she’s alive or dead — is a complete mystery.”
“Didn’t you ever want to see your birth mother?”
“I suppose I was a rather cold child, even by my own reckoning. I had a vague idea of the relationship between my birth mother and my father, so I believed she had abandoned me in exchange for money. I never once felt a desire to see her or missed her. She likely didn’t have any maternal love for me, either.”
Sakata asked another question.
“Drastically changing a person’s living environment without his or her consent counts as abuse, you know. That must have been incredibly hard for you.”
Watari shook his head with a wry smile.
“No, that wasn’t the end of it. The abuse I experienced — the real ordeal — was only just beginning.”
Facing the group, who once again looked shocked, Watari continued in a self-deprecating tone.
“I was taken in by my father and moved far away; in that sense, my environment underwent a radical shift. My daily routine was completely different from when I’d lived alone with my birth mother, and I was constantly bewildered. But that part was manageable — it was just a matter of getting used to things. From that day on, however, every single day was a nightmare of terror.”
Sakata stared intently at Wataru’s face and asked:
“Was the abuse coming from your birth father?”
“No, I didn’t suffer any direct physical violence from my father. The violence came from the woman he married — my stepmother. When my father was around, she’d smile, call me ‘Ryuzo-kun,’ and act perfectly normal; but the moment he was gone, she’d glare at me with a demonic look in her eyes, watching me constantly. If I stayed in the room assigned to me — trying to stay out of trouble — she’d keep the door ajar to monitor my every move. That started on the very first day we lived together. For a child, it was nothing but sheer terror.”
“Was there a particular turning point?”
“This is a story a relative told me only after I’d grown up. My stepmother was convinced that I had entered the household solely to get my hands on my father’s fortune. As it turned out, she was the one who had been after his money from the start; she’d tricked him into marriage by lying about being pregnant. She was a notorious delinquent who’d graduated from a low-tier local high school known as a hangout for troublemakers. My father’s relatives had accepted the marriage because they felt they had no choice given the ‘shotgun’ situation, but no child ever came along. Naturally, that was because she was infertile, but by the time my father realized he’d been lied to, it was too late.”
Tsutsui asked again, tentatively.
“Did your father never consider divorce?”
Watari answered with a wry smile.
“Once a marriage was official, divorce was seen as a blow to one’s reputation. That was the mindset of both my father and his relatives. Even though, mind you, he thought nothing of keeping a mistress or fathering a child out of wedlock. That was just the kind of place it was back then.”
Sakata asks Watari. “What exactly did the violence from your stepmother entail?”
“It was violence in the literal sense. After all, I had no idea about the customs of life in the new household. I saw a Western-style toilet for the first time in my life and didn’t know how to use it. She’d hit me for forgetting to close the lid, or for the way I held my chopsticks. And it wasn’t just slaps; she used her fists. She’d punch me in the face, so within a few days of living together, my face was swollen up. When my father noticed and asked what happened, I told him the truth; he silently went over to my stepmother and started punching and kicking her.”
“Wait — right in front of you?”
“Yes, right in front of me. The violence my father inflicted on my stepmother was brutal, too. He’d punch her in the face with a closed fist, kick her in the stomach when she doubled over, and then relentlessly kick her repeatedly once she’d collapsed. I had no idea my father was capable of such violence, so I just froze on the spot — I could only watch.”
“That constitutes abuse on your father’s part as well. Exposing a child to violence against a spouse or family member is a form of psychological abuse toward the child.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. Is that how it’s classified in modern child welfare and psychology?”
“Yes, it is strictly defined as psychological abuse. So, did incidents like that happen again?”
“Countless times. Then, the day after that first violent episode between the two of them, my stepmother dragged me into the dining room. After punching and kicking me just as before, she grabbed a kitchen knife and thrust it right in front of my face. She said, ‘You know what’ll happen if you go tattling to that old man again, don’t you?’”
Everyone present gasped in shock. Sakata asked, looking at Watari with a pained expression.
“How long did that situation last?”
“Until just after I started high school. Back in junior high, I used club activities as an excuse to stay away from home as much as possible whenever my father wasn’t there. He wouldn’t get home until after seven in the evening, so I’d kill time until then and time my own arrival to coincide with his. That was my routine for most of the year.”
“Where were you and what were you doing during that time?”
“I stayed at the school building until around five o’clock. The school gates closed just before five, so afterwards, I’d spend my time reading books borrowed from the library — either in a park on my way home or, on rainy days, under the eaves of an abandoned temple in the woods. Through hot summer days, storms, and freezing snowy weather. Thanks to that, I developed a constitution that’s resilient to both heat and cold.”
“That sounds like a classic behavioral pattern for an abused child. How were your grades at school?”
“I’d always loved reading since I was little. Even after I got home and finished dinner, I’d rush straight to my room; with nothing else to do, I had no choice but to look at my textbooks. I didn’t want to spend even a second with my stepmother — I didn’t watch TV, and she never allowed me any entertainment like manga. Thanks to that, I was at the top of my class in junior high. That only made my stepmother dislike me more. Apparently, she went around telling relatives and neighbors that I was arrogant about my academic success and looked down on her.”
“Wait a minute.”
Toyama instinctively cut in.
“Isn’t it only natural for a child not to bond with someone who hurls abuse and assaults them every day? Surely your stepmother couldn’t have failed to understand that?”
Watari sighed and replied.
“There are people in this world who can’t grasp such simple things. My stepmother was a prime example. She came from a rough high school where violence was an everyday occurrence. She probably didn’t even realize that what she was doing constituted violence. On top of that, my father was violent toward her on a daily basis, too. They genuinely believed that a household environment where we punch and kick each other was normal.”
“Wait, is that even possible by any reasonable standard?”
Sakata cut in.
“It really happens. When we talk to parents who have caused their children to suffer fractures or severe knife wounds, they boldly insist that it’s just ‘discipline’ — that it’s a family matter and outsiders shouldn’t interfere. I’ve seen parents like that myself, time and again.”
Watari asked, looking surprised.
“Does that still happen today?”
“Yes; in fact, such extreme cases have actually been on the rise in recent years.”
“I see. Back in junior high, I had no choice but to silently endure whatever verbal or physical abuse came my way. But right after I started high school, my stepmother came at me brandishing a kitchen knife, and I couldn’t help but shove her away. I’d grown physically stronger by then, you see. That put an end to the physical violence; she must have realized I might fight back. After that, the abuse shifted to all sorts of other forms of harassment.”
Sakata asked, his tone suggesting he was no longer surprised.
“What kind of harassment, specifically?”
Watari replied with a completely composed expression.
“She would sneak into my room while I was in the bath and tear up the reports I had to submit for school. She’d dump kitchen scraps all over the floor. She’d deliberately cut holes in my clothes, and on nights when my father was away for work, she wouldn’t let me eat. She subjected me to all sorts of harassment — honestly, I was amazed at the sheer variety of ways she came up with to torment me.”
“It sounds like a complete ‘full course’ of every type of abuse I’ve ever heard of. Didn’t your father notice? Did you never try talking to him about it?”
“I don’t think he even realized what was happening. Outside of managing the family’s landholdings, he was a man interested only in nightlife and women. Besides, the consequences of speaking up were painfully obvious. If he’d confronted my stepmother, he would have turned violent toward her, and she would have blamed me for it — only to take that resentment out on me by escalating the abuse. Knowing that, the thought of asking my father for help never even crossed my mind. Or rather, I simply couldn’t.”
Toyama spoke to Watari with a look of disbelief.
“Prof. Watari, it’s amazing you didn’t go off the rails. I definitely would have.”
Watari gave a faint smile as he replied.
“Actually, I was quite the problem child right up until I graduated from university. From my first year of junior high, I spent every day — from morning till night — being subjected to a barrage of foul-mouthed abuse. Even the friends of my father who occasionally visited the house were nothing but vulgar types. I used to tell myself I didn’t want to turn into an adult like that, but environment is a terrifying thing; before I knew it, I had started speaking in that same incredibly crude manner. It’s particularly troublesome because you don’t even realize you’re doing it. On top of that, I was an incredibly aggressive person toward others back then.”
Tsutsui tilted his head in confusion.
“You were aggressive? I mean, I certainly think you’re a very strict person, but I wouldn’t have pictured you that way.”
Watari grinned and answered.
“Well, I changed over time. My home — a place that should have been a sanctuary — was a living hell where I couldn’t find a moment’s peace. I lived in constant fear of my stepmother’s violence and harassment; 365 days a year, whenever I was home, I was bombarded with hateful verbal abuse around the clock. For some reason, I also started speaking with abnormal aggression toward my classmates, constantly infuriating those around me. Yet, I had absolutely no idea why people were getting so angry at me. That was the reality of my youth.”
“That’s actually a common pattern,” Sakata said.
“Children raised amidst a constant barrage of malicious words often adopt a very rough manner of speaking and behaving toward unrelated people. They unconsciously lash out at others in an attempt to expel the malice that has pierced their own hearts. Psychologically, this is understood as a form of self-defense — akin to someone who has been poisoned desperately trying to vomit it up, only for the expelled toxin to splash onto a bystander standing nearby.”
Toyama asked again.
“Is there a reason why you, Prof. Watari — having gone through such a harrowing experience — chose the path of a researcher?”
Watari shook his head again in reply.
“It would be more accurate to say I had no other choice. My personality had become incredibly twisted; I couldn’t make friends, and even holding a normal conversation with people was a struggle — what people nowadays call ‘socially inept.’ On top of that, I wanted to leave home for university, but my father refused to let me apply to any school I couldn’t commute to from home. He wouldn’t allow me to leave because I was the heir to the family business. I had been counting on going to a university far away to finally escape that house, so at the time, I felt like I’d been plunged into the depths of despair.”
“Come to think of it, Professor Watari, you didn’t graduate from the undergraduate program here, did you?”
“Right. Back then, the age of majority was twenty, so if my parents didn’t approve, I effectively had no choice in where to go to school. I had no option but to attend the local national university, spending my undergraduate years trying to stay away from home as much as possible. I wasn’t allowed to job-hunt, either; my father wouldn’t hear of it, insisting there was no need since I was destined to take over the family business.”
“But you did your graduate studies here, right? All the way through to your doctorate?”
“For some reason, the professor in charge of my undergraduate seminar took a real liking to me. He was a notoriously cantankerous man — feared by all the students. Perhaps we hit it off because we were both oddballs. Thanks to his recommendation, I secured a scholarship and was able to go to graduate school. That’s when I chose the graduate program at Teito University of Science. With the financial side settled, I no longer had to do what my father said. I moved to Tokyo — practically running away from home. It’s ironic, in a way: the fact that I spent my youth buried in books instead of experiencing typical childhood fun or a normal adolescence actually worked in my favor. I clung to that single ray of hope, and it led me to become a professor here. That’s about the size of it.”
Sakata asked hesitantly.
“What happened to your relationship with your family after that?”
“I never once returned to my family home; we were completely estranged. I received several letters from my father threatening to disown me if I didn’t come back, but I wrote back telling him that I was the one who wanted to cut ties. I think I was in my late thirties when I got word that my father had died of cancer. He’d always been a reckless drinker, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise. I did attend the funeral, of course, but before the ashes were even interred, my stepmother started harping on about how the inheritance should be divided. I had already gone to court to formally renounce my inheritance rights; I slammed the certificate down in front of her — right there with all the relatives watching — and walked out. I’ve had absolutely no contact with my family since. I don’t know how things stand now, and I don’t want to know.”
Miyashita let out a deep sigh and asked Watari.
“You had such a harrowing upbringing. But I have one question. While you were being abused, why didn’t you seek help from anyone outside the family? A school teacher, the police, or a child welfare center, for instance?”
Watari gave a wry smile.
“I told you this was back in the Showa era, didn’t I? Back then, the term ‘domestic abuse’ wasn’t even widely known. Even if I showed up at school covered in bruises and a teacher noticed, there was nothing they could do if my parents claimed it was just discipline. Even if neighbors realized a child was being abused, turning a blind eye was the norm. That’s just how things were. For that matter, I never even knew child welfare centers existed — no one ever told me.”
Sakata spoke up. “That was back before the legal framework for preventing abuse was established. I have indeed heard that in those days, if parents asserted their parental rights —specifically, their right to raise their children — there was nothing even the Child Guidance Center could do.”
Watari spoke while looking up at the ceiling.
“To be precise, it’s not that I never tried to talk to anyone about it.”
He turned to face Miyashita, who was blinking in surprise.
“Back in junior high, a teacher noticed I was emotionally unstable and arranged for me to see the school counselor. I desperately tried to tell them about the abuse, but I was told: ‘There’s no parent in this world who would do something that terrible — even to a child they aren’t blood-related to. Stop telling such ridiculous lies.’”
Sakata’s expression turned pained, as if she were on the verge of tears.
“That’s still a problem today. Children pour their hearts out, risking everything to speak up, only to have no one believe them. In some cases, it drives them to suicide.”
Watari nodded slightly and continued.
“The next time was in high school, after the police picked me up for wandering the streets at night. Again, I wasn’t believed. The officer just laughed and told me that if I was going to make up a story, I should at least come up with something more convincing. The last time was during my freshman year of college, when I rushed to the campus counseling center. They told me: ‘Even if it’s true, that’s all in the past, isn’t it? Why are you still dwelling on it?’ Each time, I fell into despair. And eventually, I gave up. I realized that no matter who I confided in, no one was going to help me.”
Sakata said, “I’ve seen many abused children like that myself. Even at Child Guidance Centers, only a handful of staff members hold specialized qualifications like mine; the majority are general local government employees who happened to be assigned there. They do undergo training, but it’s mostly just a formality, and they get transferred every few years anyway. Between budget constraints and staffing shortages, every center is currently at a breaking point. The reality is that the priority is placed on how to send the child back home, rather than on providing actual care.”
Watari stood up from the sofa and walked over to his desk. He sat down, glanced at his computer screen, and let out a surprised “Oh?” He then turned to Sakata.
“Ms. Sakata, it looks like a file has been sent to me?”
Sakata hurried over to Watari’s desk, looked at the screen, and spoke hurriedly.
“I’m sorry, I’d completely forgotten. I had a university professor I know use AI to evaluate how the Child Guidance Center handled the cases of those 108 children. I’d arranged for the results to be sent to you as well, Prof. Watari.”
“What do these red letters stand for?”
“They’re the overall assessment ratings. ‘A’ indicates an ideal response; the grade drops from there if there were any inadequacies, with ‘F’ being the lowest. This rating means the response was the absolute worst — the kind that could actually make the situation worse. So, Prof. Watari, what are the results? I haven’t had a chance to look at them myself yet.”
Watari called the other team members over and mirrored the computer screen onto the large wall-mounted display. He used the mouse to show the assessment results for each child one by one.
First, an ‘F’ appeared. Then another ‘F’. As Watari scrolled through the list, everyone’s expressions grew tense. Sakata, in particular, looked visibly strained. Every single result was an ‘F’.
Watari let go of the mouse and spoke in a low, grave voice.
“I think you all understand now. This is the true common thread among those 108 children.”
The government expert panel of which Watari was a member had proposed — and received approval for — a plan to summon the guardians of the 108 children to the site.
The idea was to set up speakers around the massive, dogu-like object and have the guardians — most of whom were the children’s biological parents — speak directly to them, urging them to return.
One of the expert panel members who had proposed the plan was giving comments to the press near the site. An elderly woman — identified as the head of a child-support NPO and dressed in an expensive-looking pink suit — spoke with an air of confidence.
“It will be fine. There is nothing in this world stronger than the bond between parent and child, between family members. If a heartfelt message from their own flesh and blood reaches them, there is no way they could lose to the likes of aliens.”
The appeals began at noon. Each parent was allotted one minute to stand before a microphone and call out, through the speakers, to their child inside the dogu-like object.
“Hiroshi, come home soon. Don’t do anything rash. You need to listen to your parents.”
“Yoko, what is it that you’re unhappy about? Everything I did was for your own good, wasn’t it? What parent doesn’t love their child?”
“Hey, Ichiro. There’s no need to get so worked up over something like that, is there? Don’t act so spoiled. I’m not going to hurt you, so just come out of there, okay?”
Watari watched the scene unfold from the shade of a nearby grove of trees, a bitter expression on his face. Sakata approached him and asked in a low voice:
“Prof. Watari, what do you think? Does it look like it’s working?”
Watari replied, his left cheek twisting into a grimace.
“It’s hard to say. But are those parents truly remorseful? Not a single one of them has uttered a word of apology.”
A middle-aged man stepped up beside the two of them, moving away from his phone. Surprised, Sakata spoke up.
“Mr. Yamamoto? I didn’t realize you were here.”
The man addressed as Yamamoto turned on Sakata with a fierce scowl.
“Hey, you — from the Child Guidance Center. When exactly are you going to get my daughter back for me? You’re a waste of taxpayer money; do your damn job.”
Watari recognized Yamamoto’s face. It was the same face he had seen when the seated statue forced him to vicariously experience the children’s memories — the face of the man who had pressed the tip of a kitchen knife against a girl’s face and demanded she sell her body.
Yamamoto’s smartphone rang, and he stepped away from the pair. Seizing the moment, Watari whispered what he knew to Sakata, whose expression darkened.
“I had considered that possibility. But wouldn’t it be difficult to prove objectively?”
“Since the memory was something I was shown via telepathy … I suppose it can’t be proven.”
“In that case, the Child Guidance Center can’t intervene.”
Yamamoto’s voice suddenly rose in pitch. He was so engrossed in the conversation that he seemed to have forgotten Watari and Sakata were within earshot.
“I know that. That’s exactly why I’ve come all the way to Tokyo to drag her back. Just secure the venue for the photoshoot. A hardcore lolicon client has already booked a slot, so it’ll be fine.”
Unable to hold back any longer, Watari spoke to Yamamoto just as he hung up the phone.
“You’d go to such lengths just to scheme about selling your own daughter? Are you planning to stage a nude photoshoot with an underage girl?”
“Huh? Who the hell are you? So what if I am?”
“No wonder the kid wants to run away. Shouldn’t a parent be worried about their daughter’s safety first?”
“Oh, I’m worried, all right. I need my daughter to earn more money this month — I’m in a bind because the deadline to pay off my debts is coming up fast.”
“You bastard … how could you …”
Watari, losing all composure, raised his right fist and started to lunge at Yamamoto. Just then, a figure darted in between them. It was Miyashita.
Miyashita flipped open her police badge and addressed Watari with a stern expression.
“Professor, do you intend to throw a punch? If so, even though it’s you, I will have to carry out my official duties.”
Watari gritted his teeth and lowered his fist. Yamamoto sneered at him.
“Hah! What, you’re not gonna do it, you coward?”
Miyashita turned only her head toward Yamamoto.
“Don’t you think you ought to mind where you are?”
“What was that? You bitch …”
Miyashita turned her whole body around slowly. Yamamoto’s eyes fell upon the police badge held in her right hand. She spoke in a low voice.
“What was that about … a woman?”
Yamamoto hunched over slightly and began to smile ingratiatingly, rubbing his hands together. His voice trembled as he spoke with exaggerated politeness.
“Oh, no, it’s nothing at all. Yes … yes, I understand. We live in an age of gender equality, after all. Heh heh … well, if you’ll excuse me.”
Watching Yamamoto’s retreating figure as he hurriedly ran off, Watari spat on the ground and muttered with annoyance:
“Hard to tell which one of them — he or that dogu-like object — is the real villain here.”
From then on, the parents continued calling out to the children every day from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.
However, there was absolutely no response from the children inside the dogu-like object. Then, on the morning of the day before the deadline for departure announced by the seated figure — twenty minutes after the parents had begun their calls — the dogu’s eyes flashed brilliantly.
A flock of those giant, monstrous birds — beaked creatures with teeth — suddenly appeared in the sky and dove down to attack the parents gathered around the microphone.
The parents scattered in a panic. But the flock did not stop at merely driving them away; the individual birds fanned out, intent on attacking the parents.
Self-Defense Force personnel standing guard nearby instantly raised their assault rifles, switched them to full-auto, and unleashed a barrage of fire at the monsters.
Rifle rounds, firing in rapid succession like machine-gun fire, began knocking the birds out of the sky one by one.
The dogu’s eyes flashed again, and the entire flock — including the ones that had fallen to the ground — vanished from the scene as if erased.
A Self-Defense Force member came running over from the direction of the Kishimojin Hall and whispered into Watari’s ear. Watari nodded firmly and headed toward the hall.
Ten-odd minutes later, Watari sat cross-legged on the floor of the main hall, facing the seated figure. A voice resembling that of a young girl emanated from the figure and spoke:
“I would like you to cease those calls. The mental state of the children aboard the migration ship had reached a critical level, so we sent an Osteodontornis as a warning; however — likely influenced by the children’s own state of mind — it attempted an attack. We had no intention of harming the adults, but if we provoked fear, we apologize for that.”
Watari closed his eyes for a moment, stroking his beard. Then, opening his eyes wide, he asked in a grave tone:
“Are you saying they have rejected the calls from their own parents?”
“We judge that to be the rational interpretation.”
“The children’s resolve to migrate to the planet Potalaka remains unchanged — even knowing they can never return to Earth. Is that your assessment?”
“We verified the children’s intentions thirteen times, including deep-psychological scans. They wish to leave this planet; that is their will. That is the conclusion we reached.”
“When is the departure?”
“The migration ship will depart the day after tomorrow — at 7 p.m. Japan Standard Time.”
“Understood. Then my role here is at an end.”
“Professor Watari, I am grateful to you. We understand that we are able to take the children with the consent of this planet’s mature population — the ‘adults,’ as you call them.”
Watari stood up in silence and walked out of the main hall. After he had walked about ten meters, a blue light spilled out from the depths of the hall, and a sphere of light flew off toward the massive, dogu-like object.
Several Self-Defense Force personnel standing nearby ran toward the main hall. Watari also jogged back. Those who peered inside the hall cried out in astonishment.
“It’s gone!”
Watari looked inside as well. The spot where the seated statue had once rested was empty; only the filming and recording equipment remained.
Deep within the silent hall, only the statue of Kishimojin remained, facing Watari and the others just as it always had.
The following day, starting at 9 a.m., Watari was occupied with a government expert panel meeting. The purpose was to receive a briefing on the Self-Defense Forces’ planned forced rescue operation.
The meeting took place in a larger room than usual; the long table where the six committee members — including Watari — and the chairperson sat was overlooked by a gallery-style seating area packed with media reporters and television cameras.
Throughout the morning, senior Self-Defense Force officers outlined plans to attack the dogu-like object using fighter jets, anti-aircraft missiles, and other weaponry.
Watari questioned several times whether conventional human weaponry would be effective against the object, but his concerns were disregarded.
At 1 p.m., the expert panel reconvened. A perfunctory assessment was conducted regarding whether the Self-Defense Forces’ forced rescue operation could ensure the safety of the children inside the dogu-like object.
It was acknowledged as a foreseeable outcome that, should the Self-Defense Forces attack the vessel, there was an undeniable possibility that at least some of the children inside would be killed or injured.
The chairperson opened the discussion by proposing a vote on whether to approve the Self-Defense Forces’ forced rescue operation.
“I intend to approve this decision only if it is unanimous — that is, if all six committee members are in favor. Are there any objections?”
Everyone except Watari replied, “No objections!” Watari simply gave a slow, emphatic nod. Prompted by the chairperson, the members began to voice their opinions.
“Even if it means losing their lives, I believe this is a better fate for the children than being taken away to the far reaches of space.”
“I agree. We must return the children we manage to save to their parents immediately. After all, the bonds between parent and child — between family members — are the most important things in this world.”
The chairperson initiated the vote.
“Now, those in favor of carrying out the forced rescue operation, please raise your hand.”
Every member except Watari vigorously raised their right hand straight up. Watari sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes lightly closed.
Looking bewildered, the chairperson hesitated before addressing Watari.
“U-Um, Professor Watari? As I mentioned earlier, this decision requires unanimity …”
Watari opened only his right eye and fixed a piercing glare on the chairperson. Then, he spoke.
“We are taking a vote, aren’t we? What is the next step in the procedure?”
A murmur of agitation rippled through the other panel members. Cries of surprise rose from the press corps in the gallery. The chairperson hesitated, then forced out the words:
“Then, just to be certain … those opposed to the operation, please raise your hand.”
Watari opened both eyes wide and raised his right hand high in the air. One of the other committee members — a man — demanded of Watari in an accusatory tone:
“What do you mean by this, Professor Watari? Are you saying we should just let those children die?”
A female committee member shrilly chimed in:
“Surely, the happiest thing for the children is to live their lives with their families at home. I am aware of reports regarding some children who were abused, but — after all — that is a relatively minor matter …”
Watari spoke in a perfectly calm voice to the flustered chairperson:
“Chairperson, may I have the floor?”
“Oh — yes, Professor Watari. Please, go ahead.”
Watari lifted himself from his chair and, as he rose, slammed his right fist onto the desk with a resounding thud.
“How long are you going to cling to such high-minded platitudes?”
Watari ranted in a thunderous voice that echoed into every corner of the gallery.
“Family ties? To those children, that connection isn’t a bond — it’s a curse! For children who cannot choose their own parents, it is a nightmarish curse foisted upon them at birth. Where is the happiness for them in being forcibly dragged back into that cursed environment? If those children want to go of their own volition, then let them go. How to find happiness, or what constitutes it — those are things for the children to decide for themselves. It is not for us adults to arbitrarily dictate. It is high time we stopped imposing our own selfish, self-satisfying platitudes about ‘family’ and ‘bonds’ onto children!”
Watari dropped heavily back into his chair and spoke in a slightly lower tone.
“That concludes my statement.”
The other panel members sat in stunned silence. The chairperson stood frozen, face drained of color. A hush fell over the gallery as well.
A few minutes later, the chairperson snapped back to reality and declared the meeting adjourned; Watari was the first to leave his seat, striding purposefully toward the door.
Just as Watari stepped outside the building, a woman wearing a plain gray suit for women called out to him from behind. It was Sakata.
“Oh, Ms. Sakata. Were you here?”
Sakata gave a polite, slight bow and replied,
“Yes, I was listening from the public gallery on the second floor. Thank you for saying what you did. For us staff at the Child Guidance Center, those were things we felt deeply but couldn’t bring ourselves to voice.”
“Even so, I must apologize. I failed to save any of them — including the young girl you were in charge of.”
As Watari bowed deeply, Sakata spoke in a cheerful tone.
“Oh, not at all. It was certainly not your fault, Prof. Watari. As you said earlier, how she finds happiness is something she must choose and decide for herself. I am in the same position; there were children I couldn’t save with my own hands, either.”
“Hearing you say that puts my mind at ease a little.”
“I’m heading back home now. There are so many children waiting whom I need to save if I can.”
“I see. Please take care.”
Sakata bowed to Watari once more and walked off toward Tokyo Station.
The time arrived for that massive, dogu-like object to depart, and the five members of the Watari Lab watched the scene unfold from near the Self-Defense Force’s temporary tent.
Against the backdrop of the darkened night sky — the sun having fully set — a golden light began to envelop the surface of the colossal object.
Subtle vibrations in the air reached the spot where Watari and the others stood, sharp enough to be clearly felt against their skin.
Before long, the massive, dogu-like object rose smoothly into the air and ascended straight upward. Without emitting the roar, glare, or heat of a rocket thruster, it rapidly climbed into the night sky.
In the surrounding airspace, several silhouettes of aircraft — apparently fighter jets and surveillance planes belonging to the Self-Defense Forces and the U.S. military — came into view.
Ultimately, no attack was launched against the dogu-like object. It continued its ascent until it became a mere speck in the night sky, then shot out beyond the atmosphere.
Monitoring instruments at observation posts across the globe and satellites from various nations tracked its path, but the object accelerated abruptly; the very next instant, it vanished from all radar and observation equipment.
Watari and the others stood at the edge of the park atop the small hill where the dogu-like object had rested, each of them gazing up at the night sky.
Miyashita lowered her head and murmured, as if to no one in particular: “Was this really the right outcome?”
Watari replied to her words.
“I don’t know that either. But one thing is certain: this conclusion is the result of a choice made by those 108 children of their own free will.”
Toyama spoke, his words sounding like a soliloquy.
“Could the legend of Kishimojin actually be a story passed down by people in the past who witnessed an object like that dogu figurine? You know, the kind that snatched up so many children. Apparently, that thing used to visit Earth every thousand years.”
While the other three nodded in apparent agreement, Watari alone quietly shook his head.
From atop the hill, Watari gazed at the cluster of skyscrapers in Ikebukuro; against the backdrop of the pitch-black night sky, the city’s multicolored lights twinkled dazzlingly.
“I wonder about that. We humans have ceaselessly pursued a prosperous life and a comfortable environment — and at least in developed nations like Japan, we’ve achieved it. Yet, as biological beings, we haven’t evolved. Most ordinary citizens don’t even give a thought to the many children suffering from abuse in the shadows of those glittering city lights.”
Watari turned to face the other four members and continued.
“It’s unlikely that those 108 children are the only ones in Japan suffering from abuse. More such children will inevitably appear. If there is anyone in modern Japan who truly resembles Kishimojin — back when she was a child-devouring demon — wouldn’t it be us? We adults — every single adult in this society?”
#kaiju
菊池川詠人
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