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
On a mid-winter afternoon, black smoke rose from various parts of the town. Clutching a light machine gun, Kiel stared, trembling, at a car stopped at a street corner a few dozen meters away.
The driver’s side window slid down, revealing an intellectual-looking man in his thirties shouting something with a contorted face. Beside him, a woman of similar age sat cowering, her hands covering her face.
As Kiel hesitantly took a step forward, the man in the car raised his voice even louder.
Kiel did not understand Ukrainian, so he couldn’t make out exactly what the man was saying. However, judging by their clothes and the car model, they didn’t look like soldiers; he could surmise they were pleading that they were civilians and begging not to be shot.
Just as Kiel started to lower his weapon, an assault rifle round flew from behind, striking the ground inches from his right foot. Twisting his torso to look back, he saw his commanding officer — a man of White Russian descent — pointing his rifle at Kiel’s back with a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“What are you dawdling for? Can’t a Tungus monkey even pull a trigger properly?”
The officer barked the order in foul-mouthed Russian. Kiel grimaced as he replied.
“Sir, I believe they are civilians. They don’t appear to be armed …”
The commander cut him off with a shout.
“Our presence here must not be discovered. Or would you rather go somewhere else — like the grave?”
The commander fired another round, the bullet grazing Kiel’s body. Driven to the brink of madness, Kiel turned back toward the Ukrainian couple’s car, aimed his light machine gun, and squeezed the trigger.
A torrent of bullets tore through the vehicle’s body. Countless holes tore through the door and windows on the left side of the vehicle, and he saw the man and woman inside screaming as they slumped over in their seats.
The commanding officer approached the vehicle with a cigarette dangling from his lips and threw open both the front and rear doors. In the front seats, a man and a woman lay slumped against one another, drenched in blood.
Opening the rear door, the squad leader grinned and said, “Well, well — looks like there was another one hiding in here. Hey, rookie — good work.”
When Kiel, bewildered, stepped closer to the bullet-riddled rear door, he saw a boy age about five years old was lying on his back across the seat.
The child’s winter gear was riddled with holes, and from within them, bright red blood was still dripping steadily onto the floor.
Kiel stood frozen to the spot, his entire body trembling violently. It wasn’t just from the cold. The boy’s eyes remained open — just as they had been in life — and his gaze seemed fixed directly upon Kiel.
As Kiel stood there, speechless and stunned, the commanding officer gave him a casual pat on the shoulder and spoke in a light tone.
“Alright, good job. Even a brat like that could’ve tipped the enemy off to our presence if he’d survived. I’ll put in a good word with the company commander for you. Once we finish securing the area, I’ll see that you get some leave.”
Even after the commanding officer walked away, Kiel remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy’s corpse in the back seat.
Feeling as though the boy’s eyes were staring straight at him, Kiel cried out in a voice on the verge of tears:
“It wasn’t me! I didn’t know! I never meant for this to happen … Aaaargh!”
The next thing Kiel saw was the dim glow of a fluorescent nightlight hanging from the ceiling of a cheap apartment.
Kiel kicked off the futon, sat up, and began shouting in Russian.
“No! I didn’t mean to kill you! I … I …”
The young woman sleeping beside him sprang up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“Kiel, calm down! You were having that dream again, weren’t you?”
“Yuko …”
Coming back to his senses, Kiel embraced the woman — Yuko — clinging to her like a small child. Tears streaming down his face, he repeated in Japanese:
“I didn’t want to do it. It was the commander’s order. I was forced into it. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault …”
Yuko cradled Kiel’s head against her chest and whispered gently, as if soothing an infant.
“I know; it’s not your fault, Kiel. You’re safe now — this is Japan. This is Tokyo.”
Finally calming down and ceasing his shouts, Kiel — still breathing heavily — glanced toward the window and murmured, “I can hear a train. What time is it?”
Yuko, dressed in a sweatshirt she wore as sleepwear, tilted her head as she checked the time on her smartphone by the pillow.
“It’s past three in the morning. There shouldn’t be any trains running at this hour.”
Yuko opened the curtains and looked outside. Beyond the window, the night sky revealed nothing but the distant silhouettes of skyscrapers.
Neither Kiel nor Yuko noticed the reflection in the mirror of Yuko’s makeup case, sitting in the corner of the room.
While the actual night sky was empty, the reflection in the mirror showed a train — a luxurious, deep-crimson train — soaring through the air.
It was early November — a time when the mornings and evenings in Tokyo’s 23 wards had already turned chilly — and Miyashita was visiting Izu Oshima island on a rare vacation.
After leaving the Oshima Airport, she took a taxi to the cemetery. The island breeze felt just right against her short-sleeved shirt; dressed casually in a knit top, chinos, and sneakers, she navigated the graveyard — where small headstones stood in a maze-like arrangement — without once losing her way.
She crouched before a headstone situated near the edge of the grounds, took a bundle of incense sticks and a small bouquet of chrysanthemums from her backpack, and placed them as an offering.
As she pressed her palms together in prayer and reflection, she heard footsteps approaching.
“So it really was you, Ms. Miyashita.”
When Miyashita looked up, an elegant woman of about sixty was gazing down at her with a gentle smile. Miyashita sprang to her feet and bowed deeply.
“It has been a long time, Mrs. Saito.”
The elderly woman — Mrs. Saito — turned her eyes toward the headstone and spoke in a tone that held a note of happiness.
“Every year around the anniversary of his passing, I’d notice that someone had left incense and flowers, so I did wonder if it might be you. It’s been so many years, yet you remain so dutiful.”
“I apologize. I know I am hardly in a position to show my face here …”
“Oh, now, you shouldn’t speak of yourself that way. I bear you no ill will — none at all. He must be pleased, too. After all, the professional who cared for him in his final days comes to pay her respects year after year.”
Mrs. Saito also crouched before the headstone and pressed her palms together in prayer. Then, standing up, she said to Miyashita:
“Why don’t you stop by my house? Let me treat you to some tea. It’s just a short walk from here.”
Saying this, Mrs. Saito urged Miyashita to follow her and began walking slowly ahead.
After walking for about twenty minutes from the edge of the cemetery, they arrived at a modest, detached house.
Miyashita was shown into a south-facing room consisting of two adjoining eight-mat tatami areas, and Mrs. Saito brought in a tray holding tea and square-shaped confections for the two of them.
“Go ahead, please — don’t be shy. You used to like these, didn’t you?”
Miyashita’s face lit up when she saw the square treats, each marked with a different kanji character.
“Milk senbei crackers. They bring back such memories.”
“He loved them too, you know.”
After taking a bite of the cracker and a sip of tea, Miyashita tentatively asked Mrs. Saito, “Um, do you still live on this island?”
Mrs. Saito nodded, holding her teacup with both hands.
“I bought this house with his retirement payout and insurance money, and decided to spend the rest of my life here. It’s probably a boring, rural backwater to young people from mainland Tokyo, but for an old woman like me, it’s a wonderful place to spend one’s twilight years in peace.”
Mrs. Saito finished her tea and asked Miyashita, “Are you working at Headquarters now, Ms. Miyashita?”
“Yes, I became a detective at Headquarters. My rank is Assistant Inspector.”
“My, that’s the elite track for you. I wish you could have seen how excited my husband was when you came here for your training at the local substation. He boasted like a child about being entrusted to mentor a future elite officer.”
“I still feel terrible about it. Because of my own incompetence, your husband met such a tragic end …”
“Oh, Ms. Miyashita … It might sound inappropriate to say this, but I truly believe he was happy.”
“Huh? What do you mean by that?”
“Do you remember the one thing he used to boast about regarding his career as a police officer?”
Mrs. Saito held up her right hand, extending her thumb and index finger. Miyashita nodded emphatically.
“Yes, I remember it well. He took pride in the fact that he had never once drawn his service weapon since joining the force. He used to say that he had maintained public safety in his jurisdictions through daily cooperation with the local residents.”
Mrs. Saito gazed into the distance, a look of nostalgia on her face.
“He never achieved any major feats or rose through the ranks; he spent his entire career at rural police boxes and retired as a sergeant. But I suppose that life suited him. Did you know he was due to retire the year after you came here for training?”
“Yes, I heard about it. He said he was on track to complete his entire career without ever having to use his gun.”
“It was hard to watch him back then. Sometimes he’d stare at the calendar and sigh, looking so gloomy. He was a man who lived for his work and had no hobbies to speak of. I was terribly worried he’d become a shell of a man once he retired. But since he died in the line of duty — passing away while still a police officer — I actually think it was a fortunate way for him to go.”
Just then, Miyashita’s smartphone rang. Saying “Excuse me” to Mrs. Saito, she walked to the corner of the room and answered the call; it was from the commander of the Public Security Mobile Investigation Unit.
“Yes … first thing tomorrow morning? I think that should be fine. I’ll be back on the mainland by the end of the day.”
Miyashita knelt formally before Mrs. Saito and bowed her head.
“I am terribly sorry. I’ve been ordered to report to work first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll be leaving on the afternoon flight.”
“Oh dear, I had hoped you’d stay a while longer, but work comes first, I suppose. You’ll be heading to the Chofu Airport, then?”
Miyashita nodded as she booked her ticket on her smartphone. Mrs. Saito picked up the receiver of an old-fashioned black rotary phone and said, “I’ll call a taxi for you.”
A taxi arrived in front of Mrs. Saito’s house almost immediately. As Miyashita got into the car, Mrs. Saito called out to her from behind.
“Ms. Miyashita, you mustn’t let my husband’s fate weigh on your mind. Please become an outstanding detective — live well enough for the both of you.”
Miyashita bowed to Mrs. Saito once more, then got into the taxi and headed for the airport.
The next morning, Miyashita reported to the commander’s office, dressed in her usual understated pantsuit and leather loafers.
The commander ushered Miyashita into a small, glass-partitioned room and operated a remote control on the desk. The transparent glass walls surrounding the room instantly changed color, shielding the interior from outside view.
The commander slid a photograph across the desk toward Miyashita, who was seated opposite him. She picked it up and studied the face of the man in the picture. The commander spoke in a low voice.
“He’s a Russian illegal immigrant lying low in Nishi-Shinjuku. I want you to keep tabs on him.”
“A Russian? He looks Asian to me.”
“He appears to be from an ethnic minority in the Russian Far East; you can’t tell him apart from a Japanese person just by looking. His name is Kiel Fokin. He’s also a Russian military deserter. Right now, he’s staying with this woman.”
The commander slid another photo across — a candid shot, it seemed. Miyashita took it and saw a Japanese woman who appeared to be in her twenties.
“That woman is Yuko Kinoshita. She’s Japanese. She works as a cabaret hostess.”
Miyashita frowned and asked the commander, “If you know that much, why haven’t you detained him?”
“Don’t even speak to your colleagues at the Watari Lab about this. This man, Kiel, has been reported to the ICC.”
“The ICC … the International Criminal Court?”
“You’re aware that shortly after the invasion of Ukraine began, Russian soldiers massacred civilians near the capital, right?”
“Yes — the incident where numerous civilian bodies were discovered after the troops withdrew?”
“The Ukrainian government reported every Russian soldier allegedly involved in that massacre to the ICC. Kiel is one of the soldiers on that wanted list.”
“In that case, shouldn’t this fall under the jurisdiction of the Foreign Affairs Division? If he entered the country illegally, it would also be a matter for the Immigration Services Agency.”
“Of course, Foreign Affairs Division 1 is already on the case, and Immigration has been notified. The issue is how Kiel managed to sneak into Japan. Higher-ups fear there might be an organized smuggling route. If so, an international terrorist network could be involved.”
“So, they want the Public Security Mobile Investigation Unit to cooperate as well? Is that it?”
“Exactly. Foreign Affairs Division 1 will investigate the smuggling route and the like. Your job is to track Kiel’s movements.”
“What is my specific role? Am I to apprehend him?”
“The opposite. Tail him without being detected — and protect him.”
“Protect him?”
“If the investigation closes in on the international terrorist network, they might try to kill Kiel to silence him. While we keep him under surveillance, you are to guard the Russian and the woman he’s living with. That is your mission.”
Since she wasn’t due to meet the officer from the Foreign Affairs Division until that evening, Miyashita checked her smartphone to see if her regular hair salon had any openings.
Fortunately, there was a slot available in the morning, so she booked it immediately to tidy up her hair, which she had neglected to cut while busy with work.
She took her seat and was attended to by her usual stylist. As the female stylist combed through Miyashita’s hair, she sighed and remarked:
“You have such lovely, glossy hair, as always. Say, have you ever thought about growing it out? I think you’d look amazing with long hair.”
Miyashita gave a faint, wry smile and replied, “Well, as I’ve mentioned before, my job involves a lot of manual labor. Having it too long would just get in the way.”
“That’s a shame. I see. So, shall I just trim it to shoulder-length like usual, then?”
After leaving the salon, she headed to the Watari Lab to let them know she wouldn’t be able to show up at the lab for a while.
Upon entering the room, she went straight to Watari’s desk and told him she might be away for a few days.
Watari nodded and said, “I see. Well, if it’s for your original job, it can’t be helped. Don’t worry about things here — nothing unusual has happened lately anyway.”
Glancing back at the other team members, Miyashita noticed that Tsutsui’s attire was different than usual.
Tsutsui, who normally wore trouser suits — albeit in reasonably vibrant colors — was dressed that day in a suit featuring a bright beige pencil skirt. On her feet, she wore a pair of glittering, high-heeled pumps in a deep pink hue.
“Oh, Ms. Tsutsui. You look very stylish today.”
At this, Tsutsui stood up with an embarrassed smile and did a quick spin to show off her outfit.
“Haha, do you think it suits me? I attended a recruitment briefing at the company this morning, so I’m dressed like this. Please don’t say something like ‘fine feathers make fine birds’ about me, though.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Femininity is important in workwear, too, after all.”
“You know, Ms. Miyashita, why don’t you try wearing a skirt sometime? You have such a great figure; I bet a pencil skirt and high heels would look absolutely amazing on you.”
“Haha, well … as a police officer, I never know what might happen at any moment. Fashion is something for the distant future, I suppose.”
Shortly before 5:00 p.m., Miyashita met a middle-aged male detective from the Foreign Affairs Division 1 in Shinjuku’s Kabukicho district. They stepped into an alleyway and exchanged words in hushed tones, standing back-to-back.
“I’m Miyashita from the Public Security Mobile Investigation Unit. I’m here to take over the tail on Kiel.”
“I need you to cover the shift until 5:00 a.m. We’ll send a relief team by then. You know what the target looks like, right?”
“Yes. I know the woman’s face, too.”
“Yuko Kinoshita will be heading to work at the cabaret club soon. Keep an eye on whether Kiel drops her off and then stops anywhere else afterward. There — that’s them.”
Kiel and Yuko entered the street, where the neon lights were beginning to flash brilliantly. Kiel, dressed in an outdoor-style jacket and jeans, walked close beside Yuko, who wore an autumn coat over a revealing dress.
After Yuko entered the building and Kiel waved goodbye, he turned and walked back the way they had come. Miyashita pulled a long, light-brown wig from her bag and put it on; changing her hairstyle would reduce the risk of being recognized if she were spotted from a distance.
She followed Kiel, who stopped at a ramen shop along the way. Pretending to be a passerby looking for a place to eat, Miyashita listened closely to Kiel’s behavior inside the shop.
Although his pronunciation was slightly halting, Kiel placed his order in natural Japanese and showed no signs of suspicious behavior.
“His Japanese is pretty good. I wonder where he learned it?”
Miyashita concealed herself in a nearby alley and waited for Kiel to emerge. About thirty minutes later, Kiel finished his meal and stepped out of the shop.
Kiel continued walking at a leisurely pace toward the apartment where the two of them lived. Miyashita tailed him from about a hundred meters behind.
Eventually, they arrived at the apartment, and Kiel went into a second-floor unit. Miyashita took up a position where she could see the door to that room, leaning her back against a utility pole to keep watch.
Kiel did not leave the room at all that night; around 1:00 a.m., Yuko returned by taxi. Once she closed the door, there was no further movement.
Exposed to the night air, which had turned decidedly chilly, Miyashita kept her eyes fixed on the apartment door.
Just before 5:00 a.m., another detective from the Foreign Affairs Division 1 came over to Miyashita. After giving a brief, whispered report, Miyashita walked off toward a nearby station to catch the first train of the morning.
The next day, when Miyashita took over from the other detective at 4:00 p.m., Kiel and Yuko — who had not left their room all day — stepped out of the apartment together.
It appeared to be Yuko’s day off; she was dressed casually in a denim skirt and a cardigan. Keel was wearing jeans and a somewhat rugged-looking jacket that resembled workwear.
Miyashita, wearing a light autumn coat over her suit, followed them from a distance of several dozen meters.
The pair headed straight for the downtown area, visiting several supermarkets to stock up on items like instant foods. They packed the goods into the rugged-looking backpack Kiel was carrying and strolled along, occasionally exchanging smiles and conversation.
It seemed their shopping trip had ended, as the two of them walked into a family restaurant. Miyashita took off her coat while staying out of sight and flipped the reversible garment inside out.
The coat transformed from navy blue to a deep maroon; she slipped it back on, put on a pair of non-prescription glasses, and entered the restaurant a short while after them.
There was a large partition right next to the booth where the pair sat facing each other, and the seat on the other side was vacant.
Miyashita took that seat and used the tablet on the table to order from the drink bar.
On her way to the drink bar, she scanned the room to ensure there was no one among the customers who posed a threat, then returned to her seat with her drink.
Kiel and Yuko were chatting happily over beer mugs and a plate of fried chicken. Miyashita plugged her earphones into her smartphone and, while pretending to listen to music, activated a small microphone attached to the back of the device.
The conversation between the two on the other side of the partition came through her earphones with crystal-clear audio.
She heard Yuko’s voice.
“So, how is it? Have you gotten used to life in Japan yet?”
Kiel replied in fluent Japanese. Although his pronunciation was slightly halting in places, he seemed to have no trouble with everyday conversation.
“Yeah, I’m managing. Though I still sometimes almost forget to take my shoes off when entering a house. It’s lively, you can buy anything here, and you can walk the streets safely even at night — Japan really is a great country.”
“I was really shocked back then, you know — getting that sudden call and hearing you were already in Hokkaido.”
“Haha, yeah, it was a surprise. But you were the only person I knew I could rely on in Japan.”
“Still, it’s amazing you managed to cross the sea — all the way from Russia to Japan.”
“I found a military motorized inflatable boat while I was on coastal patrol duty. It had just been left there, so I hopped in and made a run for it.”
“How long did it take? To get to Japan?”
“Haha, less than an hour. It’s only about twenty kilometers from Kunashir to a town called Shibetsu in Hokkaido.”
“Where is Kunashir?”
Kiel had Yuko pull up a map app on her smartphone and scrolled across the screen with his finger.
“Right here. I set out by boat from the southern tip of this island and came over this way.”
“Let’s see … I guess that’s read ‘Kunashiri’ in Japanese? Oh, I think I’ve heard of it. One of the Northern Territories islands, right? Wow, I had no idea Russia and Japan were so close.”
“I’ve heard there was someone who actually swam across to Japan to escape.”
“Swam? Seriously?”
Listening to their conversation, Miyashita mused to herself:
“The fact that she didn’t know about that suggests Yuko Kinoshita has no connection to any illegal immigration networks.”
The conversation between Keel and Yuko continued. Perhaps because the shop was nearly empty and the beer was starting to go to their heads, the two began speaking freely about rather risky topics. Kiel spoke in high spirits:
“No matter how many times I visit, Japan is a great place. That festival — uh, what was it called? That thing that’s like a bazaar for anime and manga.”
“Comiket, right? That’s where we met — three years ago now. Do you still watch Japanese anime?”
“No, Japanese TV shows are effectively banned in Russia these days. It brings back memories, though. I came to Japan four times for Comiket, and I walked around it with you three of those times.”
“Well, now you can watch all the anime you want here in Japan. Oh, I guess we should buy a VCR, then.”
“I’m going to work, too. I can’t just let you be the only one working forever.”
“But you don’t have a passport or a visa, do you? How are you going to find a job?”
“Us Russians from the countryside — especially Asian minorities like me — are pretty cunning. We have to be to survive in Russia. Every country has its back-alley channels.”
“If you deserted the military, wouldn’t it be dangerous if you got caught?”
“Yeah, that’s why I can’t rely on ‘official’ Russians.”
“You don’t have to push yourself. I can earn enough for the time being.”
“I can’t just dump everything on the woman I’m going to marry someday. I am a Russian man, after all.”
“Yeah… chuckle… is that so?”
Listening to the happy tone in Yuko’s voice, Miyashita muttered to herself, finally understanding the situation.
“I see. So that’s the kind of relationship they have.”
Kiel and Yuko finished their beer, had some pasta to line their stomachs, and left the shop. Miyashita followed them out a moment later, keeping close enough not to lose sight of them.
The two walked with their shoulders touching and turned into a back alley in Harajuku. Beside the entrance of a shabby-looking multi-tenant building, there was a staircase leading down to the basement; they descended it.
Miyashita snapped photos of the surroundings with her smartphone, logged the GPS coordinates, and then quietly followed them down the bare concrete steps.
The basement held a compact space of about 33 square meters, dominated by a shop-like structure enclosed in thin plywood that took up roughly two-thirds of the area.
She watched as Kiel and Yuko stepped inside through an entrance marked only by a black curtain. Peering in from outside, Miyashita saw a sign hanging there with the word “Fortune-telling” scrawled on it by hand.
Noticing a bench for waiting beside the entrance, Miyashita reversed her coat to its navy-blue side and sat down to wait, positioning herself where she wouldn’t be immediately visible when the pair emerged.
Kiel and Yuko passed through a second black curtain into the inner area, where a desk stood occupied by an old woman wrapped in a pitch-black hooded cloak.
Arranged on the desk — which featured elaborate ornamentation but a truly garish design — were a large crystal ball and various divination tools, such as tarot cards. Because her hood was pulled low, only the old woman’s mouth was visible; she looked exactly like a witch from a Western fairy tale.
Yuko asked Kiel, looking uneasy, “Hey, is this really the place? It’s kind of creepy.”
Kiel replied, gently patting Yuko on the shoulder, “Don’t worry. I had my fortune told at a place just like this back in Russia. That’s how I managed to make it to Japan.”
The old woman spoke to Yuko in a voice tinged with a light chuckle.
“It might seem a bit eerie, but my fortunes are uncannily accurate, young lady.”
Yuko flinched and covered her mouth with her hand.
“Oh, did you hear that? Hahaha, sorry about that.”
“I don’t mind at all. Come, have a seat there. Let me read your fortune.”
There were two folding chairs in front of the fortune teller’s desk, and the pair sat down, facing the old woman. With exaggerated movements, she fluttered her hands over a crystal ball and asked:
“Now, what is it you wish to know?”
After a moment of hesitation, Kiel spoke with newfound resolve.
“I want to live happily here with her forever. I want to know how to make that happen.”
“Ho ho ho, youth is a wonderful thing. Very well — now, stare intently into this crystal ball. Focus your mind.”
While Kiel gazed fixedly at the crystal ball, the old fortune teller stirred a pile of small, twisted rods of various colors on her desk, making a clattering sound.
Before long, she spoke to Kiel in a dramatic, solemn tone.
“Go to a railroad crossing.”
“A railroad crossing?”
It was Yuko, not Kiel, who asked the question in a bewildered voice.
Lowering her tone slightly, the old woman continued:
“Around two in the morning would be best. If there is a train crossing nearby, go there. You will likely find a clue regarding your future.”
Tilting their heads in puzzlement, Kiel and Yuko paid the old woman 5,000 yen — the fee for two — and rose from their chairs.
Just as they passed through the first hanging curtain, Kiel let out a low groan.
“Bozhe moi — what is this? A spiderweb? Something’s caught in my hair.”
A thin, white strand was tangled near the crown of his head. A full-length mirror stood right in front of them.
Kiel leaned in to peer at the mirror and brushed his hand over his head. Yuko stepped up beside him to check her own reflection.
“I don’t seem to have anything on me. Kiel, it looks like you got it all off.”
Then, turning their backs to the mirror together, they passed through the entrance curtain.
Only Yuko’s reflection vanished from the mirror. Kiel’s image remained, however; even after he had walked away, his figure stayed visible within the glass, standing perfectly motionless.
As Kiel and Yuko emerged from behind the curtain, Miyashita instinctively turned away and pretended to fiddle with her smartphone.
The two were whispering to each other while looking at Yuko’s phone screen. Suddenly, someone tapped Miyashita on the shoulder from behind. Startled, she turned around to see the old fortune-teller standing there.
“You were waiting for me, weren’t you? I was just thinking about closing up shop for the night. You’ll be the last one — come on in.”
Kiel and Yuko were still nearby. Weighing the risk of losing sight of them against the risk of being spotted right there, Miyashita decided to follow the old woman instead.
Miyashita passed through the two hanging curtains and sat down on the chair in front of the desk. The old woman took her own seat and held her hands over the crystal ball.
“Now then, what would you like me to tell your fortune about?”
At the old woman’s question, Miyashita found herself momentarily at a loss for words.
“Um, let me see … What should I ask?”
“Hmm.”
Gazing into the crystal ball, the old woman spoke in a low voice.
“You are harboring some regret, aren’t you? Deep within your heart, I can see a regret — something you simply cannot forget.”
“Huh? W-what is it?”
“I am a professional fortune teller, after all. Let’s see … there isn’t anything specific you need to do. However, a major opportunity might come your way soon.”
“An opportunity?”
“Yes. When you encounter that chance, do not hesitate. That is the best advice I can give you right now.”
Miyashita let out a soft sigh and took her wallet from her inner jacket pocket.
“I see; that was helpful. How much do I owe you?”
After handing the old woman the 2,500-yen fee, Miyashita hurried toward the entrance. Just as she passed through the first curtain, she let out a small squeal.
“Eek! What is this? A spiderweb?”
There happened to be a large mirror right beside her, so she brushed a white thread off her hair. She then headed quickly outside.
After Miyashita left, the reflection of her standing figure lingered in the mirror; she hadn’t noticed it.
When Miyashita emerged from the fortune-telling area, Kiel and Yuko were no longer on the basement level. She dashed up the stairs, stepped out onto the street, and looked around.
In the distance, she spotted the backs of the familiar pair. Taking care not to draw attention, she jogged in their direction.
Kiel and Yuko entered Harajuku Station. Miyashita followed them through the ticket gate. They boarded a train bound for Shinjuku, and she rushed into the adjacent car.
Since it was a Yamanote Line train, they got off at Shinjuku Station after just two stops. Keeping out of sight amidst the crowd, Miyashita continued to tail them; it appeared they were heading toward Yuko’s home.
After watching them return to their apartment, Miyashita lurked in the shadow of a nearby building and kept a watch on their door.
Just past midnight, there was movement. Kiel and Yuko stepped out of the apartment and began walking along the deserted night street, heading somewhere.
Miyashita followed them, keeping a greater distance than usual given the lack of other people.
Before long, a private railway crossing came into view ahead of them. The area — likely bustling with crowds during the day — was completely devoid of other people at this late hour.
With few obstacles blocking the line of sight, Miyashita kept an eye on Kiel and Yuko from more than a hundred meters behind.
Suddenly, a high-pitched scream from Yuko rang out through the dark street. Instantly suspecting that Kiel might have been attacked, Miyashita abandoned all attempts at stealth and sprinted toward Yuko.
“What happened?”
Miyashita reached out toward Yuko and called out loudly. Yuko, her hands pressed against her face, answered in a trembling voice.
“He … he’s gone.”
“Was he taken away? What exactly happened?”
“Well …”
Yuko pointed toward the edge of the railway crossing.
“He vanished. He just disappeared — suddenly, in the blink of an eye.”
Miyashita heard the clattering sound of a train running. Checking her watch, she saw it was just before 2:00 AM. The last trains on all lines should have long since finished running; the crossing gates were up, and the warning alarms were silent.
“A train running? At this hour?”
Miyashita stepped away from Yuko and approached the crossing. She could hear the sound, yet there was absolutely no sign of a train.
As she looked around, a round convex mirror caught her eye.
Reflected in its surface, she saw a long train with a deep crimson body.
When Miyashita looked in the opposite direction, however, there was no train to be seen. Judging by the position of the train reflected in the curved mirror, it appeared to be flying through the night sky.
Miyashita involuntarily took half a step back, unable to believe her own eyes. At that instant, she, too, vanished from Yuko’s field of vision in a flash.
Yuko stood frozen, letting out a faint scream, completely unaware of the train reflected in the curved mirror.
Miyashita knew this was a dream. Yet, fully aware of that, she let herself be swept up in the scene.
Clad in a bright, glossy gray skirt suit with her long hair streaming in the breeze and wearing pointed high heels, Miyashita walked right behind Police Sergeant Saito, who was pushing his bicycle while in uniform.
“Ms. Miyashita, there is just one thing I take pride in. Regarding this, that is.”
Sergeant Saito, his short-cropped hair showing streaks of gray, tapped the holster at his waist with his palm.
“No, it’s not some tale of heroic exploits. I’ve been a police officer for over forty years, yet I have never once fired this gun. I suppose it’s odd to be proud of that, isn’t it?”
The Sergeant Saito of her dream continued speaking with a smile.
“In a rural area like this, incidents don’t happen all that often, of course — but a police officer having no occasion to use a service pistol is actually a good thing. We maintain close communication with local residents to prevent trouble before it starts. That, in turn, leads to the prevention and deterrence of crime. If something does happen, a sincere, persuasive approach usually gets the other party to understand; that’s certainly been my experience so far.”
Sergeant Saito continued, offering a bashful smile.
“Well, I suppose you can’t say the same for a big city like Tokyo proper. After all, things like the situation reported this morning — a terrorism suspect fleeing to a remote island like this — can happen. When your training ends tomorrow and you return to Headquarters, keep up the good work. Being able to provide field training to an elite officer from Headquarters like yourself is something I’ll be able to boast about for the rest of my life. Hahaha.”
A sharp crack rang out from a short distance away. Miyashita and Saito instantly recognized it as a gunshot.
“Ms. Miyashita, I’m going ahead.”
Saito leapt onto his bicycle and sped off. Miyashita ran after him, but the ends of her long hair snagged on a tree branch overhanging the path, causing her to fall behind.
She managed to free her hair and resume the chase, but her tight skirt and high heels made it impossible to sprint at full speed.
By the time Miyashita finally caught up, Saito was standing before a young man holding a pistol; he was attempting to reason with him, his right arm extended straight out.
“You’re still young, aren’t you? Put that dangerous thing on the ground. Nothing bad will happen to you — come on.”
The man lowered the muzzle. Seizing the moment Saito moved his left hand away from his holster, the man snapped the gun upward, aiming it directly at Saito.
Miyashita drew her pistol from the holster beneath her jacket, leveled it at the man, and pulled the trigger. However, the heel of her shoe caught in a depression in the ground, throwing her off balance.
Her shot went wide, missing the man completely. The bullet he fired struck Saito squarely in the left chest.
Glancing at Saito as he fell backward, Miyashita regained her footing and fired a second shot. The bullet struck the man near his right shoulder blade — a textbook hit — causing him to drop his gun and collapse to the ground.
Miyashita rushed to Saito’s side. Bright red blood was spurting from his chest; he lay motionless, his eyes closed.
In the dream, Miyashita screamed. “If only I’d arrived sooner! If only I hadn’t missed that first shot! If only I hadn’t been so obsessed with looking feminine and hadn’t dressed like that!”
“Excuse me, ma’am. Pardon me.”
That voice drifted into Miyashita’s consciousness. When she opened her eyes, she found herself in a place resembling a luxury hotel lobby.
As she sat up, feeling the plush softness of the sofa against her back, she saw a slender, middle-aged man standing before her, dressed in a uniform that looked like that of a train conductor.
The conductor smiled, bowed politely to Miyashita, and spoke.
“I apologize for disturbing your rest. May I please see your ticket?”
“Ticket?”
Miyashita stood up and looked around; the space was a long, narrow rectangle. Lavishly decorated sofas lined the walls on both sides, and a bar counter stood at the far end.
“Is this … a train? Um, I don’t think I have a ticket or anything like that.”
She slipped her hand into the pocket of her suit jacket, and her fingers brushed against something. She pulled it out to find a piece of thick cardstock, roughly the size of a playing card. The number “777” was printed on the front.
The conductor smiled broadly and held out his hand.
“Yes, that is the one. May I take a look?”
Confused, Miyashita handed the card to the conductor. He took a small tool resembling a pair of pliers from a pocket at his waist.
He glanced at the back of the card and nodded.
“Ms. Reiko Miyashita, correct? Yes, we have your reservation on record.”
Then, the conductor used a tool resembling a pair of pliers to make a small notch in the edge of the paper. It appeared to be a ticket punch — the kind Miyashita had only ever seen in old TV dramas.
With a polite gesture, the conductor returned the slip of paper — which looked like a ticket — to Miyashita.
Rubbing her head, she asked, “Where am I? Or rather, what is this place?”
“This is the lounge car — Car 5 — of the Spatiotemporal Express 777. You there — please take their order.”
A woman dressed in a medieval European-style maid outfit approached Miyashita, holding a menu. Her face was completely concealed by a stark white mask.
“How about a cocktail? We also have a wide selection of wines.”
Miyashita gave a weak shake of her head in response.
“I can’t drink alcohol.”
“In that case, how about some tea? We currently have a stock of premium Earl Grey.”
“That sounds good. I’ll have that.”
“Very well.”
The masked maid returned carrying a silver tray with a teapot and a cup. As Miyashita settled into the sofa, the maid wheeled a small cart over and placed the tray upon it.
After pouring the tea into the cup, the masked maid walked away toward the bar counter.
Miyashita took a sip of the tea and asked the conductor, “Where are other passengers?”
The conductor bowed respectfully and replied, “There are only two passengers today.”
Miyashita looked startled as she spoke.
“The other passenger … could it be the Russian named Kiel?”
“That is correct. Do you know him?”
“Well, sort of. Where is he?”
“Mr. Kiel went to the observation car a short while ago — Car 10, the very last car on the train.”
“Do you think I could meet him and have a word?”
“That depends on whether the two of you are willing. Shall I show you the way to the observation car?”
The conductor extended his right arm to gesture for Miyashita to follow. She rose from the sofa and walked through the train behind him.
They passed through the section lined with private compartments and entered the rearmost car. Tall sofas were arranged facing the windows, and Kiel was sitting on one of them.
He was wearing the same clothes he had been in when Miyashita lost sight of him.
Miyashita approached Kiel — who was gazing out the window, leaning deeply back against the seat — and spoke to him casually.
“Excuse me. Where did you board this train?”
Kiel turned his gaze toward Miyashita with a vacant expression and smiled slightly.
“I just found myself here. I don’t remember how I got on.”
Miyashita looked out the window and gasped. A massive window, stretching from floor to ceiling, was framed by three thick structural beams.
Each section of the window, divided by those beams, revealed a completely different landscape.
One section showed a vast meadow in broad daylight. Another displayed the night skyline of a sprawling metropolis. Yet another revealed a different scene entirely. Kiel spoke with an amused tone.
“It’s a fascinating view, isn’t it? I could watch it forever and never get bored.”
Miyashita touched the inside of the windowpane.
“Is this a screen?”
Miyashita asked, pressing the conductor for an answer.
“What does it look like outside?”
“In that case, would you like to step out onto the observation deck? You can go outside through that door.”
A heavy-looking door stood where the conductor was pointing. When Miyashita nodded, the conductor opened it for her.
“Right this way, please.”
It was a narrow platform extending out from the train’s body. A slender, gold-painted pipe-like structure stretched diagonally forward from the ceiling.
Miyashita was reminded of the “Mizukaze,” a luxury train in western Japan she had recently seen on a travel program; the exterior of this train resembled that luxury sleeper.
Miyashita gasped again as she looked at the scenery outside. Views of various towns, forests, and coastal areas — framed in rectangular shapes — were flitting across the entire expanse of the sky.
“What is this? Why is the train flying through the sky?”
The conductor answered Miyashita’s question in a matter-of-fact tone.
“This is the Spatiotemporal Express.”
“The Spatiotemporal Express?”
“As the name implies, this is a special train that travels across time and space. The two of you have been invited here as specially selected passengers.”
Just then, a static-filled announcement drifted from a speaker somewhere inside the carriage.
“Attention, passengers. We will soon be arriving at the first stop. Crew members, please prepare to assist passengers disembarking.”
Hearing this, the conductor stepped up beside Kiel and bowed deeply.
“Sir, this is the station where you are to disembark temporarily. Allow me to show you the way.”
“Huh? I’m getting off there?”
Kiel asked, his voice tinged with puzzlement. The next instant, darkness engulfed them, and Kiel, the conductor, and Miyashita were seized by the sensation of plummeting — like being inside a high-speed elevator rapidly descending.
Suddenly, the light returned, and the three of them found themselves in a spacious, square chamber enclosed by silvery-white walls. Miyashita and Kiel looked around in astonishment.
One of the walls abruptly turned transparent, revealing the scenery outside. It was a snow-covered corner of a city. They were looking at a major intersection, with old-fashioned, Western-style stone buildings lining the street.
Kiel’s face went pale, and his eyes widened. Miyashita realized that something was terribly wrong with the town; craters that looked like the aftermath of explosions pockmarked the roadside, and black smoke billowed up near a distant building.
A sign was visible by the side of the road. It bore characters of a unique shape rather than the Latin alphabet. Although Miyashita couldn’t read them, she somehow recognized them as Cyrillic — the script used in Slavic regions.
The conductor bowed deeply to Kiel once more and spoke.
“Very well, sir. Please, go ahead.”
Kiel’s body slid through the air toward the transparent wall, as if drawn by a magnet. He passed right through the barrier and into the space beyond.
Miyashita rushed forward to follow him but was blocked by an invisible, wall-like resistance that prevented her from crossing over.
Although freezing winds — well below zero — ought to have been blowing on the other side, neither the airflow nor the chill reached Miyashita’s side at all.
Once thrust into the space beyond the wall, Kiel’s attire had changed; he was now clad in a Russian military combat uniform and helmet, clutching a light machine gun in his hands.
Kiel stood frozen, unable to hide his look of utter astonishment as he glanced down at his new appearance.
Miyashita shouted to Kiel on the other side of the wall.
“Kiel! Watch out!”
But it seemed Miyashita’s voice did not reach him at all. As Kiel stood there in a daze, bullets gouged the ground at his feet, sending up sparks.
“What are you dawdling for? Can’t a Tungus monkey even pull a trigger properly?”
Standing behind Kiel was a White Russian officer, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a mocking half-smile on his face as he leveled an assault rifle at him.
Kiel turned to see a car stopped just before the intersection; a man was shouting something desperately in Ukrainian through the gap of the lowered driver’s-side window. The Russian officer bellowed at Kiel.
“Shoot them — now.”
Kiel shook his head vigorously, prompting the Russian officer to fire another round from his assault rifle, the bullet grazing Kiel’s side.
Then, the officer roared, “Or would you rather go first? To the grave?”
Just as Kiel turned back toward the passenger car, his whole body trembling as if in a convulsion, a thunderous roar echoed across the area.
A sound like the amplified wail of a hundred bass wind instruments — like a tuba — resounded, and something slammed down onto the roof of the car parked in front of Kiel.
It looked like a thick hose covered in dense, long, crimson fur. The head of the man who had been leaning out the window slumped forward abruptly.
Heavy, cannon-like footfalls followed, and a massive, thick leg crushed the car from directly above. Brief screams rang out and were abruptly cut off as the vehicle was flattened.
A colossal beast, standing twenty meters tall, loomed over the wreckage and let out a booming roar.
It had an elephant-like physique covered entirely in long, crimson fur. Two tusks extended in a long U-shape, their razor-sharp tips pointing toward the sky.
Miyashita, watching the scene from the other side of a transparent barrier, murmured: “Is that a mammoth?”
The giant red beast spun around and lumbered away, shaking the ground with every step. Kiel, his lips quivering, asked his superior in Russian:
“Sir, what was that monster?”
The superior showed no sign of surprise, answering as if the event were perfectly natural.
“Who knows? I haven’t a clue. But considering it took out the people who were in our way, it’s likely one of our military’s secret weapons.”
The superior stepped closer to Kiel, jammed the muzzle of his assault rifle against Kiel’s chest, and declared:
“I had hoped to give you some experience in shooting a man dead, but it seems something else beat me to it. That means you’re still just a half-baked soldier. Don’t expect any leave for the foreseeable future.”
With that parting shot, the superior spat his cigarette butt onto the ground, turned his back, and walked away.
Kiel stood rooted to the spot, a dazed look on his face, as his body once again seemed to glide through the air, returning to this side of the transparent wall — the side where Miyashita and the others were.
Kiel’s attire had returned to normal after he passed through the wall; the machine gun he had been holding was gone, too.
The next instant, darkness engulfed the surroundings once more, shutting out Miyashita’s vision.
The darkness lifted quickly. When Miyashita opened her eyes, she found herself standing on the floor of the train’s lounge car alongside Kiel and the conductor.
“What was that? What did you do to me?”
Kiel demanded an answer from the conductor while remaining on his feet. The conductor, a gentle smile playing on his lips, bowed deeply before replying.
“With this, you are no longer the one who killed that Ukrainian parents and child. They died after being trampled by that monster. It is no longer your fault, sir.”
“What are you talking about?”
The conductor spoke with polite courtesy, his smile never wavering.
“Sir, do you not feel as though something — some sort of weight or obstruction — has vanished from within your heart?”
Kiel placed his right palm over his left chest and stared blankly into space for a moment.
“Now that you mention it, I suppose I do …”
Beaming broadly, the conductor spoke to Kiel with renewed emphasis.
“You have been liberated from the anguish of regret. Congratulations.”
Suddenly, the voices of four women rang out from all directions around Kiel and Miyashita.
“Congratulations.”
“Congratulations.”
“Congratulations.”
“Congratulations.”
Before anyone realized it, women dressed as maids — their faces entirely concealed by stark white masks — had appeared.
The conductor spoke to Kiel: “We would like to offer you a complimentary celebratory drink. Is there anything specific you would like?”
Kiel, his unfocused gaze fixed on empty air, muttered as if delirious, “Vodka. Give me vodka.”
One of the four maids asked in a flat, emotionless voice, “Which brand would you prefer?”
“Do you have Kaufmann?”
“The super-premium vodka?”
“Yes. I’ve always wanted to try it — just once in my life.”
“Certainly, we have it. Would you like any snacks to go with it?”
“Caviar. The highest grade you have.”
“Very well. Please make your way to the counter over there.”
Kiel walked unsteadily toward the bar counter. Miyashita watched him out of the corner of her eye and asked the conductor, “What was that just now? What did you do to him?”
The conductor, maintaining his ever-present smile, bowed and replied, “That gentleman’s past has been rewritten. From now on, he is liberated from a future spent regretting his past deeds; he will suffer no more. This is a special service reserved solely for those chosen as passengers on the Spatiotemporal Express 777.”
As Miyashita sat on the lounge car sofa, clutching her head in confusion, the train’s public address system chimed once more:
“Attention, passengers. We are now arriving at the next station.”
Miyashita, recalling she had been told that she and Kiel were the only passengers tonight, sprang up from the sofa; the surroundings were instantly swallowed by darkness, and the next moment, she found herself — along with the conductor — in a square space enclosed by the same silvery-white walls as before.
One of the walls turned transparent, revealing the scenery beyond. It was a view Miyashita recognized: the town area of Izu Oshima island.
Miyashita’s body slid sideways through the air and passed right through the wall. A breeze — warm for late autumn — enveloped her entire body; it was the air of the island, carrying a faint scent of the sea.
“Ms. Miyashita, I’m heading ahead.”
It was unmistakably the voice of Police Sergeant Saito. Watching Saito’s back as he pedaled his bicycle into the distance, Miyashita prepared to run after him.
Sensing something amiss with her body, she looked down at her attire. She was no longer wearing the pantsuit she had on moments ago.
She wore a light gray suit with a tight skirt, and her shoes were pointed high heels. Hastily touching her head, she discovered her hair had grown long, reaching down to her shoulder blades.
Miyashita ran desperately, though her outfit made a full-speed sprint impossible. By the time she finally caught up to Saito, he was confronting a young man who held a pistol.
Miyashita drew her own gun and repeatedly glanced at the ground beneath her feet, bracing herself to avoid stepping into holes where her heels might get stuck.
Suddenly, both Saito and the other man let out strange screams. A massive shadow swooped down upon them, and a pair of taloned feet knocked the young man to the ground.
It looked like a giant owl. Its colossal body — ten meters tall — was covered in brilliantly colored feathers, like those of a parakeet, in shades of red, blue, green, and yellow.
Its beak was unnaturally long and slender, tapering to a point as sharp as a knife. The monstrous bird, having trampled the young man into unconsciousness with its long, extended legs, drove the tip of its beak into the left side of Police Sergeant Saito’s chest as he stood there, frozen in a daze.
Blood spurted from Saito’s chest, and his body toppled backward. Miyashita rushed to his side, but he was already dead.
From somewhere in the air, the voice of that conductor rang out.
“Congratulations, madam. Thanks to this, the death of your senior officer is no longer your fault. He was killed by that monstrous owl.”
The giant owl was turning its back on Miyashita, about to walk away with unhurried composure. Miyashita aimed her pistol at its back and squeezed the trigger repeatedly.
Screaming words that welled up instinctively from deep within her chest, Miyashita kept firing.
“Don’t mess with me — don’t mess with me — don’t mess with me — don’t mess with me — don’t mess with me!”
She emptied the entire magazine, and the pistol’s slide locked back. Then, a massive crack appeared in the very space before her eyes, and the world collapsed like a painting on glass shattering and falling away.
Panting heavily, Miyashita opened her eyes to find herself standing on the floor of the train’s lounge car. She touched her body and realized she was back in her original pantsuit; her hair had returned to its former length as well.
The conductor stood before her, smiling, yet his expression and tone betrayed a sense of bewilderment.
“Is something the matter? Was there any aspect of our service that did not meet with your approval?”
Letting the pistol hang loosely in her right hand, Miyashita answered through her ragged breathing, her voice thick with anger.
“I never asked for this! That incident … it’s part of my life. An important part. Don’t go changing it — don’t go erasing it!”
The conductor’s expression turned serious; he gave a slight nod, clasped his hands in front of his stomach, and bowed deeply at a ninety-degree angle.
“I see. Please accept my sincerest apologies. It appears there was a mix-up in our arrangements.”
“What do you intend to do with me now?”
“We will take you back to where you came from. The service we provide is valid only when the client desires it; we would never force it upon anyone against their will.”
Once again, darkness closed in around her. Several pillars of light — resembling stage spotlights — descended from above, bathing the conductor and a group of masked women in maid outfits as they stood before Miyashita.
Wearing a gentle smile, the conductor addressed Miyashita in a respectful tone.
“Thank you very much for riding the Spatiotemporal Express Triple Seven. Should you ever change your mind in the future, please feel free to return. All of us crew members …”
The conductor bowed deeply, while the women in maid outfits lifted the hems of their skirts with both hands and curtsied low.
”… sincerely look forward to the day you come back.”
The lights illuminating the crew vanished all at once, and the area was swallowed by pitch-black darkness.
Miyashita lost all sense of orientation — up, down, left, or right — and felt her consciousness gently drifting away.
When Miyashita next regained consciousness, she found herself in a hospital room at the police hospital. The commander of the Public Security Mobile Investigation Unit, who had come to check on her, explained that she had been found collapsed on the street the previous night and transported there by ambulance.
Miyashita recounted her experience aboard that flying train, though she prefaced her story by noting that it might have been a hallucination.
After hearing the full story, the commander confirmed that Miyashita could walk and ordered her to come along.
They walked a short distance down the hospital corridor and arrived in front of another private room. The commander opened the door and told Miyashita to look inside.
Kiel was sitting up in bed. Peering through the gap in the doorway, Miyashita saw that Kiel wore a calm expression, gazing into empty space. The commander whispered to Miyashita:
“He doesn’t react to anything anyone says. There’s nothing physically wrong with him, but something is amiss with his mind. If I had to put a name to it, it’s as if his soul has left his body.”
“He looks peaceful, though.”
“True — or perhaps ‘happy’ would be a more fitting description. But one has to wonder if he can really be said to be living as a human being.”
As the two men walked back from Kiel’s room toward their original location, they passed a young woman carrying a convenience store bag.
It was Yuko. However, she didn’t seem to recognize Miyashita; when the two men stepped aside to let her pass, she gave a polite, slight bow and headed toward Kiel’s room.
Miyashita asked the commander, “What will happen to him now? He is still an illegal entrant, after all.”
“Given that he’s a deserter from the Russian military, there’s talk that he’ll be granted special permission to stay on humanitarian grounds. Besides …”
The commander gestured slightly toward Yuko’s receding figure and continued: “… there’s a Japanese national who looks willing to act as his guarantor.”
Miyashita underwent a medical check-up just to be safe; finding nothing amiss, she was discharged that same day. The next morning, when she reported to the Public Security Mobile Investigation Unit’s office, the commander instructed her to join him in a separate room.
As Miyashita sat facing the commander, he operated a remote control, changing the color of the transparent glass wall so that the two of them were no longer visible from the outside.
“Now, regarding yesterday’s events — there are a few issues.”
The commander placed a plastic bag on the desk containing Miyashita’s service pistol and the jacket she had been wearing at the time.
“It is true that every round had been fired. Gunshot residue was detected on your clothing. And then, there’s this.”
He turned the laptop on the desk toward Miyashita and played a video with a somewhat dim image.
It showed a railway crossing in Shinjuku Ward, capturing the moment first Kiel, and then Miyashita, vanished as if swallowed into thin air.
Speaking in a tone that was uncharacteristically hesitant, the commander said, “It was caught on a security camera by chance. Up to this point, it matches your report. The time elapsed between your disappearance and being found separately on nearby streets was roughly ten minutes. Yet, during that interval, there were absolutely no reports of any commotion — such as the sound of gunfire.”
“That’s impossible!”
Miyashita blurted out.
“Hours — at least an hour — must have passed.”
“You reported that I told you Kiel was on the International Criminal Court’s wanted list, correct? But the fact is, he isn’t wanted by the ICC.”
“What do you mean?”
“It is true that he was part of the unit that attempted to capture the capital during the early stages of the invasion of Ukraine. However, there is no record of him being accused by the ICC of killing civilians. Naturally, we’ve already checked with Interpol as well.”
“You think a hacker altered the records?”
“That’s impossible. No hacker, no matter how skilled, could simultaneously rewrite the records held by the ICPO, the ICC, and even the Ukrainian military and government. Above all …”
The commander pointed a finger at his own head.
“Tampering with my memory is something no human should be capable of.”
“I … I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.”
The commander pointed to the tinted glass wall.
“When the wall is in this state, every conversation held in this room is recorded — both audio and video. You know that, right?”
Miyashita nodded, and the commander continued.
“I reviewed that footage. With a third party present, of course. I ordered you to keep an eye on Kiel as part of the investigation into the illegal entry network. But we never had a conversation about him being accused by the International Criminal Court of killing civilians near the Ukrainian capital. And as I said earlier, we’ve already confirmed that no such fact exists.”
Miyashita, left speechless and stunned, cast her gaze down at the desk; the commander handed her a single sheet of paper.
“Go get an examination there tomorrow.”
It was a referral slip for the psychiatric department of a national hospital. Miyashita spoke as she took it.
“Do you think I have a mental health issue?”
The commander crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling as he answered.
“Honestly, the old me would have concluded exactly that. But my thinking has changed a bit since I seconded you to that organization — Watari Lab.”
The commander turned back to face Miyashita and continued.
“Looking at the cases the Watari Lab has handled, I’ve learned that there is scientific technology in this world that can only be described as magic. It also made me realize that there may be phenomena that modern science cannot yet explain. But rules are rules. Go to the designated hospital and get a psychiatric evaluation. Given your current condition, you should receive a certificate by the afternoon of the day after tomorrow stating that there are no issues and nothing to hinder you from performing your duties. First thing the following morning, bring that certificate and report to me. At that point, I will officially order your return to duty.”
Miyashita stowed the document in her bag, bowed to the commander, and left the room.
The next day, Miyashita went to the designated hospital and spent the morning undergoing counseling with a psychiatrist. There were no direct questions regarding the recent series of events; instead, Miyashita calmly answered routine inquiries and took psychological tests that involved looking at pictures with strange patterns and making simple drawings.
In the afternoon, she underwent physical examinations, including an EEG and an MRA scan. Everything wrapped up near evening, and she left the hospital after being instructed to return at 3:00 p.m. the following day to pick up her medical report.
With the day-long series of tests finally over, Miyashita — for the first time in a while — wandered aimlessly and leisurely through the city streets as dusk began to fall.
Suddenly, the thought struck her to visit that fortune teller again, so she hopped on a train. She got off at Harajuku Station and, guided by GPS data saved on her smartphone, made her way into the backstreets.
She spotted the familiar mixed-use building and headed toward the stairs leading to the basement. But there, Miyashita was stunned.
There was supposed to be a narrow staircase leading underground right next to the building’s main entrance. Yet, the spot where the stairs should have been was covered over by a concrete floor.
Just then, a woman who looked like an office worker emerged from the building, so she decided to ask her.
“Excuse me … where are the stairs to the basement?”
The woman looked at her with a puzzled expression.
“Pardon? This building doesn’t have a basement.”
“When did it disappear? I’m pretty sure there were stairs to the basement around here when I visited before.”
“There hasn’t been a basement since the building was first constructed. You must be confusing it with another building, aren’t you?”
“I … I see. Sorry to have bothered you.”
Driven by a sense of stubbornness, Miyashita then walked through every single alleyway in Harajuku. Yet, she could not find the underground space where the fortune teller had been anywhere.
She boarded a Yamanote Line train, though she hadn’t given a single thought to where she was actually heading.
Having spent time wandering around, she caught the train after the evening rush hour had subsided, so the cars were relatively empty.
Suddenly snapping out of her reverie, she hopped off the train and found herself at Shimbashi Station. Beneath a sky now fully dark, she began to stroll aimlessly once more.
Wanting to avoid crowds, she headed toward a quieter area and found herself in a business district lined with skyscrapers. Checking the address on a building wall, she saw she was in Shiodome, an area that had undergone relatively recent development.
Perhaps because it was past ten at night, the district was deserted; it felt like a ghost town.
As she continued to wander aimlessly, she spotted a small sign on the street — an advertisement for a bar located in the building’s basement.
Miyashita, who had a low tolerance for alcohol, started to walk past, but a line on the sign caught her eye: “We offer a wide selection of non-alcoholic drinks.” She decided to step inside.
It was past eleven when she entered, and there were no other customers. An elderly man — likely the bartender and owner, dressed in a black vest and bow tie — took her order, and Miyashita sat at the counter to order a non-alcoholic cocktail.
Savoring the mere atmosphere of enjoying a cocktail in a late-night bar, she browsed images on a fashion website on her smartphone.
The women on the site wore their long hair loose, showcasing various skirt styles and high-heeled shoes.
Miyashita found herself thinking. After Police Sergeant Saito died in the line of duty, she had briefly considered resigning. Had she quit the force, she might well be living a life right now where she could enjoy cycling through the latest fashion trends every day.
Yet, she also realized that she would likely have regretted that path, too. Spurred by the killing of Saito by a terrorist, Miyashita requested a transfer to the Public Security Division during the subsequent personnel reshuffle and is now a detective in the counter-terrorism unit.
Was that the right choice? Do I have any regrets? Such doubts likely plague people in any profession — perhaps for a lifetime.
Suddenly, the bartender spoke up.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m taking last orders; would you like anything else?”
Miyashita glanced at her watch and realized it was 1:30 a.m. The time had slipped away while she sipped a few non-alcoholic cocktails.
She took a quick look at the menu and replied, “I’ll have a Kir Royale, then.”
Since she had been ordering only non-alcoholic drinks until then, the bartender asked, “It’s champagne-based, so it does contain alcohol.”
“That’s fine. I’ll have just one drink before I head home. I do wish I had a better tolerance for alcohol, though.”
“I understand. Well, some people ruin their lives with alcohol, after all. It’s all about perspective. I’ll get that for you right away.”
She took her time finishing the cocktail — fizzing with carbonation in its tall, slender flute glass — then settled the bill and rose from her seat.
The bartender opened the door for her and, looking at her face, said, “Ma’am, shall I call a taxi for you? Your face is flushed.”
Miyashita touched her cheek and felt the heat rising in her skin.
“It shows on my face right away, you know. But I’ll be fine.”
“The trains have stopped running, and it’s quite cold out there this late at night. Are you sure?”
“Yes, a bit of a walk will help sober me up. I’ll just walk to the nearby taxi stand.”
“I see. Well, take care.”
As Miyashita stepped through the shop’s doorway and climbed the stairs to street level, she heard the bartender’s voice.
“Thank you very much. Please come again.”
When Miyashita emerged onto the street, all pedestrian traffic had completely ceased. She found herself in a space surrounded by towering skyscrapers that seemed to loom over her like monuments.
The modern high-rises featured facades made almost entirely of glass; the lights of the distant cityscape reflected off the exterior walls, shimmering with a dull, intermittent glow.
Suddenly, the rhythmic clatter of train wheels passing over rail joints reached Miyashita’s ears.
“A train? At this hour?”
She looked up and saw the deep crimson body of a train reflected on the wall of the skyscraper right beside her. The long, ten-car train appeared to be racing across the mirror-like surface of the building’s exterior.
Miyashita turned around and peered intently at the space on the opposite side of the street. There was no train there — not even a railway track.
The crimson luxury sleeper train passed through the mirrored surface of the first building and reappeared in the rows of glass windows on the facade of another building across the street. She could even hear the sound of the train’s whistle echoing in the air.
Despite the biting chill of the night, sweat beaded on Miyashita’s forehead. She pulled a handkerchief from her outer coat pocket and wiped it away.
As she tucked the handkerchief back into her pocket, her fingertips brushed against something. Inside the pocket was a slip of paper roughly the size of a playing card.
She pulled it out and saw it was shaped like a railway ticket. On one side, the number “777” was printed in bold, bright red.
Miyashita gasped sharply. At that moment, the whistles of multiple trains rang out in unison.
Pale-faced, Miyashita looked up and scanned her surroundings. The image of flying trains was reflected on the mirror-like facades of every skyscraper around her.
It was not just the crimson-bodied one. Flying luxury trains of the same design — in blue, yellow, green, and a myriad of other colors — raced, crossed paths, and wove through one another within the mirrored surfaces of the building facades.
Miyashita held the ticket up before her eyes, gripped it firmly with both hands, and tore it in two down the middle. She stacked the pieces, tore them in two again, and repeated the motion.
Before long, the ticket had been reduced to tiny scraps of paper; a sudden gust of wind swept them from her hands, sending them dancing into the air and carrying them off into the distance.
Gazing at the trains racing through the mirrored walls of the surrounding buildings, Miyashita murmured to herself:
“I won’t board it. No matter how painful or agonizing the regret, it is a part of who I am. I will carry it with me to the grave — nay, even into the afterlife. That is the least I can do as one who survived. I won’t board it!”
Miyashita smoothed the lapels of her suit with her fingertips, then turned resolutely forward and began to walk.
Countless spatiotemporal express trains raced across the mirrored facades of the buildings. Surrounded by those reflections, Miyashita walked on through the dead of night, her back straight and her head held high.
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@みぅ🤍🥀 うん…この話、重かった。キールがあの二人の子どもを撃ってしまったフラッシュバック、あの場面の生々しさがずっと頭に残ってる。それがあの“時空特急777”で“なかったこと”にされたときのキールの安堵した顔と、逆に宮下さんが「それは私の人生の一部だ」って拒否した瞬間の強さがすごく対照的で。 あの列車、実は“救い”をくれるようでいて、人間の業を軽く扱ってる感じがしてちょっと怖いなって思ったよ。それでも宮下さんは自分の罪と向き合って歩き続ける。その選択が、読んでるこっちにも静かに響いてくる作品だった。 菊池川さん、こんな重くて繊細な話を紡いでくれてありがとう。ちゃんと受け取ったよ。
