Copyright
THE ISOLATOR Volume 1
© REKI KAWAHARA
Translation by Adair Trask
Cover art by Shimeji
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
ZETTAI NARU ISOLATOR
© REKI KAWAHARA 2014
All rights reserved.
Edited by ASCII MEDIA WORKS
First published in Japan in 2014 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.
English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo, through Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc., Tokyo.
English translation © 2015 by Yen Press, LLC
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First Yen On eBook Edition: November 2017
Originally published in hardcover in June 2015 by Yen On.
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ISBN: 978-1-9753-0104-0
E3-20171030-JV-PC
FRAGMENT 01
Memories?
What are memories?
At Minoru’s question, his older sister Wakaba’s hand went still as it was scooping up the custard caramel they were having for a snack. She thought a bit before answering.
“Mii, do you remember what snack we had yesterday?”
“Um…”
Minoru shifted his gaze from Wakaba sitting right next to him to his mother in the kitchen, who was humming as she did the dishes. The snacks they had on Saturdays and Sundays were always ones their mother made herself. When three o’clock rolled around, she would produce custard caramel or cookies or pie from the pantry adjoining the kitchen, just like magic. Minoru and his sister called the pantry Mama’s Secret Room.
What appeared from the Secret Room yesterday was…
“Um, oh yeah, barbarian cream.”
“Uh-huh. It was Bavarian cream.”
Grinning, Wakaba wiped some caramel sauce from the corner of Minoru’s mouth with a napkin on the table and continued on.
“So, Mii. Which do you like better, the Bavarian cream from yesterday or the custard caramel from today?”
Minoru thought about this new question as he gazed at the custard caramel in front of him, which was already half-eaten. He loved the custard caramel that his mother made for him. Unlike the ones sold in stores, the caramel wasn’t bitter at all and the custard actually tasted of eggs like it should.
But he liked the Bavarian cream about the same. Anyway, the Bavarian cream he ate yesterday was strawberry. It melted lightly in his mouth like snow.
“…But I like both…”
Unable to choose, Minoru felt his eyes begin to tear up and Wakaba patted his head gently, smiling.
“Yeah, I like both, too. Hey, Mii, do you remember what flavor the Bavarian cream was yesterday?”
“I remember! Strawberry!” Minoru shouted, instantly forgetting his tears.
From the kitchen, their mother turned her gaze to the living room, breaking into a smile at the sight of her children.
“Yeah, it was strawberry. The reason you can remember what flavor the Bavarian cream was now is because the memory of it is inside you, Mii. Memories are remembering.”
“Huh…”
It was a little difficult for Minoru, but he thought as hard as he could about the meaning of what his sister had said and came to one conclusion.
“…Well, then I’m going to memorize all the snacks we have from now on!”
“Why?”
“Because if I memorize them, I can remember the snacks even after I eat them! I’ll memorize the custard caramels, the barbarian creams, the cream stuffs, everything!”
“Huh.”
Peering at Minoru’s face, Wakaba smiled again.
“Well, then we’ll have to really enjoy eating everything. When we’re done eating, let’s draw a picture of the custard caramel together. Then I’m sure we can always remember it.”
“I’ll remember it forever and ever! And then when I grow up, I’ll make custard caramel for you and Mama, Waka!”
“Thanks. I can’t wait. It’s a promise.”
—A memory, Minoru four years old and Wakaba seven.
Hey, Waka.
What is memory made of?
At Minoru’s question, his older sister Wakaba’s hand went still as she did her elementary school homework. She cocked her head with a bemused look on her face.
“…What do you mean, what is it made of?”
“So…memories build up inside your head, right? So when you remember playing or singing, some new things pile up, and when you forget them, some things go away, right? So what are those things that pile up or go away? Are they words?”
“Wow, Mii, you’ve started thinking about some pretty difficult things,” Wakaba said with a grin.
No matter how many books he read at home and at kindergarten or how many different things he learned, he was never even close to catching up to the knowledge of his sister, who was three years older than him. When Minoru asked her about something that mystified him, she would almost always explain it to him right away in a way that was easy to understand.
But there were occasionally times even Wakaba couldn’t answer right away, and Minoru loved the look on her face at those times. It was a grown-up look, an ever so slightly bitter smile mixed in with her gentle one.
“The medium for memories…hmm. Hmmm… Okay, so in a person’s head…”
Speaking slowly, Wakaba reached out her right hand and ruffled Minoru’s hair.
“…There is a brain. The brain is made of things called neurons, and those neurons are connected by synapses.”
“Neurons… Sap…nypses?”
“They’re ‘synapses.’ People say that our memories are stored in those synapses, but they don’t know what the memories are made of yet. Right now scientists all over the world are working hard to figure that out.”
“Huh… So…those synapse things, about how many are there inside our heads?”
At this, Wakaba’s wry smile intensified.
“Hey… What number can you count up to, Mii?”
“A hundred!”
He energetically shouted out this number, which he had finally learned how to count to just recently, and Wakaba responded, “That’s amazing,” patting him on the head again.
“…So, the whole brain is said to have about a hundred billion neurons. A hundred billion means ten times a hundred, times a hundred, times a hundred, times a hundred, and times another hundred.”
“Times a hundred…times a hundred, times a hundred…?”
Minoru couldn’t even understand the concept of multiplying by a hundred, and he scowled.
“…So which is bigger, that or the number of books in Papa’s room?”
Their father’s study had a bookshelf built into one of the walls, and it was crammed full of rows of books old and new. Minoru had once tried to count them starting from the end, but even when he made it to fifty, he had only gone through a fraction of them, and he ended up losing count.
Wakaba giggled and nodded.
“Papa does have a ton of books. Maybe around a thousand…but a hundred billion is much, much more. And you know…I guess there are about ten thousand synapses for each of those one hun
dred billion neurons.”
“…?”
Unable to imagine the enormity of the numbers his sister was talking about, Minoru’s mouth hung open.
Pulling her little brother to her in a hug, Wakaba turned her gaze to the blue sky outside the window.
“A hundred billion times ten thousand is a quadrillion… The number of stars in our galaxy, the Milky Way, is a hundred billion, too, so the number of synapses inside my brain and your brain is the same as the number of stars in ten thousand galaxies put together. Someday you’ll be able to count… No, you’ll be able to imagine that, too, Mii.”
Wakaba paused there for a moment, holding Minoru to her tightly, and then whispered, “When you get to that point, tell me about it, too. Tell me what you felt with a quadrillion synapses, Mii. …Promise?”
Out of all the things his sister had said, Minoru could only understand the last one. So, looking up at his sister’s face, Minoru nodded vigorously.
“Yeah, I promise! Once I get to elementary school, I’ll be able to count to a quadrillion!”
A memory, Minoru six years old and Wakaba nine.
Waka…
I’m scared, Waka.
Wakaba crushed her little brother in a hug as if to be sure no one would be able to hear Minoru’s weak wail.
Her arms loosened around him immediately, though, allowing Minoru to crouch down. Another wail threatened to surge up in him, but Wakaba pressed a finger to her lips, so he held it in somehow.
The two of them were in Mama’s Secret Room, at the back of the small pantry connected to the kitchen. Pulling a large basket out from the bottom row of shelves, Wakaba quickly opened the hatch of a storage compartment under the floor that was hidden there. Two ten-kilogram bags of rice were stored inside, but Wakaba pulled them out with a force that would make a person wonder where in her slender arms she kept so much power. She pushed Minoru inside in place of the bags.
Minoru desperately gripped his sister’s hand as she tried to stand.
“…Waka, where’re you going…?” he asked her in a shaking voice.
Wakaba answered this with a smile that was gentle despite its stiffness.
“Your big sister is going to go call the police, so you’re going to sit tight in there.”
“No… Waka, let’s stay…!”
Wakaba interrupted Minoru with a voice full of certainty and determination.
“It’ll be okay.”
“…But…”
“It’s okay. I’ll protect you, Mii. Trust me and just count silently to yourself in there, okay? If you count up to a thousand, I’ll make custard caramel for you.”
“…Really? You promise?” Minoru asked with tears in his eyes.
With a smile on her face, Wakaba nodded firmly.
“Yeah, promise. So you absolutely can’t come out of there.”
The hatch closed above his head, and the storage compartment was enveloped in darkness. He heard two heavy sounds in succession. Then came the sound of a large object being dragged. Wakaba placed the two rice bags in the basket and put them back on top of the hatch.
The faint sound of footsteps receded and disappeared in no time. Suppressing his rising sobs, Minoru began to count inside his head in earnest.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…
From somewhere far off, there was a heavy thud, thud sound. Wild, rough footsteps that didn’t belong to anyone in his family.
Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five…
The footsteps were coming closer. Something big had broken and fallen to the floor in the living room. A dining room chair fell over next. Someone was coming into the kitchen. He heard someone violently opening and closing the doors to the refrigerator and the cupboards. Dishes and glasses were being knocked down forcefully, shattering.
One hundred twenty-nine, one hundred thirty, one hundred thirty-one, one hundred thirty-two…
At last, the owner of the footsteps stepped into the pantry. The spice collection that his mother was so proud of fell down and scattered. Pots and frying pans joined the spices on the floor. Although he couldn’t see a thing, he had a clear picture of the scene. Thud, thud. The footsteps marched in place over and over just like they were checking under the floor.
One hundred fifty-five, one hundred fifty-six, one hundred fifty-seven…
Something heavy was scraping along right above Minoru. It was the sound of someone moving the basket where the two ten-kilo rice bags were stored.
One hundred fifty-nine, one hundred sixty…
But when the basket was pulled only about halfway out, the movement stopped.
One hundred sixty-one, one hundred sixty-two…
The footsteps slowly receded. Sounds of destruction came from the kitchen and the living room again.
One hundred eighty, one hundred eighty-one, one hundred eighty-two…
The footsteps disappeared. A long, long silence stretched out.
Minoru continued to count. Just as his sister had told him, he counted with all his might.
Finally, sirens approached. They stopped near his house. A herd of footsteps was coming inside. He heard several strained adult voices shouting.
Count. Count.
When he had counted up to 3,617, the basket directly above him was finally pulled out completely, and the hatch to the storage compartment was opened.
Squinting his eyes from the brightness, Minoru looked up.
But what he saw there was the face of an unknown man wearing a navy blue suit and a hat with a gold badge attached to it.
The face of someone who was not Wakaba.
Minoru once again curled into a little ball and began counting.
Three thousand six hundred eighteen.
Three thousand six hundred nineteen.
Three thousand six hundred twenty—
A memory, Minoru eight years old and Wakaba eleven.
For all eternity, these three promises would remain unfulfilled.
FRAGMENT 02
July 2019.
Dryden I, the large-scale radio telescope built inside the Dryden crater on the far side of the moon, picked up a radio wave burst that was faint but fraught with meaning. It was a very short signal with a center frequency of 1420.406 megahertz, and over and over again it repeated twice, thrice, five times, seven times, eleven times, thirteen times, and seventeen times with small intervals in between.
Two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, seventeen. Those are the first seven prime numbers, a fact that even elementary school students could understand. The news surged around the world, and scholars, experts, and amateur enthusiasts from every conceivable field threw themselves into analyzing the signal itself.
Taking the first letters of the words “seven prime numbers,” the signal was named the SPN Signal. Within one short week, this “message from space” had been translated in every conceivable way and presented on the Internet. But no one argument was strong enough to convince people universally.
It was only after everything had already begun and ended that it became clear that the SPN Signal had been a warning for a certain disaster.
September 2019.
In a number of energy-dense regions on Earth, the first organic extraterrestrial life-forms that the human race would encounter descended. But because they were so very small and couldn’t be called intelligent life-forms, knowledge of that fact was mostly limited to people involved in the encounters.
Sect. 001 THE BITER
Had it been a coincidence? Or was there something inside him that had summoned it?
After the encounter, Minoru Utsugi had wondered that many times. He didn’t know the truth. But there was just one thing he was certain of: That black orb had misunderstood Minoru’s wish.
Even with the supernatural power the orb had given him, the solitude Minoru sought would never be his. That was because he still hadn’t been able to find it on his own.
Just what was the ultimate, perfect, absolute solit
ude he’d been searching for ever since that day?
1
Passing through the morning fog, the long, narrow black asphalt stretched on and on.
The thin soles of his running shoes gripped the damp surface of the road, and he pushed off. He inhaled twice through his nose in time with his pace and exhaled two white puffs of breath through his mouth. His heart pulsed rhythmically, circulating blood throughout his body.
His breathing, his pulse, and the expanding and contracting of his muscles. Those were the only things Minoru felt as he ran on.
His body mass index was far below the average, and he wasn’t on the track team at his high school or anything, so his goal wasn’t fitness or training. He didn’t even know if he’d always had a fondness for running.
The reason Minoru had a habit of running ten kilometers every morning was that, just while he was running, he didn’t have to think about anything. He also got the feeling that his breathing and the pumping of his blood washed away useless memories.
That was why, truthfully, he wanted to run late at night instead of early in the morning. At the end of the day, running down the recreation trail on the embankment guided only by moonlight and the light of the far-off city, he wanted to take the memories that had accumulated throughout the day and wash them away completely with his sweat.
But once, when he had actually tried to go out running around ten o’clock at night, his adoptive sister, Norie Yoshimizu, had gently forbade him in a way that left no room for discussion.
At night, the riverbed of the Arakawa River really was filled with the roars of modified motorcycles. It was also unthinkable for him to disobey Norie; he was just a high school sophomore who was completely dependent on her for everything in his daily life.
That’s why Minoru had kept up this habit every morning since he started five years ago until today, December 3, 2019.
His feet kicked. His chest swelled. He inhaled and he exhaled. It was quite humid for an early December morning, and with the zipper of his Windbreaker pulled halfway down, the air felt good on his chest. According to the forecast, it would be rainy for a while starting next week, so he only had a few days left to dress light on his runs. The advantage of running in the rain wearing a rain jacket in the middle of winter was that he could have the ten-kilometer course almost entirely to himself, but he was in danger of overdoing it before going to school, exhausting his mental and physical energy.
The Biter Page 1