電車の中でも寝る前のベッドの中でもサクサク快適に。
もっと読みたい！がどんどんみつかる。
「読んで」「書いて」毎日が楽しくなる小説アプリをダウンロードしよう。
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電車の中でも寝る前のベッドの中でもサクサク快適に。
もっと読みたい！がどんどんみつかる。
「読んで」「書いて」毎日が楽しくなる小説アプリをダウンロードしよう。
テラーノベル
アプリでサクサク楽しめる
In early May, at a poultry farm in the inland area of Sendai — where the air still held a chill — Yuzuha Shinoda rubbed her eyes and rose from her bed, roused by the clamorous squawking of chickens.
She threw on the cardigan hanging next to her high school uniform and pulled back the curtains.
Glancing at the alarm clock on her desk, she saw it was not yet six in the morning. While it wasn’t unusual for chickens to crow at this hour, the way they were sounding now was abnormal.
Hundreds of chickens inside the coop were squawking in unison — or rather, screaming. These were not the drawn-out calls that herald the dawn; instead, urgent, piercing screeches echoed across the area.
Yuzuha opened the window and looked outside. At that instant, the head of a massive beast blocked her view.
Fangs were visible at the mouth of its long, pointed snout. The head alone was easily longer than Yuzuha was tall.
Its entire body was covered in thick fur; the yellowish coat gleamed like gold in the morning sunlight.
Stunned for a moment, Yuzuha suddenly realized she was on the second floor of her home. If a face was right there at the window, just how enormous must the creature be?
“W-waaaah!”
Yuzuha scrambled back from the window and huddled in the farthest corner of the room. The giant beast pressed its snout against the glass and let out a high-pitched, yapping cry.
There was a short scar on its nose, right between its eyes. Yuzuha recognized both the shape of the mark and the tone of the beast’s cry.
“Could it be … Fumo-chan?”
Shouts from the adults below drifted up to her.
“What is that thing?”
“C-call the police!”
At the sound of their voices, the beast’s massive head turned away for a moment; with a heavy thud that shook the ground, its colossal body vanished from Yuzuha’s sight.
The sound of trees swaying violently in the nearby woods reached Yuzuha’s room. She stood up tentatively and leaned out the window, catching sight of the back of a massive, golden-furred, four-legged beast as it raced toward the mountains.
It was at least twenty meters long. A crowd of residents had gathered around the house, shouting in agitation. Amidst the clamor, Yuzuha remained motionless, staring fixedly in the direction where the colossal beast had vanished.
That night, Associate Professor Toyama was enjoying a long-awaited reunion with an old friend at an izakaya in Tokyo.
That friend — Ashiya, now an associate professor at Michinoku University — was someone with whom he had spent his entire time in graduate school, right up through the completion of his doctoral program.
Clinking their beer mugs together and snacking on yakitori, Toyama spoke. “It’s been a while. Must be five years, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so. It’s been hard to get away for a trip since the kids were born.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your wedding. I had a business trip for an academic conference at the time.”
“Don’t worry about it. You should come visit sometime.”
“What brings you to Tokyo today?”
“I had to bow and scrape before the bureaucrats at the education ministry to apply for research funding. I really sweated bullets trying to make laypeople understand it. I envy you being at a national university.”
“Nah, securing a budget is pretty much the same for us national universities, too. It’s a tough world these days. So, what kind of research are you doing now?”
“Synthesizing messenger RNA. For all kinds of organisms.”
“For vaccines?”
“What I’m doing is strictly basic research. It’s a fiercely competitive field — especially since the whole COVID-19 thing. I’m hoping to hit the jackpot someday.”
“That sounds promising for the future. Your wife must be happy about it. How old is your child?”
“Three now. He’s a handful — a real rascal. My wife says boys are supposed to be like that, but I wish she’d spare a thought for the dad who has to deal with it.”
“Hahaha, sounds like things are going well for you both personally and professionally. I’m envious.”
“So, Toyama, what about you?”
“What about what?”
“Marriage. You’re at the age where you could start a family. Nothing on the horizon?”
“Oh, I’m a confirmed bachelor. I like the freedom of living alone.”
“Hey, Toyama.”
Ashiya set his beer mug down on the table and his expression turned serious.
“You … by any chance …”
“Hm? What is it? You’re suddenly acting so serious.”
“You’re still hung up on Riko Shinoda, aren’t you?”
This time, Toyama’s expression turned serious for a moment as he held his mug. But he quickly laughed it off and denied it.
“Hahaha! No way. I’m not that young anymore.”
“I see. Well, that’s fine, then.”
“Come on, it’s been a while — let’s really drink up. Hey, waiter! Two more mugs of beer.”
The next morning, Toyama arrived at Professor Watari’s laboratory clutching a head throbbing from a hangover; he found a stack of envelopes in the mailbox.
Gathering the six envelopes in his arms, he entered the room. The other team members were already at their desks.
Toyama made the rounds, handing out the envelopes with a playful air. He handed the first one to Miyashita.
“This one’s for the lady detective.”
Miyashita grimaced as she took the envelope.
“I’ve told you not to call me that. Female detectives aren’t exactly a rarity these days.”
Unfazed, Toyama glanced at the addresses and headed toward Watari’s desk.
“Most of these are for our boss.”
Watari also frowned, looking displeased.
“Who’s the boss? The long weekend ended ages ago — how long are you going to stay in holiday mode? Honestly, you’re as frivolous as ever.”
Toyama looked at the front of the last envelope — a standard letter-sized one.
“Oh, this one’s for me. Huh? The address just says ‘Teito University of Science.’ I’m amazed it actually got here. Did they forward it around? Where’s it from?”
He flipped the envelope over to check the sender, and his expression suddenly turned serious. The remaining envelopes slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor.
Matsuda rushed over and began picking up the fallen envelopes. Watari stood up from his chair and spoke to Toyama in an exasperated tone.
“What are you doing? Hey, Toyama — what’s with that look on your face? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Still staring at the back of the envelope, Toyama murmured as if in a trance.
“That might just be the case.”
Sensing something unusual, Watari asked, “What do you mean?”
“It might be a letter from a ghost.”
Toyama showed him the back of the envelope. The sender’s name was listed as “Riko Shinoda.” Watari pressed for more details.
“It sounds like a woman’s name — what about her?”
Toyama replied, his gaze drifting into the distance.
“She died … on that day.”
“That day?”
“March 11, 2011. She was supposed to have perished, swept away by the tsunami from the Great East Japan Earthquake in Sendai, where her family home was. I even attended her funeral. Why now?”
Upon seeing the sender’s address on the envelope in Toyama’s hand, Watari’s eyes widened; he rushed to his desk, opened a map site on his computer, and entered the address.
“Is this … a coincidence?”
Tsutsui asked, peering over Watari’s shoulder at the screen.
“Is something the matter, Prof. Watari?”
“I was just about to explain it to everyone. Matsuda, please get the large screen ready.”
Matsuda activated the large monitor on the wall, and Watari projected images onto it from his own computer.
The footage showed a poultry farm situated near the mountains. Then, the video began to play; amidst the terrified screams of several people, a massive, four-legged beast with golden fur prowled around the chicken coops.
Miyashita gasped in astonishment at the sight.
“That’s not a miniature model, is it? If not, just how big is that animal?”
Watari stroked his beard as he replied.
“It would mean a body length of over twenty meters. Toyama, what does it look like to you?”
Toyama narrowed his eyes and stared intently at the giant beast on the screen.
“It looks like a fox, I’d say. But I’ve never heard of a species with fur that appears gold.”
Matsuda asked Watari, “Where is this location?”
Watari projected several more still images of the giant beast onto the screen before speaking.
“It’s in the inland area of Sendai City. The Teito Shimbun compiled and sent us footage that local residents had shot on their smartphones. And now, for the main point …”
Watari turned to face everyone in the lab and continued.
“It’s still unofficial, but the Cabinet Office’s Crisis Management Division has requested cooperation from the Watari Lab. As usual, it looks like we’re going to be tasked with exterminating a monster.”
Watari stepped away from his desk and moved to Toyama’s side.
“And, Toyama — the return address on that letter sent to you matches the location where this giant creature was first sighted. If you don’t mind, would you show me the message inside?”
Toyama gave a slight nod and began opening the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of stationery with a floral pattern along the edges. Toyama unfolded and read it, then tilted his head in puzzlement.
“What is this?”
Toyama spread the letter out on the desk so the other members could see it. A single line was written there:
“Koishikuba Tazunekitemiyo Izumi naru Shinoda no Mori no Urami Kuzunoha.”
Everyone except Watari — Toyama included — looked blankly at the paper. Tsutsui crossed her arms, tilted her head, and spoke.
“A waka poem? But I have absolutely no idea what it means.”
Hearing this, Watari let out a loud sigh.
“Honestly, young people these days … You don’t know this poem?”
“S-s-sorry, I’m sorry. But I don’t recall ever learning anything like this in classical literature class.”
“This is what’s known as ‘general culture.’ I suppose the newspaper industry is a dying trade precisely because they fill the ranks with nothing but exam-smart whiz kids.”
“D-don’t put it that way … sniff.”
“This is a famous passage from the Legend of Kuzunoha.”
Miyashita asked Watari, looking a bit apprehensive.
“What is the legend of Kuzunoha?”
Watari returned to his desk, sat in his chair, and continued speaking.
“It’s a story known through Kabuki and Joruri plays like ‘Ashiya Dōman Ōuchi Kagami’ and ‘Shinoda-zuma.’ Back in the Heian period, a nobleman named Abe no Yasuna saved a fox that was being chased by hunters in the mountains.”
Matsuda exclaimed in surprise.
“A fox again?”
Watari nodded and went on.
“Afterward, he met a young woman who called herself Kuzunoha; they fell in love, married, and had a son. However, her true identity — the fox he had saved — was eventually revealed. Weeping, she left her husband and son behind and returned to the forest. That is the story of the Kuzunoha Fox.”
Tsutsui scratched his head and asked: “So, how does this waka poem relate to that?”
“It’s something the Kuzunoha Fox left behind when she departed. It conveys the message: ‘I am in the Forest of Shinoda in the Province of Izumi — present-day a part of Osaka Prefecture — so if you miss me, come and see me.’”
Tsutsui asked further, looking intrigued.
“What happened after that?”
Watari continued, looking pleased with that attitude.
“Years later, Yasuna and his son went to see her. The Kuzunoha Fox bestowed a crystal ball and a golden box upon her son. Thanks to the mysterious powers of those objects, the boy grew up to become an ‘onmyōji’ —a master of yin-yang divination — and played a major role at the Imperial Court. That man was Abe no Seimei.”
Tsutsui raised her voice in delight. “I know that! So, was it about Abe no Seimei’s background?”
“Oh, so you actually knew that much!”
“Yeah — I mean, when you say ‘Abe no Seimei,’ he’s a staple character in anime and games featuring supernatural battles, right? Like ‘Magic Spell War’ recently. I’m a fan of the voice actor who plays him, too.”
Watari grimaced heavily and muttered in a tone of exasperation: “Is that where you’re coming from?”
The following day, a formal request arrived from the Cabinet Office’s Crisis Management Center, and the members of the Watari Lab — minus Miyashita — headed to Sendai in a van driven by Matsuda.
Before getting into the vehicle, Tsutsui asked Watari: “Huh? Isn’t Assistant Inspector Miyashita coming with us?”
Watari replied as he stowed his bag in the trunk:
“Miyashita will join us later. Apparently, she was suddenly summoned to the Metropolitan Police Department.”
While the Watari team’s vehicle was traveling north along the Tohoku Expressway, Miyashita reported to the office of the Public Security Mobile Investigation Unit. Upon entering the unit commander’s office, she found a white man already seated there.
The commander introduced the man to Miyashita:
“This is Mr. Scott, a First Secretary at the U.S. Embassy in Japan. He has provided us with information relevant to the incident in Sendai.”
Miyashita shook hands with Scott, looking puzzled, and sat down in a chair next to him in front of the commander’s desk. Glancing sideways at Scott from time to time, Miyashita asked the commander:
“Why would an American diplomat be interested in this case?”
Scott answered the question himself in fluent Japanese: “Because it is a matter that deeply concerns our own national security.”
“Does that mean a giant fox has appeared in the United States as well?”
“No, it’s about this.”
Scott took out the morning edition of a Japanese newspaper and spread it open to a local news section. A large article reported that an outbreak of bird flu had been confirmed at a poultry farm near Sendai.
Miyashita asked again, still looking completely baffled.
“Is it an infectious disease affecting chickens?”
Scott replied in a serious tone.
“It might not be an ordinary infectious disease. Analysis of the virus’s genetic information — its RNA, in this case — revealed a high probability that it has been artificially modified.”
Miyashita’s eyebrows shot up.
“You don’t mean … a biological weapon?”
Scott nodded silently. Miyashita leaned forward and asked another question.
“If that’s the case, will a pandemic break out in Japan? How toxic is it to humans?”
Scott gave a slight wave of his right hand.
“No, it poses no harm to humans. While humans might contract the virus, they do not develop the disease itself.”
Miyashita looked even more confused, but the next moment, something struk her.
“Mr. Scott, how do you know so much about this?”
Scott offered a faint, tight-lipped smile.
“I suppose the statute of limitations has expired, so I can tell you: that virus was originally something my country was researching.”
“An American biological weapon?”
“It dates back to the Cold War. Major powers around the world were secretly researching biological weapons. However, our country’s research was a series of failures; we never managed to complete it. We simply couldn’t achieve sufficient transmissibility. Then, the data and virus samples were stolen — likely by the Soviet Union at the time.”
“So it went to the Soviets, and they perfected the biological weapon?”
Scott shook his head.
“No, we believe the Soviets couldn’t complete it either. Then, in 1991, the Soviet Union collapsed, and a vast amount of classified military information leaked out to the world. Some of it found its way to terrorists and international criminal syndicates via the black market. We believe this specific bird flu virus was among those materials.”
The team leader chimed in.
“Genetic engineering technology has advanced by leaps and bounds over the last thirty years. It wouldn’t be surprising if some nation or terrorist group managed to create a virus — intended as a biological weapon — that neither the U.S. nor the Soviet Union could perfect back then.”
Scott nodded deeply and continued.
“If that bird flu — now a biological weapon — has been deployed in Japan, it’s a matter of security not just for your country, but for the entire world. Please, let me assist you.”
Miyashita asked, still looking skeptical.
“Is that the sort of work American diplomats do?”
Scott grinned.
“I’m on temporary assignment at the embassy here. My actual post is in Langley, Virginia.”
Miyashita gasped for a moment and muttered to herself: “The CIA!”
Toyama was dreaming. Memories were flooding back of the time when he was a second-year doctoral student at Teito University of Science.
As he sat hunched over his desk, devouring a collection of research papers, Riko Shinoda — a fellow student from the biology lab — entered his field of vision.
She was a beautiful young woman with long, flowing black hair and a smile that captivated everyone around her. She spoke to Toyama.
“Toyama, it’s almost time for the get-together.”
Toyama replied curtly, his voice low.
“I’m not going. I don’t have time for that.”
“Oh, come on. You shouldn’t always be so gloomy and keep to yourself. You really need to value socializing more, Toyama.”
“Give it a rest. I’m different from you people. I can’t afford to live the way you do — coming from such privileged backgrounds.”
“You shouldn’t talk about others like that. Is life actually fun when you’re always alone, looking miserable, and never cracking a single joke?”
“I am determined to become a researcher, no matter what it takes. Enjoying life? I’m not in a position to indulge in such luxuries! Just leave me alone!”
“Honestly, you’re so stubborn. Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be at the usual place.”
Watching Riko walk away, Toyama muttered to himself:
“Why do you bother with me? Deep down, you’re probably laughing at me and thinking I’m a fool. Damn it … just you wait. I’ll show every single one of you.”
Toyama jerked awake as his shoulder was shaken. Tsutsui was peering at his face from the side.
“Dr. Toyama, we’ve arrived.”
“Oh … I must have dozed off.”
Shaking his head, Toyama looked out the window from the back seat of the Watari Lab van. They had reached their destination in Sendai.
Although it was within the major city of Sendai, the area featured a rural landscape with mountains looming right before them. It was the season of fresh greenery, and the verdant leaves dazzled the eyes.
They were standing at the entrance to a poultry farm — the very place where that giant fox had been sighted. The four of them — Watari, Toyama, Tsutsui, and Matsuda — knocked on the door of the farm’s office, but there was no answer.
A young girl, slipping into a pair of sandals, came running from the corridor of a nearby house.
“Um, did you need something from us?”
As she drew closer, Toyama saw her face and audibly gasped — a sound loud enough for everyone to hear.
He grabbed the girl by the shoulders and shouted: “Riko! You’re alive? That’s impossible!”
The girl trembled in fear. Toyama suddenly snapped back to reality; he let go of her, stepped back a few paces, and bowed his head.
“I — I apologize. You looked so much like someone I used to know.”
The girl let out a long breath and asked Toyama: “Um, are you an acquaintance of Aunt Riko?”
“Aunt?”
“Yes. If you mean Riko Shinoda, she’s my aunt. My mother’s younger sister.”
“So, you’re Riko’s niece?”
“Oh, yes. My relatives often tell me that I look exactly like Aunt Riko did when she was young.”
A kei-car pulled into the premises, honking its horn. A refined-looking woman in her forties stepped out and hurried over to where Watari and the others were standing.
“Excuse me — are you all from the Watari Lab?”
Watari stepped forward and handed her his business card.
“I am Watari, a professor at Teito University of Science. Thank you for accommodating our request on such short notice.”
The woman took a business card from her handbag and handed it to him.
“I’m Risa Shinoda, the owner of the Shinoda Poultry Farm. Thank you for making the long trip out here. It’s a huge help. The whole area is in an uproar because a kaiju appeared nearby.”
The young girl spoke up, gazing intently at Toyama.
“My name is Yuzuha Shinoda. Um … by any chance, is your name Toyama?”
Toyama blinked in surprise and replied: “Yes, I’m Toyama, an associate professor at Teito University of Science. That’s right, but how did you know?”
Yuzuha turned to Risa and exclaimed excitedly: “Mom! This has to be the guy — the one from that envelope.”
The members of the Watabe Lab sat formally on the tatami floor of the Shinoda family’s spacious reception room, located right next to the poultry farm.
It was a large house — more of a manor than a mere home — featuring a vast room that spanned twenty tatami mats.
With Yuzuha’s help, Risa served tea in high-quality, lidded teacups to the four visitors. Yuzuha, her face full of curiosity, kept urging Risa to speak.
“Come on, Mom, let’s hear that story already.”
Risa gave Yuzuha a gentle tap on the head to admonish her.
“Now, now. You shouldn’t butt into grown-up conversations.”
Risa turned to Toyama and, seemingly recalling something, asked tentatively: “By any chance… were you at Riko’s funeral?”
Toyama hurriedly set his teacup on the table and replied.
“Oh, yes. You have a good memory.”
“My, so you are that young man from back then. You’ve grown into such a fine man. I imagine things were still very difficult in Tokyo following the earthquake, so I truly appreciate you making the long trip.”
“Not at all. I apologize for leaving back then without even offering my condolences to the family.”
“Actually, the other day, while I was sorting through Riko’s belongings, I found an envelope — a letter that had never been mailed.”
“A letter?”
“Yes. It was all ready to go — just needed a stamp and to be dropped in the mailbox. Since the address only listed the university name, I recently sent it off thinking it might just find its way back to the sender. The fact that you’re here now means the letter must have reached you.”
“So that’s how it happened. Yes, I did receive the letter. However, the reason I’ve come here today is in my capacity as a member of the Watabe Lab. Let’s see … Yuzuha, was it? I hear you saw that giant fox?”
With an “I’ve been waiting for this moment” look on her face, Yuzuha leaned across the table and spoke rapidly.
“It wasn’t just a matter of seeing it — I’m pretty sure that was Fumo-chan. The scar on its nose was an exact match.”
Watari asked Yuzuha: “Did you know that giant animal from before?”
“It was normal-sized until about three months ago. It’s a wild fox I used to feed now and then.”
Now, everyone in the Watari Lab leaned forward over the table. Toyama asked, his voice trembling: “You were keeping a fox?”
Yuzuha continued speaking cheerfully, a smile on her face.
“I wasn’t exactly keeping it as a pet. It was just a stray that would come by for food sometimes. That Fumo-chan is probably the fifth generation.”
Risa began to explain to the four stunned members of the Watari Lab.
“It all started when Riko taught her to do it. Wild foxes are natural enemies of poultry farms, but Riko figured that since we can’t keep them out completely, we might as well tame them with food. She got this girl — who wasn’t even in elementary school yet — to start feeding them.”
“I see,” Toyama said, sounding impressed.
“If one fox is constantly coming and going, it claims the area as its territory, keeping other foxes away. And if it gets food from humans, it won’t attack the chickens. Is that the idea?”
“Exactly!”
Yuzuha laughed happily and exclaimed.
“That’s what Aunt Riko said. So, I was feeding the foxes to protect our chickens. I guess they’d reach the end of their lives after a few years; once one stopped showing up, the next fox would come along for food. And Fumo-chan is the fifth one in that line.”
Risa said with a wry smile, “My parents and I both told her not to feed wild foxes. Wild animals can carry infectious diseases, after all.”
Yuzuha chimed in proudly.
“Aunt Riko taught me that, too. She said not to touch foxes because of pathogens like Echinococcus. She even took me to get my rabies vaccination.”
Risa’s wry smile deepened as she spoke.
“Our family has been local landowners for generations — we have rather old-fashioned traditions. It was already decided that I would take a husband into the family to carry on the business, so Riko was free to grow up however she pleased. Even when she announced she was going to graduate school in Tokyo to become a scientist, my parents just resigned themselves to it.”
Just then, Watari’s smartphone rang. He stepped out into the hallway to answer it; the call was from Miyashita. After listening for a moment, Watari shouted so loudly that everyone in the main hall turned to look in surprise.
“What?!”
Having ended the call, Watari wore a serious expression as he crouched down beside Risa and Yuzuha.
“I am terribly sorry, but I need the two of you to go to the hospital immediately. We’ve determined that isolation is necessary for testing.”
That evening, the four members of the Watari Lab waited in the hospital lobby for Miyashita’s arrival, all while awaiting the test results for Risa and Yuzuha, who had been placed in separate isolation rooms.
Tsutsui asked Toyama with a look of concern, “Can that virus infect humans, too?”
Toyama replied, glancing at the tablet in his hand, “According to the information from Assistant Inspector Miyashita, humans don’t develop symptoms, but infection itself is a possibility. We’ll need to test all the chickens at that poultry farm as well.”
Matsuda asked, “It’s bird flu, right? Is it even possible to catch it from a fox?”
“There’s still a lot we don’t know about avian influenza viruses. Migratory waterfowl carry the virus, yet they don’t get sick themselves. And yet, when poultry like chickens get infected, it’s often fatal. We can’t rule out the possibility that wild animals — like foxes and wild boars — act as carriers, even if they don’t show symptoms.”
Watari spoke up while reading an email on his smartphone.
“It seems a specialist is coming along with Miyashita. Apparently, he’s an expert in genetic analysis.”
A short while later, a taxi pulled up in front of the hospital, and Miyashita stepped out, accompanied by two men. One of them was Scott. Upon seeing the other man, Toyama exclaimed in surprise.
“Is that … Ashiya?”
Ashiya raised his right hand high and called out to Toyama, “Hey there!”
“I’m here to help out. Leave the viral genetic analysis to me.”
The hospital test results came back; Risa tested negative, but Yuzuha tested positive for some kind of virus. Although she showed no signs of ill health, Yuzuha was placed in isolation as a precaution.
Ashiya and Toyama received the data and Yuzuha’s test samples from the hospital doctors. Toyama asked Ashiya, looking anxious.
“So, does that mean it’s an unidentified virus? Will she be okay?”
Ashiya put on an exaggeratedly optimistic expression and replied:
“If it’s definitely avian influenza, it shouldn’t harm humans. I’ll run a PCR test just to be sure. Who would have thought my experience with the novel coronavirus would come in handy like this?”
That night, the giant fox appeared at a different poultry farm, located several dozen kilometers away from the Shinoda farm.
Despite its massive size, the fox appeared beside two adjacent chicken coops making almost no sound; the elderly owner, noticing its presence, hurriedly scrambled into the shadows of a nearby warehouse.
After sniffing the coops for a moment, the giant fox suddenly hooked its forepaws onto the roof of one of them and tore off the corrugated iron sheeting.
It snapped up the chickens one by one — squawking wildly and thrashing about — in its powerful jaws. While the chickens in the neighboring coop raised a clamor, the giant fox — its muzzle stained with blood — killed every last bird before vanishing into the mountains with a light, airy gait.
At daybreak, Ashiya and five members of the Watari Lab rushed to the scene from a nearby inn.
While police officers questioned the owner, Ashiya and Toyama examined the carcasses of chickens inside the coop, and the other four collected samples from the grassy area where the giant fox had presumably passed.
Ashiya placed blood from a dead chicken into a test tube, added a reagent, and shook the mixture. After about five minutes, green particles began to appear in the tube.
Seeing this, Ashiya muttered: “It looks like they were infected with avian influenza. They would have developed symptoms in another two or three days.”
Toyama, gazing at the adjacent coop, remarked: “That’s strange, though. Why is the coop right next door untouched? This one was completely wiped out.”
A municipal official emerged from the neighboring coop and came over to report to Ashiya.
“Doctor, the chickens in that coop aren’t testing positive for the virus. Should we test the whole flock just to be safe?”
Ashiya thought for a moment before replying: “Please do. After all, this was only a preliminary test.”
Golden hairs measuring several dozen centimeters in length were collected from the surrounding grass. Ashiya carefully sealed them in a testing kit and headed to a local research facility.
The following afternoon, Ashiya returned to the inn where the Watari Lab members and Scott were staying.
Everyone gathered in Watari’s room, and Ashiya spread a thick stack of documents out on the tatami mats to begin his explanation.
“Let me start with the conclusion. The RNA sequence of the avian influenza virus detected in the chickens attacked last night matches the virus provided by Mr. Scott by 99 percent.”
Scott muttered in frustration: “Oh my God.”
He immediately switched to Japanese.
“If the virus spreads like this, it will be a catastrophe.”
Ashiya continued:
“The same virus was detected in the fur of that giant fox. We found the virus in the chickens it attacked, yet every chicken in the coop right next door tested negative. It’s highly likely that the fox is a carrier of the virus.”
Tsutsui tilted his head and asked Scott: “But humans don’t catch that disease, right? Does it really work as a biological weapon?”
Scott replied: “Biological weapons don’t necessarily target humans. In fact, using a biological weapon without an effective vaccine in actual combat puts your own troops and civilians at risk. Modern biological weapons target livestock and crops.”
Matsuda gasped audibly.
“I heard about that in a lecture at the National Defense Academy. Spreading diseases among livestock or crops to cause food shortages and throw an enemy nation’s society into chaos — that’s becoming the mainstream approach for biological weapons.”
Watari stroked his beard as he spoke.
“I see. If every chicken in Japan were wiped out, it would be a disaster.”
Tsutsui was still tilting her head.
“Would that happen with just chickens?”
Toyama asked Tsutsui with a faint smile.
“Ms. Tsutsui, what’s your favorite food? Say, if we’re talking about donburi rice bowls?”
“Um, probably oyakodon [chicken and egg bowl]. Oh!”
“Exactly. If you couldn’t get chicken meat or eggs, you wouldn’t be able to eat oyakodon. And what if you tried to import them, only to find the virus had spread worldwide?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Fried chicken, rolled omelets, karaage, yakitori —they’d all be gone!”
Miyashita chimed in: “There are tons of snacks and sweets that use eggs as an ingredient, too. Plus, poultry is a vital source of protein, especially in developing countries.”
Watari added: “Just losing chickens would throw Japan’s food supply into total chaos. And if they created a virus targeting cattle or pigs, too … well, our diet would be set back to the Edo period.”
“There is one more odd point,” Ashiya said, spreading out a map of the area.
“It’s the locations of the poultry farms where bird flu infections have been confirmed over the past three months. They are scattered too far apart. There are plenty of other poultry farms in between, yet the infection seems to have skipped over them. Normally, an outbreak covering such a wide area would spread in a continuous band; the current pattern is unnatural.”
Watari spoke up.
“Are you saying that the giant fox is carrying the virus — and that explains it?”
Ashiya nodded. Matsuda stood up and said:
“I’ll contact the Self-Defense Forces. I’ll warn them that attacking that giant fox carries the risk of scattering the virus.”
Ashiya looked startled and said to Matsuda:
“You’re right. If that fox’s blood were to spray into the air, the virus could spread. After all, bird flu is primarily airborne. Plus, we have no proof that it’s truly harmless to humans.”
The conversation ended, and everyone fell silent. There was nothing more to be done for the moment. Toyama stood up and made a suggestion in a playful tone.
“Well, it’s still too early to turn in. How about we have a drink to recharge for what’s ahead? I’ll go pick something up. What would you like, Detective?”
Miyashita pouted in protest.
“Oh, come on! Please stop teasing me every single time! You know perfectly well I can’t handle alcohol, don’t you?”
“Hahaha, I’m just kidding. I’ll get you a zunda shake sweet drink instead, Ms. Miyashita. Right, I’ll be back in a bit.”
Ashiya stared after Toyama as he left the room, looking completely dumbfounded. Noticing this, Watari asked with a puzzled expression:
“Mr. Ashiya, is something the matter?”
“Huh?”
Ashiya replied in a daze.
“Is Toyama always like that?”
“Hm? He’s always been that way. Frivolous, or maybe just a bit of a joker.”
“He’s really … changed, hasn’t he?”
“Oh? Toyama has?”
“We were in the same graduate program at Teito University of Science. Back then, he was an introvert — always looked gloomy and hardly ever spoke to anyone. I never would have imagined that Toyama would start cracking jokes and bantering like this.”
“Is that so? That guy, really?”
The next day, the detailed test results for Yuzuha’s sample came back. Ashiya, having returned from the testing facility with an expression of disbelief, gathered everyone in Watari’s room again after lunch.
“I can hardly believe this,” Ashiya said, looking at the data on his tablet.
“We detected massive amounts of antibodies against that modified avian influenza virus in the girl’s blood. We also found the virus’s RNA. That much makes sense. However, the base sequences related to the virus’s pathogenicity have undergone significant mutation.”
Toyama asked, his expression darkening.
“Viral mutation? Are you saying it’s evolved to infect humans?”
“It’s the opposite. The virus has lost its pathogenicity toward both humans and birds. In other words, it has mutated into a form that is harmless to any animal. The virus detected in the giant fox’s fur was the same.”
Watari leaned forward at Ashiya’s answer.
“So, the cause-and-effect relationship was reversed? That giant fox isn’t carrying the biological weapon virus — it’s neutralizing it inside its own body?”
Ashiya shook his head and spoke in a weary voice.
“That’s the only conclusion. It takes the avian influenza virus into its body, mutates it, and spreads the neutralized, mutated virus. Any animal infected with that mutated virus — humans included — develops immunity against the original biological weapon virus.”
Toyama’s eyes widened, and he muttered in astonishment.
“It’s like a live vaccine …”
“I was just thinking the exact same thing. That giant fox is essentially a living vaccine-manufacturing machine.”
Tsutsui spoke as she opened an old, worn book in her hands.
“In Japan, foxes are spoken of as symbols of calamity — like the nine-tailed fox — yet they are also revered as divine messengers. These diametrically opposed images coexist.”
Stroking his beard, Watari began to speak, almost as if talking to himself.
“Once every few centuries, a new virus emerges in the natural world. Each time, a special individual appears among the foxes — one capable of mutating the virus — thereby curbing the epidemic.”
Toyama asked, “And you’re saying that giant fox is one of those?”
Watari gave a slight nod.
“For people living before the age of modern pathology, two interpretations would have arisen: one, that the plague struck because the fox appeared; and two, that the plague subsided because the fox appeared. It’s the same situation we face now.”
Early the next morning, Scott took Miyashita and left the inn. Upon arriving at the Miyagi Prefectural Police information center, they found that a request had already been received from the U.S. Embassy, and they were immediately shown security camera footage.
Amidst the city scenes flashing across the screen, the same individual appeared repeatedly: a white man with a sharp, piercing gaze. Pointing at the man, Scott spoke to Miyashita.
“We received word from intelligence back home. He goes by the alias ‘Poker.’ He’s a high-ranking member of an Eastern European arms-trafficking mafia. He entered Japan carrying a container believed to hold a biological weapon.”
Miyashita studied the man’s features, committing them to memory.
“Are you saying this man is spreading the avian influenza virus?”
“Yes. That would explain why the infections have been popping up sporadically. He’s likely testing the rate of transmission. Japan’s livestock disease control system has managed to contain it so far, but if this continues, we’re in danger.”
Miyashita turned to the official.
“I’m requesting the cooperation of the investigation team. I’ll handle the coordination with the chief.”
A prefectural police investigation team was immediately assembled; Scott and Miyashita borrowed an unmarked patrol car and, tracking real-time security camera footage, closed in on Poker.
Poker was once again heading toward the vicinity of the Shinoda Poultry Farm. They approached cautiously, receiving updates on his vehicle’s location from the investigation team.
Poker’s car came to a stop on the shoulder of a road near the mountains. Miyashita and Scott got out and approached on foot.
Just as Poker opened his attaché case beside a small poultry farm and removed a sealed metal container, Miyashita sprang forward with her gun drawn.
“Freeze!”
Miyashita shouted, aiming her weapon at him. Startled, Poker froze in place and reluctantly raised his hands above his shoulders.
Scott crept up behind Poker, picked up the attaché case from the ground, and quickly put some distance between himself and the suspect. After checking the contents of the case, Scott gave Miyashita a firm nod.
Scott spoke to Poker in English: “I am detaining you on suspicion of violating the Biological Weapons Convention. You will first be arrested by the Japanese police, and subsequently extradited to the United States. If you comply peacefully, your safety and physical well-being will be guaranteed.”
Poker nodded sullenly and slowly approached Miyashita with his hands raised. Then, seizing a momentary opening, he kicked up mud from the unpaved road with one foot.
Splattered with mud, Miyashita lost her aim and covered her face. Poker scrambled up the adjacent mountain slope.
He fled into the dense thicket of trees. Just as Miyashita and Scott moved to pursue him, a flash of golden fur caught their eyes.
The trees shook violently, and amidst a piercing shriek, Poker’s body was hoisted several meters into the air.
He was clamped between the fangs of a massive maw. The head of that giant fox loomed above the treetops. The creature proceeded to crush Poker’s body in its jaws.
Then, clutching the bloodied corpse, the giant fox sprinted off into the depths of the mountain forest.
Miyashita watched it go, dumbfounded, and remarked: “It was as if it knew he was the culprit.”
Scott, carefully returning the container to the attaché case, replied:
“If Professor Watari’s deduction is correct, that might well be the case. As the source of the virus, that monster may have been hunting him, too.”
They had successfully recovered the viral biological weapon. The remaining issue was what to do about the giant fox.
Ashiya adamantly insisted on capturing the fox alive.
“That fox is far superior to any vaccine-manufacturing technology humanity has ever invented. It might even be capable of handling completely unknown viruses that could emerge in the future. Killing it is absolutely out of the question.”
A Ground Self-Defense Force platoon was already standing by nearby, but with no conclusion reached yet, Watari and the others decided to remain at the inn.
Scott had departed for Yokota Air Base in a U.S. military helicopter, carrying the container holding the biological weapon.
Ashiya and the members of the Watari Lab were chatting idly while enjoying a leisurely meal in the inn’s large hall.
Tsutsui spoke up while stuffing a piece of rolled omelet into her mouth.
“Come to think of it, that letter to Dr. Toyama turned out to be just a coincidence, didn’t it?”
Ashiya asked with a puzzled look.
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
When Toyama explained the story behind the letter, Ashiya seemed genuinely astonished.
“So, this is where Riko Shinoda’s family home is? That really is an incredible coincidence.”
Matsuda asked, looking intrigued.
“Did the three of you know each other?”
Ashiya nodded vigorously as he replied.
“We were all in the same graduate school cohort at Teito University of Science. We were in the same biology lab and finished our doctoral programs the same year. Oh, that reminds me, Toyama — you used to date Riko, didn’t you? Did you two break up?”
Everyone in the Watari Lab except Toyama turned to look at him in surprise. Toyama murmured softly, his gaze fixed on the distance.
“It was my fault that Riko died.”
Toyama reminisces as he speaks. It was during their second year of doctoral studies — a time when a young Toyama, Ashiya, and Riko Shinoda were all beginning to put the finishing touches on their respective dissertations.
It was March, and the three of them — all members of the same laboratory — were conducting a mock presentation of their research findings in the presence of their supervising professor.
That day, it was Riko Shinoda’s turn to present; she stood before the whiteboard.
About twenty minutes into her explanation, Toyama, who had been listening while following along with a copy of the draft, let out a sudden, “Huh?”
“Yes? Is something the matter, Toyama?”
“N-no, it’s just …”
Toyama stammered and looked away.
“It’s nothing.”
Ashiya interrupted just as Riko Shinoda was about to continue.
“Hold on, Shinoda. Are you sure that ID number for the cited paper — number seventeen — is correct?”
Flustered, she checked the list of paper IDs at the end of her draft. Their supervising professor, a man with gray hair, spoke up with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Ms. Shinoda, isn’t it actually this paper?”
He showed her the paper displayed on his laptop. Upon checking the ID number, Riko Shinoda let out a childlike, “Oops!”
“I wrote down the ID for a different paper! That was a close call.”
The professor laughed, yet his tone remained stern.
“The titles are so similar that even I might easily make that mistake. Still, you need to be careful. If you submit it like that, it could well be rejected.”
That night, Riko Shinoda came to visit Toyama’s apartment. As soon as she entered the room, she confronted him, looking slightly angry.
“What was that all about earlier today? You noticed the mistake, didn’t you, Toyama? Why didn’t you point it out right away?”
Toyama sat cross-legged on the tatami mats, looking sullen, and turned his face away.
“I didn’t notice.”
He hadn’t wanted to embarrass her in front of everyone else. He couldn’t bring himself to say that, though.
Riko Shinoda stepped closer, pressing the issue.
“Ashiya told me right away, you know.”
Toyama slammed his fist against the tatami and raised his voice.
“Then you should just go out with Ashiya! Unlike me, he’s a rich kid from a good family, after all.”
“Nobody ever said anything like that!”
With that, Riko Shinoda slammed the door shut and stormed out of the apartment.
After recounting the story, Toyama glanced around at the members of the Watari Lab and spoke with a self-deprecating air.
“The next day, when I went to Riko’s lodgings, I was told she had just taken a long-distance bus home. That was March 10th. We had actually planned to leave for Sendai together on the 12th.”
Tsutsui asked hesitantly, “Why did she go alone?”
Toyama replied with a pained expression.
“She must have lost patience with me. Just before I entered university, my father was laid off and committed suicide.”
Everyone else gasped. Toyama continued.
“I went from a life where money was never an issue to suddenly being a destitute student. I didn’t want to end up like my father. That’s why I chose the path of a researcher — or perhaps I should say I clung to it — because I was determined never to become a company emloyee. The other students all came from families with decent financial means. To me, every single one of them looked like an enemy.”
Watari spoke in a low voice.
“I had no idea you had a past like that.”
Toyama said, a self-mocking smile playing on his lips.
“Looking back, it was all in my own head — a battle I was fighting alone. I couldn’t help but resent the other students who were fully enjoying their college lives. Riko Shinoda, in particular — coming from a family of long-standing landowners in Sendai — seemed dazzling to me. That’s why I was always so stubborn with her.”
Ashiya spoke in a somber tone.
“I didn’t know. So that’s what happened.”
Toyama continued, that self-deprecating smile still on his face.
“If I hadn’t been so absurdly stubborn back then, Riko would have left for Sendai on the 12th. If that had happened, she wouldn’t have been in Sendai on March 11th — the day of the earthquake. It’s as if I’m the one who caused her death.”
Early the next morning, just as dawn was breaking, Matsuda went around knocking on the doors of the Watari Lab members staying at the inn to wake them up.
Toyama looked out the window and asked with a huge yawn:
“What’s going on? It’s not even six o’clock yet.”
Matsuda replied with a grave expression:
“The attack on that giant fox is about to begin. Orders were just issued to the Ground Self-Defense Force platoon that’s been on standby.”
“What?”
Still in their pajamas, they rushed out into the hallway with Matsuda. In front of Watari’s room, Ashiya was talking urgently with the other members.
Watari asked Matsuda: “Why was such an order issued all of a sudden?”
Matsuda shook his head slightly as he answered:
“I don’t know the full details. It seems, however, that the only information that got through was the part about the giant fox’s virus being harmless to humans.”
Tsutsui, who had been making a call on her smartphone a short distance away, ran over to the group.
“This area is the constituency of the ruling party’s deputy secretary-general. It looks like the party took action in response to petitions from local residents demanding it be exterminated immediately.”
“We have to stop it!”
Ashiya exclaimed.
“That creature is a rare specimen — the kind that might only appear once every few centuries. Its existence is crucial for the future of vaccine development and infectious disease research.”
Ignoring those words, the sound of what seemed to be gunshots rang out in the distance.
Two platoons from the Ground Self-Defense Force split up and launched a pincer attack on the giant fox from both the left and right.
They monitored the giant fox’s position from the air using drones and flushed it out of the forest by firing mortar rounds into the trees.
As the giant fox emerged from the forest, it was pelted with a rain of machine-gun fire from afar. Red stains began to spread across patches of its golden fur.
Enraged, the giant fox charged at one of the platoons, only to be struck at close range by a portable anti-tank rocket; its massive body, bleeding profusely from the belly, staggered off in a particular direction.
The platoon leader shouted out: “Cease fire! It’s entered a residential area.”
The giant fox, its gait unsteady, approached a single house — the Shinoda Poultry Farm.
It went up to the house, pressed its snout against a second-floor window, and let out a faint, high-pitched squeal.
While the police were busy evacuating residents, a young girl ducked under the police cordon and sprinted toward the house. An officer tried to stop her, but she was too fast. It was Yuzuha Shinoda.
Yuzuha dashed inside and grabbed a whole carton of strawberries from the refrigerator. She ran around the house and rushed over to where the giant fox was sitting.
Upon spotting Yuzuha, the fox lay flat on its belly and let out a high-pitched, nostalgic yelp.
Yuzuha dropped the strawberries from the carton into its massive mouth. The fox narrowed its eyes and slowly savored the taste of the strawberries.
“So, it really was you, Fumo-chan.”
Yuzuha spoke slowly, as if addressing a small child, while stroking the snout of the massive, blood-stained fox.
“I don’t understand the complicated stuff, but you really gave it your all, didn’t you? It’s okay now — you don’t have to try so hard anymore. It’s all over. So …”
With a heavy thud, the fox’s head collapsed onto the ground. Yuzuha continued to gently stroke the area around its eyelids — eyelids that would never open again.
In the end, the giant fox died, and the Self-Defense Forces arranged to transport its carcass to a research facility. Ashiya remarked — his tone heavy with deep regret — that they likely wouldn’t be able to glean much information from the body.
The members of the Watari Lab, scheduled to depart for Tokyo the following morning, visited the Shinoda home just after noon to pay their greeting.
Risa and Yuzuha welcomed them in the main room, when Tsutsui suddenly spoke up.
“By the way, Dr. Toyama … I wonder if the two of them might know something about the contents of that letter?”
Toyama showed Risa and Yuzuha the letter he had received from Riko Shinoda, but both of them merely tilted their heads in puzzlement.
Tsutsui looked puzzled as she gazed at the written characters of the waka poem on her smartphone.
“I wonder why both place names are written in hiragana? In the original poem, they’re written using kanji.”
Risa murmured as she stared at the letter paper.
”‘Izumi naru, Shinoda no mori’ [In Izumi, the forest of Shinoda]… Oh, wait a minute!”
Risa retrieved the neighborhood circulation board from the corner of the room and showed it to everyone. It listed the Shinoda family’s address. The spot she pointed to read “Izumi Ward, Sendai City.”
Everyone gasped in surprise. Watari spoke up.
“I see — the characters are different, but it is ‘Izumi.’ Is there a forest around here with ‘Shinoda’ in its name?”
Yuzuha’s eyes sparkled as she said: “Hey, Mom. Could it be the woods on the hill behind the house?”
“Oh, come to think of it, that might be it. Our family has been local landowners for generations, so there’s a copse of trees that the locals call the ‘Shinoda Family Forest.’ Our surname is ‘Shinoda,’ too — even though the kanji are different.”
They decided to go and take a look at the woods together.
It was within walking distance of the Shinoda home. While not quite large enough to be called a true forest, it was reasonably wooded, and there was a flat clearing partway up the slope.
Risa guided everyone up the slope, explaining: “Apparently, this used to be a site for forestry work, but it’s been left untended for over a decade now.”
The flat clearing was overgrown with low-growing weeds of various kinds. Tsutsui looked around curiously and asked:
“Is the plant known as ‘kuzu’ (arrowroot) supposed to be here?”
Ashiya gave a wry smile.
“It grows all over the place. That plant right by your feet is kuzu, too.”
“Really? There’s that much of it? So, it’s not like any single one of them is special?”
“No.”
Toyama walked toward a single kuzu plant standing in the center of the clearing.
“Yeah.”
Ashiya also grinned and started walking toward the same spot.
The two of them touched the layered leaves to verify what they were. Toyama spoke to Tsutsui: “These are artificial.”
Everyone gathered around and touched the leaves.
“You’re right. It looks like some kind of resin. It’s impressive that both you and Dr. Ashiya could tell at a glance,” Tsutsui said.
Ashiya replied with a laugh.
“Well, we are biologists, after all. That said, what’s the significance of this?”
Yuzuha suddenly began muttering to herself.
”‘Urami Kuzunoha’ … the word ‘urami’ usually mans resentment … wait a minute. Considering Aunt Riko’s sense of humor … Maybe ‘ura’ and ‘mi’? … ‘ura’ may be the back side and ‘mi’ may be looking …”
Yuzuha turned to Toyama.
“Doctor, couldn’t it mean ‘Look at the back?’”
Toyama laughed aloud.
“You think there’s something written on the back of these leaves? That’s hardly —”
Toyama’s eyes went wide as he flipped over the topmost leaf. On the back of the artificial leaf, a single character was written in permanent marker.
As Toyama and Ashiya flipped over the leaves one by one, they found a character written on each, revealing the message “Dig here” when strung together. On the back of the leaf closest to the ground, there was even a helpful downward-pointing arrow.
Toyama said with a look of bemusement:
”‘Dig here, woof-woof, treasure is here,’ is it? Am I a dog from a folktale? Still, we’d need some kind of tool to dig.”
Matsuda spoke up as he took off the backpack he had been carrying.
“Leave it to me, then.”
With those words, Matsuda pulled a small shovel with a folding handle from his backpack, extended it, and drove the blade into the ground.
“This will do the job.”
Watari remarked with admiration: “Do you always carry something like that around?”
Matsuda replied with a proud smile.
“It’s an essential item for field operations in the Ground Self-Defense Force. Now, everyone, please step back a bit.”
After digging down just twenty centimeters or so, the tip of the shovel struck something. Matsuda carefully cleared away the surrounding soil, revealing an oval-shaped object about fifty centimeters long.
Toyama touched the surface and said: “It’s a stainless-steel box. The kind used for things like burying time capsules at school.”
The box split open into two halves. Inside lay a paper-wrapped package with a message written on the front:
“To Toyama: You choose.”
Inside was a photo book.
Everyone gasped again as they opened it to take a look. Inside the photo book were ten printed photographs.
They were pictures of Riko Shinoda — likely taken at a professional studio — showing her in various wedding dresses.
Clutching the book, Toyama sank to the ground and began to sob loudly, like a child.
Watari spread his arms and ushered everyone else toward the edge of the vacant lot.
“Even a man needs to cry sometimes. Let’s give him some space for a while.”
Tsutsui said this while wiping away tears she had shed in sympathy.
“She was a beautiful woman. And to think she was the one who proposed — that’s bold.”
Watari tilted his head as he spoke.
“For someone so young, you’re saying something quite conservative. There’s no such thing as ‘normal’ or ‘reverse’ when it comes to a proposal. There’s no rule saying a woman can’t be the one to propose.”
Ashiya spoke with a look of deep contemplation.
“You only realize the true value of something once you’ve lost it. It’s just like that giant fox.”
Watari nodded in agreement.
“For Toyama, that woman — Riko Shinoda — might well have been exactly like the Kuzunoha Fox.”
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うわあああ😭💕 第17話、一気に読んじゃったよ…！ まずフモちゃんがまさか“生きたワクチン製造機”だったって展開にぶっ飛んだし、トーヤマ先生の過去とリコさんへの後悔が重なって胸がギュッてなった…。 ラストの“結婚写真”のくだり、もう号泣不可避。リコさんからの手紙、ただの偶然じゃなかったんだね…“掘れ”ってメッセージも含めて、エモすぎて言葉にならん😭✨ 次回も楽しみにしてるよ、菊池川さん！
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