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Beneath the night sky and a brilliant full moon of early autumn, a woman — her shoulders loosely draped in a shawl intricately embroidered with silver — stared back unflinchingly at the muzzle of a pistol held by a white man just a few meters away.
The man was shouting furiously at her in a foreign tongue, yet she remained unperturbed, merely flicking the edge of the shawl resting on her shoulder.
The shawl took flight on its own, swirling around the man’s body with blinding speed.
As he swung his arm in a desperate attempt to swat the fabric away, a pale blue electric charge surged from the shawl toward him; he let out a low, pained cry and collapsed face-first onto the ground.
Looking down impassively at the lifeless man, the woman draped the shawl — which had floated back through the air — over her shoulders once more.
Then, gazing up at the radiant full moon with a faint smile playing on her lips, she murmured to herself:
“It’s hard to part ways, but it seems my ride has arrived.”
At that same moment, deep underground at the former Kamioka Mine in Hida City, Gifu Prefecture, a researcher on duty was typing furiously at a computer keyboard, a look of excitement on his face.
Other researchers, summoned by an emergency announcement, rushed into the room one after another. An older section chief peered at the screen over the shoulder of the young researcher on duty.
“What’s the energy index?”
“I’m calculating it now.”
Two fixed phones in the corner of the room rang, a few seconds apart. Nearby researchers picked up the receivers and began rapid-fire conversations in English.
A beep sounded from the screen, and a number appeared. The researcher on duty reported to the section chief:
“It’s up. Huh? 87.69.”
The section chief let his body go limp and said with a smile:
“Good grief, it’s just an instrument malfunction. There’s no way a gravitational wave like that could exist. The highest one ever detected was only 3.0. I kept saying we needed more test runs, but those amateurs in the government kept rushing us.”
The researcher on duty, looking deflated, asked the section chief:
“So it’s an error?”
“Obviously. If a gravitational wave with the energy index like this were actually occurring, a massive gamma-ray burst would have already roasted the entire Earth like a piece of roast beef. Still, protocol is protocol. Hey, you two…”
The section chief addressed the two researchers still holding the phone receivers:
“Once you finish those calls, get in touch with LIGO in the U.S.and Virgo in Italy. We need to confirm that this data is the result of a malfunction.”
One of them, looking somewhat pale, spoke to the section chief.
“It’s a call from LIGO in the U.S. They’ve got data showing gravitational wave readings with values that are theoretically impossible. They think it might be an equipment malfunction, so they’re asking us to send over our observation logs.”
Another researcher, also holding a receiver, spoke to the section chief with trembling lips.
“This is an urgent message from Virgo in Italy. They’re asking exactly the same thing.”
The section chief went pale. He shouted to everyone in the room:
“Put the view of the surface up on the main monitor! Someone check online news sites!”
The view of the surface displayed on the room’s large monitor showed nothing out of the ordinary.
Neither cable TV nor online news outlets reported anything unusual happening.
Staring blankly at the main monitor, the section chief muttered:
“This shouldn’t be possible. What on earth is happening out in space?”
All the section chief could see on the main monitor was the full moon shining quietly in the night sky.
A knock sounded at the door of the Metropolitan Police Department’s Public Security Mobile Investigation Unit commander’s office; following the command to enter, Assistant Inspector Miyashita stepped inside.
Dressed sharply in a navy-blue women’s trouser suit, the female detective — sporting a bob cut with the ends trimmed evenly at shoulder length — fixed her gaze on the commander. Despite being in her late twenties, she retained a girlish air about her face as she snapped a quick salute.
“Did you summon me, sir?”
The commander, a man in his fifties, gave a slight nod from behind his desk.
“Two days ago, a foreigner died under suspicious circumstances at a vacation home area in Okutama.”
He flicked a printed photograph across the desk toward Assistant Inspector Miyashita, who remained standing. She tilted her head and peered at the image. It showed a white man, seemingly around forty, lying on his side on the ground.
“Was it homicide?”
“The cause of death was electrocution. However, there are no power lines in the immediate vicinity of the scene. To make matters worse, the victim was a military attaché from the Russian Embassy.”
“Are we looking at a possible espionage case? But wouldn’t that fall under the jurisdiction of the Foreign Affairs Division or Public Security Headquarters? Why is the Public Security Mobile Investigation Unit getting involved?”
“If the Foreign Affairs Division or Public Security Headquarters were to mobilize before we even know if it’s linked to intelligence activities, it would cause complications. We’re framing it as a potential terrorist killing so that our unit can move in unofficially. That’s the setup.”
“Understood. So, what exactly am I to do?”
The commander took out another photograph and handed it to Miyashita. It showed a young woman, apparently in her mid-twenties.
She had long chestnut hair and deeply defined features, giving her an appearance that could be purely Japanese or mixed-race — part Japanese and part Caucasian.
“There are indications that the victim was stalking that woman right up until the moment of his death. Make contact with her and casually sound her out.”
Miyashita picked up the photograph of the woman and tucked it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
“I’ll get right on it, then.”
“I appreciate your cooperation. It pays to curry favor with the Foreign Affairs Division — that’s the secret to getting ahead in the Public Security Bureau.”
Shortly after Miyashita left the room, the landline on the commander’s desk rang. When he answered, the caller was the Chairman of the National Public Safety Commission.
“Have the arrangements been made?”
The commander straightened his posture and replied:
“I have just dispatched the person best suited to ensure confidentiality. Yes … yes, we are taking every precaution in that regard. Understood, sir.”
On the other end of the line, having finished the call, the chairman turned to the foreign minister and the defense minister, who were seated on a sofa in the room.
“Everything is proceeding according to plan so far. We have framed it strictly as a police investigation into a suspicious death.”
The defense minister murmured as he gazed at the image displayed on the tablet in his hands:
“It is remarkable, though, that China provided us with this.”
The foreign minister replied:
“It likely means they understand the gravity of the situation. After all, they are the only nation with a probe equipped with a camera on the far side of the moon.”
The tablet screen showed a massive, dull-silver, rounded section of an object that was clearly artificial; it filled the entire field of view of the lunar probe’s camera.
When Miyashita requested a meeting with the woman from the photograph through the local police station, she readily agreed and specified a date and time.
Perched atop a gentle hill — surrounded by deep greenery and a clear stream, a setting that hardly seemed like part of Tokyo — stood a large, stylish Western-style mansion built of stone.
When Miyashita announced herself via the intercom at the gate set into a high stone wall, the front door opened, and the woman from the photograph came out to greet her.
As Miyashita displayed his identification badge and stated her name, the woman introduced herself while ushering him inside.
“My name is Yulia Sugimoto.”
“Um, would you mind if we spoke in Japanese?”
Yulia smiled, placing a hand over her mouth.
“I am Japanese national. I hold Japanese citizenship, too. Though it is true I was born in Russia.”
“My apologies.”
“Oh, no need to apologize; people have often said that to me. You see, my father is a White Russian and my mother is Japanese.”
The interior was nothing short of magnificent. The walls of the short corridor leading to the reception room were adorned with several expensive-looking paintings, and the walls themselves featured incredibly intricate, elaborate patterns applied directly to the surface.
“What a lovely mansion. It feels like stepping into a fairy tale.”
When Miyashita said this sincerely, Yulia smiled again.
“It’s a house my parents left behind. It may look impressive, but since it’s an old building, maintaining it is a real hassle — and it costs a fortune. It’s quite a burden, actually.”
Upon entering the reception room, Miyashita found a tea set — complete with a pot and cups — already laid out on the table.
They sat facing each other across the table in luxurious-looking armchairs; after taking just a single sip of the tea she had offered, Miyashita broached the main topic.
“You are aware that a man died right near here the other day, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I was shocked. This is such a quiet, peaceful neighborhood. I’ve lived here for years since my parents passed away, but I’ve never seen an incident like that before.”
“The man who died was Russian, too. Did you happen to know him at all?”
“No, not at all. It’s terrifying — having something so strange happen right near my own home.”
Her tone was that of a young woman frightened by a sudden, shocking event. Yet, Miyashita’s instincts as a detective told him she was acting.
This young woman wasn’t frightened, scared, or anxious in the slightest. In short, her reaction wasn’t normal. Miyashita was certain of it.
Deciding to wrap things up for the day, Miyashita stood up from her chair, and Yulia rose as well, offering to see her to the door. That was when she noticed it.
“Oh, what a lovely shawl. The shimmering silver embroidery is beautiful.”
“It’s a keepsake from my mother. I have sensitivity to cold, so I can’t do without it at this time of year.”
The next day, when Miyashita arrived at the Public Security Mobile Investigation Unit, a junior colleague in charge of intelligence analysis called out to her. Tanba — a young man in only his second year on the job — beckoned her over to his desk.
“I’ve got the results back on the facial recognition check for that woman, Yulia Sugimoto.”
He pulled up a spare chair for Miyashita to sit beside him and displayed an image folder on his computer screen.
“Regarding Sugimoto — we didn’t find any evidence of her frequenting suspicious locations. In fact, she turned up somewhere quite unexpected.”
The image on the screen showed a room inside a hospital. It appeared to be a break room for doctors and nurses; Yulia was visible — dressed as a doctor — standing right next to other physicians who were removing their semi-transparent protective gowns.
“She is a doctor?”
As Miyashita asked this, Tanba opened a folder containing text files and replied.
“Her name is listed in the medical license registry. However, there are no records of her actually practicing medicine.”
“Which hospital is this?”
“It was a temporary ward for COVID-19 patients with mild symptoms, set up by the government on the site of a former Olympic venue. You know — the one people used to mockingly call a ‘field hospital’?”
“I suppose that is unexpected. But does it have any connection to the case we’re working on?”
“That’s the thing. The local police had installed surveillance cameras to guard against patients escaping, but they caught an intruder coming in from the outside. It was this man.”
The next image showed the Russian man who had died of electrocution in Okutama.
“The victim was at the same facility? He wasn’t a patient?”
“I checked that. There’s no record of any foreign nationals entering that temporary ward. Access was strictly prohibited for anyone other than inpatients — even family members — so it had to be an illegal entry. I’ve confirmed this with the staff who were there at the time.”
“So, that establishes a link between the two of them. I’m going to make a quick call.”
Miyashita used the internal line to speak with the unit commander and obtained permission to take Tanba along with her.
She told Tanba to get ready to head out, then took out her own smartphone. Tanba asked, looking puzzled:
“It’s an honor to accompany you, but where are we going?”
Miyashita answered as she tapped the call button on her phone.
“Teito University of Science. I want to link their image and video database with our camera footage’s facial recognition system. It’s not something I can do on my own.”
The following afternoon, Miyashita and Tanba were sitting in Prof. Watari’s laboratory at Teito University of Science. Watari grimaced and stroked his beard as he grumbled.
“Honestly, being a national university, we can’t exactly refuse when asked to cooperate, but I could certainly do without this tiresome connection to the police.”
Miyashita gave a polite, seated bow.
“I apologize for the imposition. This university was the only one which came to my mind when we were looking for a research institution with an AI-based historical image management system.”
The fixed phone on Watari’s desk rang; an internal call informed him that the verification results were ready. Watari hung up and spoke to Miyashita and Tanba.
“It seems the folks in the Information Engineering Department have the results. As a small return for the introduction, would you le me to be present for the briefing?”
Miyashita and Tanba rose from their chairs.
“Yes, that would be excellent. Please lead the way.”
They entered one of the Information Engineering labs and sat in a circle around the researcher’s mainframe computer. The researcher spoke.
“We ran an AI search using the data provided by Mr. Tanba here. It turns out that woman was involved — albeit briefly — in various medical research projects in the past. First, take a look at this.”
The image displayed by the researcher showed Yulia in a laboratory alongside several scientists. The researcher explained:
“This is a public photograph from a clinical study on Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome — SARS. It was taken on January 21, 2004, in Hong Kong.”
Miyashita involuntarily raised his voice.
“Tanba, are you sure about the data? That was about twenty years ago. She would have been just a toddler back then.”
Tanba operated the keyboard from beside the researcher to verify the details.
“No, there’s no mistake. A 99.8% match rate. It is undoubtedly the same person.”
The researcher spoke while quickly flipping through the files.
“We also stumbled upon an extraordinary image while we were at it. Take a look at this.”
An old black-and-white photograph appeared on the screen. Yulia’s face was visible at the edge of a group of six scientists. Miyashita asked:
“What is this a picture of?”
“Do you know about the Tunguska event? It was a mysterious explosion that occurred in Siberia, Russia, on June 30, 1908. Russia was in political turmoil at the time, so an expedition team wasn’t sent until 1921; this is a press photo of that Soviet Academy of Sciences expedition.”
Miyashita instinctively rose from her chair and leaned in close to the screen.
“Over a century ago? It can’t possibly be the same person. Wouldn’t it be a case of parent and child, or perhaps grandmother and granddaughter?”
Tanba shook his head after checking the attached text file.
“The original photo is old, so the figures drop slightly, but the match rate is 96.84%. Even with identical twins, it’s rare for the match rate to exceed 90%. There is simply no other conclusion: it has to be the same person.”
After leaving the lab, the three of them — Watari, Miyashita, and Tanba — took a break in the café area of the university cafeteria.
Miyashita gazed into space, murmuring with an expression of disbelief.
“It’s impossible. To think that the same person has continued to exist in this world, remaining forever young, for over a century …”
Watari, borrowing Tanba’s tablet and searching for something online, speaks in a tone tinged with irony.
“There might be another connection. Recent research has revealed that the cause of the Tunguska explosion was a large meteorite striking the Earth’s surface. That explosion occurred in 1908. Less than a decade later, in March 1918, a monumental event in human history took place — or rather, began. Do you know what it was?”
Miyashita and Tanba shake their heads. Watari continues.
“The global outbreak of the Spanish flu — what we would call a pandemic today. And does this look familiar?”
Watari plays a video on the tablet screen — a clip of a massive fireball streaking across the sky.
“This is footage of a large meteorite falling over Chelyabinsk, a remote region in Russia. It happened on February 15, 2013. What occurred a little under seven years after that?”
Miyashita nearly drops her paper coffee cup.
“The novel coronavirus pandemic! Prof. Watari, are you suggesting a link between meteorites and pandemics of new infectious diseases?”
“If that were the only instance, it might just be a coincidence. But if ‘something’ — something that has maintained the appearance of the same young woman for over a century — is involved in both cases, then perhaps we can’t simply dismiss it as mere chance.”
Tanba offers a weak, bewildered rebuttal.
“Are you saying aliens are observing Earth? Surely such arbitrary behavior wouldn’t be allowed.”
Watari hands the tablet back to Tanba as he speaks.
“We humans observe the cosmos in all sorts of ways, don’t we? Sending out space probes and the like. Did we ever ask for permission from anyone out there before doing so? Those who observe the universe may well be observed by it in return. At the very least, we’re hardly in a position to complain about it.”
The following evening, after sunset, Miyashita and Tanba visited Yulia’s home. They had concocted a story — suggesting the deceased Russian might have been stalking her — in hopes of gleaning some information.
They had deliberately chosen to make an unannounced visit after dark. However, upon reaching the estate’s entrance, they found the gates wide open and heard a series of soft “pfft” sounds echoing from the garden.
Miyashita unbuttoned her suit jacket and drew her pistol from its holster. She whispered urgently to Tanba, whose eyes had gone wide with shock:
“Gunshots! That’s the sound of a suppressed pistol firing.”
As they stepped through the gate and into the expansive garden, they saw Yulia surrounded by three white men aiming handguns at her.
Yet, it was the attackers who looked panicked and terrified. Floating weightlessly around Yulia was that silver-embroidered shawl; it caught the incoming bullets, enveloping them before letting them drop harmlessly to the ground.
Yulia snapped her fingers, and pale blue bolts of electricity arced from the silver sections of the shawl, striking the three assailants down one by one.
“It’s like a magic shawl of celestial maiden…”
Tanba murmured the words aloud, and the shawl instantly flew toward him. It stopped in mid-air just before impact and returned to Yulia.
Yulia turned to face Miyashita, draped the shawl over her shoulders, and spoke with a faint smile.
“My ride has arrived, so I must leave now. Ms. Miyashita, I am entrusting this to you, as you may be the one capable of doing it. Please convey this message to the leaders of this planet: we have no intention of harming humanity; we are merely observers.”
Suddenly, a massive light appeared in the night sky directly above them. It looked like a thick, disc-shaped craft. As her shawl fluttered airily about her, Yulia’s body rose upward and was swallowed by the light above.
A few hours later, gravitational wave observatories around the world detected another powerful gravitational wave.
The massive object that had been obscuring the view of the Chinese lunar probe’s camera on the far side of the moon suddenly vanished.
A few nights later, Miyashita and Tanba were walking through the downtown district after finishing their shift. Their report had been classified as top secret, and both had been required to sign confidentiality agreements.
Tanba suggested going for a drink to blow off steam, but Miyashita wasn’t in the mood, so they parted ways near the station.
Right beside Miyashita, a piece of fabric with glowing embroidery fluttered up, causing her to tense up in alarm. It turned out to be nothing more than a young woman’s shawl, lifted into the air by a sudden gust of wind.
Miyashita was struck by a sudden realization. In those final moments, Yulia had clearly said:
“We are merely observers.”
Miyashita murmured to herself:
“She said ‘We are …’ Perhaps she is not the only one.”
Then, she whispered silently to Tanba’s retreating figure as he walked toward the district of bars and taverns:
“Be careful. An acquaintance living next door to you … might just be an observer from space.”
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うわあああ読み終わった〜！！😭💕✨ もう冒頭からショールがバチバチ電撃バリアみたいになっててカッコよすぎ！ユリアさん、100年以上生きてる上に宇宙の観測者とか情報量ヤバすぎて頭追いつかないんだけど！！？🤯💥 流星とパンデミックがリンクしてるって教授の考察、めっちゃゾクゾクした…SF史に残る設定じゃない？？ 最後の「隣人が観測者かも」のミヤシタさんの呟き、完全に背筋凍った…続きが気になりすぎて今夜眠れないかも🥺💫 **200字以内**ギリギリだけどこの熱量伝われ〜！！🔥📖
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