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
It was a mid-afternoon during that dreary season of endless rain. A woman in her mid-twenties was walking through a bustling district in central Tokyo.
It wasn’t just young men; young women passing by also took notice of her and smiled.
“Whoa! Looking sexy.”
“Hey, is that a cosplay of Erika Natsunohara?”
“Yeah, that’s the exact same outfit.”
Scattered raindrops began to fall, creating dark spots on the asphalt. The woman opened the folding umbrella she was carrying.
“Ugh, it really started raining. Good thing I brought my umbrella.”
Around her, colorful umbrellas popped open one after another, like flowers blooming in unison.
A hissing sound came from above her head. Suspicious, she looked up to see a hole forming in the fabric of her umbrella. Then, one by one, more holes appeared.
Liquid dripping from the holes landed on her arm. After a stinging sensation, the skin turned bright red in an instant, and a sharp pain forced a scream from her lips.
The umbrella’s fabric melted away rapidly, leaving only the metal skeleton. With nothing left to shield her, the liquid — which should have been mere rainwater — poured down onto her body, and a foul odor like burning flesh began to waft from her.
“Aaaah! It hurts! Help me!”
Covering her head with both hands, she tried to jog away from the spot. But even as she staggered ten, then twenty meters forward, the flesh-burning liquid continued to pour down directly onto her head.
That bizarre liquid was falling only over her. Nothing happened to the umbrellas of the onlookers who had noticed her plight, and when one man reached out to catch the drops in his palm, nothing unusual occurred.
As the woman sank to the ground, unable to bear the pain, the liquid poured down upon her body with even greater intensity.
Her hair hissed and charred, her clothes burned through and melted away, and the skin exposed beneath became raw and blistered — as if from a severe burn — with blood seeping out.
Onlookers stared in frozen terror as the woman collapsed onto the wet asphalt of the sidewalk and writhed in agony.
Several men crouched around her and called out.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Whoa, her face! It’s awful! We … we’ve got to call an ambulance.”
One of the men placed a hand on her shoulder to help her up, only to hastily pull it back.
“Ouch! What is this? Acid?”
As passersby watched the woman lying there — her face discolored to a raw, dark red, her body oozing blood and convulsing feebly — the sound of an approaching ambulance siren was finally heard.
A uniformed police officer stood outside a private hospital room, hands clasped behind his back and feet planted slightly apart, projecting an air of intimidation toward anyone who might approach.
The sharp click-clack of heels echoed as a woman — apparently in her mid-twenties and dressed in a dark gray pantsuit — walked toward the room. Just as she drew close, the officer moved to stop her.
“Hold on a moment. This room is off-limits to unauthorized personnel.”
The woman pulled a rectangular badge holder from her inner jacket pocket and flipped it open.
“I’m Assistant Inspector Miyashita from the Metropolitan Police Department’s Public Security Mobile Investigation Unit. I have authorization from your station chief.”
The officer snapped into a salute.
“My apologies! Are you here to question people connected to the victim?”
“Yes. I was told the YouTuber and the president of their agency are inside.”
“I’ll check with them first. Could you wait here a moment?”
Miyashita nodded; the officer entered the room and returned about thirty seconds later, leaning in to whisper to her.
“They’re willing to see you. They just asked for a minute to fix their makeup.”
“Understood.”
“Is this the kind of case that requires detectives from Headquarters — specifically the Public Security Mobile Investigation Unit?”
“Do you know the term ‘acid attack’?”
“No … I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a terrorist tactic that’s been seen recently, where a highly acidic liquid is thrown at a target. In the Middle East and South Asia, it’s often used to target women’s faces. If this incident turns out to be an act of terrorism, it falls under our jurisdiction.”
The hospital room door opened, and a woman in her forties with a somber expression bowed to Miyashita. Miyashita bowed deeply in return and asked for permission to enter.
A bed stood in the center of the private room, with the female victim lying upon it. Her entire body was swathed in bandages — obscuring even her face — making her look like a mummy.
Numerous tubes and a ventilator were connected to her body; she appeared to be unconscious. Miyashita bowed deeply toward the victim, then turned to face the woman he had just met and another young woman whose face still bore clear traces of tears.
“I am Assistant Inspector Miyashita from Headquarters. I realize it must be painful to answer questions at a time like this, but I ask for your cooperation so we can resolve this case as quickly as possible.”
The two women nodded silently. The three of them sat on folding chairs, and Miyashita began asking questions while scribbling notes in her notebook.
“The victim in this incident is Ms. Miho Saeki, manager to the YouTuber Erika Natsunohara — is that correct?”
The older woman answered.
“Yes. Miho was my secretary and also Erika’s manager. Oh, forgive me for not introducing myself sooner. I am Yamamoto, the president of Production Aiai.”
Miyashita accepted a business card from Yamamoto and shifted her gaze to the other, younger woman.
“And you are the YouTuber Erika Natsunohara, correct?”
The woman — who looked barely twenty, if that — nodded, then covered her face with her hands and let out a sob.
“It’s my fault … it’s all my fault. Miho was attacked because she was mistaken for me.”
“What do you mean by that? Could you explain in a bit more detail?”
Yamamoto stepped in to explain on behalf of Erika, who was too distraught to answer coherently.
“Just the other day, I got a new outfit for Erika’s shoots. The old one was starting to show wear — though you wouldn’t notice it at a casual glance. We usually discard old costumes like that, but Miho insisted she wanted to wear it for just one day — saying she’d go run errands for the agency in it.”
“So, that explains why Miho was wearing Erika’s outfit at the time?”
“I figured it was headed for the trash anyway, so I thought, ‘Why not let her wear it for a day?’ I never imagined it would lead to something like this.”
“Erika Natsunohara was being threatened with harm. Do you have any idea why that might be?”
“I do. You see, Erika appeared in a traffic safety promotional video for the Bokuto Police Station.”
“I understand the video was released on a video-sharing site. How is that connected?”
“She’s known as a ‘sexy-style’ YouTuber; she recently shot to fame with performances involving energetic movement while showing off her midriff — wearing a crop top and a miniskirt. A group advocating for women’s rights — an NPO — sent a formal letter of protest directly to the Bokuto station. They complained that it was outrageous for the police to use a woman dressed so ‘indecently’ for a public awareness campaign.”
“When did that protest take place?”
“About a month ago.”
“And how did the Bokuto station respond?”
“They issued a written reply stating that the decision to feature Erika Natsunohara had been reached after careful internal deliberation, and they would kept the video online. However, immediately after this incident occurred, they notified us that they were taking the video down as a precaution.”
“Were there any instances of malicious comments or slander directed at Erika Natsunohara online or on social media regarding this matter?”
“Yes, there were. While the majority of comments were in her defense, there was also a significant number of abusive posts criticizing the fact that her video remained online even after the NPO’s protest letter had been made public.”
Yamamoto took a tablet out of her bag, turned it on, and showed Miyashita a series of posts on a social media site. A string of barbed comments filled the screen.
“A slut who sells sex appeal is helping the police? Don’t make me laugh.”
“Having an exhibitionist like that do the PR — wouldn’t that actually be counterproductive for traffic safety?”
Miyashita calmly scanned the comments, but one in particular caught his eye.
“Ignoring the All-Japan Feminist Knights’ protest and refusing to take down the video — the police are just as bad. I’ll step in for the Knights and bring the hammer of justice down on this woman!”
Miyashita instinctively felt that this post had been written by a woman. She jotted down the URL in her notebook, intending to have Tanba — a junior officer in the Public Security Mobile Investigation Unit responsible for information analysis — investigate it later.
Just then, Erika Natsunohara, who had been sitting silently with her head down, suddenly cried out, her voice thick with tears.
“Why? What did we ever do wrong? What could we possibly have done to deserve having Miho go through something like this? All I wanted to do was help the police and be useful to society!”
Yamamoto hurriedly embraced Erika, trying to calm her down. Miyashita stood up, bowed silently to Yamamoto, and left the hospital room.
Just after Miyashita returned to Metropolitan Police Department headquarters and asked her junior colleague, Tanba, to analyze the social media posts regarding Erika Natsunohara, her smartphone rang.
She answered the call to find it was the reception desk.
“A person naming to be Prof. Watari from Teito University of Science is here at reception. He says he has an appointment to see Assistant Inspector Miyashita.”
Miyashita glanced at her wristwatch and let out a startled exclamation.
“Oh no, I’d completely forgotten. Please tell him I’m coming down to meet him right away.”
A few minutes later, Miyashita and Watari were seated across from each other at a table in a small conference room. Watari spoke while stroking his long beard.
“Since we’re a national university, I can’t refuse if the police ask for cooperation, but the cases you bring me are always such a headache.”
“I apologize for the trouble.”
Miyashita bowed, wearing the most convincing smile she could muster.
“You and Dr. Toyama are the only contacts I have for this sort of thing.”
“Let me get straight to the conclusion: it’s impossible.”
“Huh? What exactly is impossible?”
“The acid collected at the scene was identified as sulfuric acid — by our own chemistry experts. Furthermore, our analysis of the concentration at the time of the incident puts it at over 90 percent. Sulfuric acid of that concentration simply doesn’t exist in nature.”
“So, you’re ruling out the possibility of a natural phenomenon — say, localized acid rain?”
“Look, pure sulfuric acid cannot exist in the natural environment. It might form temporarily near a volcano where there’s an abundance of sulfur, but sulfuric acid reacts so readily with water that it dilutes almost instantly. A concentration of 90 percent means we’re talking about what’s known as concentrated sulfuric acid. It can only be man-made.”
There was a knock at the door, and Tanba poked his head in.
“I’ve got that video ready for viewing.”
Miyashita turned to Watari. “Oh, by the way — would you mind taking a look at this with me, Prof. Watari?”
“An online video? I have no interest in that sort of thing.”
“I’d just like to hear the impressions of someone from a different generation, if possible.”
“I see. So, I’m to represent the elderly, am I?”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that — it’s just… well…”
“Hahaha, I’m only joking. Though, I suppose I am plenty old in your eyes. All right, I’ll humor you.”
In a small room dominated by a massive screen — easily eighty inches across — on the front wall, Miyashita, Watari, and Tanba sat in facing chairs, dimmed the lights, and examined an online video.
Tanba operated the remote control in his hand and spoke to the other two.
“Let’s start by watching the traffic safety PSA featuring Erika Natsunohara.”
Accompanied by cheap-sounding background music, Erika — clad in a midriff-baring top and a miniskirt — danced into view against a backdrop that looked like a recording studio.
Standing beside the Bokuto Police Station’s traffic safety mascot, she addressed the camera in a slightly coquettish tone.
“Tailgating is a serious crime! You shouldn’t do it, and you shouldn’t retaliate by doing it back, either.”
“Drunk driving is an absolute no-no. If you drink, don’t drive; if you drive, don’t drink. And letting someone who’s going to drive have alcohol is a no-go too — keep that in mind.”
“On narrow residential streets, children might suddenly dart out, so keep your speed down.”
“Let’s all follow traffic rules and observe proper etiquette to make Bokuto Ward a safe and secure place. That’s a request from sexy YouTuber Erika Natsunohara!”
As the video ended, Watari spoke with a sigh.
“Honestly, I’m not personally fond of a young woman appearing in public dressed like that. But the content itself is perfectly sound, isn’t it? What exactly were they protesting?”
Tanba displayed the next image on the screen and replied.
“This is the protest statement released online by the NPO in question — the ‘All-Japan Feminist Knights.’ It seems they sent it not only to the Bokuto Police Station but also to the Tokyo Metropolitan Government, the Bokuto Ward Office, and the Ward Board of Education.”
A PDF image of a word-processed document appeared on the screen.
It read as follows: “Erika Natsunohara — a YouTuber and adult film actress — wears a top resembling the uniforms of junior high and high school girls; it is extremely short, exposing her midriff and navel. Her bottom is an ultra-mini skirt; she deliberately presents herself as an object of sexual consumption, stoking male lust. It is an utterly inexcusable outrage for the police — an administrative body charged with maintaining public order — to enlist a figure who risks inciting, abetting, or encouraging sexual offenses for their public awareness campaigns.”
Tanba changed the screen display. The image shifted to a PDF of the official response from the Bokuto Police Station, published on the NPO’s website.
It stated that before casting her as a promotional figure, the station had sought the opinions of female officers and determined there were no issues. It concluded with the following sentence:
“We intend to use the feedback provided by your organization as a reference for our future public relations activities.”
Watari grimaced and asked Miyashita and Tanba:
“Is that girl an AV actress?”
Tanba immediately denied it.
“Of course not. Sure, there are sites that stream adult videos, but the women who appear in them aren’t called YouTubers.”
At that same moment, inside the headquarters of the All-Japan Feminist Knights, a female college student volunteer rushed over to the organization’s president’s desk. She spoke excitedly.
“President, that YouTuber’s video has been taken down from the Bokuto Police Station’s website. They finally understood our point of view, didn’t they?”
However, the elderly president — a woman with white hair — tilted her head and retorted in a displeased tone.
“A YouTuber’s video? What are you talking about?”
The student’s eyes went wide with surprise.
“Erika Natsunohara. The one in the Bokuto Police Station’s traffic safety promo video.”
“Oh, that AV actress.”
“No, she’s not an AV actress; she’s a YouTuber.”
“It’s pretty much the same thing, isn’t it? Besides, I don’t watch online videos anyway.”
“Huh? But we even issued a formal letter of protest in the organization’s name and published it online.”
“You don’t seem to get it. Listen.”
The president took a copy of the response letter from the Bokuto Police Station out of her desk drawer and repeatedly pointed to the very bottom section.
“‘We intend to use the feedback provided by your organization as a reference for our future public relations activities.’ That’s what it says, right? Getting statements like that from as many authoritative institutions as possible — that’s the goal. It adds prestige to the organization and gives us an edge in fundraising.”
“In that case, what was the protest against that YouTuber?”
“A woman dressed in a sleazy outfit was running a sordid business, so we gave her a good, stern talking-to. The police station acknowledged that action as an achievement of our organization. That’s what matters; what’s written at the top of that formal response letter — or anything else — is completely irrelevant.”
“I … I see. So that’s how it works?”
The female college student volunteer had no choice but to back down in silence.
The scene return to the room at Metropolitan Police Department headquarters where Watari, Miyashita, and Tanba are gathered. Tanba was lashing out at Watari.
“Prof. Watari, what did you just say?”
“I said it’s a generational gap.”
“That’s not the issue here! They went so far as to describe her as ‘someone who might even incite, fuel, or encourage sexual crimes.’ Using language so full of malice and hostility — it’s insane.”
“That’s exactly it — it’s a matter of linguistic sensibility specific to your generation. I wish I could let you hear the verbal abuse faculty professors heaped on us when I was a grad student. Nowadays, that would 100% result in lawsuits for power harassment or academic harassment. But that’s the kind of language my generation — and the one before it — grew up with.”
Miyashita cut into the conversation.
“So, Prof. Watari, are you suggesting that the person who drafted this letter of protest didn’t necessarily harbor any particular ill will toward Erika Natsunohara?”
“Well, it’s just a guess, of course. But the person who wrote this is likely from my generation or perhaps one zodiac cycle older. They probably used that kind of wording lightly, thinking they were being clever or witty.”
Tanba’s face turned bright red with anger as he spoke.
“You think hurling such abuse at another person — a young woman, no less — is a trivial matter? You think that’s normal behavior?”
Watari waved his hands up and down, trying to calm Tanba down.
“Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m saying it’s acceptable to use such language. If your generation — people living in these times — were to have words like that hurled at you, it would certainly come as a shock; for some, it could even be traumatic. I understand that. But we are living in an era where a hundred-year lifespan is the norm, aren’t we?”
“What does that have to do with this?”
“When I was a child, the language used by those involved in political or human rights movements was far more vitriolic. Calling someone subhuman was commonplace; a barrage of insults — branding people as ogres or devils — was an everyday occurrence. That was simply the kind of era it was.”
Miyashita murmured, looking pensive.
“More elderly people are using the internet these days. Until recently, there were few opportunities for generations with such different linguistic sensibilities — like the one you belong to, Prof. Watari —to interact so actively. But now, there has been a rapid increase in online exchanges between generations whose ways of using language are worlds apart. Is that what you mean?”
Watari stroked his beard as he replied.
“I’m someone who’s tough on students myself, you know. I’ve been reprimanded by the university administration more times than I can count for using language that was deemed too harsh. In my case, my position forced me to update my sense of language, but there are likely many in the older generation who haven’t managed to do so. We are living in an aging society, after all.”
Miyashita placed a hand on the breast of her suit jacket. She took her smartphone out of the inner pocket and answered a call.
“Yes, this is Miyashita. Huh?”
After ending the call, she turned to Tanba and Watari with a somber expression.
“It seems Miho Saeki has passed away — about ten minutes ago.”
Watari let out a startled exclamation. Tanba, however, listened to the news with the composure typical of his profession. Then, he murmured:
“This has now become a murder investigation.”
Miyashita furrowed her brows as she put her phone away.
“The problem is the murder weapon. Making a rain of sulfuric acid fall on just one specific person … How could something like that possibly be done?”
Miyashita bowed her head toward Watari.
“Professor, could I ask for your continued cooperation with the university?”
Watari nodded slowly and firmly.
The following morning, Miyashita was sitting in the station chief’s office at the Bokuto Police Station. While she waited on the guest sofa, the chief — clad in his uniform — entered the room.
Miyashita stood and saluted. The chief waved off a uniformed senior officer who was about to follow him in, closed the door, and — instead of sitting at his own desk — took a seat on the sofa opposite Miyashita, gesturing for her to sit as well.
Miyashita sat down and gave a slight bow.
“Thank you for taking the time to see me.”
“Don’t mention it. The Bokuto Police Station isn’t uninvolved in this case, after all. So, what do you want to know?”
“I’d like to hear the details of how this police station responded when you received that letter of protest from the NPO known as the ‘All-Japan Feminist Knights.’”
“Honestly, at the time, my reaction was just, ‘Oh, here we go again.’ I’m sure everyone in the department handling it felt the same way.”
“Had you received protest letters from that NPO before?”
“No, it wasn’t just them. We get that sort of things — protests, open letters, and the like — from all kinds of groups all year round. It’s practically a routine event. You wouldn’t know this, coming from Headquarters, but we even have templates for the responses.”
“So, the response sent in that instance followed the standard template?”
The chief nodded slowly and deliberately, then continued.
“What groups like that really want is just that final bit — the part where we say, ‘We will take your opinions into consideration.’ They just want the image of having ‘defeated’ the police in an argument. The actual issues they’re making a fuss about don’t really matter to them.”
“Then you didn’t anticipate that Erika Natsunohara would be attacked?”
“No.”
The chief lowered his voice and leaned sharply forward.
“Keep this between us. Actually, there were voices within the traffic safety department arguing that we should delete the video out of concern for her safety. However, doing so could have exposed us to public criticism for taking the easy way out. So, we decided to keep the video public while assigning Erika Natsunohara round-the-clock security — without her knowledge.”
Surprised, Miyashita looked the chief in the eye.
“Does that mean there were signs of danger?”
“Not exactly. There have been cases where someone who became a hot topic online was attacked by a lunatic brandishing a twisted sense of justice. You’ve heard of such things, right?”
Miyashita nodded, and the chief grimaced as he spoke.
“It’s pointless to say this now, but in hindsight, we really should have stopped the video from being released immediately. Still, we provided her with a bodyguard for two weeks and thoroughly investigated that NPO, yet we found absolutely no dangerous elements within the group. There was no indication of any fanatical followers, either. So, we called off the personal security detail, though we did keep up periodic patrols near the agency — sort of a talent management firm for YouTubers — where she works for another ten days. We thought it was safe and ended those patrols, too … and then, two days later, the incident happened.”
“So, the perpetrator has no connection to that NPO?”
“Immediately after the incident, we — the Bokuto Police Statioin — conducted another top-secret investigation into the group. Our current assessment is that they’re clean. We believe that NPO was not involved in the crime.”
After meeting with the chief, Miyashita was on her way from the Bokuto Police Station to a subway station when her smartphone vibrated. It was a call from Tanba. When Miyashita answered, Tanba spoke rapidly, his voice full of excitement.
“Hello? Ms. Miyashita, this is a big deal. A person has turned themselves in, claiming to be the perpetrator of that sulfuric acid attack. The person didn’t go to the Bokuto Police Station, but went straight to the Metropolitan Police Department headquarters.”
“What kind of man is it?”
“Actually … it’s a woman. A woman in her thirties.”
An hour later, Miyashita and Tanba stood behind the one-way mirror in the interrogation room, watching a female officer question the woman who had turned herself in.
The interrogating officer asked:
“Is it true that you killed Erika Natsunohara?”
The woman replied with a faint, smug smile.
“Yes, that’s right. I dealt out divine retribution to that woman.”
“Even assuming that YouTuber had committed some illegal act, wouldn’t the proper course of action have been to report it to the police first?”
“The police are on her side! Even after the All-Japan Feminist Knights lodged a formal protest, she brazenly kept streaming those sleazy videos, didn’t she? Since the police wouldn’t punish the wrongdoer, I did it myself.”
“Did you feel there was something illegal about those videos?”
“I haven’t actually watched them. But since that group — which champions women’s rights — said so, it must be true.”
Behind the one-way mirror, Tanba whispered to Miyashita:
“Hadn’t she been told that the person who died was actually the manager?”
Miyashita nodded, crossing her arms.
“It’s such an unusual case that we haven’t released the victim’s identity to the public yet.”
Inside the interrogation room, the female officer continued her questioning.
“So, assuming you did kill her — how did you do it? What weapon did you use?”
“I gained the power to mete out divine punishment to evildoers.”
“What exactly does that entail? A gun, for instance?”
“It’s something invisible that rains holy water down only on evildoers. Even I don’t know exactly what it is.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”
“It means God must have granted me something special.”
A short while later, Miyashita and Tanba sat facing each other in the same interrogation room where the questioning had taken place earlier. The female officer handed them copies of some documents and explained:
“The woman who turned herself in is Ryoko Aoyama, thirty-six years old; her address and other details are listed there. We’ve verified her identity.”
Miyashita tapped her forehead lightly with the eraser end of her pencil as she spoke.
“What did you make of her statement?”
“It all seems to add up — except for the part about the murder weapon being something that delivers invisible divine retribution.”
“And the motive?”
“As a matter of fact, Ryoko Aoyama’s name appeared in past Kanagawa Prefectural Police records.”
“Did she have a prior criminal record?”
“No, not a criminal record — she was a victim. She was the victim of a rape that occurred in the Yokohama suburbs three years ago.”
Tanba audibly gasped.
“So, seeing the recent uproar, she decided to kill Erika Natsunohara? Is that it?”
But the female officer shook her head.
“Ryoko Aoyama doesn’t fully grasp the background of the situation. She didn’t know much about Erika Natsunohara, either. It seems she simply had an extreme reaction to a phrase in that NPO’s letter of protest — specifically, the part about ‘concerns regarding the incitement, facilitation, and encouragement of sexual violence.’”
“Where is she now?”
“In the station’s visitor room. We have someone keeping an eye on her, of course.”
“You aren’t detaining her?”
Miyashita answered that one.
“We can’t. Even if the police were to believe her story, there’s absolutely no physical evidence right now, so there’s no way a court would issue an arrest warrant.”
In the end, the Metropolitan Police Department had no choice but to release Ryoko Aoyama for the time being, suspending further action against her.
On a drizzly, gloomy evening, the moment she stepped out of the department’s entrance, dozens of lurking reporters swarmed around her.
Watching the scene from inside the entrance, Tanba clicked his tongue and whispered to Miyashita.
“Did the press catch wind of this?”
Miyashita replied with a grimace.
“It seems the press club was sniffing around. There’s also a flood of speculative posts online. The Public Relations Department will likely be forced to hold a press conference by tomorrow.”
The reporters crowded around Ryoko Aoyama, thrusting digital recorders at her and firing off a barrage of questions.
“Is it true that you’re the one who killed the YouTuber?”
“What was your motive?”
“How did you kill her? What method did you use?”
Ryoko Aoyama tilted her clear plastic umbrella back, and — bathed in the glare of camera flashes — answered gleefully, looking smug.
“I’ve been granted a mystical power to mete out divine punishment to evildoers. What I did was an act of justice. That’s why the police couldn’t arrest me, see?”
One reporter pressed the issue.
“What exactly is this ‘divine punishment’?”
Laughing, Ryoko Aoyama cast her gaze upward.
“Shall I show you? It’s this.”
A heavy, wet thud-thud sound — distinct from the surrounding patter of rain — echoed against the pavement. The leaves of the shrubbery along the sidewalk sizzled and withered as if burned.
“This is the holy water of divine punishment. I punished that woman on the police’s behalf so that no one else would ever have to suffer sexual assault like I did. Hahaha! Ahahahaha!”
The very next moment, the smile vanished from Ryoko Aoyama’s face. With a hissing sound, a hole burned through the fabric of her umbrella, and a thin wisp of white steam rose from a lock of her hair.
“W-what is it? Why me?”
Drowning out her cry, the hissing continued; the liquid raining down on her clothes and body seared her flesh, sending up wisps of steam that looked like thin, white smoke.
Ryoko Aoyama flung aside her umbrella, covered her face, and ran screaming toward the street. Noticing something was wrong, Miyashita and Tanba dashed out the entrance. Miyashita shouted to her:
“Don’t run that way! Come here — get inside!”
However, overcome by panic, she darted out into the roadway, only to find herself hemmed in by several cars that had screeched to a halt.
White smoke billowed from her entire body; unable to remain standing, she collapsed face-down onto the asphalt. The sulfuric acid rain continued to sear her fallen form.
Unable to approach her, Miyashita peered intently at the air above where her. She noticed a strange distortion in the space — a void where there should have been nothing.
Hovering six or seven meters above the ground was an elliptical shape; the scenery within that specific area appeared warped and twisted.
Miyashita quickly scanned the crowd. The reporters looked terrified, keeping their distance and watching the scene from afar.
A bit further back stood a thin, middle-aged man with unkempt hair. He held a cheap umbrella with a broken, dented frame and watched the convulsing Ryoko Aoyama from a distance, his expression devoid of fear.
His sloppy attire suggested he was not a reporter. Miyashita circled around the back of the crowd, careful not to be noticed, and positioned herself behind the man.
Before long, the man walked slowly away from the scene, acting as if nothing had happened. Miyashita ducked into a nearby convenience store, bought a cheap plastic umbrella, and began to tail him.
The man took the subway and got off in a suburban residential area. He entered a room in a cheap, two-story apartment building about a fifteen-minute walk from the station.
Miyashita jotted down the address, the name of the apartment complex, and the room number in her notebook, then returned to the Metropolitan Police Department headquarters.
The man’s identity was quickly established: Goro Tagami, thirty-nine, single, and a temporary agency worker. Originally from the northern Kanto region, he had registered with a staffing agency after graduating from a private university in Tokyo and had spent the years since bouncing between various temporary assignments.
“I suppose he belongs to the ‘employment ice age’ generation,”
Tanba muttered while he and Miyashita listened to the briefing from the local detectives in the conference room.
“Is there any connection to radical organizations?”
A middle-aged detective replied.
“No. He seems to be the type who stays holed up at home whenever he isn’t working; we haven’t found any links to specific political groups or other organizations.”
Miyashita asked, “What about any connection to Erika Natsunohara?”
The detective hesitated before speaking.
“It’s hard to say if you could call it a connection, exactly…”
“Was there something suspicious?”
“Well, it seems he was a die-hard fan of Erika Natsunohara. Coworkers from his previous jobs all said the same thing: ever since she was just an obscure local YouTuber, he had eagerly watched her videos whenever he had a spare moment, like during breaks.”
Tanba tilted his head.
“So, did he take the story that Ryoko Aoyama killed Erika Natsunohara at face value and seek revenge?”
Miyashita immediately countered.
“That doesn’t square with the first incident. The first victim was attacked because she was mistaken for Erika Natsunohara herself. If the culprit were a fanatic seeking revenge, that initial attack wouldn’t have happened.”
Everyone was stumped. They decided to keep Tagami under surveillance for the time being and adjourned the meeting.
That night, Tagami left his apartment late. He wandered aimlessly along the dark streets and entered a nearby park.
As he stood there for a while, a patch of distorted space — roughly a meter in diameter and fifty centimeters thick — appeared above his head.
He murmured something to himself in a faint voice.
“So, this is the instrument of divine retribution she spoke of. I don’t know how you followed me all the way from there, but you’re on my side now, aren’t you? Erika … I’ll avenge for you. I’ll punish the ones who hurt you.”
Tagami soon returned to his apartment, with the transparent object drifting along ten meters above his head — unseen, however, by the detective who was secretly tailing him.
The detective stepped into the shadow of a utility pole and made a call on his smartphone.
“Regarding that person of interest — he’s back home. He was out for about thirty minutes, but it looks like he just took a walk in the park. He didn’t make contact with anyone. Right, understood. I’ll continue the surveillance.”
At 3 p.m. the following day, a press conference regarding the case was held, hosted by the Metropolitan Police Department Press Club; reporters were briefed on details that had not previously been made public.
They were told that the perpetrator and the method of the crime remained unknown; that the intended target was highly likely the YouTuber Erika Natsunohara; and that the initial victim was presumed to have been attacked after being mistaken for Natsunohara herself.
They also learned that the incident originated when the Bokuto Police Station featured Natsunohara in a traffic safety promotional video, and that a letter of protest from the “All-Japan Feminist Knights” was involved.
Media outlets with online platforms immediately issued breaking news reports summarizing the incident, while independent online media published more detailed articles.
It was shortly after this that Miyashita received a call on her smartphone from the detective in charge of the case. She muttered under her breath:
“So, Tagami has made a move.”
Miyashita grabbed her suit jacket and two transparent raincoats, then called out to Tanba.
“Tanba, we’re going. Don’t forget the video camera.”
Catching the raincoat she tossed his way, Tanba asked: “Where to?”
“The headquarters of the All-Japan Feminist Knights. Reporters — from weekly magazines and online outlets alike — are starting to gather there. There’s a strong chance Tagami is heading there, too.”
Inside the office of the All-Japan Feminist Knights, the president and the vice-president — a woman in her forties — were locked in a heated dispute. The vice-president pressed the president, her expression desperate.
“At this point, we have no other choice but to admit our error and apologize. The very survival of the organization is at stake.”
But the president glared at her younger colleague and retorted:
“We operate in the name of social justice. Why on earth should we have to apologize?”
“It is a fact that we were mistaken about the details regarding that YouTuber. Just look at the number of reporters gathered outside — there are at least thirty of them.”
“Hmph, you’ve still got a lot to learn. Fine, I’ll go out there and give those reporters a piece of my mind. I’ll tell them we are completely blameless.”
As the president stepped out into the steady drizzle and opened her umbrella, the vice-president closed the door and, out of habit, reflexively locked it from the inside.
When the president appeared in the parking space in front of the office, a swarm of reporters surrounded her, thrusting digital voice recorders in her direction.
“Is it true that your organization triggered the incident involving the YouTuber Erika Natsunohara?”
Holding her umbrella, the president answered with an air of haughty defiance.
“It is true that we submitted a letter of protest to the Bokuto Police Station. However, we maintain that we are entirely without fault.”
A female reporter pressed her with a sharp, accusatory tone.
“Didn’t you go too far when you publicly labeled her — online, no less — as someone who incites sexual violence?”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Isn’t that just your subjective opinion?”
“I have spent over forty years campaigning to elevate the social status of women and rectify gender inequality. If you perceive my words as merely ‘subjective,’ isn’t it because you have been poisoned by the values of a male-dominated society?”
Miyashita and Tanba, watching the exchange from a short distance away, kept a vigilant eye on their surroundings. Tanba spotted the target first and whispered to Miyashita.
“Hey, he’s appeared. Over there.”
Following Tanba’s gaze, Miyashita saw Tagami — clad in a shabby tracksuit — holding an umbrella with a warped frame.
“Tanba, the video camera.”
“I’m already recording.”
Tagami stood on the opposite side of the road, about ten meters away from the circle of reporters, watching the interaction between the female president and the press with a blank expression.
Suddenly, the presidentt let out a faint scream.
“Eek! What is this?”
Round holes began to appear one after another in the fabric of her umbrella, and her face twisted in agony and terror. Scorched holes opened up in the clothes covering her upper body, and the stench of burning flesh assaulted the reporters’ noses.
As the reporters screamed and scrambled backward, the president stared in a daze at the dark red wounds being carved into her body and tried to flee into the office through the door. But the door was locked from the inside.
She slumped against the door, the rain of sulfuric acid pouring ceaselessly onto her body. Miyashita focused her eyes on the space above her head. The scenery was strangely distorted in the air about five meters up.
Miyashita noticed construction scaffolding on a low-rise building right next to where the president was writhing. She sprinted toward it and scrambled up the scaffolding’s ladder.
Reaching the highest possible point, Miyashita took off the raincoat she was wearing and flung it toward the distorted space above the president.
As the raincoat spread out and draped over the distortion, a violent crackling sound erupted, and the warped view vanished.
Hovering in mid-air where it had been was a disc-shaped object, roughly one meter in diameter and fifty centimeters thick. The reporters noticed it too.
“What is that?”
“A UFO?”
As if waiting to see the president go limp and stop moving, the disc slid sideways, moved away, and then smoothly vanished from sight.
Hearing the approaching siren of an ambulance, Miyashita and Tanba quietly slipped away from the scene.
That night, after watching the video Tanba had replayed dozens of times, Miyashita sighed and murmured:
“We’re stumped. I have an idea what kind of device was used for the crime, but I can’t prove that Tagami was the one controlling it.”
Tanba, too, held his head in frustration.
“No matter how many times I watch it, he’s just standing there. There’s no sign of a remote control or anything like that.”
“The only thing we’ve gained is that image.”
Tanba projected the image of the disc onto the screen. It was a disc with a domed top; four triangular, wing-like structures radiated outward from the center of the dome, positioned at precise ninety-degree angles to one another.
“What on earth could this be?”
Tanba asked, and Miyashita replied:
“It’s just a possibility, of course, but … maybe a new weapon developed by a major military power leaked out somehow. A terrorist group got their hands on it but lost it due to some mishap, and it ended up in the possession of Ryoko Aoyama — and now Tagami. Can you think of any other scenario?”
“We’ve released the image of the disc online and asked for information. Though, most of the tips coming into the Metropolitan Police Department’s site are just nonsense or pranks.”
Just then, the fixed phone rang. Miyashita picked up the receiver.
“Miyashita speaking. Huh? Yes … yes, please put them through.”
Still holding the receiver, Miyashita spoke to Tanba:
“Apparently, someone’s called in with information about that object.”
The call was transferred. Miyashita began to speak. “Yes, I’m listening. …Huh?”
Miyashita raised her voice, causing Tanba to look at the receiver in surprise.
“You said it’s there? — not that you witnessed it? Pardon me for asking, but who exactly are you? … I see.”
Miyashita raised his voice again.
“An institute of archaeology?”
The next day, Miyashita and Tanba took the Shinkansen to the archaeology research institute in the Kansai region. Guided by the white-haired director, they stepped into a musty warehouse.
The man — who exuded the air of a true researcher — opened a securely packed wooden crate and removed a large object wrapped in multiple layers of oil paper.
Once the paper was removed, a disc-shaped object was revealed. It was the spitting image of the object photographed at the scene where the organization’s president had been attacked.
With the director’s permission, Miyashita and Tanba donned white gloves and touched the object’s surface. It was clearly made of metal, with a shape that could only be described as futuristic. Unable to hide his excitement, Tanba asked the director:
“What exactly is this? Where was it found?”
The director answered with a look of perplexity.
“It was found twenty years ago. It was excavated from a small burial mound in Nara Prefecture.”
“You haven’t made its existence public until now?”
“Well, there was a reason we couldn’t. It’s what’s known as an ‘out-of-place artifact’ — an OOPArt.”
Miyashita frowned and asked:
“What exactly is an OOPArt?”
“It’s a general term for excavated objects that, theoretically, shouldn’t exist in the era they date back to. When we subjected the soil and other matter adhering to the object to radiocarbon dating, the results indicated it was about 14,000 years old.”
“14,000 years ago?”
“In the Japanese archipelago, that period marks the transition between the Paleolithic and Jomon eras. A metal object — something that looks like a piece of machinery — simply shouldn’t exist in that age.”
“So that’s why you kept it under wraps?”
“Well, there was always the possibility it was a mistake or a prank by an archaeology enthusiast. Announcing an artifact like this to the academic community would only make us a laughingstock.”
“But this object was here while this whole series of incidents was taking place, wasn’t it?”
“Actually, there were two of them.”
“Two?”
“There was another one, identical in shape. That was about a year ago — the other one suddenly went missing.”
“Stolen, perhaps?”
“A security guard at the lab claimed at the time that it had flown off into the sky. Well, he was having a drink after his shift ended, so I assumed it was just a drunkard’s hallucination. But after seeing the images released by the Metropolitan Police Department recently, I concluded there’s a strong possibility it was that other one.”
Miyashita stared at the disc for a while, deep in thought, before asking the director another question.
“What is the history of that burial mound?”
“It was a tiny thing — most people wouldn’t even have realized it was a burial mound. It was actually washed away and lost during a heavy downpour five years ago. Oh, and I also have a photograph of what looks like a mural painted on the wall of the space where that object was discovered.”
The director took a piece of aged photographic paper out of a wooden box. It showed a rough line drawing — less like a mural and more like a child’s doodle.
It depicted a human figure with a strangely smooth-looking surface, and hovering above its head was an object shaped exactly like the disc. Several thin lines were drawn diagonally from the disc, and the figure of an animal — seemingly running in the opposite direction — was visible.
Tanba spoke as he looked at the photo.
“Is that a dog?”
The director replied.
“It might be a Japanese wolf. There would have been plenty of them around in that era.”
Miyashita also murmured as she gazed at the photo.
“It looks as though the disc is protecting that person from a wild beast.”
The director gave a wry smile. “An occult enthusiast with a fondness for out-of-place artifacts would likely say just that — that it’s something left behind by aliens who visited Earth in the distant past, or perhaps a relic of a super-ancient civilization. However, we are, first and foremost, archaeologists.”
Miyashita stood up, bowed to the director, and made a request.
“Might I borrow this for a while? I would like to have it examined at Teito University of Science. The Metropolitan Police Department will cover the full cost and arrangements for its transport.”
A few days later, after returning to Tokyo, Miyashita received a call on her smartphone from Watari. Watari spoke in a slightly breathless tone.
“Ms. Miyashita, that thing is incredible. Apparently, while an engineering professor was examining it, it suddenly spewed out sulfuric acid. It nearly burned a hole right through the laboratory floor.”
After sunset that day, Miyashita and Tanba visited Watari’s laboratory at the university. As they drank the canned coffee Watari handed them, they listened to his thoughts on the matter.
“It is all nothing more than speculation and hypothesis, but there is one thing I can state with certainty as a scientist: with humanity’s current level of science and technology, creating something like that is impossible.”
Neither Miyashita nor Tanba was surprised; it was exactly what they had expected to hear. Miyashita asked:
“So, it really is a leftover from extraterrestrials, then?”
Watari replied, stroking his beard as he always does.
“That’s merely a hypothesis, but we have no choice but to proceed on that assumption. If it’s a device that transcends the level of human science and technology, it’s conceivable that it operates via brainwaves.”
“Brainwaves? You mean telepathy?”
“Judging from the incidents so far, it likely reads strong thought patterns and automatically sprays sulfuric acid to protect its owner from external threats. The unit left at the archaeology institute was broken and inoperable. The other one wandered in search of a master, happened to react to the brainwaves of the perpetrator behind the first incident, and began acting as if it belonged to the person.”
“But in that case, it changed owners along the way.”
“It probably doesn’t matter who it is, as long as they are an intelligent lifeform emitting strong mental impulses. When the female suspect was attacked in front of the Metropolitan Police Department, there was someone nearby emitting a stronger mental impulse than hers. The object reacted to that stronger impulse and turned its attack against its current owner — her. That hypothesis makes the whole story add up. It’s just a guess, though. Sounds like something out of a cheap sci-fi novel.”
Tanba interjected.
“But what determines whether those mental impulses are strong or weak?”
“In this case, it’s malice. Or hostility — intent to kill.”
“Malice? Is that the criterion?”
“If we’re talking sheer intensity, malice, hostility, and murderous intent seem to carry more energy than ordinary emotions, don’t they? Though the exact mechanism behind that hasn’t been explained by modern science yet.”
As Miyashita left Watari’s lab and walked toward the Metropolitan Police Department headquarters, several young men surrounded her.
Judging by their attire, they didn’t look like reporters from major news outlets. One of them spoke up.
“Detective, could we have a word? How much do you know about that bizarre case so far?”
Miyashita tried to ignore them and walk past, but she caught sight of a logo on one man’s T-shirt and turned back.
“Are you guys from an online media outlet?”
Seeing her interest, the man’s face lit up, and he spoke rapidly.
“Yes! We’re a completely independent online news outlet — we do things differently from the mainstream media. Could we get a quick comment? Oh, we can blur your face, or even alter your voice if you prefer.”
“Showing my face is fine.”
They fell silent for a moment, taken aback by her unexpected response.
“You’re really okay with showing your face?”
“Yeah. But in return, I want you to spread this far and wide. Frame it as a message from a female detective at the Metropolitan Police Department to the culprit.”
The media crew hurriedly adjusted their video camera. Ignoring Tanba’s attempts to stop her, Miyashita launched into a tirade directly at the lens.
“Hey, you — the culprit. We’ve pretty much got you pegged. You’re just some bottom-feeding virgin loser whose only talent is jerking off to videos of those sleazy YouTubers, right? If you’ve got the guts, come face me. I’ll take you down in a heartbeat.”
When it was over and the camera stopped rolling, the men let out a whoop of excitement.
“Detective, are you sure we can really air this? It’s going to be a killer scoop for us.”
“Go ahead — broadcast it everywhere.”
“Thanks a million! Alright, let’s get back and edit this right away.”
As the online media crew ran off, Tanba rushed over to Miyashita’s side. “Ms. Miyashita, what are you thinking? You aren’t planning to use yourself as a decoy, are you?”
“It’s fine; I’ve already got the chief’s permission. I was told to use this as a last resort if there were no other options left.”
Miyashita’s provocative video spread across the internet in a flash. Tanba, posing as an ordinary netizen, skillfully planted disinformation designed to make it look like he was investigating Miyashita’s movements.
With the cooperation of the Bokuto Police Station, Tanba circulated information claiming that Miyashita would appear at a specific time and date at a Metropolitan Police Department training facility — located on a vast riverbed where the public would not be in danger.
Just as the rain began to fall, Miyashita and Tanba met at the entrance of the training facility building. Tanba spoke in an anxious tone.
“Ms. Miyashita, are you sure about this? We’re dealing with aliens or weapons from an ancient civilization.”
Miyashita smiled, holding a conspicuous, bright red long umbrella.
“Don’t worry about it. More importantly, do you have the video camera ready?”
“Oh, damn — I left it in the waiting room.”
“Go get it, quick.”
By the time Tanba returned with the camera, Miyashita had already opened her umbrella and stepped out onto the riverbed. As Tanba hurried to follow, a chill ran down his spine.
Tagami was standing on the embankment about ten meters away. Something hovered above Miyashita’s head, distorting the view of the scenery.
Holes began to appear one after another in the fabric of Miyashita’s umbrella. Her body slumped forward as if collapsing, and she soon lay motionless on the ground.
“Ms. Miyashita!”
As Tanba rushed outside, something snapped in his mind. A single phrase flashed through his thoughts: “I’ll kill him!”
Tanba grabbed a large shovel lying nearby and ran toward Tagami. Tagami, wearing a faint, mocking smile, spoke to him.
“What do you think you can do with that? I have the power to deliver divine retribution.”
The grass right in front of Tanba hissed and changed color. Ignoring this, Tanba raised the shovel, but someone grabbed his arm from behind.
“Stop it!”
The voice belonged to Miyashita. Stunned, Tanba looked back and forth between Miyashita’s face — right there behind him — and the body lying some distance away that had been supposed to be Miyashita.
“Whoa! Stop it — why are you targeting me?”
Tagami screamed, shielding his head with his hands. White steam rose from his body. Several popping sounds rang out, and red paint splattered through the air; the camouflage on the disc was disabled, revealing its true form.
Five special forces operatives, rifles at the ready, emerged from their hiding spots and aimed their weapons at the disc in unison.
A rapid succession of shots tore through the air. The disc began to wobble unsteadily before plummeting; upon crashing into the river, it erupted in a blast of fire that shot several meters into the air.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Miyashita pulled the still-dazed Tanba along. A closer look at the human figure lying beneath the umbrella revealed it to be a robot.
Watari appeared from behind, holding a large remote control. Tanba finally grasped the truth.
“Ms. Miyashita, you tricked me. Was Professor Watari in on it, too?”
Watari answered, feigning ignorance.
“You really ought to be more grateful to me. Do you have any idea how much trouble I went to just to get a prototype robot — knowing full well it would be destroyed? I had to go around bowing and scraping to a dozen professors in the Engineering Department.”
Tanba suddenly realized something and shouted:
“Wait — what about Tagami?”
Miyashita pointed.
“He’s already been taken into custody.”
In the distance, uniformed police officers could be seen dragging Tagami away.
A few days later, Miyashita and Tanba visited Watari’s laboratory again. Ryoko Aoyama’s condition had deteriorated, and she had passed away. The NPO president had survived, but it was believed she would never fully recover.
Tagami had sustained only minor injuries and had been taken into custody, but their superiors had told Miyashita and Tanba that it was uncertain whether charges could actually be brought against him. Tanba could not accept this.
“Why can’t he be prosecuted? Malice directed at another person ought to be punished, shouldn’t it?”
Watari spoke in a calm tone.
“I told you that the disc reacts to the strongest intent, didn’t I? At that moment, didn’t you think something like this — regarding the suspect? ‘I’m going to kill him,’ perhaps?”
Tanba flinched. Watari continued.
“The reason the disc turned the sulfuric acid toward the suspect might have been because it picked up that thought of yours. If Assistant Inspector Miyashita hadn’t stopped you then, you might have become a killer yourself. Isn’t that right?”
As Tanba hung his head, Watari lowered his voice slightly and went on.
“Malice directed at others should be punished — logically, that’s correct. But if we go by that standard, all Japanese — no, every human being on Earth — would be the accused. Unless one is an infant, is there anyone in this world who has never felt malice or hostility toward another person?”
A few days later, the long spell of rain finally ended; beneath a clear, sunny sky — a rare sight of late — Miyashita happened to be passing through a corner of Bokuto Ward.
An unusual crowd had gathered in front of the fire station. Curious, Miyashita made her way through the throng, flashed her police badge, and spoke to a nearby firefighter.
“Is something going on? I can help if needed.”
The firefighter smiled and waved his hand dismissively.
“Oh, it’s nothing serious. A YouTuber is filming right now, so a crowd of onlookers has gathered.”
Miyashita looked past the crowd and saw Erika Natsunohara. She was dressed in her signature midriff-baring top and miniskirt, speaking directly into a camera.
“As you can see, it takes a lot of people working hard — twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year — just to get a single ambulance to your side. That’s why you absolutely must never call one as a prank. Only dial 119 in a real emergency.”
She then struck a sexy pose and delivered her catchphrase:
“A special favor … from your sexy YouTuber, Erika Natsunohara!”
As Erika spun around and walked away, a look of relieved amusement crossed Miyashita’s face.
“She’s recovered and is back at work.”
Miyashita looked up at the clear blue sky.
“That’s the one saving grace of this whole case.”
コメント
1件
読み終わりました！第10話、一気に核心へ突き進む展開で息を呑みましたね。14,000年前のOOPArtが硫酸を降らせる兵器として現代に蘇る——その設定の大胆さにまず惹かれました。Watari教授の「強い殺意に反応する」という仮説が、Tagamiの動機とリンクする瞬間のゾクゾク感がたまらない。 それ以上に印象的だったのは、世代間の言語感覚の違いと、正義の名を借りた攻撃性の連鎖の描き方。NPO会長の「抗議文は成果を得るための手段」という冷徹さ、Aoyamaの「警察が罰しないから自ら裁く」という自己正当化——どちらも「相手を貶めること」を正義と錯覚している点で共通していて、とてもリアルでした。 最終局面でMiyashitaがロボットを囮に使う戦略、Tanbaの一瞬の殺意すらも利用した逆転の発想は見事。ただ、Watariの「全人類に咎められるべき悪意はある」という言葉が重く残りますね。最後、Erika Natsunoharaが笑顔で動画を撮っているシーンは、何よりの救いでした。設定の奥深さと社会的テーマの鋭さ、どちらも楽しめる、素晴らしいエピソードでした。
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