Secret: Chapter 1 - Part 7

The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Keita returned to Sugiura’s apartment just past four in the afternoon. Still wearing the sweat-drenched work clothes, he curled up inside the apartment. Evening fell, and then night. With no lights on, the room remained dark. Despite feeling exhausted, he had no appetite.

Why am I so tired? Oh, right, because I dismembered Yanagisawa’s body with a chainsaw. Frozen human bodies are surprisingly easy to cut. There was... blood. Was there? Even though it was frozen? I don’t remember clearly, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not important.

Where did I put the chainsaw? Oh, I threw it away. Before coming back here, I tossed it, box and all, into a river. Which river was it? I don’t remember, but it was a large one.

I couldn’t throw away the smaller pieces of Yanagisawa. It wasn’t garbage day. I had no choice but to put them back in the freezer. Acting impulsively always ends up like this. No planning. Maybe I should dispose of the pieces bit by bit in different places. But that also carries risks. If even one piece was found, it would cause a huge commotion.

When I think about it, even garbage bags are risky. There’s no guarantee that they won’t be inspected at the incineration plant. The more dispersed the pieces, the more chances there are for discovery. There’s no completely safe method.

Footsteps approached, followed by the sound of the door unlocking and opening. Keita looked up. A small, tentative voice called out, "I’m home." When he didn’t respond, the room suddenly brightened.

“Keita?” Sugiura rushed over to where Keita was crouched.

“Are you feeling sick?”

“No.”

“Then why are the lights off?”

Sugiura gently stroked Keita’s shoulder as he shook his head like a sulking child.

“It’s not that darkness is bad. I just don’t want to see anything.”

“Not even me?”

Hearing the sadness in Sugiura’s voice, Keita threw his arms around him, pressing his nose against Sugiura’s neck to take in his scent. He hadn’t realized how tense he had been until suddenly, all the strength left his body. Tears flooded his eyes and streamed down his face.

“Hug me tighter,” he pleaded.

Sugiura held him so tightly it felt like he might suffocate.

“More, more.”

Despite being so close, Keita felt an unbearable loneliness. Fear swirled in his mind.

“Do you love me?” he asked desperately.

“I do,” Sugiura replied.

“Do you really love me?”

“I love you.”

No matter how many times he asked, the answer was always the same. He loved and was loved. Of everyone he had ever met, this man loved him the most. He would never meet someone like him again. He didn’t want to be hated, didn’t want to lose him, didn’t want to be despised or treated coldly.

Despite his clinging feelings, anger began to rise. Because Sugiura had asked him to move in, he had to get rid of the body. Meeting Sugiura had made him regret killing Yanagisawa. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Do you love me?”

As usual, Sugiura earnestly replied, “I love you.”

But would he still love me if he knew I killed someone? Keita wanted to ask but couldn’t. Asking might bring everything to an end. He’d be abandoned and fall into solitude.

Alone? Keita stared at Sugiura’s face. If he was afraid of being alone, he could make sure he wasn’t. Two people could share the fear. They could share the secret. If Sugiura became his accomplice, he wouldn’t be alone. Keita looked down, then up again.

“Would you still love me no matter how bad I am?”

He knew he was manipulating Sugiura, but he didn’t have the luxury to feel guilty about it.

“Would you love me no matter what kind of person I am?”

Though Sugiura looked puzzled, he didn’t hesitate to say, “I would.”

◇:*:◆:*:◇

On the last day of August, Keita rented a mini truck for a short-distance move from a moving company. Neither Keita nor Sugiura had a driver’s license. Since a license was required to rent the truck, Enomoto helped them out. Although Sugiura didn’t have a license, he knew how to drive, having practiced using Enomoto’s car in the past. Enomoto wasn’t thrilled about Sugiura driving without a license, but Sugiura was insistent, saying it would be fine. Waiting for Enomoto’s day off would delay the move, and Sugiura was eager to get Keita moved in as soon as possible.

Keita still remembered Sugiura’s expression when he told him they’d be living together. Sugiura’s eyes and mouth widened in surprise before he hugged Keita with a beaming smile. Without words, he shook Keita, then whispered a heartfelt “Thank you” in his ear, which pricked Keita’s conscience.

The move went smoothly. Together with an elated Sugiura, Keita moved the relatively few items from his apartment. Despite not having a license, Sugiura’s driving was smooth and steady, always checking properly and never speeding, reflecting his serious nature. 

The move began in the morning and by evening, they had transported almost everything. By a little after 6 PM, they were back at Sugiura’s apartment. Sugiura made cold pasta for dinner. After eating, they lay on the floor, which was cluttered with Keita’s belongings. Though Sugiura tried to be affectionate, Keita only allowed kisses, saying he was tired. Sugiura didn’t push further.

At 11 PM, Keita woke Sugiura, who had been dozing off while holding him, and led him outside. In the small yard in front of the apartment was the mini truck they had rented.

“Drive,” Keita said.

“Are we returning the truck now?” Sugiura asked, puzzled. They had rented the truck for two days, despite Enomoto’s suggestion that one day was enough. Keita had insisted on two.

“Let’s go to the sea,” Keita said.

Under the streetlight, Sugiura blinked sleepily. “A drive?”

Keita nodded. They had made multiple trips between the apartments that day. Despite being tired, Sugiura agreed, “If you want to go, let’s go.”

That was the expected response. Sugiura wouldn’t refuse Keita’s request.

“Before we go to the sea, can we stop by my apartment?” Keita asked.

“Why?” Sugiura questioned. When Keita insisted it was necessary, Sugiura didn’t push further. Sugiura drove smoothly even on the nighttime roads. With little traffic, they arrived at Keita’s apartment in less than twenty minutes. They climbed the stairs to the apartment, Sugiura following closely behind like a shadow.

“Help me with this,” Keita said inside the empty, forlorn apartment, indicating the lone freezer. When Sugiura had asked earlier about moving it, Keita had said it wasn’t necessary.

“What are we doing with it?”

“We’re putting it in the truck.”

Keita tightly bound the freezer door with multiple straps to ensure it wouldn’t open, then unplugged it. The motor stopped, and Yanagisawa began to thaw. They had to hurry now. As Keita and Sugiura carried the freezer, it was incredibly heavy, even for the two of them. Past midnight, they loaded the freezer onto the truck bed, securing it with a rope before getting into the cab.

“Let’s go to the sea,” Keita said energetically.

In contrast, Sugiura hesitated, “Umm, what are we doing with that?”

Ignoring the question, Keita continued, “We need a place where we can drive along the seawall, like a port.”

“Any port?” Sugiura asked, still sleepy.

“Somewhere quiet,” Keita insisted.

After a moment of thought, Sugiura started the engine and suggested, “Maybe Tokaji Port.”

They drove smoothly at first, but Sugiura’s expression changed as they navigated narrower roads. “Is the route unclear?” Keita asked impatiently. Sugiura kept saying, “It should be this way,” but they ended up going in circles. Keita grew increasingly irritated as Yanagisawa’s body thawed.

“If you’re lost, get back to the main road,” Keita snapped. Silently, Sugiura returned to the main road.

“There was a sign saying Tokaji Port is 6 kilometers away,” Keita said. 

“Which way do we turn?” Sugiura asked in a small voice.

“Just follow the signs,” Keita replied curtly.

“Tell me when we reach the turn,” Sugiura requested.

When they reached the turn, Keita, annoyed, directed him to turn right. From there, it was a straight road without any further turns. After driving for a while, they finally reached the port around 2 AM.

The deserted pier was empty of other cars, with a few unlit boats docked. Keita had Sugiura park as close to the edge as possible. They unloaded the freezer together.

“What are we doing with it?” Sugiura asked again.

“Dumping it,” Keita replied tersely.

“Where?”

“Into the sea.”

As Keita tried to lift the freezer alone, he realized it was too heavy. “Help me,” he demanded.

Despite Keita’s anger, Sugiura didn’t help. Frustrated, Keita dragged the freezer alone, scraping the concrete noisily. It moved only a few centimeters at a time, and his elbows and fingers tingled painfully from the strain.

Suddenly, the freezer stopped moving. Keita looked up to see Sugiura holding it back.

“What are you doing? Let go!” Keita shouted.

“If you dump it in the sea, you’ll get in trouble,” Sugiura said.

“Get lost!” Keita yelled.

“I’ll take care of it properly, so don’t dump it here.”

Keita lunged at Sugiura, yelling, “Don’t interfere!” Sugiura grabbed Keita’s lapels, his grip strong. Keita couldn’t shake him off.

“I’ll handle it. Please, don’t dump it here,” Sugiura pleaded like he was speaking to a child.

Keita, frustrated, let go of Sugiura’s hands. He tried to move the freezer again, but Sugiura held him back, dragging him away.

“What’s inside it?” Sugiura asked, his voice strong.

“N-nothing!” Keita stammered.

“Then why can’t I look inside?”

“I-it’s nothing!”

“If it’s nothing, let me see. Prove to me you’re not lying,” Sugiura insisted stubbornly.

In their tussle, Keita realized the freezer was moving only inches, and Yanagisawa’s body was thawing rapidly. 

Without answering, Keita tried to drag the freezer again. Sugiura tackled him, pinning him down.

“Let go, you idiot!” Keita screamed.

As I struggled, I felt Sugiura’s arms tighten around me from behind, holding me firmly in place. I tried to reach the freezer, flailing my arms, but I couldn't move. Why wouldn’t this man just listen to me? All he had to do was let go of me. If it became morning while I was still stuck like this, it would be disastrous. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

“Do you really want to see?” I growled.

Sugiura, apparently not catching my tone, asked, “Huh?”

“I’m asking if you really want to see what’s inside!” I shouted.

“You’re lying to me, Keita. And besides, you can’t just throw things into the sea…” he began, but I cut him off.

“If you want to see, then go ahead! But no matter what you say, I’m dumping it.”

Sugiura stared at me silently for a while, then slowly approached the freezer. He began untying the ropes I had tightly bound around it. I watched in silence, my mouth half open, as he unraveled the secret I had so carefully hidden. I had told him he could look, but deep down, I didn’t really want him to.

Once all the ropes were undone, Sugiura turned back to me, the freezer now free to be opened at any moment to reveal the partially thawed Yanagisawa. The thought of the door opening terrified me, and I bolted behind the mini truck, crouching down with my eyes shut and hands over my ears.

After about five minutes, I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I looked up, Sugiura was kneeling in front of me. His expression was serious, with an almost pitying, sympathetic look in his eyes.

I stood up shakily and walked over to the freezer, retying the ropes as tightly as I could, making sure the door wouldn’t open. Then, I dragged it across the ground. I didn’t want to see it anymore. I didn’t want to look at it for even a second longer.

As I dragged it, the freezer suddenly felt lighter. I looked up to see Sugiura helping me from the other side. Together, we moved the freezer to the edge of the pier, and with all my strength, I pushed it into the sea.

The freezer hit the concrete wall on the way down, making a loud thud before splashing into the water. I worried for a moment that the impact might have broken the door, but the freezer quickly sank into the waves, disappearing beneath the surface. The ripples it caused faded away, leaving only the gentle sound of the waves.

I turned on my heel and jumped into the passenger seat of the mini truck, locking both doors and curling up into a ball. Sugiura banged on the door from outside.

“Keita, Keita,” he called out.

I covered my ears, pretending not to hear him. I had the keys, so Sugiura couldn’t get in. I stayed like that for what must have been close to thirty minutes before finally looking up. Sugiura was peering through the window, his face on the verge of tears. I reluctantly unlocked the door, and he immediately jumped into the driver’s seat, wrapping me in his strong, warm arms. I clung to him desperately.

“Please, please…” I begged through my tears. “Please don’t hate me. You can despise me, but just don’t hate me.”

As we held each other, I felt myself becoming aroused. Like a Pavlovian response, Sugiura’s scent made me react. The absurdity of it all—the fact that I could become aroused even in such a situation—felt heartbreaking. Noticing the change in me, Sugiura reached down to help, but I pleaded, “I want you inside me.”

I knew it was inappropriate and out of line, but I didn’t care. I wanted something intense to erase all the other thoughts and emotions swirling in my mind.

Familiar and comforting, the heat and size of him entered me. In the cramped space, I couldn’t even move my arms and legs properly, so I focused entirely on the act. I had just dumped a dismembered body into the sea, my lover knew I was a murderer, and yet, I was more sensitive than ever, my body reacting on its own. The phrase “heartless bastard” floated through my mind as I climaxed, overwhelmed by a mix of pleasure and self-loathing.

By the time we returned to Sugiura’s apartment, it was after 4 AM. Among the clutter of unpacked moving boxes, we lay together on the mattress that served as a makeshift bed. I couldn’t bear to be apart from him. If he even pulled away a little, I would start to fear that he couldn’t stand being with a murderer like me.

“His name was Yanagisawa Toshihisa,” I said, my fingers intertwined with his as I stared out the window at the slowly brightening sky. “The name of the dismembered body in the freezer… He was an actor. We dated for about a year, but things went sour, and I killed him.”

I squeezed his hand tighter.

“I killed him and hid his body in the freezer.”

My body trembled.

“I was an idiot. No matter how much I hated him, killing him was too far.”

Even if I hadn’t killed him, I probably would have forgotten about him eventually. I acted on a momentary impulse and was now haunted by it. The arms around me tightened, and that comfort made me tremble with joy.

“I didn’t want you to find out. I didn’t want you to know I was a murderer. I thought you’d hate me, so…”

He kissed my cheek, trying to comfort me.

“I don’t want to go to prison for someone like him. I don’t want to be a criminal.”

I said this with conviction.

“Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sugiura replied.

Hearing those words, I kissed him feverishly.

“If I had met this Yanagisawa guy, I probably would have killed him too,” Sugiura said as he ran his fingers roughly through my hair. “If I knew he was hurting you, I might have done the same thing.”

I was certain of it now. This man would never hate me. I had confessed to murder, and yet here we were. His body didn’t resist mine, his kisses were sweet, and his touch was warm. Even knowing what was inside the freezer, he had helped me dump it into the sea. He was a kind, kind accomplice. The dark secret I could never tell anyone was now ours. It was a secret that would never be revealed. Ever.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled into his broad chest. Sugiura asked, “Why?”

I didn’t answer. Sugiura was nothing but a good man, dragged into this mess because he had fallen for me.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. He lifted my chin, and his lips sought mine again. The comfort of being desired, of being wanted, made me feel at ease. With the tension and fear finally gone, I quickly slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Since Sugiura left the apartment after 11 a.m., Keita suspected that he was probably late for his part-time job. But Sugiura didn’t seem to be in a rush; he kissed Keita three times before heading out. After Sugiura left, Keita stayed wrapped in the sheets, falling into a deep sleep and waking up in the evening. The mini truck they had used to move the freezer was no longer in the apartment’s yard. Despite being late, Sugiura had apparently returned it before going to work. Keita lay around, waiting for Sugiura to return. He didn’t feel like watching TV, reading a book, or tidying up the cluttered room filled with unpacked belongings. Although there were things he should do, he found himself idling away. Eventually, he stripped naked under the mattress and masturbated. While sniffing the smell of his own fingers, he thought about how much he wanted to have sex with Sugiura soon. His body had been reshaped by Sugiura, turned into a beast craving sex, with those fingers, with those genitals. Sugiura had to take responsibility. He had to take responsibility for turning Keita’s body into something like this.

By 10:30 p.m., he was anxiously counting down the minutes until Sugiura’s usual return time. When 11 p.m. came, he started to worry, thinking that Sugiura was a bit late. As midnight approached, Keita began pacing around the room like a restless dog, wondering why Sugiura hadn’t come home yet.

He had never been this late before. Was he busy at work? If there was some reason for his delay, Keita wished he would at least call. Sugiura knew Keita was waiting at home, so he should have called at least once. Or was he in a situation where he couldn’t even do that? Keita imagined Sugiura lying in a hospital bed after a car accident, calling out for him, and the thought made his chest feel like it was going to burst.

Unable to sit still, Keita decided to contact Sugiura himself, only to realize he didn’t know Sugiura’s phone number. He had never thought it necessary to ask for it before, but now he regretted it deeply. He thought about calling Sugiura’s workplace but realized he didn’t even know where he worked. Despite spending every day together, Keita was shocked by how little he actually knew about Sugiura.

He searched for a note with Sugiura’s workplace phone number but couldn’t find one. Maybe Enomoto would know Sugiura’s phone number and workplace. Although Keita didn’t have Enomoto’s number either, he knew the name of the place where Enomoto worked. But he really didn’t want to ask him. If he did, Enomoto would probably mock him, saying, “You’re dating him, and you don’t even know that?”

Keita swallowed his pride and called the place where Enomoto worked, fearing the possibility that Sugiura might have been in an accident. Enomoto, seemingly busy, answered briefly and quickly hung up, leaving Keita feeling a bit deflated but relieved that he hadn’t had to endure any snide remarks.

Sugiura’s phone was off, and when Keita called the restaurant, an automated message informed him that they had closed for the day. It was already past midnight.

Where could Sugiura Mitsuru be? Keita sat on the bed, feeling utterly lost. If Sugiura wasn’t busy with work or involved in an accident, then… The thought crossed his mind: “Could it be that he ran away?” He quickly dismissed it but still felt compelled to check. He approached the steel rack and opened the kraft paper drawers. When they had moved items from downstairs earlier, he had seen some valuables inside.

Inside were a bankbook and a seal, just as they should be. Keita felt a bit of relief. If Sugiura had run away because he was scared of being with a murderer, he would have taken at least the bankbook and seal. No, Sugiura wouldn’t run away. Even after learning that Keita had killed someone, his attitude hadn’t changed. He had forgiven him. The way he made love was the same as before—passionate and demanding. Besides, Sugiura was now an accomplice. He knew there was a body inside, yet he had helped dispose of the freezer. That was a serious crime.

So if he hadn’t run away, why hadn’t he come home? Why wasn’t his phone working? Growing increasingly frustrated, Keita bit his thumb. A tear fell onto his knee. He just wanted Sugiura to come back soon, to not leave him in this state of anxiety. He wanted to hear Sugiura say he loved him. That he loved him so much.

Keita sat hugging his knees, unable to stop the occasional tears that overflowed, waiting desperately. The ticking of the wall clock echoed endlessly. Eventually, the long, anxious night gave way to morning. As daylight filtered in, the outside noises grew louder, signaling the start of a new day. Keita’s ears caught the sound of footsteps approaching from afar, a sound he would normally ignore. He jumped to his feet, kicking aside the boxes in his way, and ran to the front door.

“Sugiura!” he called out as he flung the door open. His hopes were instantly shattered. Standing there wasn’t the lover he had been eagerly waiting for, but Enomoto, who looked surprised by the sudden opening of the door. 

“Where’s Sugiura? He hasn’t come home. Do you know where he is?” Keita asked desperately. He just wanted to see him, to see his face. But Enomoto didn’t answer immediately. After a brief pause, he muttered, “Sorry, but can you come with me?”

“But I’m waiting for Sugiura. I can’t leave in case we miss each other…”

“He’s somewhere he can’t come back from right now.”

Enomoto’s ominous words sent a chill down Keita’s spine.

“I’ll explain in the car. Just come with me,” Enomoto urged.

Confused, Keita let Enomoto lead him outside. “It’s not that he’s been in an accident and is in critical condition, right?” Keita asked, to which Enomoto firmly replied, “No, it’s not an accident.” But when Keita asked, “So where is Sugiura?” Enomoto didn’t answer until they were in his black sports car, and it had started moving.

“About thirty minutes ago, I got a call from the West Police Station. Mitsuru turned himself in, saying he ‘killed someone.’”

Keita felt a cold chill spread through his fingers.

“He hasn’t said who he killed. He just told the police that he ‘killed someone and dumped the body in Tokaji Port,’ so now they’re searching the area around the port.”

The car in front of them turned right without signaling, forcing Enomoto to slam on the brakes and honk the horn loudly. “Damn it,” he cursed under his breath.

“Mitsuru insisted that he was an orphan with no parents or friends, but the police found my number in his phone and contacted me. His phone also had his home number saved, so they’ve probably contacted his family too. Didn’t they call you?”

Even if they had tried, they wouldn’t have reached him. The phone number Keita had given Sugiura had been wrong from the start.

“Did Mitsuru say anything to you? Even if he didn’t, have you noticed anything strange about him lately?”

Keita’s hands, clenched tightly in his lap, began to tremble. Enomoto glanced at Keita’s fingers out of the corner of his eye.

“If you don’t know, that’s fine. It’s understandable that you’re in shock hearing all this so suddenly. But I can’t believe Mitsuru would kill someone. He’s got a strong sense of justice.”

This is a disaster… Keita swallowed hard. The kind, simple man was trying to take his place. But Mitsuru’s ridiculous actions were only pushing Keita further into a corner. While some might have noticed that Yanagisawa was missing, no one suspected he had been murdered. As long as the body wasn’t found, Yanagisawa would simply be considered missing, not dead. The “murder” Keita had committed wouldn’t have been questioned or investigated unless clear evidence surfaced.

No matter how much Sugiura claimed that he "killed" Yanagisawa, Sugiura had no motive. The police aren't fools—they'll think something is off and start investigating Sugiura's surroundings. And then, they'll find me, the one who knew Yanagisawa. 

I'll be caught, dragged in. The immense trouble this will cause for my family and relatives—the criticism and slander. The car stopped. When I looked up, we were already in the parking lot of the police station.

"According to the police, even though Mitsuru confessed to the murder, he's refusing to speak about his motive. If he really did commit a crime, it's better for him to talk than to try to hide it—his sentence will be lighter that way. Maybe if he sees you, he'll decide to open up. Could you help with that?" Enomoto asked after getting out of the car.

But I couldn't move. I couldn't get out of the passenger seat.

"What's wrong?" Enomoto opened the door, inviting me to follow.

"C-can I just wait here?" My body wouldn't stop trembling.

"…I'm really sorry." I barely heard Enomoto sigh.

"I'm sorry for bringing you here without saying anything. But I felt like you wouldn't come if I told you the whole story… I'm sorry, but could you wait here for a while? I'll try to talk to him, though I'm not sure they'll let me."

He left me alone in the car. I was scared. Terrified that I might get caught. Every time someone walked out of the police station, my heart pounded painfully. What if someone came running toward me, ready to pin me down? What if they dragged me away, straight into a prison cell?

The urge to get out of the car welled up inside me again and again. But even if I ran, could I really escape? It would be impossible. Once Yanagisawa's identity is confirmed, they'll find out about his connections to the theater troupe, and they'll know about me. Running would only delay the inevitable.

As fear and anxiety churned within me, a surge of anger started to rise. It's all because of Sugiura and his unnecessary actions that things have come to this. His conscience was pricked after finding out about the murder? That's his problem. He never once considered what would happen to me as the one actually involved. He didn't think at all.

Driven by emotion, I slammed my fist against the car door, again and again, until my right hand started to hurt and I had to stop. Slumping over, I stared down at my knees. It was hard to believe that just a little while ago, I had been waiting so desperately for Sugiura to return. Now all I felt was anger, bordering on hatred.

Suddenly, I understood. It hit me. This was Yanagisawa's curse. He orchestrated my meeting with Sugiura, making me fall in love with him. And then, just as I fell for him, he created the worst scenario—having the man I love lead me straight to hell. It was exactly the kind of dramatic plot Yanagisawa would have loved.

For a moment, I considered killing myself. But no, that would be playing right into Yanagisawa's hands. But even staying alive, I couldn't see any hope in front of me.

The car door clicked open. I feared it might be a detective coming for me, and I looked up, trembling, but it was just Enomoto, sliding back into the driver’s seat.

"Mitsuru is still being questioned. They don’t know how long it will take, so I’ll drive you back to your apartment. Sorry for dragging you here."

As the car engine started, a black foreign car pulled into the parking space next to us. Enomoto didn’t move the car right away. Instead, he put it back into park and rolled down the window.

"Hayakawa-san," Enomoto called out. The man in his fifties, dressed in a suit, turned around, looking surprised.

"Oh? You're Takanori, right?" Hayakawa said.

Enomoto nodded politely. "It's been a while."

"Are you here to see Mitsuru too?"

Enomoto tilted his head slightly. "You know about the case, Hayakawa-san?"

"Of course," Hayakawa sighed. "I got a call from Sugiura Sr. this morning. He told me some of the details."

Enomoto nodded, then asked, "And where is Mitsuru’s father?"

Hayakawa shrugged, looking a bit troubled. "He’s not coming. He asked me to handle the paperwork to remove Mitsuru from the family register. That request came in first thing this morning."

Enomoto banged on the side door of the car, his voice rising in frustration. "What’s with this sudden decision? Mitsuru’s father didn’t even come to see him once!"

Hayakawa tried to calm him down. "I understand, but from what I hear, Mitsuru hasn’t been home in almost ten years since he ran away. For his father, it’s about protecting the family name. He’s worried about the impact on Midori-chan and Itsuki-kun if Mitsuru is charged with a crime."

"So they’re just going to abandon him?" Enomoto demanded, his voice harsh.

Hayakawa scratched his head. "I don’t like it either. It feels like cutting off a useless limb. But Sugiura Sr. has been struggling with this for a long time. Sometimes, people just don’t get along, no matter what. It’s sad, but that’s reality. Besides, didn’t Mitsuru tell the police he had no family? Maybe that’s what he wants…"

"No one who thinks they don’t need family would still have their home number saved in their phone," Enomoto shot back, his voice tight with anger.

Hayakawa sighed, clearly taken aback by Enomoto’s outburst. "Maybe Mitsuru said that to avoid causing trouble for his family."

Enomoto clenched his lips in frustration.

"I took on this task partly because Mitsuru is a friend, but it’s also my job. It’s what the client wants. I’ll go talk to Mitsuru now." With that, Hayakawa walked toward the police station entrance. Enomoto watched him for a moment before bolting from the car and following him inside.

I was left alone. When it became clear Enomoto wasn't coming back right away, I got out of the car. The bright morning sun was now a harsh glare as I walked slowly through the police station gates.

A little further down the street, I saw the entrance to a subway station. I descended the stairs and stopped in front of the ticket machines, unsure where to go. I no longer had my apartment; should I head to Sugiura’s place? Or maybe go somewhere far away? As I debated, I stuck my hand in my jeans pocket and realized I had forgotten my wallet. In my rush, I had left it behind. I couldn’t go anywhere.

I leaned against the station wall, staring down. Thoughts of being arrested, the impending trial, and my family raced through my mind. A murderer, a man with a criminal record—surely no one would want anything to do with me anymore. Would I be forgiven if I became a novelist? I laughed bitterly. I’ve never even finished writing a single book.

I cursed Sugiura, blaming him for pushing me into this situation. I cursed him with every foul word I could think of. Then I stopped, only to start again. I exhausted myself with the endless stream of anger. Eventually, I noticed people passing through the ticket gates, one by one. The sound of trains echoed from below. Watching the people move purposefully toward their destinations, I was struck by the absurdity of it all. Here I was, a murderer on the verge of being caught, and no one around me knew. To strangers, it didn’t matter if I was a killer or just a student. I was nothing more than a brief news story that would disappear after a few days. They didn’t care because my life had nothing to do with theirs.

It wasn’t anyone else’s fault. It was my fault, I suppose. I was the one who killed him. But Yanagisawa was a terrible man too. He hurt me, both physically and emotionally. But no matter how many times he beat me or broke my heart, it doesn’t outweigh the crime of murder. Even so, I can’t stand to regret what I’ve done. I don’t want to feel remorse.

"Is this my punishment?" Keita muttered, addressing the ghost of Yanagisawa, who seemed to be mocking him. "Being led to hell by the hands of the man I love, by Sugiura—is that your way of getting back at me, at someone who feels no remorse?" Keita clenched his teeth tightly.

He slowly sank to the ground, his body sliding down until he was sitting on the cold floor. The sound of cars, the chatter of people, hurried footsteps. A warm breeze wafted up from the subway below. The sharp blast of a car horn made Keita look up. From the sidewalk above the stairs, blindingly bright sunlight was streaming down.

Keita began to climb the stairs sluggishly. Yanagisawa's ghost was probably gone now. Having exacted his revenge, he had no more use for Keita. ...I have to go to the police station. Sugiura is there. That clumsy, earnest man who says he loves me is there. I have to get him out as soon as possible. Oh, and I need to make sure he keeps quiet too. He has to say he didn’t help me throw away the freezer, didn’t see what was inside. Aiding and abetting in the disposal of a corpse? Is that even a legal term? Whatever the case, a guy like him, who would return a lost 100-yen coin to the police, shouldn't have a criminal record.

Even though the police station had terrified him so much before, Keita found himself calmly taking in his surroundings. He flagged down a female police officer.

"Excuse me. I believe a man named Sugiura Mitsuru is being questioned here. Could you tell me who the detective in charge of his case is?"

The officer gave him a puzzled look before asking, "May I ask what your business is with the case?"

"Please tell them that I know who the real culprit is."

"Please wait here," she said hastily before disappearing behind a door. Keita sat down on a nearby green chair, and suddenly his hands, clasped together, started to tremble.

He heard the sound of several footsteps approaching and looked up. To his surprise, Sugiura was among the group of people walking toward him. Leading the way was a weary-looking man in his late forties, dressed in a rumpled suit, followed by Enomoto, Hayakawa, and the female officer Keita had spoken to earlier.

Enomoto was the first to notice Keita. His quiet exclamation of "Ah" made Sugiura, who had been looking down, lift his head. Their eyes met. The dullness in Sugiura’s eyes and the gloom on his face vanished, replaced by an expression that looked close to tears. A dull ache spread through Keita's chest, making it throb. Only then did Keita realize the selfish and horrible crime he had committed.

The weary man in the suit was now standing in front of Keita, introduced himself with a slight nod of his chin, "I'm Detective Takehara in charge."

"Are you the one who claimed there was a new suspect?"

"Yes," Keita replied solemnly. He had steeled himself for this moment, and somehow, the trembling in his body had stopped.

"I'm the one who killed Yanagisawa Toshihisa," he said slowly. "After I killed him, I put him in a freezer and dumped it in the harbor. Sugiura Mitsuru had nothing to do with it."

There was a short silence after Keita lowered his gaze. Then, when he looked up again, he saw Detective Takehara scratching the back of his head, his brow furrowed. For such a serious confession, the reaction felt strangely muted, lacking tension.

"Is this some kind of joke that's going around?" the detective asked.

Keita clenched his hands and shook his head.

"It's not a joke. I really—"

But Detective Takehara cut him off, raising his right hand to silence him.

"Yesterday afternoon, a man came in, confessing to killing someone, stuffing the body in a freezer, and dumping it in the harbor. We searched the bay based on his statement and did indeed find a freezer tied up with ropes, just off the pier. But when we hauled it up, there was nothing inside. Not even a rat."

"That’s... that’s impossible!" Keita blurted out.

"I swear, I killed him. I killed Yanagisawa. I drugged him, strangled him, froze his body, and then chopped him into pieces with a chainsaw before putting him back into the freezer—"

"But there was nothing in the freezer," the detective said firmly. "That's a fact."

Keita couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"That can’t be! I left the apartment for a few days after chopping up the body. Someone must have stolen it while I was gone!"

The detective scoffed. "Who would steal a corpse? That’s one hell of a peculiar thief."

"But I swear, I killed him!"

"Enough!" The detective, who had been speaking in a somewhat mocking tone, suddenly shouted, making Keita flinch.

"We had some trouble confirming the name since Sugiura wasn’t clear on it, but Yanagisawa Toshihisa, the actor, is alive. Today’s the opening night of his new play."

"No, that's not true... It can’t be. I—I..." Keita stammered.

"The police aren't here to entertain you. We don’t have time to deal with this kind of sick joke," the detective said, his voice stern.

Keita ran over to Sugiura, grabbing his arm.

"Mitsuru, you saw it, right? You saw the body in the freezer, didn’t you?" Keita pleaded.

Sugiura's lips moved slowly.

"...I didn’t see anything."

"That’s a lie! You untied the ropes on the freezer before we threw it into the sea!"

Sugiura backed away slightly, pushed by Keita's desperate intensity.

"I... I didn’t look because I could tell you really didn’t want me to. I thought about how there are things I wouldn’t want you to know about me, and, well..."

Keita’s knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor. He stared at his trembling hands, unable to believe what he was hearing. They said Yanagisawa was alive, but how could that be? What about the feeling of tightening the rope, the vibrations of the chainsaw, the memory of stuffing the body into the plastic bag—where did all those memories come from?

"Listen," the detective said, his voice echoing loudly in Keita's ears, "why don’t you go see one of his shows? If you still think you killed him after that, then I’ll give you some advice. You should see a doctor."

The detective’s words pounded in Keita's head. He was still reeling when he heard the sound of running footsteps approaching from down the hall. A thin, sharp-eyed young detective called out to Takehara.

"Take-san, about these documents, it seems the address is incorrect. Can I double-check with the suspect?"

Detective Takehara responded with a weary "Yeah, go ahead." The younger detective walked over to Sugiura.

"We need to confirm your address, so could you write it down on this paper?"

The act of writing a simple address took Sugiura an unusually long time, and the young detective, impatient, kept tapping his heel against the floor.

When he finally took the memo from Sugiura, he frowned in disbelief.

"Are you messing with me? Write it properly," he demanded.

The young detective handed the memo back to Sugiura, who fumbled and dropped it right in front of Keita. The address was written in hiragana, the letters sprawling across the page like worms. No, these could hardly be called letters at all. It was almost unreadable. Sugiura hastily picked up the paper and turned it over to try again. He kept starting and stopping, his hand hesitating over the page.

"I’ll write it for you," Enomoto offered, taking the pencil from Sugiura.

The young detective muttered under his breath, "Can’t even write properly, huh?" Sugiura's face flushed a deep red, like a spreading rash. Enomoto looked up and glared at the detective.

"He has a reading and writing disability," Enomoto said, his voice tight with anger. "That’s why he can only write in hiragana. When he’s under stress, it gets even harder for him to read and write."

The young detective frowned, clearly annoyed by Enomoto’s tone.

"That explains why he talks funny. If he’s got a learning disability, you should have told us from the start. We could have handled this differently."

"He doesn’t have a learning disability—" Enomoto began, but Sugiura, his eyes filled with tears, stopped him.

"Takanori, it’s fine. Let it go."

Enomoto clicked his tongue in frustration. The young detective took the memo and walked away. Detective Takehara shrugged his shoulders dramatically.

"Well then, I suppose it's time for everyone to go," he said.

◇:*:◆:*:◇

Footnotes

0. Content warning: NSFW.

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