一覧ページ

World of Bizarreness and Monsters

第1話 - When Bamboo Flowers Bloom

20,457文字

2026年07月11日

#kaiju

#SciFi

菊池川詠人

It was early April — just after the university’s entrance ceremony — when Prof. Watari received an urgent call on his smartphone from Associate Professor Toyama.

Toyama, a rising star in his thirties, spoke with a voice trembling from excitement.

“Prof. Watari, I need your help. Bamboo is blooming!”

Watari instinctively pulled the phone slightly away from his ear.

“Calm down. Bamboo flowers are rare — blooming only once every 120 years — but surely that hardly qualifies as the discovery of the century? Besides, my specialty is seismology.”

“It might actually be related to your field of expertise. In fact, I can’t think of any other explanation.”

Watari, who had just entered his fifties, stroked his beard — now flecked with gray — and pictured the young biologist, whose boyish face made him look like a student.

“What kind of connection could there possibly be between earthquakes and bamboo flowers?”

“I’ve just sent photos of the bamboo flowers to your email address. Please, just take a look at them.”

Baffled, Watari opened his email inbox on his computer and opened the image file attached to Toyama’s message.

He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the five photos displayed there.

“You say these ae bamboo flowers? Ridiculous! There’s no such thing as a bamboo flower shaped like that!”

Toyama’s voice, growing increasingly excited and high-pitched, rang out from the smartphone.

“What’s more, there are signs of simultaneous blooming all around Mt. Fuji. Every location where the blooming has been confirmed matches the exact sites where you’ve been gathering data on signs of an impending eruption!”

It was three days later that Tsutsui arrived at the prefabricated command post set up at the foot of Mount Fuji, on the Yamanashi Prefecture side.

Dressed in a women’s pantsuit and with a large bag slung over her shoulder, the 25-year-old newspaper reporter looked as nervous as someone approaching a wild beast; she knocked on one of the doors in the row and opened it tentatively.

“Excuse me, is Prof. Watari here?”

Inside, Watari and Toyama were sitting on a cheap sofa. Watari grinned and beckoned Tsutsui over.

“Oh, you’re here. Come on in and have a seat.”

Watari stood up from the sofa and moved to the chair at the desk. Tsutsui handed her business card to Toyama.

“I’m Tsutsui from the City News Department of Teito Shimbun. Thank you in advance.”

Toyama accepted the card politely, gestured with his palm to the empty spot on the sofa, and invited her to sit down.

Still looking apprehensive, Tsutsui spoke to Watari.

“So, Prof. Watari … why me? My company was planning to send a reporter from the Science News Department with a background in the sciences, but I heard you turned that down and specifically requested me.”

Watari answered with a smirk.

“Because it’s better to have someone from a humanities study background write about delicate matters like this. Science news reporters tend to get too hung up on technical details, so the message often doesn’t get across well. Besides, you have a track record of successfully turning my work into an article.”

Toyama asked, looking slightly surprised.

“Do you two know each other?”

Tsutsui replied.

“A few years ago, when I was still stationed at a regional bureau, I covered one of Prof. Watari’s research presentations. Just to be safe, I had him look over the article beforehand — but he tore it to shreds with criticism.”

Watari looked annoyed as he spoke. “Don’t make such a big deal out of having it rewritten a mere eleven times.”

Tsutsui cried, “It wasn’t eleven — it was twenty-one! Even the desk editor in my workplace, famous for his power harassment, wouldn’t go that far.”

With a wry smile, Toyama turned the tablet screen toward Tsutsui.

“This is what I wanted to show you, as a newspaper reporter.”

Dozens of photos lay before them as Toyama scrolled through the screen. Deep crimson blossoms, strikingly similar to plum blossoms, could be seen dotting the bamboo grove here and there.

Tsutsui remarked with a tone of wonder:

“Wow, so　these are bamboo flowers? I’ve never seen ones in my life.”

“Actually, no — that’s not it. A bamboo flower like that is impossible. This is what a bamboo flower should look like.”

Toyama switched the display. Photos of various types of bamboo flowers appeared.

They were all slender, whitish things hanging downward; their shape resembled an ear of rice, while their overall appearance looked like nothing so much as the withered, shriveled remains of a lily.

Tsutsui asked, and Toyama answered:

“That’s a flower? It doesn’t look anything like what I imagine a flower to be.”

“Exactly. That’s why bamboo flowers with red petals simply cannot exist. And the problem is, the locations where these impossible flowers are beginning to bloom form a ring around Mt. Fuji. And as for Mt. Fuji…”

Toyama turned to look at Watari, as if prompting him to continue. Tsutsui followed suit and looked at Watari as well.

Stroking his long beard with his fingers, Watari spoke:

“There are signs that Mt. Fuji is about to erupt. It could be a massive eruption — the kind that happens only once every few thousand, or perhaps even hundreds of thousands, of years.”

Early the following afternoon, Watari, Toyama, and Tsutsui were walking along a mountain path near the monitoring headquarters.

Large bamboo groves dotted the landscape, and here and there, those deep crimson flowers could be seen at the base of the leafy branches.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?”

Tsutsui remarked as she unzipped his outdoor jacket. Checking the thermometer on her smartphone, she saw it read 29 degrees Celsius.

“It’s only April, yet it feels like summer. It’s an unusual weather pattern. By the way, I heard an old legend that a bamboo flower blossom is an ominous sign.”

Watari wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel.

“Actually, this abnormal heat is occurring only in the immediate vicinity of Mt. Fuji. It’s not a general weather phenomenon. This, too, is one of the signs pointing toward the massive eruption I’m predicting.”

As they walked along, gazing at the bamboo groves, they spotted an elderly man with white hair, dressed in traditional Japanese attire, standing motionless and staring intently at the red bamboo flowers.

Watari approached the old man, bowed respectfully, and spoke.

“Excuse me, but are you a local resident? I am…”

The old man accepted the business card Watari offered and let out a soft exclamation of surprise.

“A university professor — a scientist, then?”

“Judging by your attire, might you be affiliated with a Shinto shrine?”

“Yes, I serve as the chief priest at the old shrine just over that hill.”

“So, you are the head of the shrine? In that case, would you happen to know any ancient legends passed down in this area? Particularly any concerning the red bamboo flowers?”

“Yes, being an old shrine, we have all sorts of folktales. As for the red bamboo flowers … I shall look into it when I return. If you have the time, please come and visit me.”

Watari accepted the priest’s business card, a look of skepticism crossing his face. “You don’t seem particularly surprised by those red flowers. Have you seen one before?”

“Oh, no — this is the first time in my life I’ve ever seen anything like it. It just goes to show, there are truly rare things in this world.”

The next day, when Tsutsui entered Watari’s room from the bedroom she had been assigned, she found Watari deep in conversation via a remote video call with Toyama, who was outside.

On the screen, Toyama spoke in a tone of sheer bewilderment — a state that went beyond mere excitement.

“Prof. Watari, I can’t believe it. Please, take a look at this.”

The center of the red bamboo flower appeared on the screen. A round, transparent object — no larger than a fingernail — glittered within it. Toyama spoke.

“We analyzed the sample we collected. It’s a diamond.”

Tsutsui let out a surprised exclamation. Hearing this, Watari turned toward him. Tsutsui hurriedly offered a greeting — “Good morning” — and addressed Toyama on the screen.

“Are you saying the plants produced a mineral?”

Watari answered in his place.

“You might not even call a diamond a ‘mineral,’ strictly speaking. It’s a crystal of carbon. Plants absorb atmospheric carbon dioxide, separate the carbon from the oxygen, and use that carbon to create organic matter. So, in terms of raw materials, it makes sense. Of course, bamboo plants that produce diamonds would be a Nobel Prize-worthy discovery.”

A chime sounded from Toyama’s computer. Watari opened the inbox, viewed the two emails and their attached images, and tilted his head in puzzlement.

“The detailed analysis results are in. Brace yourselves, both of you. Regarding the crystal structure of the diamond at the center of those flowers — it turns out to be far more orderly than not just natural diamonds, but even industrial synthetic ones.”

Tsutsui instinctively looked away from the screen and stared at Watari’s face.

“Isn’t it usually the other way around?”

Watari looked at the second email and its attached data, then spoke to Toyama.

“You’ve likely received this other email as well. It falls within your area of expertise. What do you make of it?”

Toyama disappeared from the computer screen for a while. When his face reappeared on the remote display a few minutes later, he looked pale.

“I don’t even have the energy to be surprised anymore. It’s exactly what I suspected. The genetic sequence of the bamboos here don’t match any species found elsewhere in the world; it possesses a unique DNA pattern. It might be a variety created artificially through genetic engineering.”

Since then, the number of deep-crimson bamboo blossoms had increased day by day, taking on the appearance of cherry blossom trees in full bloom.

Toyama was answering questions from Tsutsui in Watari’s room after the two of them had finished a week of fieldwork.

The series of articles Tsutsui had published had not attracted much public attention. At the government’s request, the connection to a massive eruption of Mt. Fuji had not yet been disclosed.

Tsutsui asked, “Prof. Watari, Dr. Toyama — assuming that bamboo is artificial, how do you think it relates to the volcanic eruption?”

Watari spoke as he wiped beer foam from his beard.

“It’s more sci-fi than hypothesis, really. I suspect the surrounding bamboo groves are absorbing the volcano’s subterranean energy. That said, I haven’t the faintest idea what the bamboos intend to do with it.”

Toyama added: “Also, the pace of flowering is proportional to the lunar cycle. There is a very high probability that the mass blooming will coincide with the full moon. Since there are other examples of lunar gravity influencing biological behavior, I suppose it isn’t all that strange.”

Tsutsui scribbled in her notebook, deep in thought.

“So, it’s bamboo that reproduces by harnessing the energy of a volcanic eruption? But if that’s the case, is there any need to produce bizarre flowers or form diamonds? It all sounds a bit too far-fetched.”

“While we’re on the subject of far-fetched ideas, how about looking at it this way?”

Watari said this, took a hearty gulp of beer, and continued.

“Mt. Fuji is deeply connected to a legend of a celestial maiden written during the Heian period. An elderly couple found and raised a celestial maiden, who eventually returned to the heavens with companions who came to fetch her. As a token of gratitude to the couple, she left behind an elixir of immortality. However, feeling that eternal life was meaningless in a world without their beloved daughter, the couple presented the elixir to the reigning emperor. The emperor — who had once proposed to the maiden only to be rejected — shared their sentiment and ordered the elixir to be cast away atop the highest mountain. That mountain was none other than Mt. Fuji.”

Tsutsui muttered this as if speaking to herself.

“Immortality … in other word, fushi … ‘Mountain of the elixir of immortality’ — ‘fushi no yama’ … ‘fushiyama’ … ‘Fujisan’ … Mt. Fuji. That’s where the name ‘Fuji’ comes from?”

Watari continued.

“What if that celestial maiden was actually an alien possessing scientific capabilities far beyond modern Earth civilization? She manipulated bamboo genes to harness the power of a massive eruption of Mt. Fuji — one destined to occur over a thousand years later. The bamboos that bear those red flowers are descendants of that modified strain.”

“That’s an interesting theory, but there is one major contradiction,” Toyama interjected.

“Let’s assume the space alien visited about twelve hundred years ago; Mt. Fuji has erupted several times since then. The most recent instance was the Hoei Eruption of 1707. If your theory holds, red bamboo flowers should have bloomed then, too. Since that was in the Edo period, it would be strange if there weren’t at least some legends or records left behind.”

“Perhaps the eruption wasn’t massive enough to trigger the bamboos’ flowering. How about that?”

Both Tsutsui and Toyama nearly cried out in shock at Watari’s reply.

Toyama spoke up. “You think the Hoei eruption wasn’t all that big? It caused massive damage as far away as Edo — what we now call Tokyo.”

“Volcanic history spans hundreds of millions of years. Human civilization is a mere few thousand. There is far more we don’t know than what we do. Ms. Tsutsui, do you know Mt. Aso in the Kyushu Island?”

“Even I know that much.”

“What kind of shape does it have?”

“It’s a caldera, right? A flat crater that looks like a mortar.”

“This is just a hypothesis, mind you, but Mt. Aso might once have been a tall, conical mountain like Mt. Fuji. A massive eruption tens of thousands of years ago blew away most of the mountain’s mass, leaving it in its current form.”

Toyama lowered the beer can he had been holding to his lips.

“Are you saying the same thing could happen to Mt. Fuji?”

“Japan is a volcanic powerhouse — a rarity even on a global scale. A unique rift zone known as the Fossa Magna runs through the center of Honshu Island, and Mt. Fuji sits right in the middle of it. In terms of possibility, nothing would be surprising.”

On the night of the full moon, the three of them — clad in protective jackets and helmets borrowed from the Self-Defense Forces — were conducting observations near a bamboo grove that had taken on the appearance of cherry trees in full bloom.

The thin clouds parted, revealing a full moon that looked larger than usual. Bathed in moonlight, the red bamboo flowers simultaneously turned upward, and a beam of deep crimson light shot straight from the diamond-like center of each flower toward the moon.

Watari grabbed Tsutsui by the shoulders and pulled her away from the telescope she had been peering through.

“Don’t watch! They are laser beams.”

Crimson light erupted skyward from every single red blossom in the bamboo groves surrounding Mt. Fuji, filling the night sky with a dazzling radiance reminiscent of a sunset.

The emission of light continued all night long, ceasing only at dawn, at which point the red blossoms fell to the ground one after another.

From the following day, the bamboo plants that had borne the flowers began to wither rapidly.

Four days later, Mt. Fuji erupted. Lava and volcanic ash spewed from the Hoei Crater — a vent on the southern mountainside formed during a massive eruption in the Edo period.

Carried by the wind, the volcanic ash spread as far east as the Kanto region and as far west as Kyoto; the fine particles infiltrated electronic devices, causing numerous malfunctions.

Earthquakes reaching a seismic intensity of 5 Upper occurred in some areas, but because they were volcanic in origin, the shaking was localized.

While there was certainly damage, the situation did not escalate into the catastrophic destruction of the capital region that had been feared.

The eruptive activity subsided after three days, and the affected areas quickly began the process of recovery; Japan as a whole was soon regaining its former peaceful daily life.

On a summer day — by which time eruptions of Mt. Fuji had ceased to be headline news — Watari, Toyama, and Tsutsui visited the shrine served by the chief priest they had previously met near the bamboo grove.

Perhaps because repairs for the earthquake damage were lagging, blue tarps still covered patches of the shrine buildings’ roofs.

The three were shown into a room in the shrine office; as they sat waiting on chairs arranged along a long table, the door opened, and the old man entered, carrying a large wooden box.

“Thank you for making the long journey here. We’ve discovered an ancient document that may be related to the red bamboo blossoms.”

The three stood, bowed to the priest, and then sat facing him across the table. The priest opened the box and, while removing the crumpled newspaper used as cushioning inside, spoke.

“There is a deep connection between Mt. Fuji and the legend of the celestial maiden. You are already aware of that, aren’t you?”

The three nodded vigorously. The priest lifted a long, slender object wrapped in layers of cotton cloth from the box.

“There are various versions of the story that differ in content regarding the aftermath of that celestial maiden legend. The version handed down at this shrine differs from the one widely known to the public. It claims that the memento the maiden left behind was not an elixir of immortality, but seeds.”

Toyama leaned his upper body intently over the table.

“Plant seeds?”

The priest removed the cloth, placed the scroll on the table, and untied the cord.

“The ancient document here simply writes the word ‘seed’ — ‘tane’ in katakana. However, it is only natural to assume that is indeed what it refers to. The celestial maiden left instructions to plant the seeds around Mt. Fuji to ensure that no calamity would befall the distant descendants of the elderly couple who had raised her.”

As the priest unrolled the scroll, a vivid, colorful painting was revealed. In the center, a beautiful young woman dressed in a junihitoe — 12-layered kimono — was depicted in a seated posture.

Behind it, a dense thicket of bamboo grew, and the branches were thickly clustered with deep crimson blossoms — shaped like plum blossoms — arranged in a profusion reminiscent of cherry trees in full bloom.

They were unmistakably the same bizarre bamboo flowers the three of them had seen at the foot of Mt. Fuji.

Having obtained permission from the chief priest, Tsutsui began taking close-up photographs of the painting. Watari asked the priest:

“Is this the legendary celestial maiden?”

“I cannot say for certain. It is said that this picture scroll itself was lost several times over the course of its long history and restored on each occasion.”

On their way back from the shrine, the three of them still wore expressions of disbelief. Tsutsui glanced back and forth between Watari and Toyama as he asked:

“So, what exactly was those bizarre bamboos?”

Watari spoke as they walked.

“It’s just my interpretation, mind you, but I believe it was a biological machine designed to absorb thermal energy from underground, convert it into laser beams, and discharge it into space. That would explain why the magma temperature plummeted right before the eruption.”

Toyama asked, a look of sudden realization on his face.

“So, the data analysis results are in?”

“Yes. Apparently, the thermal energy beneath Mt. Fuji dropped sharply the moment the laser beams were emitted from the red bamboo flowers. According to the physicists who analyzed the data, the total amount of energy lost was astronomical.”

Tsutsui asked, looking a bit pale.

“Does that mean … if that phenomenon hadn’t occurred, Mt. Fuji would have unleashed an even more massive eruption?”

Watari wiped sweat from his forehead with his fingers as he replied.

“If that had happened, the damage wouldn’t have stopped at the destruction of the Tokyo metropolitan area. Honshu Island might have been split in two. That’s just a hypothesis, of course.”

“Even so,”

Toyama said, tilting his head.

“Why bamboo? There are plenty of other plants that produce flowers.”

Watari stopped and turned around.

“It seems you’ve only ever encountered that legend in picture books for small children.”

Tsutsui asked, “Do you know something about it, Prof. Watari?”

Watari resumed walking as he answered.

“It doesn’t directly answer your question, but there are several variations of that celestial maiden’s name. One of them is …”

Watari reached out to the trunk of an ordinary bamboo stalk by the roadside; stroking its glossy green surface, he spoke the name:

“Princess Kaguya of the Young Bamboo.”