Record of Lorelei: Chapter 18
The Moon and the Pocket Watch
Tetsuo
Mikami still lives with the pocket watch left behind by his dearest companion.
The watch
resides in a blue velvet-lined kiri wood box that Mikami purchased with his
bonus during the fourth year after the war. It rests on his desk in the
Western-style room he uses as a study.
The study
has a large window through which the moonlight streams, and it had become
Mikami’s routine to sit by that desk and gaze at the watch under the pale glow
of the moon. Once the crescent moon passed its peak, no other light was needed.
The room filled with a serene, cold glow, and when Mikami tilted the watch in
his hand, the moonlight would gently reflect off the crystal face.
“...It’s
not just sadness—it’s longing,” he murmured.
Even though
his words to the watch were technically soliloquies, with no one around to
judge him, Mikami freely spoke aloud. He believed Rui lived within the watch. Perhaps
he lingers in the crevices of its parts, or within the casing, or perhaps he’s
nestled between the glass and the dial. Mikami didn’t know exactly where,
but he felt Rui’s presence suffused into the ticking rhythm of the watch.
During his
life, Rui had often declared that he would become a god at Yasukuni Shrine
after death, but Mikami doubted that now. Rui wasn’t the type to fight for the
sake of his country, and with the Asamura family extinguished, he wouldn’t have
had the motivation to remain a guardian spirit for Japan. If there were a
registry of names at Yasukuni, Mikami imagined Rui would have promptly signed
his name and left. If he preferred sitting under a tree along the shrine’s
promenade rather than staying in the celestial halls, it seems more likely he
would’ve visited here—this home—and slipped into the pocket watch. Mikami
chuckled, recalling how he had once scoured the shaded areas around Yasukuni,
just in case Rui might have been lingering. Not finding him there only
solidified Mikami’s belief: Rui was inside the watch.
“Thank you
for bringing me the letter,” Mikami said earlier that day.
The visitor
had been Kido’s son, a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to his father but
had a gentler demeanor—likely inherited from his mother. A serious and upright
young man, he had seemed mature beyond his years.
The son had
brought a single sheet of paper, a transcription of a Morse-coded message from
Rui. From the way the paper and handwriting appeared, it was clear it hadn’t
been copied later—it was an original, written as each Morse signal came in. The
timestamp had been added afterward, likely by Kido, who had also thoughtfully
labeled the paper with Rui’s name to ensure it wouldn’t be lost among other
documents. Mikami could feel Kido’s characteristic meticulousness in every
detail.
Had there
been any chance of saving Rui when that message was received, Kido surely would
have informed Mikami. But by the time this telegram arrived, Rui’s death was
certain. Even if Mikami hadn’t been incapacitated by his injuries back then,
receiving this message wouldn’t have changed anything. At most, he might have
collapsed in grief at the docks. If he had learned definitively then that Rui
was gone, he might have succumbed to his own suffering, losing the will to
recover from the malnourishment and the festering wound that had nearly exposed
his bone. In a way, Kido may have saved Mikami’s life by withholding it.
Mikami
placed the watch and the unfolded paper side by side and gazed down at them.
The paper’s edges had browned considerably over the years, befitting its age.
The words
remained vivid, however, a bridge across time that bound Mikami to the memory
of Rui, his presence as real as the soft ticking of the pocket watch in the
moonlit silence.
“It might
not have been meant for me,” Mikami murmured, gently running his fingers over
the surface of the paper, avoiding the fragile pencil marks on the coarse
sheet. If I keep caressing it like this out of affection, the words might
disappear altogether.
“I thought
you’d abandoned me,” he said quietly. He had been certain that despite their
promises, Rui had thrown his life away solely for the ruined legacy of his
family. The thought that Rui, whom he cherished so much, hadn’t even hesitated
to sacrifice his own life had left Mikami drowning in sorrow.
“It’s
painful, but…I’m happy,” he admitted, his voice trembling.
Ever since
their final farewell, Mikami’s thoughts had been an endless loop of quiet
regrets. I should have crawled to the runway to see him off that day.
Or, If I hadn’t let the part be attached, would he have survived? Or, Even
if he’d lived, how many more missions could he have returned from? These
questions, though futile, had haunted him endlessly. Knowing now that Rui had
perished that day, yet still clung to life long enough to not want to die,
filled Mikami with bittersweet relief. He lived—he truly lived, even if just
for a moment longer.
His heart
had reached Rui, after all. Despite the trials of his life, knowing that Rui
had valued his own existence and treasured his brief life brought Mikami a
sliver of peace amidst the sadness.
Gently,
Mikami placed the watch atop the letter, letting his fingers trace the silver
edge of the casing.
“To tell
the truth, I thought I’d have to find you on the other side,” he murmured with
a wry smile. “I figured I’d have to capture you all over again, confess my
feelings, and start from square one convincing you. But if I can begin with,
‘Thanks for waiting,’ it makes things a little easier.”
He imagined
the day, some years from now, when he might meet Rui again in the afterlife. He
would ask why Rui had left him behind, plead with him to stop attaching that
accursed part, and share the news that the war was finally over. Then, for
once, he would try to truly connect with Rui’s heart. He would dedicate himself
to expressing everything—Rui’s importance, his beauty, the freedom of his soul.
If you cherished even a little of this world, then perhaps it’ll be easier
to make you listen.
“Did it
hurt? Were you lonely?”
For the
longest time, Mikami had avoided imagining Rui’s final moments. Only now,
finally, could he let himself grieve for Rui properly, embrace the pain of that
“I don’t want to die” message Rui had left behind, and hold it close to
his heart. I’m sorry I let you die alone. Did you carry my soul with you, as
you went?
“Can you
see me, Rui?” he whispered to the watch in the stillness of the moonlit room.
“I’m doing
well.”
“And I’ll
see you there.”
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