Welcome to the NHK!

by Tatsuhiko Takimoto

I was dumbfounded.

  Come on, what idiot could have come up with such a stupid scenario? It was me. I was the very person who had written the original outline for the story.

  I grew sad. It was a bittersweet sadness, because I thoroughly understood the scenario of the game: Soldiers taking a stand against evil.

  This had been our exact desire; we had wanted to fight an evil organization; we had wanted to fight villains. If a war had broken out, we would have joined the JSDF[36] right away and launched kamikaze attacks. That definitely would have been a meaningful way to live and an attractive way to die. Had there been villains in the world, we would have battled them. Fists raised in the air, we would have fought. There was no mistake about it.

  There weren’t any villains, though. The world was just complicated in various ways, and there weren’t any obvious villains to be found. It was excruciating.

  Our personal desires had become the framework for the game. As I progressed farther into it, I realized that it actually had a wonderful story. It was a simple, beautiful story. Right now, in fact, the main character, fighting an enormously powerful enemy, vowed to protect the heroine.

  “I’ll protect your life!” Heedless of his own safety, he prepared to challenge the gigantic enemy, and the final battle began. I was nearing the end of the game.

  There were three battle commands: “attack”, “defend” and “special attack.” No matter how much I attacked the last boss, I couldn’t do any damage. Naturally, just trying to defend myself didn’t help, either. Finally, I had no choice but to use the special attack—the final death blow. Using my own life energy, I sacrificed myself in order to deal a mortal wound to the enemy. There was no other way to defeat the final boss. So, the hero of the game held his “Revolutionary Bomb” in his right hand and went to perform his special attack.

  However, at the very, very end—at the exact second the hero executed his special attack on the final boss—the game suddenly froze! The game window closed, and the text editor started up. Yamazaki apparently had left a letter that seemed like an excuse.

  “There really isn’t any other way to destroy the huge, evil organization than to use your special attack. You can gain victory only if you choose death for yourself because the giant, evil organization actually is made up of our entire world. Because the second you choose death, the world disappears into nothingness, the evil organization, too, disappears into nothingness. Then, peace will come to you. Still, I didn’t blow my own head off with a bomb. That was my choice. No, it definitely isn’t that I just didn’t want to go through the pain of drawing the CG for the game ending or that I got downright tired of making a terrible game. Nothing like that…”

  At first, I tried to smash the laptop. Then, I changed my mind. I had watched Yamazaki desperately work on this game, but the final shoddiness of it hit me pretty hard.

  What in the world could he be doing right now? This question suddenly began to bother me, but I decided to try and forget it. I hadn’t heard any news from him since he left, and I didn’t feel like contacting him, either.

  Those idiotic days from that period in my life had ended long ago.

  ***

  Christmas came once again. The city lights twinkled.

  The guide stick grasped in my right hand, too, lit up in the darkness. Tonight's work was traffic control in the parking lot of a new department store that had opened near the station. Because the entrances were equipped with fully automated ticket machines, I had absolutely nothing to do. When it got crowded, I tried helping out the machines; but each time, I just ended up swinging my stick back and forth.

  There were no accidents, nothing happened, and Christmas Eve marched on in safety.

  About an hour before the store closed, a car came by. The car itself was the sort of Japanese model found anywhere, with nothing special to note about it. However, because the interior lights were on, I recognized the girl sitting in the passenger seat. I saw her clearly.

  Startled, I tried to push my cap down over my eyes as much as possible. The car passed me without hesitation, so there hadn’t been any recognition. But I felt that my high school acquaintance, sitting in the passenger seat, had looked my way, just for a second.

  Of course, that, too, was just a delusion.

  My shift ended, and I changed out of my uniform and put the guide stick and helmet into my bag. Swaying back and forth on one of the last trains of the night, I headed toward my apartment. On the way, I stopped by a convenience store to buy alcohol and the like.

  I decided I should try getting into the Christmas spirit. Walking up the steep road that led to my apartment, I drank a beer. I hadn’t had alcohol in a while, so it took effect quickly. Somewhat shakily, I slowly hiked up the long, sloping path. In the distance, an ambulance’s siren pierced the otherwise quiet night. I finished my second beer.

  Merry Christmas.

  By the time I passed the park, my gait had been reduced to a drunken stumble. Walking carefully, I could avoid swaying drastically, but I figured I might as well just walk like a drunk. I increased my pace and wobbled from telephone pole to telephone pole. I tripped over a stone and almost fell. I staggered and was about to collapse in the middle of the road when, right in front of me, an ambulance rushed past.

  I had almost been run over!

  I thought perhaps I should complain in a loud, drunken voice, “You id-”

  I stopped in mid-sentence.

  The ambulance had pulled up in front of Misaki’s house. Her uncle dashed out of the front door. He yelled to one of the paramedics as they ran into the house, carrying a stretcher. A short while later, they carried the stretcher back through the front door. Misaki was limp.

  I watched as Misaki, her aunt, and her uncle sped away in the ambulance at a breakneck speed.

  Part Two

  It was almost New Year’s Eve. One afternoon, I loitered in front of the large hospital at the edge of town. This was where Misaki had been admitted.

  Earlier that morning, I had headed down to the manga cafe near the station and had gotten the information from her exhausted uncle.

  “Anyway, I’m so sorry.” Her uncle apologized to me for no reason. "We thought she was doing better. She’d been much calmer since quitting school and had seemed really happy recently. I wonder if maybe that was because of what she’d planned. By the way, how do you know Misaki?”

  “We’re sort of acquaintances”, I answered. I retreated from the manga cafe and had headed straight for the hospital, but…

  I had been hanging out in the courtyard for nearly two hours. Among the visitors and patients out for strolls, I was pacing back and forth on the path from the main gate to the front entrance.

  Misaki was in a private, fourth-floor room on the open psychiatric ward. Apparently, she’d swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills. It was nearly a fatal dose; had they arrived much later, it might have been too late.

  It was uncertain where Misaki had obtained the sleeping pills, but they may have been from the neighborhood psychiatrist. But to have amassed enough pills for an effective suicide attempt, she must have been going there for quite for a while. That meant that this attempt clearly had been intentional. Misaki had planned her death for a long time.

  What in the world did I intend to do, showing up unannounced? I couldn’t make anything better for her.

  Should I try saying something like, “Don’t die!”… ?

  Should I try yelling something like, “You still have tomorrow!”… ?

  Misaki had written numerous, similar clichés in her secret notebook. But they hadn’t helped her, so she’d tried to overdose on sleeping pills.

  In short, there was nothing I could do for her. It might even be better for me to avoid showing my face. She probably would feel even emptier, getting a hospital visit from a pathetic hikikomori.

  When I thought about the situation that way, I’d decide to go home; but at the hospital gate, my feet would stop on their own. Once more, I turned ba
ck toward the front entrance and repeated the entire cycle.

  My thoughts were looping around. If this kept up, it looked like I would just keep walking to and fro until nightfall. I couldn’t make up my mind.

  Finally, screwing up my courage, I dashed into the hospital before I could change my mind again. I got a visitor’s badge at the front desk, pinned it to my chest, and headed up to the fourth floor.

  The entire fourth floor was an open psychiatric ward. At first glance, it seemed no different from a normal hospital. I’d thought that a psychiatric ward would be full of straitjackets, electroshock equipment, and lobotomy laboratories. However, this open ward was clean and cheerful; it seemed like an ordinary part of the hospital.

  Or so I thought. When I noticed that an older woman of around sixty, apparently a patient, had squatted down in the corner of the hallway, I quickly headed for room 401.

  In the far corner of the fourth-floor hall, a nameplate identified Misaki’s room: “Misaki Nakahara”, it said.

  There was no mistake. This was the room.

  I knocked softly.

  There was no answer.

  I tried knocking again, a little harder; there was still no answer. However, my knocking seemed to have dislodged the door, though it might have been open partially to begin with.

  “Misaki?” I peeked into the room.

  She wasn’t there.

  Well, if she’s not here, there’s nothing I can do. I’ll go home!

  I decided to leave behind the fruit basket I had bought in the hospital gift shop. And I noticed someone had left a train schedule open on the shelf next to the bed. The schedule was annotated here and there in red ballpoint pen. Moving it aside, I put down the fruit basket.

  As I did, a scrap of paper fluttered to the floor. I picked it up and read it: “Mikka Tororo was delicious. Therefore, farewell, everyone.”

  Shoving the scrap of paper and the schedule into my coat pocket, I dashed out of the hospital and headed toward the station.

  The sun had begun to set.

  ***

  They should have put her on a closed ward with iron bars over the windows, not an open one where she could come and go freely. They should have put her in a straitjacket and pumped her full of medicine to make her happy. But because they hadn’t, Misaki had left the hospital. She was heading back to the town where she’d been born. She was likely going there to die.

  I remembered the discussion we’d had a good while ago:

  “Tsuburaya, the runner, apparently went home to the countryside right before he died. Then, he ate grated yam with his mother and father, it says.”

  “Hm.”

  “I guess everyone wants to return to their hometown before they die, after all.”

  That was probably true. Misaki, too, must have started wanting to return to her hometown. She likely intended to dive into the sea from the tall, sheer cliffs at the cape, where she’d said she often played. It wasn’t going to be that easy, though. Now that I had found her suicide note and the train schedule, her luck had run out.

  As far as I could tell from looking at the notes marked on the schedule, Misaki had boarded the train only an hour or so before. If I chased after her, I should be able to make it in plenty of time. I knew where she was headed, and on top of that, I had money. If I used taxis for part of the trip, I might even reach the destination before Misaki. There wasn’t any reason for me to worry.

  On the night train, I opened a map, purchased at a bookstore along the way. I looked for that cape—the one where Misaki said she often played when she’d been little. Here it is. The map showed only one cape near her hometown, so this had to be it.

  Misaki probably had boarded the train that had departed right before mine. Mixed in with people returning home for the year’s end, she likely was heading for the town where she’d been born, toward the cape known as a famous suicide spot. However, she didn’t know that I was following her.

  I wouldn’t let her escape. I was certain to catch up with her. On that point, at least, I wasn’t worried. The problem lay elsewhere.

  When I found Misaki, what should I say to her?

  I understood her suffering, if only a little bit. It was just the very tip of her pain; even so, I could imagine it to some degree. She probably felt trapped, as though shed run out of options. And her pain would never, ever disappear, not in her entire life.

  Of course, that was natural. In a way, her pain was common to all mankind. It was an ordinary suffering. Everyone is troubled by similar feelings. I, too, was troubled by them.

  Even if I keep living, there’s nothing to be done. It’s only pain.

  Knowing that, could I stop her from jumping? Did I have the right to stop her? As a member of society, I probably should say something appropriate like, “Even so, keep living!” or “Stop whining!”

  I understood all that.

  I understood it, but still…

  ***

  While I was mulling over these things, the train arrived at its destination.

  Exiting the station, I found that the town was deserted. It was already the middle of the night; but even given the time, the area around the station was as silent as a ghost town. There was no sign of anyone on the streets.

  On top of that, it was snowing and really cold. As the town was located on the Sea of Japan, it was in something of a blizzard zone. I fastened shut the neck of my coat and headed toward the sole taxi in sight. The driver seemed surprised by a customer’s arrival. The man, poised at the threshold of old age, looked like he’d been sleeping in his seat. Hurriedly, he wiped his eyes.

  Getting into the warm car, I pointed at the map to show him my destination. The driver looked at me for confirmation, with an expression that said, “Are you serious?”

  I nodded, and the car took off, causing the chains on the tires to clank.

  “Sir, why would you want to go to a place like that so late at night?”

  “Sightseeing. Please hurry.”

  About half an hour later, the taxi exited onto a hilly road that ran along the ocean shore. It headed straight up a steep hill. On the right, the pitch-black sea spread out. When we reached the top of the hill, the taxi stopped.

  “This place actually has become quite a famous tourist spot, but there isn’t anything here.” The taxi driver spoke as though in apology.

  I paid the fare and got out of the taxi.

  “You don’t really plan to… No, the construction is complete, so it should be fine.” With that, the taxi driver pulled back onto the road.

  I looked around. There really wasn’t anything here. Or more accurately, it was so dark that I could barely see.

  As the ocean was on my right side, I thought I would find the cliff if I headed in that direction, but only sparsely scattered streetlamps lit the area. I felt terribly helpless. For the time being, I crossed the road and, climbing through the space between the guardrails, I set off on a snow-covered path.

  Misaki had to be at the other end of this path. Stepping through the snow, which came up to my ankles, and taking care not to slip and fall, I continued down the path cut through the thick brush. With each step, the surrounding darkness grew deeper and deeper.

  Before long, the light from the streetlamps no longer reached me, and I could hardly see anything at all. Then, the brush thinned abruptly. The path ended, and in front of my eyes stretched the coal-black sky and the Sea of Japan. That’s right. I had made it to the very edge of the cape. It was too dark for me to see well, but the cliff was about thirty feet ahead. I finally had arrived. I had reached my destination!

  But what about Misaki?

  I looked around, but I couldn’t see much. A large full moon floated in the night sky, but my eyes weren’t used to the dark yet, so I couldn’t make out anything but vague outlines. There seemed to be no sign of anyone anywhere. That was all I could tell.

  What did this mean? Had I arrived first? Or had Misaki stopped somewhere along the way? Or could it be th
at…

  My heart began pulsing violently, and my blood curdled.

  No, no, it couldn’t be. There was no way that she could have jumped before I even arrived, right? She’d be here shortly. Soon, Misaki would come walking down that path.

  I stepped back and sat on a bench that faced the ocean. With my face turned expectantly toward the little path, I waited for Misaki.

  An hour passed. Misaki didn’t come. It began to seem as though she wouldn’t come down the path at all. I put my head in my hands. Without realizing it, I started talking to myself.

  “Why?”

  “‘Why’ what?”

  “Did I arrive too late?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Misaki is…”

  “You were off by only five minutes. Maybe you should be a detective.”

  I slowly turned my face to the right. Standing there was Misaki. She was wearing a black coat that blended with the darkness.

  Perching on the edge of the bench, Misaki explained, “You finally said something. I didn’t know what to do because you were silent for so long.”

  Part Three

  A violent rage boiled up inside me. I felt as though she had made an ass out of me. Forcing those feelings back down inside, I said in as gentle a tone as possible, “Well then, let’s go home! It’s cold out here!”

  “I don’t want to.”

  What do you mean you don’t want to?! You, ah crap, just stop making a fool out of me. I nearly started railing at her as hard as I could; but somehow, I was able to control the impulse.

  I tried to remember a book I had read long ago called The Psychology of Self-Injury. It had theorized, “Those who try to commit suicide actually want someone to save them. They want someone to listen to what they have to say, so try and listen to them with a kind demeanor, as gently as possible, without chiming in with any sort of negative comments.”

  Those seemed to be the key points.

  I turned to Misaki as I fixed my collar. That was proof of my gentle attitude. Then, I said, “Don’t die. Let’s keep living!”