Seishun Buta Yarou Series - Volume 13 - Chapter 3.3

3

February 3. Setsubun.

By three thirty, the sun was already pretty low in the west.

Sakuta was outside a three-story apartment building about ten minutes on foot from Kanazawa-hakkei Station.

“This the place?”

The lot number on the utility pole matched the address he’d scribbled on a Post-it Note.

He’d taken that from the message Touko had left on his answering machine two nights earlier. He’d called back to see what was up, but she hadn’t answered.

With no other option, he’d gone where she told him to.

He had to talk to Touko, either way.

The note specified room 201.

He went up the stairs and checked the door. Number 201 was at the far end.

No name on the tag.

Just a blank, utilitarian door.

He had no clue who lived here.

If he rang the intercom, he might find himself face-to-face with a total stranger.

But hovering around outside a random apartment just made him look suspicious. He quit dithering and pressed the button.

He heard a bell ring inside.

The button worked, at least.

“Hope I’m not stepping into the lion’s den.”

Sakuta perked up when he heard footsteps inside coming toward him. They stopped at the door, and he heard the lock turn. The door swung open.

A familiar face popped out.

Touko, in her miniskirt Santa duds.

The very girl who’d called him here.

“I came like you said.”

“Drop these in the dumpster below,” she said, handing him two very full bags in lieu of a greeting.

“What are they?” he asked. They were both very heavy.

“Go on,” she said, not answering. The door closed.

Standing outside with two bags of trash made him look so sketchy. He didn’t want a neighbor calling the cops on him. Nene was invisible and would not be able to vouch for him.

That left him carrying the trash back down the stairs he’d just come up. The plastic was transparent enough that he could tell it was mostly clothing.

Quite a lot of it.

A few years’ worth.

This that decluttering thing?

He reached the bottom of the stairs, located the metal container where the residents disposed of their trash, and opened the lid.

He picked one bag up and tossed it in. As he threw the second in, he heard a clunk.

“Hmm?”

He was unaware of the contents, and curiosity got the better of him.

This might not be something that should go in the regular trash. She’d asked him to do this, but he was the one dropping it here; best to sort it properly.

He yanked the bag back out of the dumpster and checked the bottom. Something gleamed through the bag. By the sound of it, not anything plastic. Glass or at least plexiglass.

He opened the bag to double-check.

And soon identified the object.

“Her beauty contest trophy.”

The name of the contest was carved into the side.

And no surprise, the winner’s name was Nene Iwamizawa.

Was this something you threw away?

Presumably, she thought so, or she wouldn’t have put it in the bag.

Sakuta thought about it for a minute, then tossed the bag of clothes back in the dumpster. If he threw the trophy out here, that would make it his fault.

He went back up the stairs, inspecting the trophy for any damage. Outside her door, he rang the bell again.

“Took you long enough,” she said grumpily.

“Most people would say thank you first.”

“Thank you, you were such a help.”

“And did you mean to throw this out?”

He showed Touko the trophy.

She looked down at his hands. Right at it.

“Do you often put things in the trash you don’t mean to throw away?” she asked.

“I don’t.”

“Good! We’re the same.”

“Isn’t this important, though? To Nene Iwamizawa?”

He gave the name on the trophy a pointed glance.

“Who’s that?” she asked, like it wasn’t her.

“Your name.”

“What are you talking about? I’m Touko Kirishima.”

Touko was acting entirely natural. Reacting to his words. No interest in the trophy at all. She’d barely glanced at it. Didn’t seem to be feigning indifference. Just didn’t care, like it wasn’t hers to begin with. Touko didn’t seem to have any attachment to the trophy at all.

On Nene Iwamizawa’s social media, she’d sounded beyond thrilled to win the competition. Expressed her delight, thanked everyone who’d made it possible…

This trophy was proof of that accomplishment. Would she really just toss it out?

Touko’s attitude was all too clear, and that’s what bothered him. Something felt wrong. Unsettling.

She’d said “Who’s that?” like they were talking about a stranger.

He’d picked up on nothing like this on their trip to Motomachi.

But Sakuta wasn’t really sure what the nature of this oddity was.

He knew something was wrong, but not what.

Arguably, Touko had always been kinda weird about this stuff.

“Come on in,” she said, opening the door all the way.

“Thanks,” he said, putting his doubts aside. He stepped through the door, figuring she hadn’t called him all the way here just to take out her trash.

“Use those slippers.”

The doormat had a Christmas tree on it, and the slippers were adorned with reindeer. Certainly matching the miniskirt Santa theme.

It didn’t seem weird yet.

He just figured it was her thing.

Just past the entrance was a small kitchen, with three doors leading out. Two were likely to the bath and the toilet. Touko opened the third door, which led to the main room. A decent-sized studio.

“Make yourself at home,” she said, moving on in.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Sakuta started to follow her—but soon ground to a halt.

“……”

The moment he caught a glimpse of the room beyond, surprise ripped through him, and he stopped on pure reflex.

For the simple reason that the interior was beyond his wildest imaginings.

The object in the center first drew his eye—a Christmas tree, decked out in gold and silver ornaments. It was about the same height as Sakuta himself.

On the shelves by the wall were pine cone trees, snow globes, and Santa dolls. Among these was the tin reindeer she’d had him buy in Motomachi. There was a little sled filled with gift boxes.

The only normal objects in the room were the sleeper sofa and a work desk, on which sat a laptop with a fruit logo. Everything else was coated in Santa Claus and Christmas.

Definitely not your typical college-girl pad. He could have dealt with this if it had actually been that time of year and she was having friends over for a Christmas party. But it was February 3. Setsubun—a completely different holiday.

“Don’t just stand there. Come.”

“A very unique room,” he said.

Arguably, this was the kind of place a miniskirt Santa would live.

From the description alone, it might even sound festive. Children might like it! But after seeing it with his own eyes, fear was winning out.

Sakuta looked around again, and a stuffed Santa looked back at him. Beady little eyes, staring. He wanted to turn around and go home. Prolonged exposure to this place might drive him mad.

“Put this together.”

Oblivious to his state of mind, Touko moved a folding table from the corner to the floor by the tree.

On the table were toy blocks made by a Danish company. Pieces were everywhere, and the set was only half-assembled.

“Boys are good at these things, yes?”

“I imagine not all of us.”

“But you?”

“I do all right.”

She put down a snowman cushion for him, and he sat on it, looking over the instructions. The complete version would be a lodge with a very pointy snow-capped roof. There were people living inside, and a Santa figure, so clearly this was a scene depicting a visit from Santa. It was pretty nifty.

All she had done was the ground and foundations.

“I’ll get to work.”

First, he sorted the blocks by color. Gray chimney bits, brown lodge walls, white and blue for the roof. Once that was done, he started building the walls.

Touko sat across the table, watching him work.

That alone was sort of like a date. If this had been his house and Mai were across the table, he’d have enjoyed it. But this was not his house, and he was not with Mai. It was Santa’s house, and a miniskirt Santa was watching him build. What was the point?

Wondering, he plugged away at the task before him. When he couldn’t bear it any longer, he decided to broach the topic at hand—the reason he’d come over when she called.

“Remember that #dreaming thing around Christmas last year?”

“What about it?”

“A lot of young people got presents from you and had dreams of the future.”

“So?”

Touko’s eyes were on his fingers as he rummaged through the blocks.

“There’s a sinister rumor going around.”

“I really don’t care.”

She was brushing him off.

He didn’t let that stop him.

“They say if you didn’t dream on Christmas Eve, it means you have no future to dream about.”

“Meaning…?”

Touko looked up, her eyes shooting him a question.

“Because you’re dead.”

He didn’t mince words.

This was something that needed to be clear.

“……”

“Kirishima, you said you didn’t dream.”

He slotted a window into the wall.

“Like your girlfriend,” Touko said, testing the waters.

“And this isn’t just rumors. Someone actually did die.”

“Someone you know?”

“Someone you know.”

“……”

A momentary silence.

Filled with the sound of blocks clicking into place.

“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone dead.”

“The boy who transferred from Tokyo in junior high.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Touko’s tone never wavered. She didn’t bat an eye at the news of a dead acquaintance. There was not a shred of surprise, or even a hint of sadness. Given what he’d just said, this was not nearly a strong enough reaction, and it bothered him.

“……”

His doubts about her attitude must have shown on his face. This conversation wasn’t adding up. It was like he was trying to slot a block into the wrong place.

“What’s that look for?”

“Fukuyama was rushing back to Hokkaido to be at that boy’s funeral.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about, Kirishima?”

This was weird. Touko had been acting weird since he got here. There was a disconnect. He was sure of that but not sure where it was.

As he searched for words, Touko spoke first.

“Who the hell is Fukuyama?”

That caught him off guard.

That was more than weird. Way beyond a simple disconnect. Sakuta locked up completely, not believing his ears. She did not just say that.

“Takumi Fukuyama, your boyfriend!”

He got a bit loud, leaning in.

“Never heard of him,” Touko said, leaning back, resting on her hand.

She had a baffled look on her face. She blinked twice.

“You’ve been dating since Hokkaido!”

“News to me!”

This could not be taken as a joke.

“Do you really not know this?!”

He’d completely forgotten about the set he was building.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, looking actively annoyed.

“Fukuyama! The boy Nene Iwamizawa was dating!”

He looked her right in the eyes, pleading, hoping for any sign of recognition.

But got none.

He’d braced himself for another denial.

But Touko blew right past his expectations.

In the worst way.

“That’s another name I don’t know,” she sighed.

“Huh?”

“Who’s this Iwamizawa?”

A very basic query.

She’d drawn a blank.

Asking because she genuinely didn’t know.

That was not a performance.

This was real, and he didn’t know why and could not understand how.

A shiver ran through him. Like his heart had frozen over.

The Christmas and Santa Claus decorations no longer seemed nearly as freakish. Touko herself was far more unsettling.

“Recognize this trophy?” he croaked.

“No. That’s why I threw it out. And then you brought it back.”

“You really don’t recognize it?”

“I do not. That’s what I said.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“……”

Was Sakuta in the wrong? Touko was so consistent it was starting to feel that way.

She didn’t know what she didn’t know.

She was being perfectly clear.

“That’s good enough. Go home,” Touko said, exasperated.

She got to her feet, glaring down at him.

Looking up at her, he asked one last question.

“You don’t even know that you’re Nene Iwamizawa?”

How was that possible?

A few days before, she’d definitely remembered that. She’d talked about her time with Takumi back in Hokkaido, told him how they’d first met.

No way she’d forget that unless she, like, had amnesia.

And yet this was actually happening, right in front of him.

“I don’t know a Nene Iwamizawa. I’ve never heard the name. Satisfied?”

She overenunciated each syllable, pounding her point home. Very certain of her stance, no signs of hesitation—why dither about what you didn’t know?

She genuinely didn’t know she was Nene Iwamizawa.

“Like I keep saying, I’m Touko Kirishima.”

All she had left was this identity.

“……”

Sakuta got to his feet, unable to say another word.

“Throw that away on your way out,” Touko said, glancing at the trophy on the table with complete indifference.

Nothing he could say would get through to her.

So he reached out and grabbed the trophy.

“I’ll be going, then. All you have left is the roof and chimney,” he said, looking at the blocks.

“I can handle that much. Thanks.”

This last word felt entirely hollow.

Had he done anything for her?

Pondering that, he moved to the door. Took off the reindeer slippers on the Christmas doormat. Put on his shoes and went outside without even looking back.

On the way down the stairs, he felt eyes on his back, but he neither paused nor turned around.

Sakuta kept moving until he reached the dumpster.

He looked down at the clear trophy in his hand.

The prize for winning the beauty contest one school year back.

Nene Iwamizawa’s name engraved upon it.

Proof she’d existed.

But if the girl herself was no longer aware of that fact, did this name hold any meaning?

If she’d forgotten, and Takumi—and the rest of the world—could not perceive her, then was Nene Iwamizawa even alive?

“Maybe that’s why she didn’t dream.”

If existence was defined by your own perceptions and those of others, then Nene Iwamizawa might as well be dead.

All that remained was for Sakuta to forget her and Miori to stop perceiving her—and then perhaps she really would die.

He raised the lid and looked down at the two bags she’d asked him to throw out.

“She was throwing away Nene Iwamizawa’s life?”

The trophy in his hand also belonged to Nene Iwamizawa.

Touko Kirishima had no need of it.

“At least throw it out yourself,” he growled, and he let the lid fall.

He shoved the trophy in his pocket.

And turned toward the station.