Adachi to Shimamura - Volume 99.9 - Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Abiding Diverge Alien

THE PERSON WHO RAISED ME had once told me that I had the eyes of someone who’d live a long time. “You just have that sort of air about you,” they said. 

The ruin we occupied was devoid of other people. Wherever we went, the wind smelled like dirt.

“You think so?”

“Trust me—I’ve seen enough death to know.”

“Okay. I’ll take your word for it.”

“Good,” they nodded curtly. They were never a very outwardly affectionate person. 

According to them, we weren’t related by blood—they’d simply shown up in town one day. I didn’t know whether that was actually true, but since no one else was around, it didn’t really matter one way or the other. 

This person had taught me everything I needed to know to survive on my own. They lined up different plants and taught me all the relevant details—which parts were safe to eat, how to cook them, which season they grew in. And since they weren’t in the habit of repeating themselves, I learned to memorize things fast. 

For the most part, we never discussed the past, nor why the world had fallen apart. We didn’t have time, and even if we had, they might’ve figured that information would be useless to me. Or maybe they didn’t have the answers; maybe they were just focused on surviving and helping me to do the same. Perhaps that would explain why I never really felt connected to them; we were just two loners who happened to operate alongside each other, perceiving each other only on occasion. 

“I suspect there isn’t much time left,” they’d often say. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before they keeled over. It wasn’t clear what caused that—did the gentle breeze carry a hint of poison? Either way, from then on, mine was the only shadow that stretched under the perpetual sunset.

“You gotta make it, because I’d hate to be proven wrong.”

With those final words, they gave me all the encouragement I’d ever need. 

***

The crushing weight that plagued my body upon waking would likely persist for the rest of my life. I was keenly aware that I’d lost something I could never regain. It was like an itch I couldn’t find the source of…although it kept me tethered to the spot. Once that weight too was gone, I was sure my final breath would follow.

My eyes, barely open, closed once more.

“Morning, Shimamura.” It was… Yes, it was Adachi, who was already awake. “You’re up early today.”

“That’s hardly new. These days, I can’t sleep as long as I used to.” 

“Ah, yeah… Too many midday naps, maybe?”

“No, I think I’m just getting old. Believe it or not, I’ve heard that it takes a lot of energy to sleep.”

“Really?”

“Really really.”

“Well, let’s get up and have breakfast.”

“Okay.” 

I opened my eyes. Adachi was gone, replaced by a familiar white ceiling. 

Talking to her was easy; at this point, I could simulate it perfectly, thanks to my years of experience. In fact, I was confident that there wasn’t a soul on Earth who could do it better. I could even hear her voice—though it echoed not in my ears, but in my mind, and sounded a little distant. That was the one hurdle I couldn’t seem to overcome with practice. 

Now that I was awake, I became increasingly aware of heat clinging to my skin. Beyond the thin curtain, the sun was shining at full force. “I’m melting in here,” I muttered to myself as I rolled over, gazing absently at my outstretched fingers as I reflected on my conversation with Adachi. 

Selfishly, I always imagined her the way she’d looked when we were in high school—the youngest I’d ever known her. Was that the version of her I liked most, or was it merely the version that had made the strongest impact? For the sake of my dignity, I hoped it was the latter. 

I slowly eased myself into a sitting position, but then my mind stalled, unsure what to do. Like Adachi said, I needed to have breakfast, but the thought of all the cleaning to follow sapped me of motivation. Even when I had literally nothing better to do, I was still a lazy little sloth. I’d gotten older, yes, but perhaps hadn’t really grown up. 

I gazed through the open bedroom door down the hall to the entryway. This wasn’t my parents’ house, not our condo, and not the apartment we’d moved into after we retired. After all these years, I’d ultimately ended up in a small studio…and, though its space was limited, there were days when it still felt too roomy for a single occupant. 

There I sat and stalled, feeling the early spring sunshine through the curtains. The thought of going back to sleep was tempting. 

The river of time had a way of whisking you away into old age in what felt like a blink of an eye, and now I was the only one left floating along. I never imagined I’d actually outlive them all, but alas, I had. My parents were dead, of course, as were my grandparents before them; Hino had died, as well as Nagafuji. Tarumi was gone too, and as for Sancho and DeLos and Panchos… Well, in those cases, I wasn’t actually sure, but the chances weren’t good. Not even Adachi had lasted as long as me—but make no mistake, we were together until the very end. Perhaps it had been a happy ending from her perspective. 

“That’s not so bad, then.” 

I decided to let that be my conclusion on the matter. Closing my eyes, I tilted my head down for a moment, then raised it once more. 

The greatest shock had been learning that I’d survived even my younger sister. How had I managed to live so long when I wasn’t even that good at taking care of myself? Was it all the extra sleep I’d gotten over the years? I stared blankly at the wall for a while longer, mulling it over. 

Out there on the other side of the morning sun, the world was still the same as always. Yet of everyone I’d ever known, nearly none remained, for the next generation had now taken their place. All the connections I’d made had come to an end…save for one.

“Hello there!” 

Her voice, and the sound of toddling footsteps, came from the direction of the front door, though I hadn’t heard her open it. But the question of how she’d gotten in was inconsequential compared to the other mysteries she contained.

“Come on in.”

The little alien hadn’t changed since the day we met. Now she was all that remained to me. The onesie she wore today was the color of a baby chick, yet the hood bore the comb of a full-grown bird.

“You look well as usual.”

I scoffed. “You think so, do you?” Then I felt her put her stubby little hands on my shoulders and start to climb, like I was her personal jungle gym. “Oh no you don’t, missy. Get off me.” 

With a shake, I sent her tumbling onto my bedsheets. She rolled all the way to the wall before coming to a stop. There, her eyelids drooped weakly for a moment before she snapped back to her senses. “Oh no, I nearly fell asleep!”

“Ha! Simple creature.” Pot, meet kettle. “Well, you can sleep if you like. It’s not as though either of us have anything to do today.”

“My schedule is actually rather packed.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” 

She rolled her head directly into my lap. It was cool to the touch—cooler than the air in the room—and with her icy-blue hair freed from her hood, I could almost feel a chill coming on. When we first met, Yashiro had been like a little sister; later, a daughter; and now, a granddaughter, a role she’d likely stay in. She was a fixed point from which I had slipped further and further away.

While I thought about that, she swayed restlessly in my lap, her hair spilling motes of light with every motion. “How have you been lately, Shimamura-san?” She normally wasn’t one for small talk, so I could only wonder who she was trying to imitate.

“What do you mean? You come over nearly every day.” Primarily to eat free meals and sometimes even snacks. She almost never spent the night, though. That was a boundary she had drawn for herself, and I wasn’t opposed to it. “Little old ladies like me don’t get up to a whole lot, I’m afraid.”

“They don’t?”

“These days, I’ve truly run out of things to talk about.” I had no life anymore—no future plans. 

“In that case, let us simply do nothing.”

“Sounds good.” Her blunt conclusion suited me just fine. I zoned out so much, my brain was in all likelihood the only part of me without a wrinkle to be seen. Then, suddenly, I remembered: “Oh, that’s right. I got a box of treats yesterday.”

“Oh ho!” Her little legs started flailing with excitement. 

“They’re in the fridge, so—” 

Before I even finished my sentence, she rose to her feet and made a beeline for the small refrigerator, slamming face-first into it. When she spotted the box, she retrieved it gleefully and raced back over to me. It was a gift from another elderly woman in the neighborhood—made by a famous confectioner, apparently. The name was certainly familiar.

“I see your priorities haven’t changed.” 

“Ho ho ho!” 

She impatiently whipped off the burnt-umber lid to reveal mugian wheat cakes, mostly untouched save for one in the upper-left corner from which a bite-sized square was missing. When I’d brought the cakes home yesterday, I’d given that one a try and found that it sapped all the moisture from my mouth. From their color and appearance, the cakes looked like they were made entirely of compacted sand, but there was bean jam in the middle.

“Woo-hoo!” Without further ado, Yashiro raised a cake to her lips, took a bite, chewed, and swallowed, all without incident. Personally, if I hadn’t washed the cake down with a cup of tea, I would’ve choked. “Tastes like destiny, doesn’t it?” she remarked afterward.

“By all means, enjoy.” One bite had been enough sweetness for me. 

At my offer, her eyes sparkled, and she pulled the box closer to herself. “Heh heh heh! Mine!” Her body language reminded me of a squirrel guarding nuts. “There is something to be said for these more refined flavors, don’t you think?” 

She dug into her second cake, chewing loudly, and for a moment, the sight sent me back in time. Then I looked down at my hand, unmistakably wrinkled with age. It snapped me right out of the dream, but it left me with a pang of loneliness in its place. “It’s strange to think I’ve known you for nearly seventy years now.”

I reached out periodically to wipe away the powder that clung to her lips. 

“Much obliged,” she responded flatly, as if out of obligation rather than sincerity. 

Getting up, I retrieved a bottle of barley tea from the refrigerator. After a quick sip, I handed it to her. 

“Glug, glug.” 

Had she actually drunk any, or was she just pretending? 

Instead of returning to bed, I sat directly on the floor, let out a breath, and closed my eyes. All I felt was Yashiro’s presence and my own respiration—not even a hint of anything more. 

Five years after Adachi’s death had parted me and her, I realized that there must not be such things as ghosts. If there were, her spirit would still be with me, and I would certainly have had the power to sense her at least once. No, there was only one place where ghosts existed, and that was the human mind. The soul of Adachi’s memory lived on inside me. 

Sure, most people would call that a delusion, but it kept my heart beating.

With nothing better to do, I switched on the TV. On the screen was an old woman, likely around my age, discussing the secrets to health and longevity: “I think perhaps…it’s about having a goal in mind.”

“Hm.”

This woman had a strong, clear voice. When she was asked what her goal was, she replied cryptically, “I want to see a rainbow.”

“A rainbow?” I repeated incredulously. 

Then I lifted the corner of the curtain and peeked out at the sky. All that decorated its bright-blue color was a smattering of clouds—sure enough, no rainbow was to be seen. Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t recall ever seeing one from this window. Perhaps it wasn’t as easy as I’d assumed.

“That reminds me, Shimamura-san—will you not be eating breakfast today?”

“Hm? Oh yeah. I’d better do that.”

“I look forward to it!” Yashiro exclaimed through a mouthful of cake. Perhaps the most frightening thing about her was that, having known her for so long, I didn’t find her entitlement so rude anymore.

Anyway, I threw together whatever was in the fridge and served it for breakfast.

“Feeling lazy today, huh?”

“You make something, then!”

“Me? Good one.” Adachi dangled her hands in front of her, imitating a ghost, and I laughed. 

After we finished eating, Yashiro raised her hand to speak. “I nearly forgot—I have brought you something.”

“Hm?” I squinted at her hands, but they were as empty as always. “Where is it?”

“One moment, please.” 

She dashed out the front door and, two seconds later, walked back in carrying something. Whatever it was, I knew for a fact that she couldn’t have left it sitting out there. I decided not to think too deeply about that, though. 

“Unfortunately for you, Shimamura-san, it is not edible.”

“If it were, you’d have eaten it yourself, punk.”

“False! I would surely have brought you half,” she declared proudly. 

When she handed the object to me, I recognized it at once. “Talk about retro,” I murmured, pressing the buttons on the controller.

“Little and I played many games on this console.”

“Is that so?” 

It must’ve belonged to my sister, then. I was the one who organized her things after she’d passed, but I couldn’t remember what I did with her video games. For a moment, I wondered why Yashiro would bring me this, but that was a stupid question. Why would she bring it except to play something together? Maybe she thought that I was bored and wanted to do something nice. 

“Little wanted me to have it, but I shall pass this gift along to you.”

“You sure?” 

“She gave me many other things.”

“I see… Will it even work?”

“Who knows?” Yashiro replied with a shrug.

At the very least, there was no way to connect it to a modern television. “I’ll need to figure out how to set it up…” 

My first thought then was, Too much effort. That would certainly explain why I sat around all day, wouldn’t it? If every hobby was “too much effort,” it was no wonder I didn’t have any.

“So I guess I’ll try to do that…tomorrow, maybe.” If I went around town asking specialty shops, I could probably find a way.

“I shall accompany you.”

“I won’t be buying any snacks, you know.” 

I watched, chuckling, as she visibly deflated. 

After that, Yashiro stayed, not just for breakfast, but all the way through dinner before finally going home. But where was “home,” now that my parents and sister were gone? At one point, she’d tried to get out of taking a bath, so I’d snatched her up and forced her in. 

“You are behaving like Little,” she had remarked.

“It runs in the family,” I’d replied. 

That night, as I lay in bed with my eyes closed, Adachi came into view. 

“Sounds like I’m buying a TV tomorrow,” I told her.

“You already have a TV,” she replied, pointing at the little screen. 

“Well, I need a different one in this case.”

“You’re really going to play video games with someone else?” She narrowed her eyes reproachfully, and the guilt I felt was nostalgic indeed.

“You could play with us, you know.”

“Pass,” she spat, turning away sulkily. After a moment, she muttered, “I wish I could.” 

“Me too.” 

My agreement seemed to soothe her spirits, since she looked back at me. “So you need an older TV?”

“Yep. I guess you could say that the passage of time sometimes creates more problems than it solves.” 

Adachi thought for a moment. As I waited for her reply, I noticed that she was wearing our high-school uniform. Then she raised her index finger to point hesitantly at herself. “Like with me?”

“Yep.” 

She smiled faintly in response.

Now that I’d given Adachi the latest update, I switched gears and closed my eyes once more. For once, I actually had plans tomorrow, so I tasked myself with sleeping. In the past, that wouldn’t have taken much effort at all; as strange as it might sound, that was the aspect of life in which I most keenly felt my old age.

***

These days, the rest of the world was in a tizzy trying to make first contact with extraterrestrial life-forms. I’d known one for years now, though, so I couldn’t really see what all the fuss was about. 

“Heh heh heh! In truth, I am not an alien at all.”

“Get out of my head.” 

At first glance, I couldn’t tell what she was supposed to be dressed as today. My guess was a deer, given the antlers. But in fact, she was apparently an out-of-season reindeer, trotting around downtown without a sleigh. 

“Oh, right. Not to put you on the spot, but I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Why do you only ever say ‘hello,’ not ‘good morning’?” It was a little late to bother asking, granted, but the question had occurred to me when she turned up yesterday and was only cemented more firmly as of this morning.

“Little told me that she preferred ‘hello.’ Therefore, I say ‘hello.’”

“Hunh… What did she have against ‘good morning’?”

“Who knows?” Yashiro replied with an exaggerated shrug. She evidently hadn’t bothered to ask. 

I mulled it over for a while myself, but I couldn’t think of a plausible reason. Perhaps my sister was simply an odd duck. “How very strange.”

“Indeed.” 

Maybe that oddness explained why she’d doted on Yashiro all her life.

I scarcely remembered the last time I’d gone into town with a friend—or the last day trip I’d taken, or the last time I’d bathed blithely in the sun. Today, its rays filtered dimly through a thin layer of clouds, its shape obscured as if by gauze. This weather made the walk easier on me, but still, it took its toll on my back and hips after a while. At my age, Earth’s pull was too great to endure.

“It seems I won’t make it into outer space.” I had hoped to experience zero gravity before I died, but clearly that was still beyond me, and now I wouldn’t live to see a free-flying world. 

“Do you want to?” Yashiro asked casually, turning her innocent gaze on me. 

I had a feeling that, if I said “yes,” she’d knock me into orbit faster than I could blink. So was that what I wanted? To feel light again?

“Can you come with me into space, Adachi?”

“Wherever you go, I’ll go.”

“Glad I can count on you.” 

If there was indeed no such thing as ghosts, then Adachi couldn’t go anywhere, since she was dead and gone. I’d never see her again, and…and there would never be a next time. If that was the case, then perhaps from now on, she could truly only be found in the haze of my heart. 

“No thanks. I’ve got plans today.”

“I see.” With that, Yashiro donned her usual smile, as if saying that she didn’t mind either way.

I decided to start with the electronics store before I went wandering around blindly. There, I listened to an employee’s patient explanation. Only half of it made any sense to me; to sum it up, though, all I really needed to get the console to work was an adapter. 

“Well, that makes things easy.” As it turned out, I didn’t have to buy a second TV after all. “Hear that? It’ll work with the one I have.”

“That’s good. You don’t have room for a second TV anyway.”

“True.” I thought back to how Adachi and I had agonized over furniture placement in our condo. It had felt like playing with building blocks made of pure happiness. 

Fortunately, I managed to get my hands on that “adapter” thing while Yashiro and I were out. Going to the farthest reaches of town was no grand adventure, but at my age, it was enough excitement for one day.

“Yaaay!”

It helped, of course, that I was accompanied by a gleeful gremlin carrying a bag of freshly purchased caramel corn. 

When we returned, Yashiro helped herself to my bed while I set about connecting the console to the television. I hadn’t thought to test my TV before we left the house, so if it turned out to be broken, we’d need to make a second trip into town. Naturally, that hadn’t occurred to me until I was already home. 

Fortunately, the TV seemed well-preserved; I couldn’t see any discoloration on the plastic exterior, and it didn’t…you know…feel old? The moment I had that thought, I paused to contemplate what it meant. Perhaps, to me, something only felt “old” if it was covered by a thin, sticky membrane of dust and dirt. I ran a finger over the back of my wizened hand. Still young, I lied to myself. 

“Where’d I put the—ah, there’s the remote. Now, will it show up…?”

Faithfully following the instructions I’d been given, I changed the channel. The TV screen darkened for a moment; then, at last, an explosion of color erupted. 

“Ooooh!” Yashiro kicked her feet in excitement.

“It works! Attaboy, old-timer,” I joked, petting the machine, which was nearly as old as me. For a split second, I hallucinated that my baby sister was there with us, smirking proudly. Given that she’d lived a relatively busy life in and out of the spotlight, I wasn’t sure when she would’ve found time to play video games, but clearly, she had. 

Yashiro came and sat in my lap. Holding her like a cushion, I pressed a few buttons on the controller. 

“Oh, there’s stuff on it…”

A row of my sister’s digital purchases had popped up onscreen, the most recent of which was a game in which you went on a quest to defeat a dragon. I’d only played video games with my sister or friends, never by myself—looking back, I’d spent the majority of my free time sleeping—so I was almost unfamiliar with the series. But I didn’t think I could keep up with an action game’s pace, so perhaps something text-heavy was the perfect choice. Thus, I decided to quest after dragons. 

As the game booted up, I mashed buttons to get to the title screen and accidentally skipped the opening cinematic. Oops… Oh well. When I selected Continue, I saw my sister’s name on the top save file. 

You used your real name? I don’t know whether to cringe or feel proud. 

Her character’s level was pretty high, so I was tempted to load the file and see whether she’d beaten the game…but opted not to. “Nah, that’s hers.” If I messed with it, she’d get mad at me. On the one hand, maybe I was silly to fear the dead, but on the other hand, ghosts were a Halloween staple for a reason. Smiling to myself, I decided I’d made the smart choice. 

I started a new game. When it prompted me for a name, I waffled between my surname and given name, but I ultimately settled on “Shimamura.”

“Shimamura-san the Hero?”

“That’s me.” Only my family had ever called me “Hougetsu,” so at this point, I had very little attachment to that name. Not even my old coworkers had called me Hougetsu-san… That would’ve been weird, actually.

“Little told me that a ‘hero’ is someone who irons out the world’s many injustices, big and small.”

“Wait, really?” That sounded like a lot of work. 

“Therefore, it is perhaps a fitting role for you.”

“Wow. I’m special.” But the sudden compliment gave me pause. “Your flattery won’t win you more snacks, just so you know.”

“Noooo!”

Figured she was after those. “Now, let’s see here… Shimamura the Hero, sixteen years old… Sheesh, that’s young.” What a cruel world, to expect a child to grow up so fast. 

In the game, the king summoned me; when I waltzed blithely into the throne room, he ordered me to battle dark forces. As if I wasn’t dealing with enough already! After that, a minister told me to take a few allies with me when I set out. If I’d played this back in middle school, I would undoubtedly have tried to go at it alone just to spite him. 

“How very convenient to have friends bestowed upon you.”

“True that.” 

I was allowed four party members max. After a moment of consideration, I requested to meet “Hino,” “Nagafuji,” and “Adachi.” I’d come into contact with many people throughout my life, but whenever I thought of a four-person group, it was those faces that came to mind alongside my own, although it was a relatively rare occurrence. Nagafuji’s parents had run a butcher shop, so she’d be a Merchant; Hino would be a Gadabout; but what would I do with Adachi?

“What vocation do you want?”

“Uh…employee?”

“No boring real-world answers, please.”

“Okay then…Priest?”

“Wait, really?”

She wasn’t joking. “I like the thought of…healing you.” 

How adorable. “Priest it is.” 

I couldn’t help noticing that the group only had one fighter in it, but oh well; I invited Adachi the Priest to join us. Who’d have thought that I’d once again meet her at age sixteen, but this time in a video game? Maybe it’s destiny, I thought with a chuckle. 

“What about me?” Yashiro protested.

“Oh…I guess I could make some more.” While I was at it, I created my sister too, turning her into a Mage on a whim. “As for your vocation, you’ll be a…”

“Heh heh heh! I would obviously be a Martial Artist.” She thrust out her stubby little fists.

“…Thief.”

“Huh?” 

Specifically, she was always good at stealing from the fridge. On second thought, considering how many times she’d gotten caught in the act, maybe she wasn’t so good at that after all. 

“All done! You and my sister will be in charge of eating snacks at home.”

“Not a bad deal.” She nodded to herself, and so I left her behind to go on a journey. “I look forward to the souvenirs!”

“There won’t be any!” 

Outside the castle, I wandered around aimlessly. Nagafuji and I could take down whatever enemy got in our way, for the most part. Not only was the Merchant more capable than I’d expected, she picked up gold sometimes too. This “Nagafuji” worked harder than the real Nagafuji ever had! Conversely, Hino the Gadabout didn’t “gad about” much at all. Perhaps that title was pure self-deprecation consistent with the real-life Hino. 

We commuted back and forth as if traveling to and from an office, earning money and experience. All things considered, this wasn’t exactly an exciting first step in the journey of a hero; it was reasonably entertaining for the player, sure, but what about for onlookers?

“Are you having fun?” I asked, peering down at the face just below my own.

“Very much so,” Yashiro replied with a bright smile, as if to suggest that she meant it. “I spent many hours watching Little play.”

“Ah.” 

“And she sometimes gave me treats.” She shot me a very pointed glance. “Wink wink.”

“I already bought you a treat,” I replied, aiming a pointed glance of my own at the bag of caramel corn she was now cradling like a newborn.

“No, this is a souvenir. A treat is different.”

“God, you’re so entitled.” I smashed my chin into her scalp in retaliation.

“Gyaaahhh,” she shouted flatly.

As the grind continued, I let my mind melt into the midday air. This was simple work, and seeing the numbers rise gave me a real sense of accomplishment. That was something I’d been sorely missing in my life lately.

“This is fun and all, but…” I wasn’t sure how quickly I could finish the game, and to be blunt, I was concerned that I didn’t have much time left. “I just hope I can beat it before I die,” I confessed quietly. 

Back in town, I ran straight to the weapons-and-armor shop. I thought that I’d saved up a decent pile of gold, but upon perusing the items offered, it became clear that I’d need to choose carefully. As I scrolled up and down, waffling, I heard the bag below rustle.

“Perhaps you had better hurry, then,” Yashiro remarked offhandedly.

“Oh yeah?” Unable to decide whether to prioritize weapons or armor, I took a piece of caramel corn. I was grateful to find it easy to chew and only mildly sweet. “Will I be dying soon?”

“Good question.” She poured a fistful of popcorn into her mouth, chewed loudly, and smiled. “To me, Earthling lives are all incredibly brief, so I have a poor grasp of their exact length.” 

“Is that so?”

“It could happen tomorrow, or a hundred years from now.”

“Trust me, I’m not living another hundred years.” She estimated too broadly, but so did I, judging by my lack of financial planning in this game. “Oh well.” In the end, I decided to buy Adachi some good armor. 

Looking back, I’d rarely bought her clothes in real life; I only ever got her something silly for her birthday every year. So I really had no business talking smack about Nagafuji. Come to think of it, though, Adachi’s taste in gifts was a little odd too. When we’d first moved into that condo, she’d brought a boomerang and an empty drink can, among other things. The former had been a gift from me, but where did the latter come from? It clearly must’ve held some sort of sentimental value, or she’d have thrown it away. Thus, I’d decided to display it on a shelf. 

My curiosity had yet to be satisfied, however. Either I’d forgotten the can’s worth, or I would simply never know. 

“Any recollection?”

“You don’t remember?” She pouted at me.

I laughed—not at her, but at myself. Nice dodge. “Well, if I don’t make it in time, will you beat it for me?” I asked Yashiro, since she almost certainly had nothing else going on. 

She refused, though. “I am a very busy person, Shimamura-san,” she declared firmly, exhaling a waft of sweet caramel. She didn’t often reject suggestions so strongly. Maybe she wanted me to figure the game out on my own…

“Fair enough.” Too lazy to argue with her, I ground my chin into her skull once more. 

“Gyaaaaah.” 

***

For a while, I tried to lie quietly in bed, but eventually I gave up and opened my eyes. It was pitch black either way. Fumbling on all fours, I felt around until I found the console and controller. As I turned the console on, I averted my eyes from the TV screen’s sharp light, staring at the wall until they had adjusted. 

I had decided to stay up playing video games instead of sleeping. Surely this was a smart choice that would have no lasting repercussions for my circadian rhythm.

I loaded my save from earlier that evening, at which point I had reached level eight. My fingers moved half on autopilot while I zoned out—so hard I saw double. I could see Adachi seated amid the blur, however. She was once again wearing her uniform, her limbs half-concealed in the darkness. 

“It sounds like I might die soon,” I informed her. As she frowned, I continued, “The girl can be oddly convincing about these things.” 

Yashiro was a terrible liar, after all, so I’d have known right away if she was fibbing.

“Does it bother you?”

“Well, sure. Everyone worries about it when they get older.”

“Are you scared to die?” 

For a moment, my fingers fell still, but I continued to face the screen. 

“Mmm, not really,” I answered, as though I was stepping forward onto even ground. Perhaps it was common to have regrets at this stage, but I’d already lost everything. “If you were still around, though, I’d be scared stiff to leave you all alone.” 

“I’m not so sure about that…”

“I’m serious! Poor little Adachi-chan. You’d spend every day crying your eyes out.”

“Th-that’s…probably true, actually.”

“That’s why I think we were meant to go in this order.” Not that I much liked having been left behind myself. Meanwhile, Adachi had glanced over at me with her shoulders slumped, as if she was disappointed about something. “Yes? What is it?” I pressed. 

“Just wondering if…if you ever cry about me.”

“What? Didn’t you see me at your funeral?”

“I was dead!”

“Oh, right.” I chuckled softly.

“So you cried?” she asked, her face faintly flushed with joy. 

What’re you so happy about, you meanie? “Of course I cried.” 

But in truth, I hadn’t shed many tears at all. Crying took energy I no longer had.

“You mean it?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

“I feel like you’d cry harder over a dead dog.”

“Well…I mean…hmm,” I fumbled, hastily stopping myself from admitting that she was right. When she pouted, I continued, “You know how dogs can’t talk?”

“Uh…yeah?” 

“They can’t understand anything I want to tell them. So, when they die, all those feelings just…come rushing out all at once. That’s what I think,” I concluded, before Adachi could get a word in edgewise. Then I pointed at the screen to change the subject. “More importantly, how come your attack stat is so low?” 

“I’m a healer!”

“You need to help while Hino gads about.” We couldn’t divvy the game’s workload up like household chores—we needed to coordinate our efforts. 

Adachi rose to her feet and walked over to me. She looked so much younger now that I felt out of place next to her. 

“Shimamura…”

“Yeees?”

“Thank you for…um…staying until the very end,” she mumbled, gripping her skirt’s hem anxiously. “I wanted to tell you that, but I died in my sleep, so…I couldn’t.”

“Ah, yeah…” I paused to think of the right way to word my reply, but what came out of my mouth was, “You died well. I was happy—I mean, I was relieved, you know? That you felt no pain.” Our sparse vocabularies were glaringly apparent when it came to this sensitive subject.

“Yeah, but I abandoned you… I’m sorry…”

“Nah, it’s okay. You still come visit, don’t you?” Then I realized: perhaps this was an opportunity for me to convey some gratitude of my own. “Thank you for staying with me after death.” 

She smiled awkwardly, as if she was out of practice—every bit the Adachi I’d once known. “But I’m an illusion.”

“I know, but…hmmmm. Yeah, I think it’ll happen soon.” 

Adachi’s eyes widened, and we gazed at each other up close for a moment. 

“I’m not sure when it started, but your voice sounds way closer now,” I explained, smiling. 

After I lost her, I’d only ever heard her voice as an echo in the back of my head—but now I could hear it as though she were right beside me. Outside my body. And since I was rather enjoying that, maybe I shouldn’t have pointed it out…because the moment I did, she vanished. Wanting the conversation to continue, I began to close my eyes, chasing after the voice as it retreated back inside my skull. Then I thought better of it and looked up.

“That’s a Priest for you, I suppose.” She had given my heart all the sustenance it needed. 

Maybe I was wrong about there being no such thing as ghosts. Maybe, in order to see them, you simply had to be close enough to death. If so, maybe I’d see a lot more of Adachi from now on. The future ahead of me was bright indeed. 

“Spending a whole day on nothing but memories and silly games… For the first time, I’m starting to think that old age isn’t so bad.”

With those final words, I directed my eyes in front of me.

I didn’t see or hear Adachi for the rest of the night. 

***

“Hello there!”

“…Hi…”

“You look quite lively today!”

“Your eyes clearly don’t work, then.” 

Lively, after pulling an all-nighter playing video games? Well…okay, maybe. My headache and red eyes certainly made me feel alive. For my trouble, I’d made it all the way to the desert. Adachi and I had never gone to a desert in real life, but Hino probably had.

“After all this time and effort, I’ll reach the final boss any minute now.”

“You are not even close.”

“Wait, really?” Oh no. Any more all-nighters, and I’ll kick the bucket for sure.

Yashiro slid onto my lap. “Ho ho ho! You appear to be enjoying yourself.”

“Well…yeah, I guess.” 

I liked how it felt to travel freely, so perhaps this was my type of game. Alas, Merchant Nagafuji was gradually losing steam in terms of combat; she’d now been relegated to picking up coins.

“I appreciate your bringing me this, although I don’t know why you chose this moment.”

“You don’t?” she asked, tilting her head. “It was a birthday gift.”

“Whose—oh.” I counted back two days on my fingers. Right. I was always forgetting my own damn birthday. “You could’ve said so, you know.” 

“Heh heh heh!”

“That wasn’t your cue to laugh.”

“Happy belated birthday, Shimamura-san.”

“Thanks.” I recalled a previous conversation about birthdays, and what I’d said at the time. “Happy birthday to you too,” I replied. It was an expression of everything I felt toward her.

But I digress.

“Hmmm…” I came to a stop in front of a pyramid. “Are you craving any particular snack?” Knowing her, that was the only sort of birthday gift she’d want. 

“If you are offering, then may I have a donut?”

“A donut? Yeah, sure.”

That had been the first treat I ever gave her—my first mistake, feeding a stray. I could only wonder what would’ve happened if I’d refused to share. I’d have no console now, so the TV would be off, and I’d be alone in the dark. Given Yashiro’s penchant for destiny, though, that outcome had probably been impossible from the start.

“I give you a donut, you tell me one of the secrets of the universe. That was the deal, wasn’t it?” 

“Accounting for inflation, I will now require two donuts per secret.”

“Who taught you economics?”

“I would still appreciate a single donut, of course.” She was surprisingly willing to compromise. 

I didn’t have any questions about the universe, per se, but what I wanted to know most at this particular moment was: “Will I find Adachi again?” 

Perhaps, to me, Adachi was the universe. 

“Yes,” Yashiro replied instantly. “In every universe, Shimamura-san will inevitably find her Adachi-san.”

I seemed to recall her mentioning something along those lines long ago. “So other Shimamuras will see her, but not me?”

“The living cannot meet the dead.” She stated that matter-of-factly; it felt viscerally wrong somehow, coming from her of all people. “I learned that from the television.”

“I should’ve known.” 

Yashiro and common sense just didn’t mix. And she was wrong, wasn’t she? I considered telling her about the illusionary Adachi. Would that make me look crazy?

“But of course, that only applies to the dead.”

“Huh…?” 

Something told me that Yashiro meant more than she was letting on, but I couldn’t work out her implication. Old age had done my brain no favors. Was she trying to say that I could see Adachi in my memories, or something cerebral like that?

“Well, whatever.” We’d expressed our gratitude to one another, albeit indirectly, and I was satisfied. “So are you able to visit those other Shimamuras?”

“I am able, yes. However, it requires some time.” 

She spoke so matter-of-factly that I wanted to roll my eyes, but at this point, I didn’t even think of questioning her. 

“Well, if any of us Shimamuras can’t find our Adachi—or vice versa—you should go check on her sometime.” Even if meeting Adachi was destiny, one incarnation of me was bound to slip up, and that thought was unsettling. “It doesn’t feel right for any version of us to be apart.”

After all, there was no “Adachi and Shimamura” without both of us.

“That sounds…fun.” Yashiro lowered her hood and grinned up at me. Maybe this would give her some actual purpose, rather than leeway to sit around doing nothing. “Very well, then. Do we have a deal?” 

“Yep.”

“Now for the donuts.”

“Already?!” Honestly, I shouldn’t have been surprised, knowing her. 

As I reached out and tousled her hair, she beamed back innocently…and I was oddly relieved that she was still cold to the touch, like the moon hanging in the sky. 

***

That day, I found a relatively intact bicycle lying on its side behind what used to be someone’s house. I gingerly lifted it upright and tested its resistance, resting a foot onto it, then bouncing it up and down. It showed no sign of falling apart, so I wiped the seat and hopped on timidly. When I put my foot to the pedal, it let out a dull creak, like the sound my bones made when I woke up in the morning. Needs maintenance, I thought. 

But even if I managed to repair it, I couldn’t picture myself leaving this town. 

Unable to decide whether I should celebrate this decidedly inedible find, I began retracing my steps. As I pushed the bike, the feeling of rust and dirt on the handle made my skin crawl; checking my palm, I saw that it was blackened with grime. I instinctively wiped it on my leg—a stupid move that only spread the stains further. 

My lips parted as I tried to say something, but all that came out was a parched sigh. I talked to myself less these days. Had I simply run out of things to say? I’d grown sick of the sky—even the patterns of the clouds—and now I only ever looked at the ground. 

As usual, the sunset hung over me like a weight; when I realized I was slouching, I consciously straightened my posture. Then I noticed that the sound of my footsteps—my one constant accompaniment—had now been joined by the rattle of wheels, and I found some small enjoyment in the new melody. 

Because most nonhuman animals had gone extinct (at least, as far as I was told), there was very little noise or movement save for rustling grass and gliding clouds. And me, technically, as I headed to the edge of town. I’d taken a detour today—a whim that would only render the return trip that much longer.

Searching for food, then eating it. Sleeping, then waking. I could tell myself that my life was like a bicycle tire, but that would be a lie. Tires moved forward; I was stuck in a rut, and as I stood around purposelessly in town, I felt myself slowly wearing thin. 

I’d been taught how to survive, but not how to live. This world didn’t allow for such freedom, so if I wanted to find answers, I’d have to take matters into my own hands. Why was I alive? Did this even count as “living”? Something inside me refused to be satisfied with merely breathing, and that feeling grew at the same rate I did. 

Assuming that the person who’d raised me was right about my longevity, maybe there was a reason—a purpose—for it. Maybe my heart wanted it. This shapeless feeling formed hazy silhouettes from distant memories of interactions—of speaking aloud and hearing something spoken in return. 

Were any other people still living on this planet? With each passing day, my mind wandered further and further beyond the scope of my wildest imagination. Yet for all my thinking, I didn’t act. 

How far would I need to travel to find something?

I’d grown so accustomed to my life spent buried in the ruins of town that…for lack of a better way to describe it…a heavy lid of inertia pressed me down. After all, I could make it just fine on my own; if nothing else, I could survive. That was the only certainty I had, and I’d need more than that if I was going to go search blindly for the unknown. For that reason, I felt that I was most likely trapped here.

Until today. Until this very moment. 

Snow. 

I’d thought I said it out loud, but I couldn’t hear the soft rasp of my voice. Winter had long since passed, yet specks of white now belatedly fell down from the sky, stopping me dead in my tracks to admire them. As they danced on the wind, I reached out and caught one on my palm; instantly it faded, leaving only a faint glow.

For the first time in ages, I tilted my head back. 

“Uh—” 

A choked sound slipped from my throat and I froze, mouth agape, as something came into view. At first, it too was a tiny speck gleaming in the scarlet sky, but over time, it grew bigger and bigger until it took a humanoid form. It approached at a leisurely pace, as if it had blown in on the breeze, yet somehow it managed to land in front of me—directly into my new bicycle’s lumpy basket—without the slightest indication of pain or injury.

“Wh…whoa…” I hadn’t used my voice for so long, it took me a couple tries to get that out. 

As the entity or whatever glanced around, I noticed that it was glowing, despite the daylight, exuding a pale blue the likes of which I’d never seen. Its descent had left a streak in the air that rose into the sky like a tower. Then, with a gust of wind, it was gone; the mass of particles blew over me, engulfing me briefly as they passed, and I caught a whiff of dry earth.

A beat later, the form turned and noticed me standing there. Her blue hair, I realized, was tied into the shape of butterfly wings behind her head—and when she fixed her gaze on me, her lips spread into a wide grin. Raising both hands into the air, she exclaimed cheerfully: 

“Hello there!” 

That was how it (all) began (again).