Irreversible Sadism (GL) - Chapter 28

I suppose my inability to fully believe in graves stems from the peculiar rule that one must wear black clothing for the ambiguous ritual of visiting them, which lacks a clear rationale.

If there were scientific evidence that the dead can see black, it might make sense, but since the existence of ghosts and the souls of the deceased remains unexplained, there seems to be no reason to dress in black. The very fact that different countries have varying customs for burying the dead casts doubt on the credibility of graves themselves.

Putting our hands together and offering gifts—these actions are steeped in superstition, like the belief that the dead return during Obon. Accepting these customs as common sense means that questioning them could be seen as cynical. Thus, even while I understand in my heart that this ritual holds no real meaning, I still clasp my hands together.

What does a lost life see through the gap between my palms? If I were to die, would I have to search for someone in black clothing every time my hands are brought together? Thinking about it this way makes the act of creating a grave seem burdensome.

“Asami, the bus is about to arrive.”

“Yeah.”

Looking up at the sky, I found it was raining.

Water dripped from the gravestone, blending into the ground.

“To think you didn’t bring an umbrella despite a ninety percent chance of rain, Asami. Are you one of those people who believe in the lesser probability?”

Only above my head did the rain stop. I took the plastic umbrella from Kururu and wiped my dirtied hands on my sleeve.

“Wow, thanks, Kururu. Did you bring this just for me?”

Being transparent, I could see Kururu’s face clearly. In the droplets, she proudly tossed her quirky hair back and sniffed.

“I forgot it at school.”

“Haha, that happens, right? Plastic umbrellas.”

“Exactly. But thanks to that, I have seven in stock. So if it rains unexpectedly, feel free to rely on me.”

That means she forgot her umbrella seven times and brought it from home each time. Kururu’s habits wavered in my mind.

At first, I thought she was calm, mature, and the epitome of a top student. However, it seems Kururu spent most of this summer vacation in remedial classes. When I asked about her English score, she proudly replied, “Seven points.” She explained that her scores have been improving compared to middle school, but all I could do was manage a dry laugh.

“Is that an offering?”

“Yeah. I liked it. Probably.”

As I chatted with Kururu, I spotted the bus approaching.

I stroked the gravestone once before boarding the bus with Kururu.

“I hate how my hair curls on rainy days.”

Kururu, twisting her bangs, gazed resentfully at the raindrops hitting the window.

The September rain washed away the remnants of summer, preparing for the impending autumn. Autumn means foliage, roasted sweet potatoes, and… the cultural festival? That’s about all I could think of. As I wrapped myself in a blanket against the chill I hadn’t felt in a while, I stared intently at the red light of the stop button.

“Asami.”

Bored with the view outside, Kururu propped her chin on her hand and turned to me.

“It’s not your fault, you know.”

How many times had I heard that line?

But then, who is to blame? I tried to grasp the cause that hung in the air. If it wasn’t an accident or a natural disaster, there must have been someone’s will and purpose behind it. If one mistake slipped in among them, and I couldn’t find it, wouldn’t that be when tragedy strikes?

I had forgotten the name of the bus stop where we were to get off, but Kururu pressed the stop button first.

“Thank you,” I said, and Kururu crossed her arms, saying, “It’s fine.” Her nose was elongated like a tengu’s. Despite her expression remaining unchanged, her emotions were so easily readable. She was a mysterious person.

Following Kururu’s back, I got off the bus.

“Wait, is this really the place?”

Surrounded by rice fields, I could barely see the school in the distance.

“Oh no… we got off at the wrong stop. No choice but to walk. Are you okay with that, Asami? Your leg… you still have aftereffects, right?”

“No, I’m fine walking. Don’t worry about it!”

Kururu checked the bus schedule for me, but when she realized the next bus would arrive in forty minutes, she shrugged.

In the end, we ended up walking for about twenty minutes. Kururu walked quickly, her footsteps light and brisk, pulling further away from me.

I was practically running to keep up with her. Looking at Kururu’s profile on my left, I felt an odd freshness.

Ah, I see. It’s been a while since someone has been on my left side. There had always been someone walking there, fulfilling the role of my right side, which had lost its light.

Finally, the facility we were aiming for came into view.

The building was entirely filled with white, from the entrance to the interior. After receiving guidance at the reception, I boarded the elevator with Kururu. Inside the confined space, an ammonia-like scent constantly lingered.

When we opened the door to the room we were directed to, Ruri was sitting on a bed by the window.

“Oh, Tateha? And Kururu too.”

Ruri, who was changing her socks, noticed us and wore a face that was half joy, half surprise.

…Was it because my sense of ethics had not yet eroded that I felt relieved she was alive?

Life should be cherished and not squandered recklessly. I wish for a happy ending rather than a sad one. This is not merely a desire of mine; it is something I believe is natural as a human being.

So, knowing that Ruri was alive made me happy.

The breath I exhaled in relief must have been just that.

However, the lump in my throat made it difficult to find the right words. The moment I saw Ruri’s healthy face, a sensation like acid rose in my stomach, making me feel sick.

“I had no choice but to come directly since you never replied, no matter how many times I contacted you. If you had at least read my messages…”

“Ah, well, actually, I’ve been quite busy. I thought Kururu might not want to run into the police.”

“And in the midst of that, you forgot to reply.”

“It got pushed aside while I was thinking. Forgive me.”

“I’m not blaming you. I know you were busy.”

That night when the random attacker stabbed Ruri, she received treatment at the hospital and survived.

The knife cut into her flesh but did not reach her organs, and it turned out to be a minor surgery.

The assailant was apprehended by the police shortly after, and it was discovered that he was the same person responsible for another stabbing incident that day.

Ruri was interrogated by the police as soon as her hospitalization was confirmed. After that, she was bombarded with interviews from newspapers and television stations, leaving little time for me to visit her.

I learned about those circumstances directly from Ruri through messages.

I remember my heart racing when I first received the message saying, “I’m alive.” I still haven’t been able to reply.

Saying “I’m glad” feels too formal. I don’t feel grateful for her having protected me; after all, she was the one who got in my way. Staring at the keyboard on my phone, caught in a loop of indecision, I ended up with a headache and didn’t respond.

“But I never expected both of you to show up.”

“I asked her to come. I didn’t know the hospital’s location or how to get here, so I consulted Kururu… thanks to her, I managed to find my way here. Thank you!”

Ruri’s eyes widened, and she stared at my mouth.

“It’s fine. I wanted to see you both as soon as possible. I’m really glad you’re safe…”

Kururu’s expression was one of exasperation, but her concern was clearly visible. As a friend, she must have felt a deep sense of relief.

When you confirm someone’s safety, this is how you should react.

I couldn’t do that.

Ruri is alive.

Knowing that gave birth to something within me, like magma bubbling up. It had a precariousness and instability that could spill over if not contained.

“I’m going to buy drinks from the shop. What do you two want?”

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“This is my apology for making you walk. No need to hold back.”

“You made me walk?”

“I accidentally got off at the wrong bus stop.”

“Wow, Kururu’s clumsiness strikes again. Tateha, be careful; Kururu may look smart, but she’s actually quite silly. Oh, I want cola.”

“Cola, got it. What about you, Asami?”

“Um, then… I’ll have oolong tea.”

“Understood. Beaujolais Nouveau, then.”

I wouldn’t know what to do with that, nor could I drink it. Is it even sold? Before I could catch up with her words, Kururu had already exited.

Perhaps she was used to it, Ruri shrugged and laughed.

“Um, Tateha.”

“What?”

My voice fell heavily onto the hospital floor.

“Thank you for coming. I was actually feeling a bit lonely.”

“I see.”

“What about your mother? Since then?”

I shook my head.

“A strange man comes to our house every day. So I can’t stay home at night.”

It had been a week since that man started coming to our house. He usually arrives in the evening, and my mother comes home around the same time.

The strong scent of his perfume remains unchanged, and the crude laughter that echoes through the house sounds like the cackling of the dead, resembling a hellish scene.

I haven’t been to that station at night anymore. Instead, I’ve taken to sleeping at a nearby shrine until it’s time. I remembered Ruri’s words about how, in times of need, the gods would help.

I don’t disbelieve in gods or ghosts.

I just doubt them because there’s no evidence, but deep down, I want to believe. I want them to exist.

That’s why I made a grave for the swallowtail butterfly behind the school.

The butterfly that died due to incomplete metamorphosis surely had no will or regrets. Perhaps it didn’t even have the capacity to feel, neither in its trachea nor in its heart.

It couldn’t drink nectar until the end. It couldn’t even live the ordinary life that would have been advised. Yet, when it first emerged from its chrysalis and fluttered around the room, it looked joyful and full of hope.

It’s understandable that it couldn’t eat nectar. But to say it was strange for it to eat leaves would be cruel. After all, that swallowtail butterfly was born that way. It was that kind of life, that kind of existence. Living according to its form might seem mechanical, but I thought it was beautiful.

What does the dead swallowtail butterfly think when it sees the mandarin leaves I offered? Now that its body has perished, does it crave nectar instead of leaves? Or does its instinct to desire leaves remain, even if a straw were available?

“Hey, Tateha. We talked about this before, but come over to my place. It’s dangerous to be out late at night, and I’m sure my parents would allow it.”

“Is that okay?”

“If you’re okay with it… but…”

I have nowhere to go.

Even the gods must be tired of protecting me by now. If I keep relying on gods or ghosts, or anything formless every time something happens, my steps will become as unclear as smoke.

“I want to stay at Ruri’s house.”

There wasn’t a strong enough will behind that decision to call it a choice.

But that day.

When I saw Ruri’s tears, my heart ached intensely.

It surpassed all the pain I had ever experienced, and not a trace of comfort accompanied it. That intense yet mysterious pain. I want to know its true nature.

It surely resides only within Ruri.

“I want to be with Ruri.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I’ll stay over today.”

“What? But I’m still hospitalized.”

“When will you be discharged?”

“Um, the day after tomorrow.”

“Then I want to stay over the day after tomorrow.”

I rolled closer to Ruri, like rolling down a slope.

Sitting on the bed, Ruri leaned back and stretched out her hands.

“I-I understand.”

“Absolutely.”

“…Yeah.”

Ruri’s crimson added to the white of the hospital room.

Kururu returned from the shop, holding cider and hojicha in both hands. Both were slightly off, and Ruri almost toppled from her bed.

When I asked about Kururu’s drink, she looked puzzled and said, “I forgot,” before heading back to the shop.

If she was going back, she could have at least left the cider and hojicha behind.

As Ruri pointed out, Kururu had a clumsy awkwardness, like expensive, decorated second-hand furniture.

As I gazed down the corridor where Kururu had disappeared, I heard a soft laugh from beside me.

“Isn’t it funny?”

“Yeah.”

Perhaps Ruri was thinking something similar.

“Let’s take our time thinking about your mother.”

Gently, a hand was placed on my head.

That soft warmth seemed to dissolve in the overwhelming scent of ammonia.

“Ruri.”

“Yeah?”

“Hug me like before.”

Neither the incomplete metamorphosis nor my life, born in the restroom, was a mistake.

Yet, here in this hospital, wrapped in the scent of ammonia, in this space.

Surrounded by tears and smiles, I wished to be celebrated for my birth, enveloped in a warm sensation. If I had been born into this world carrying the thoughts of so many people, I find myself indulging in a fantasy that can no longer be reclaimed.

Ruri gently pulls my head closer and slowly strokes the back of my neck.

“Tateha, do you like this?”

“I don’t know if I like it…”

“I see.”

“But it’s warm.”

As I feel Ruri’s body heat, I am reminded of the time when I was still a caterpillar.

I recall the days when I desperately ate leaves for the sake of the future, and my eyes soften.

The first and last treasure I received from my mother might have been nothing more than a misunderstanding on my part, a longing for a past that never truly existed. I have no way to confirm that now.

Yet, as I am embraced by Ruri like this, I can believe that those memories and recollections were indeed real, that they were there all along.

This warmth is far removed from the vivid and searing sensation of pain that scorches my entire being.

Just as the agony of separating from burned skin is immense, so too does it come with great pain.