Tantei wa Mou, Shindeiru - Volume 9 - Chapter 4.01

The sparkle of a mud-stained dress

After we finished talking with Stephen, I temporarily split off from Natsunagi and headed for the hospital courtyard. After I’d spent ten minutes sitting on a bench, killing time drinking a can of coffee, a girl came along. I stood up, casually raising a hand.

“How are you doing, Saikawa?”

Yui Saikawa flashed me a peace sign, smiling just like always.

She didn’t say anything, though. She’d lost that beautiful, lovable voice of hers.

It had been ten days since her aphonia diagnosis. Far from improving, she’d lost the ability to speak altogether, and she was currently on hiatus from all her jobs as an idol.

“What did Stephen say?”

Since her diagnosis, Stephen had been in charge of Saikawa’s treatment. She was actually the patient he’d left us to go see earlier.

“Oh, uh… Sorry.”

I’d noticed Saikawa was wearing a troubled smile. I’d asked my question without thinking, but she couldn’t answer me.

Saikawa took a small sketchbook out of her bag. She wrote something quickly with a pen, then turned the sketchbook to face me. The page held the answer to my question.

No change.

There were some diseases even Stephen Bluefield, the Inventor, couldn’t cure.

Science wasn’t able to repair the psyche.

I haven’t had this much time off in ages.

Saikawa’s smile seemed a little lonely as she showed me the sketchbook.

The rehearsals she’d put so much effort into were also temporarily on hiatus. The musical was scheduled to open soon, though, so they’d started to discuss using her understudy.

I only had one new song to go, too.

Saikawa was talking about her six months of back-to-back releases. The day she should have recorded the last song had come and gone, so if nothing changed, the project would end abruptly in its final month.

“I’m sorry. It’s our fault for causing you unnecessary worry.” I bowed deeply.

Drachma had diagnosed that part of the reason Saikawa had ended up like this was due to chronic stress and fatigue. The vampire incident—and especially that mummy hand—wouldn’t have helped one bit.

During that trouble, Saikawa had sworn to keep shining as an idol singer, but the intense pressure of her success had eaten away at her heart. In telling herself she had to stay a “shiny-clean, pretty idol who never showed weakness,” she’d put a curse on herself.

That wasn’t it. Saikawa shook her head firmly. It’s because I’m weak.

That wasn’t true. She was stronger than anyone. Saikawa always dazzled and sparkled, and she never let people see her vulnerable side… No, that image she’d created of herself was the problem here. Saikawa had tried to respond to the hopes of people around her. She worked hard to live up to that ideal.

And I was still trying to make her shoulder that heavy burden.

I’m a failure as an idol. Saikawa hugged her sketchbook. She was trying to smile, but she couldn’t seem to manage it. Unable to take it anymore, I closed the distance between us, and she let her forehead fall against my chest with a little thump.

What could I say at a time like this? One of the issues she’d had to face recently was her new song releases being put on hold. As an idol, Saikawa had put particular effort into those, so it was really bothering her.

However, Stephen, the Inventor, had told me he had a solution: We could create a vocal track using a synthesized voice. It was possible to synthesize a song using a library of previous recordings of Saikawa’s voice to make it sound as if she was actually singing. Songs like that were an established genre these days, to the point where even explaining them seemed like overkill.

According to Stephen, Saikawa would be able to use that vocal synthesizer with old recordings of her singing and talking to release a new song, even if she couldn’t sing right now.

The proposal was very like that back-alley doctor, in both good and bad ways. It was similar to the way he’d immediately suggested Reloaded use prosthetics when she’d lost the use of her own legs.

And, like Reloaded, Saikawa’s answer had been…

“So you’re going to turn down Stephen’s idea?” I asked.

Saikawa looked a little hesitant, but she gave a small nod. There’s just no way to add emotion to a synthesized voice.

Saikawa had always sung performances live as an idol, so her hesitation was completely natural. I wasn’t about to criticize her choice. There was nothing I could say to help her.

“May I say something?”

Another voice spoke up instead. It belonged to a lady in a white dress and black hat: Marie, our client, and the woman once feared as the Parasol Witch.

Her circumstances were different to when we’d first met her, though.

At the moment, she was being pushed by Natsunagi in a wheelchair.

“Marie, are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just lost a little muscle mass.”

Marie looked thinner than when I’d last seen her, and even as she tried to smile, she couldn’t completely stifle a cough. She’d said she had some health problems, but apparently they’d taken a sharp turn for the worse: Marie had also been hospitalized here for several days now.

“I haven’t seen you in a little while,” Marie said to Saikawa. The girl nodded, tearing up. “I respect your decision. Even if you did use an electronic voice for your song, though, it wouldn’t entirely lack emotion. You’ve sung with sincerity up until now. The feelings you want to put into your song are all there, in that voice. Right?” Marie asked, before continuing. “Your singing voice holds everything you’ve done, everything you’ve believed in, all your love and emotions. You’d be borrowing that voice to create your song. There’s no way it would just be an electronic sound.”

Saikawa looked up. Her eyes were wavering, but I was sure it was for a different reason than before.

“Music needs two people to exist: one to sing it, and the other to hear it. It’s true that you can’t sing right now, but there are many, many people who remember your voice. That connection hasn’t been severed. The bond between you is something you’ve spent your whole career forging.”

Natsunagi chimed in. “I used to have multiple selves.” She had to be talking about the past both Saikawa and I already knew about. “There was a time when I didn’t know who or what I was. Sometimes I thought I might not have an identity at all. But I didn’t disappear,” she said firmly. “Not a single thing I’ve had has vanished, after all that time. My heart was replaced, my personality was switched, I lost my memories. Looking back, though, there wasn’t one thing I truly lost. The joy I felt so long ago, the sadness of saying good-bye—all that persisted. It was engraved in me, and it’s still here inside me.” Natsunagi pressed a hand to the left side of her chest. “Humans don’t lose anything.”

Even if something indescribable happened to a person, there was nothing any enemy, or any injustice, could take away from them. And so—

“The things you treasured haven’t vanished, Yui. They’re still right there. They’ve just been shut away.” Natsunagi gently pressed her hand to the top of Saikawa’s chest, just below her throat.

Instead of speaking, Saikawa nodded emphatically several times.

“So you’re like me, Miss Detective.” Marie looked a little lonely upon learning that she and Natsunagi had been through something similar. Turning to face Saikawa again, Marie gave her a soft smile. “I also lost my memories, but the one thing I remembered were my precious songs. I’m sure that’s just how people are.”

After hearing what the two had to say, Saikawa thought hard for a little while, then picked up her sketchbook. She wrote so much that at one point she had to turn the page to keep going, and when she finished writing, she showed it to us.

I still think I’ll cancel the release of my new song.

She hadn’t changed her mind. She turned the page.

For now, I’ll keep my voice in reserve. I’m sure I’ll be able to use what’s been shut away again someday. Saikawa rubbed her eyes with a hand, wiping away a few tears. When that time comes, I’ll sing my heart out so the people who need it can hear my voice. Right now, that’s what I’m hoping for!

That was also a brave choice. Saikawa would focus on recovering physically and mentally for now, and stop trying to force herself to shine. Both Marie and Natsunagi warmly accepted her decision, and I watched them all from a few steps away.

“I didn’t even need to do anything here.”

But then, out of nowhere, my eyes met Saikawa’s.

She wrote something quickly in her sketchbook, then turned it to face me.

Getting muddy and recklessly attempting to chase your dream can also be called “shiny-clean and pretty,” don’t you think?

Yeah, absolutely. Any version of Yui Saikawa was bound to be.