Parasite in Love is a novel by Sugaru Miaki, also known as Fafoo, writer of stories like Three Days of Happiness, Pain, Pain, Go Away, and The Place You Called From.
The story is about a man whose compulsive tendencies make it impossible for him to keep a job, and a young girl who skips school and loves insects. The two meet, come to support each other in reintegrating into society, and fall in love. The part they don’t realize is that both of them have parasites in their heads.
I encourage you to buy the book yourself to support the author. (Amazon.co.jp) (Kinokuniya)
You can read my translation as a PDF here.
Warning: The story involves topics of compulsive disorders, depression, and suicide. There’s an age gap between the main characters (27 and 17), though I expect it to be handled appropriately. And there could be other things to warn for later in the story that I’m not aware of yet.
I’ll be breaking the nine chapters up into four mostly-even parts. Part 1 is Chapters 1 through 3. Enjoy!
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The colorful extravagance of some birds, the deliberately excessive horns, manes, and tusks of some mammals, the complex courting behavior of many animals, the very existence of sex itself - and by extension the love songs on the radio, and all the love-addled poems ever written - all likely evolved because of parasites, because all organisms must run as fast as they can just to stay in place.
- Moises Velasquez-Manoff
“An Epidemic of Absence”
Kengo Kousaka, who joined a small local systems development company after graduating college, decided to quit a year after coming on for reasons that would make anyone raise an eyebrow. From then on, this would repeat in a similar way almost yearly, and in his rolling about between jobs, he suddenly fell into depression. But he had no awareness of his illness; even at the worst of times, when he was so depressed as to find breathing a chore, even when he suddenly found temptations of death crossing his mind, even when he started weeping at night for no apparent reason, he thought it was all the fault of the winter cold.
It happened in winter when he was age 27. It was a bizarre winter, come to think of it. There were a number of meetings, and a number of farewells. There were happy coincidences and unhappy accidents. There were things that changed vastly, and things that didn’t change at all.
That winter, he experienced a rather late first love. It was a girl ten years his younger. An unemployed, depressed young man, and a bug-loving school-skipping girl. It wasn’t proper in any sense, but it was undeniably love.
*
“Lifelong copulation?”, Kousaka repeated.
“Yes, lifelong,” the girl nodded. “Diplozoon paradoxum spend half their lives fused with their partner.”
The girl produced a keychain and held it in front of Kousaka.
“This is D. paradoxum.”
Kousaka brought his face close and looked it over. Its design was simplified, but it appeared as if it was modeled after a creature with two pairs of wings. The fore and rear wings differed, the fore pair being about three times the size of the rear pair. At a glance, it just looked like a butterfly.
“And despite how beautiful it looks, it’s a bona-fide parasite, belonging to Platyhelminthes Monogenea.”
“Looks like a plain old butterfly.”
“Look closer. No antennae, right?”
Just as the girl said, the creature had no antennae. One could assume they were simply omitted for convenience of design, but the girl considered it an important distinction.
“This actually depicts two D. paradoxum conjoined in an X shape.” The girl formed an X with her fingers.
“So since you say they do lifelong copulation,” Kousaka said, trying to find the proper expression, “after they conjoin, they’re constantly having sex?”
“In a sense, yes. Each one’s male sexual parts connect to the other’s female sexual parts.”
“Each one’s…?”
“Yeah. D. paradoxum have both male and female sexual organs. Which they call hermaphroditism. So you might think they could self-fertilize without a partner, but for some reason, they don’t do that. They put in the effort to find a partner, then exchange sperm.”
Kousaka grinned bitterly. “Talk about luxurious.”
“The fact they dare to do with someone else what they could just do alone is kind of loathsome, huh?”, the girl agreed. “But there are things to learn from that. For instance, D. paradoxum aren’t fussy about partners. As if treating their love at first sight as destiny, they’ll combine with the first of their kind they ever meet without any qualms. Also, D. paradoxum don’t abandon their partners to the last. Once D. paradoxum join together, they never let go of each other. If you try to tear them apart, they’ll die.”
“That’s why it’s lifelong copulation,” Kousaka said, impressed. “Amazing. Like a happily-wedded couple.”
“Yes. Like birds of a feather, like entwined roots,” the girl said proudly, as if one of her relatives was being complimented. “As a bonus, these parasites inhabit koi.”
“Koi?”
“Yes - so they’re parasites of "love.” Isn’t that such a perfect coincidence? Even further, D. paradoxum who successfully inhabit a koi discard its eyeballs within 24 hours. So the koi, like love, is blind.“
"Love is blind,” he repeated out loud. “I never expected to hear such a romantic thing out of your mouth.”
Hearing this, the girl’s eyes widened like she’d come to her senses, and after a pause, she covered her face.
“What’s up?”
“…Now that I think about it, maybe sexual organs and copulation and stuff aren’t things I should talk about in public so much.” The girl’s cheeks faintly reddened. “I feel stupid now.”
“Nah, it was interesting.” Kousaka snorted, finding the girl’s flustering funny. “Keep talking. About parasites.”
The girl was silent for a while, but slowly began to say more. Kousaka lent her an ear.
Chapter 1: Poisolation
The water from the faucet was piercingly cold. But there was no time to wait around for it to warm up. Kousaka began washing his hands. Immediately, the running water took away all heat in his hands, and they went numb. He stopped the faucet, soaped up his hands and washed thoroughly, then ran the water again. Even after the bubbles were drained away, he kept his hands in the running water. After about two minutes, the water heater finally remembered its duty, and the tap water began to warm up. His frozen hands had a prickling numbness, and couldn’t tell hot from cold.
He stopped the faucet and carefully wiped the water with a paper towel. Bringing the numb hands to his face, he closed his eyes and sniffed. Once certain they were odorless, he applied rubbing alcohol from the table all over his hands. Gradually, he started to calm down.
Back in the living room, he threw himself down on the bed. Light weakly shined through a gap in the white curtains; it could have been early morning, or it could have been evening. But either way, time was currently not all that important in this man’s life.
He heard a constant stream of children’s voices outside. It was the elementary school nearby. Hearing the children playing and having fun would occasionally cause him suffocating sadness. Kousaka turned on the radio by his bed, tuned it to a random frequency, and let music play. An old staticy song covered the shouts of the children.
After quitting his last job, Kousaka made no effort to find a new place of employment, steadily exhausted his savings, and spent his days lying in bed, pretending to think about something. Of course, he wasn’t actually thinking about anything. He was just trying to keep up appearances. I’m storing up vitality for the time I’ll need it, he told himself. He himself didn’t know how to give a “when” to this “time I’ll need it.”
Once a week, he reluctantly had to go out to do shopping, but the rest of his time was spent in his room. The reason was simple: he had a serious case of germaphobia.
He lived in a small, neat dining-room-plus-kitchen rental apartment within twenty minutes of the nearest train station. It was his one and only holy space. There, he always had two air purifiers running, and there was a faint smell of antiseptic. The floors were so polished as to appear brand new, and his shelves were lined with disposable latex gloves, surgical masks, bacterial spray, wet tissues, etcetera. Most of his clothes and furniture were white or close to it, and his closet was stocked with new shirts still in the bags.
Kousaka washed his hands over a hundred times a day, so they were terribly rough. His nails were neatly cut, with the exception of a long nail on the index finger of his dominant hand. This was his backup measure for when he was driven into situations that called for touching elevator or ATM buttons with his bare hands.
Another part of Kousaka’s body that was dubiously “clean” was his hair. He’d let it grow somewhat long. He recognized it was better to have short hair for keeping his room clean, but he really couldn’t handle salons and barber shops, so he had a habit of putting off haircuts as much as he could.
While it would be easiest to call him a clean freak, he really had a variety of conditions. If you dig into such people’s perceptions of “uncleanliness,” you’ll discover a number of irrational beliefs. People who call themselves clean freaks in spite of having messy rooms are a superb example.
Kousaka’s image of uncleanliness was “other people.” More than actual dirtiness, the major issue lied in whether or not another person had some involvement. If it came to having to eat food another person’s hand had touched, he’d rather eat something that’s been expired for a week.
He saw people other than himself like petri dishes generating bacteria. He felt just the touch of a fingertip would make microorganisms propagate and contaminate his body. Kousaka couldn’t hold hands even with someone he was close to - of course, for better or worse, he had no one to hold hands with right now anyway.
Suffice to say, his fastidiousness was a major obstacle in having a social life. Someone who views other people as impurity itself can’t form positive relationships. His essential desire not to interact with others manifested in various ways, and irritated those around him. He couldn’t put on even an insincere smile, he couldn’t remember people’s names, he couldn’t make eye contact with people… There were too many things to list.
At any rate, dealing with other people was nothing but agony. Back when he was working, everything caused him stress, and all of his desires except sleep vanished.
Above all, company functions like get-togethers and trips were hell itself. After coming home from such events, he would often take four-hour showers, lie in bed, and listen to music to retune his mind. He had to do this to teach himself that there was sound worth hearing in this world, or he’d feel like ripping his ears off. On such nights, he couldn’t sleep without music playing.
In short, I’m not suited to be a human, Kousaka thought with some seriousness regarding his fitness for society. As a result, he quickly lost his place regardless of what the job was, and ended up quitting just to get away.
His repeated changing of jobs was essentially a process of eliminating his prospects one by one. In just a few years as a working adult, he felt like he had been thoroughly denied as a human. It was like he was branded with the words “it’s no use whatever you do.”
It wasn’t like he was searching for a bluebird. He knew from the start there was nothing like that out there. It’s not as if all people have a calling. In the end, to some extent, everyone has to make a compromise somewhere.
Yet while his head understood this, his heart wouldn’t come on board. His mind had been steadily worn down by the day, and his compulsions worsened with it. In correlation to his mind degrading, his surroundings became cleaner, and his room was practically sterilized.
*
Lying in bed and listening to the music on the radio, Kousaka faintly thought over the events of a few hours ago.
He was at a convenience store. He was wearing disposable latex gloves. These were necessities for him, and especially required in a convenience store or supermarket, riddled with things which he had to touch, yet other people had gotten their sticky hands all over.
He did his shopping with gloves on as usual, but a problem came up midway. As he reached toward a case to grab some mineral water, suddenly, a joint on his right index finger hurt. He looked; the skin had cracked and bled. A common occurrence. He always washed his hands far too much, and this was a dry season, so his hands were as rough as a beautician just starting out.
Unable to bear the feeling of the blood seeping through the glove, he took the right glove off and discarded it. And not liking the unbalanced nature of wearing only one glove, he also discarded the left glove. And he continued shopping.
The person at the register was a girl he commonly saw working part-time here. She was a courteous girl with hair died coffee-brown, and as Kousaka brought his items up, she received him with a full-faced smile. There were no particular problems up to that point, but as Kousaka took the change, the girl handed it to him by wrapping her hands around his.
This was bad.
Kousaka immediately, reflexively shook her hands away. The coins scattered to the floor, and the customers in the store all looked their way.
He looked at his hand, dumbstruck, ignored the girl at the register hastily apologizing, and fled the store without even trying to pick up the change. And after returning to the apartment as quickly as possible, he took a long shower. But he still felt the unpleasant sensation, and rewashed his hands after leaving the shower.
After recalling the whole sequence of events, Kousaka sighed. Even he thought it was unusual. But he simply couldn’t stand his bare skin being touched.
In addition, Kousaka was poor with girls who had a sense of femininity, like the one at the register. It wasn’t limited to women; he similarly disliked men who pushed their manliness to the forefront. He felt a similar sense of impurity from both of them. It sounds like something a girl entering puberty would say, but it really felt that way to him.
During childhood, he thought his phobia would naturally be cured as he grew up, but in reality, it only got worse. At this rate I’ll never marry, to say nothing of making friends, he muttered to himself.
*
When Kousaka was nine, he had a mother. Just before he turned ten, she left this world. It was judged an accident, but Kousaka still suspected it to be a suicide.
She was a beautiful woman. Cultured and resourceful, with good taste in music and movies. Apparently she was an Electone instructor before she met Kousaka’s father. It was a relatively small class, but reputable, and quite a few students came from far away to take it.
It still baffled Kousaka why a perfect woman like her chose a mediocre man like his father as a partner. His father was not a classy man, to say the least. His face was like a failed montage of parts that didn’t fit together, he didn’t earn much, he had no hobbies but also no passion for work, and generally, you couldn’t find any merits worth calling merits (though to the Kousaka of today, just living normally and keeping a house was worthy of respect).
Kousaka’s mother was harsh on herself, and sought similar effort from her son as well. From a time before Kousaka can remember, he was forced to take various lessons, and when at home, followed a minute-to-minute schedule devised by his mother. Being so young, he thought all mothers were like this, so he harbored no doubts and obediently did as told. If he defied her, he might be locked out of the house barefoot or not get any meals all day, so he had no choice.
The fact that he didn’t live up to even half of her expectations seemed to make Kousaka’s mother more bewildered than upset. Why is this child, my own flesh and blood, not as perfect as me? Perhaps there was a problem in how I raised him?
Strangely, she doubted everything except Kousaka’s disposition. Yet that most likely wasn’t a result of partiality as a parent, but a manifestation of her warped self-love. She chose to doubt her teaching methods before she’d doubt her own blood, that’s all.
Like many perfectionists, Kousaka’s mother liked cleanliness. When Kousaka’s room was messy or he came home looking dirty, she had a deeply sorrowful look. That was much more harsh on him than shouting or hitting. On the other hand, when Kousaka went and cleaned his room or washed his hands, she always praised him. As someone without any particular scholarly or athletic skill, these were one of few opportunities to make his mother happy. He naturally came to like cleanliness more than other children his age - within reason, however.
Abnormalities began at age 9, at the end of summer. One day, Kousaka’s mother started being very kind to him, like a changed person. As if regretting her prior behavior, she discarded all the rules she’d imposed on him, and treated him very affectionately.
Freed from all his limitations and able to experience an unrestricted, childlike life for the first time, Kousaka didn’t give any deep thought to the sudden change in his mother’s attitude.
Occasionally, she would gently put her hand on Kousaka’s head and stroke it, repeating “I’m sorry.” He wanted to ask what she was apologizing for, but felt it might upset her if he did, so he stayed silent and let his head be stroked.
He would realize afterward: She wasn’t apologizing for something she had done, but something she was about to do.
After just a month of acting as a kind mother, she died. While driving home from a shopping trip, she had a head-on collision with a car going far faster than the speed limit.
Naturally, it was considered an accident. But Kousaka knew something: at certain times of day, that road became an ideal place for committing suicide. And it was none other than his mother who’d told him that.
After the funeral, something in Kousaka changed. That night, he washed his hands for hours. His right hand with which he’d touched his mother’s body felt unbearably disgusting.
When Kousaka woke up from a light sleep the next morning, his world had changed. He sprang out of bed and ran into the bathroom. And he took a shower lasting hours. Everything in the world seemed to be dirty. Hair in the drain, mold on the walls, dust on the windowsill - just looking at these things made a chill go down his spine.
And in this way, he became a clean freak.
Kousaka himself saw no direct cause and effect between his mother’s death and his fastidiousness. It was nothing more than one impetus. Even if it weren’t for that particular incident, surely something else would have awakened this. It’s just something that’s always been in me.
Chapter 2: Computer Worm
It’s difficult to explain the eeriness of an intercom echoing in the dead of night to someone who’s never experienced it.
You’re relaxing, defenseless, in a completely silent room. Suddenly, the silence is broken by an inorganic sound notifying you of a visitor. For a moment, your thoughts halt. You check the clock, and indeed, it’s clearly no time for a person to be visiting. Your head fills with questions and doubts. Who? Why now? For what purpose? Did I lock the door? What about the chain lock?
You hold in your breath, listening for the person beyond the door to enter. How much time has passed? It could be seconds, it could be minutes. You timidly go to the front door and look through the peephole, and a mysterious stranger appears and leaves without leaving any hints. It ends with everything still up the air, and the echo of that ill-omened electronic noise continues for the rest of the night…
It was a visit without any forewarning.
At the time the intercom rang out, Kousaka was cleaning his computer keyboard. The PFU-made keyboard had no markings on the tops of the keys, and not from being rubbed away by repeated cleaning, but because it was designed that way. He’d taken out and washed all the keys just last week, but he just had to do a thorough cleaning after every use.
A table clock showed it as past 11 PM. Before he could even think about who it might be at this hour, Kousaka’s smartphone, which had been charging on the desk, vibrated. He intuitively realized that the corresponding timing of the intercom and the email was not a coincidence.
He picked up the smartphone and checked the new email.
Open the door. I have no intention of hurting you.
I want to talk about viruses.
He looked up and glanced in the direction of the front door. His apartment wasn’t equipped with orthodox systems, and it was easy for intruders to enter the building without being tenants. The person who sent the text was likely already standing outside the room - at nearly the same time he realized this, there was a knock on the door. It wasn’t a rough knock, but a kind of knock that was for letting your presence be known.
Kousaka stared at the phone in his hand, wondering if he should call the police. But the message displayed there gave him pause.
“I want to talk about viruses.”
He definitely had some idea about what that message could mean.
Kousaka first acquired an interest in malware three months ago, in the close of summer 2011. One day, he received a text from an unfamiliar address on his phone.
“The world will be ending very soon.”
An ominous message. But at the time, as he was feeling uncomfortable with what was now his fourth job and disheartened, the message was somewhat refreshing.
Kousaka closed his eyes, and briefly enjoyed a vision of the world ending. The sky turned red, sirens wailed through town, unhappy news played on the radio. He imagined the scene at length.
It may sound absurd, but Kousaka was saved by that imprudent message. A baseless consolation, effectively a lie, was just what he needed at the time.
When he looked it up later, he found the message was forcibly sent from a device infected with malware called “Smspacem.” Malware is a programming term referring to malicious software or programs that cause computers to behave irregularly. Most people refer to all such things as “computer viruses,” but technically, a virus is no more than a sub-category of malware.
To describe Smspacem briefly, it’s “malware that informs people the world is ending.” Infected devices, on the date 5/12/2011, were made to send a message about the world ending to all addresses on their contact list.
According to security reports, Smspacem was malware that targeted users in North America. So the fact that a similar message in Japanese was sent to Japan-dwelling Kousaka in late September meant there was probably some curious sort who made a Japanese-centric variant of Smspacem.
Once, while lazily lying in bed after quitting his job, Kousaka suddenly recalled Smspacem. And he thought: I wonder if I could make something like that myself? I wonder if I could reproduce, in a different form, that sensation of a little seam forming in my ordinary life?
Luckily, he had plenty of time. So Kousaka picked up the knowledge needed to create malware. He had a base of knowledge and experience from working as a programmer, so in just a month after he began studying, he completed some original malware that didn’t depend on any toolkits.
I think I’m suited for this field, Kousaka thought. He had a talent for finding the best algorithm for a problem without anyone teaching it to him. A rare example of born punctuality and perfectionism working in a positive way.
Before long, the malware he created began to appear in security reports by major software corporations. This spurred Kousaka to begin the creation of new malware. At some point, creating malware became the one thing he lived for.
An ironic turn of events. A person who on one hand was so scared of viruses and insects in the real world that he found it hard to live, meanwhile found something to live for in creating viruses and worms in the virtual world.
As he faced his computer and typed on his keyboard, Kousaka sometimes thought: Maybe I’m convinced my genes won’t be left behind in this world, which is why I’m spreading self-replicating malware across the internet instead.
There are actually various things which are considered malware. Traditionally, malware is divided into three categories: viruses, worms, and trojans. But over the years, malware has gotten more complex, and with the appearance of malware that doesn’t fit into the traditional categories comes new definitions like backdoor, root kit, dropper, spyware, adware, and ransomware.
The simple three categories of malware - virus, worm, and trojan - are relatively easy to understand the differences between. First of all, viruses and worms both have self-infecting and self-multiplying abilities, but viruses must inhabit other programs to exist, whereas worms can exist independently without a host. Trojans are distinguished from viruses and worms by a lack of self-infecting and self-multiplying.
The Smspacem that got Kousaka interested in malware would be defined as a worm. It collects email addresses from an infected computer, sends out many emails with copies of an illegal program attached, and repeats the process with those infected to spread further - this is known as a mass mailing worm.
This was, naturally, the kind of malware Kousaka developed as well. He gave the mass mailing worm he was working on the codename “SilentNight.”
SilentNight was a worm that attacked on a set date. Starting up on 5 PM on December 24th, it disabled transmission functions on infected devices for 2 days. To be more exact, it ended all transmissions as soon as they began. As a result, the owner of the infected device would be temporarily deprived of not only phone calls, but emails, texts, online call services - any means of communication.
The codename SilentNight, then, was a play on how it was both a virus that activated on Christmas Eve, and one that took away communication from friends or loved ones, forcing them to spend a quiet Christmas night alone.
At the end of November, SilentNight was completed at last. Kousaka spread the mobile worm across the network. Depending on how you think of it, this could be called the beginning of everything. It was only a few days later that he realized what a fateful downward current he was stepping into.
The intercom sounded again. Kousaka stood up from his work chair. He felt like he might regret it if he pretended to be out. If he didn’t clear up the visitor’s identity and purpose here and now, he’d no doubt be tormented by an unfathomable unease in the weeks to come. And at any rate, they already knew his address and email, so it would be futile to hide.
The door camera was broken, so he’d need to look through the peephole to see his visitor’s face. He cautiously left the living room and stood at the front door. Peeping through, he saw a man wearing a coat over a dark suit. Seeing the outfit, Kousaka’s wariness lessened slightly. Certain suits and uniforms have a power of putting people at ease unconditionally.
After checking that the chain lock was on, he opened the door. As if anticipating that he’d be received from behind the chain lock, the man had moved to a position opposite the crack in the door.
The man was a good few inches taller than Kousaka. Kousaka was 5'8", which meant this man was 6’ or more. He also had a solid physique. The Chester coat he wore over his suit may have originally been black, but appeared gray from dirtiness. His eyes had deep bags, and his jaw was covered with an unkempt beard, with white hairs mixed among oily ones. He had a friendly-looking smile, but his eyes seemed hollow.
“Hey,” the man said. His voice was low and hoarse, but strong.
“Who would you be?”, Kousaka asked over the chain. “What do you want at this hour?”
“Just like the email said. I want to talk about viruses.”
Kousaka gulped. “Did you send that email?”
“Right,” the man affirmed. “Can I come in? You don’t want to be asked about it either, do you?”
Kousaka reached for the chain, then hesitated. True, like he said, he didn’t want to be asked about it. But there was no guarantee that it was safe to let him in. From his clothes and vibe, Kousaka instinctively supposed that the man before him, if he was so inclined, could twist his arm with no difficulty. That he was used to such actions, and preferred easily-understood body language to annoying communication. He was ready to respond violently at any moment depending on my actions.
“You seem wary,” the man said, seeing Kousaka’s unease. “Well, maybe it’ll be easier to talk that way rather than trying to relax. I don’t intend to act in a rough way, but I guess you won’t believe that from my mouth.”
Kousaka’s focus instantly turned to the room. And once more, the man saw right through him via his minor actions.
“Relax, I know about your cleanliness. I won’t come past the entryway.”
Kousaka was speechless, and his lip quivered.
“…You know that much?”
“Yeah. Now won’t you let me in already? I’m freezing out here.”
Kousaka hesitated, but finally gave up and carefully released the chain lock. True to his word, the man didn’t set foot beyond the entryway, closed the door behind him, leaned on it, and sighed. He started to take a cigarette out of his pocket, but noticed Kousaka watching and put it away.
“It’s not just you, really… Lots of young people these days like to be clean,” the man said as if to himself. “I guess it figures since they’re selling a product, but if you just look at commercials, it feels like everything is dirty. Sofas and mattresses are full of ticks, cutting boards and sponges are full of bacteria, smartphones and keyboards get dirty with use, your mouth after waking up smells worse than a steaming pile…” As he spoke, he took a lighter from his pocket and flicked it. “But since all that stuff surrounds us, I guess that means we’ve always been fine with it? Then isn’t there nothing to worry about? I guess it’s just what companies do. People make up problems that don’t even exist.”
Kousaka pressed him to get to the point. “…What did you want to talk about?”
“I’m here to threaten you,” the man replied just as directly. “Kengo Kousaka, what you’re doing is a clear criminal act. If you don’t want to be prosecuted, you’ll listen to what I say.”
Kousaka kept silent. It was so sudden that he couldn’t quite keep up, but he supposed this man had determined by some means that he was the author of the malware, and was here to threaten him over it.
If the man knew everything about the situation, there was nothing Kousaka could do. However, Kousaka considered, until it was clear how much he did and didn’t know, he couldn’t carelessly open his mouth more than necessary. It wasn’t impossible that this man actually knew almost nothing about the malware, and was bluffing to try and extract information. There was still room for bargaining, perhaps.
“Your face is saying "how much does this guy know?”“, the man said.
Kousaka kept his silence.
"I see.” The man’s expression changed slightly. Maybe it was a smile, maybe it was showing discontent. “To tell the truth, I don’t possess full knowledge of everything. For instance, why the virus’s activation date had to be Christmas Eve. Why someone with this much programming expertise hasn’t kept a job and is absorbed in making viruses. I could go on and on with points that seem unclear.”
In short, the man was saying “I know everything.”
“…I thought I’d discreetly covered my tracks to not leave any evidence,” Kousaka said with resignation. “I’m just asking out of pure curiosity, but how in the world did you determine the author of malware that hasn’t caused any damage yet?”
“No obligation to tell you that.”
He’s right about that, Kousaka thought. No one would purposefully show their hand in this situation.
“But,” the man continued, “I’ll tell you just for the sake of your puny pride. It’s true, you’re a pretty tough customer in the virtual world. I’ll admit that much. But on the other hand, you’re totally defenseless in the real world. …You should get what I’m saying from that alone, right?”
Something cold ran down Kousaka’s spine. Thinking about it, for the past few months, he left at a set time and weekday every week to go shopping, and during that time, the house was left empty. And when the weather was good, he kept the curtains open all day (he had a powerful belief in the bacteria-killing effect of sunlight). So if someone felt like it, it wasn’t impossible to peer into his personal life - to be concrete, someone could sneak into his room, or peek through a telescope.
“And to answer your earlier question,” the man appended, “I didn’t start my investigation convinced you were a cybercriminal. I was just gathering information to determine whether or not Kengo Kousaka was suitable. Since I found blackmail, I decided to shift to using that, but originally I intended to just hire you for money.”
“Suitable? For what?”
“For what I’m here to talk about.”
A silence fell between the two. The man seemed to be waiting for Kousaka to speak.
“…So what is it you came to threaten me to do?”, Kousaka asked, half in desperation. “I don’t think I can do much…”
“I’d appreciate if you made it quick. If you’ll keep being honest like that, then I won’t have to threaten you any more than necessary.”
After a breath-long pause, the man broke the subject.
“Kengo Kousaka, I want you to look after a certain kid.”
“A kid?”
“Yes, a kid,” he repeated.
*
I don’t have too much hope for you, the man said as he left. Can’t really blame him, Kousaka thought. Because this job really was a heavy burden for him. He disliked interacting with other people as it was, but he was especially bad with children and old people. The reason, of course, being “they seemed dirty.”
But that said, he couldn’t just give up from the get-go. If he couldn’t fulfill this request, Kousaka wouldn’t just be unemployed, he’d be unemployed with a criminal record.
Apparently, the kid’s name was Hijiri Sanagi. Kousaka wasn’t given any information beyond that.
His blackmailer also gave his own name: Izumi. Izumi’s instructions were simple.
“At 5 PM tomorrow, go to Mizushina Park. Near the park, there’ll be a kid feeding swans. That’s Hijiri Sanagi.”
Kousaka didn’t quite understand the situation, but nodded for the time being.
“Your first duty is to become Hijiri Sanagi’s friend.”
Then Izumi appended a brief explanation of what the payment for success would be. The amount he specified was pretty big money to Kousaka at the moment.
Once Izumi left, Kousaka went around his room cleaning like mad. Just thinking about the possibility that someone had been intruding in there while he was out made him feel like he was losing his mind. But as much antiseptic as he used, the thick sense of an “other” wouldn’t seem to go away.
The next night, Kousaka wore a coat, donned latex gloves on both hands, put on a disposable face mask, and placed disinfecting sheets and spray in his bag. Carefully checking the lock, he opened the door with a feeling of hopelessness.
It had been a long time since he’d left his holy ground past sunset. The air outside was piercingly cold, and his face and ears stung.
He chose to wear a suit so as not to make Hijiri Sanagi wary. Most people would be, if a stranger talked to them out of the blue. Even moreso at night. At times like these, a suit could give people a sense of relief. Kousaka was given this thought by taking into account his own experience last night.
He came to a stop on a sidewalk outside the train station. A small crowd had formed on the side of the road.
Peeking over their shoulders, he saw the onlookers were circled around a street performer. The performer was a man in his thirties, with a suitcase in front of him serving as a pedestal, on which marionettes danced. The man was making full use of all his fingers to control two marionettes at once. He’s dexterous, Kousaka admired. A nearby cassette player played background music, “The Lonely Goatherd.”
Kousaka watched the performance for a while. The marionettes had highly deformed designs, their facial features all different sizes, which took it past comical to grotesque. It seemed the male marionette chased the female marionette, or maybe the female marionette chased the male marionette, and as the two awkwardly kissed at the end, the music ended, and there was a round of applause.
With the audience feeling good, the puppeteer began to skillfully ask for payment. Once the other viewers left, Kousaka put a 1000-yen bill in the suitcase. The performer grinned, and said in a whisper:
May you have the puppets’ protection.
Kousaka resumed walking. Luckily, the designated park was only a 30-minute walk from his apartment, so there was no need to use public transportation.
Kousaka had imagined, albeit faintly, that Hijiri Sanagi was a boy around ten years old. Just the look of the name, “Hijiri Sanagi” - and this was purely from Kousaka’s assumption of how the name was written in kanji - seemed more masculine than not, and “sanagi” was the word for “chrysalis,” which in his mind had more of an association with boys.
So it wasn’t unreasonable that when he arrived at Mizushina Park and found the person in question, he was confused.
He first noticed the hair, dyed silver. It was short, platinum-blonde hair that could look ash-gray depending on the lighting, and her eyebrows were also slightly bleached. In addition, her skin was unhealthily pale, and her eyes were a stark black that sucked you in.
His gaze next went to the long legs coming out of her skirt. Despite the temperature being enough for breaths to turn white, she wore a short skirt that left her thighs exposed. She wore no tights or stockings, either. If Kousaka remembered correctly, she was wearing the girls’ uniform from a high school in the area. She had a tartan scarf and an off-white cardigan on, but one couldn’t imagine that these covered for how cold her legs must have been.
She was wearing thick monitor headphones like would be used in a studio. With their bland design, there was not even a chance of them being meant as a fashion statement. From the sound that seeped out, Kousaka supposed she was listening to old rock music.
Kousaka’s gaze finally landed on the cigarette between her thin lips. At first, he couldn’t tell whether or not they were frigid white breaths, but closer inspection revealed it was indeed smoke coming out of her mouth.
Hijiri Sanagi was a girl around seventeen years old. And not just any girl, but a type of girl Kousaka really couldn’t deal with.
Sheesh, what was that Izumi expecting from me? Kousaka twisted his neck. What could have led him to the conclusion that I’d be suitable for this? He didn’t even have a clue.
He just wanted to run, but that wouldn’t fly. If he gave up his task already, Izumi might turn him in to the police any moment. While he did feel that wouldn’t be entirely undeserved, he could at least try and fail first, and it wouldn’t be too late to give up then.
No need to get nervous. It’s not like I was told to seduce her and make her my lover. Just being friends will be enough.
He took off his face mask and put it in his pocket. Determined, he approached Sanagi.
Like Izumi said, Sanagi was standing near the lake and feeding swans. She took bread crusts out of a paper bag and threw them into the air, and the swans swarmed them all at once. She watched contentedly. She didn’t seem to notice Kousaka beside her.
Not wanting to surprise her, he slowly entered her field of view and spoke.
“Um…”
After a few seconds, Sanagi looked toward him.
Facing her head-on, Kousaka couldn’t help but admire Sanagi’s appearance. Her figure made him imagine a female android created according to some clear design. Said design, however, wasn’t meant to relax or soothe people, but to disturb and tense up anyone nearby.
“…What?”, Sanagi asked, taking off her headphones and looking at him suspiciously.
Kousaka inadvertently looked away. It seemed his suit wasn’t doing its job of easing her wariness. That figured. A schoolgirl in uniform being approached in the park at night by a young man in a suit was unnatural, no question. To put it lightly, it felt dangerous. Exercise clothes might have seemed more natural, at this rate.
“Can we talk for a second?”, Kousaka asked, putting all his energy into a friendly smile. “Do you have time right now?”
“No,” Sanagi replied lazily, cigarette in mouth. “I’m busy.”
The natural response. Sanagi put her headphones back on and returned to her own world.
At this point, there was nothing Kousaka could do. The problem was something even more fundamental than the age gap or gender difference: he had never once endeavored to be friendly to another person.
Kousaka was at a loss. He couldn’t think of his next move, so he followed Sanagi’s example and watched the swans chase food from a fair distance away.
He disliked the majority of wild animals, but swans were one of few exceptions. Their bodies were all white, for one, but most importantly, they only appeared in winter. The way they always soaked in chilly water had a clean feeling to it. It was strictly his imagination, however, as this was actually because of pathogens in their bodies.
He took another look around the park. The lamps illuminating the snow-covered park made it seem like the whole place had a faint pale glow. Listening closely, he heard not only swans, but snow falling from branches to the ground. He closed his eyes and focused on such sounds.
He heard a sigh. Sanagi took her headphones off again and looked his way. Kousaka’s eyes wandered from the piercingly sharp gaze. For a moment, he saw a blue earring glinting on Sanagi’s ear.
“Hey, what do you want with me?”
This was no time to carefully consider words. I have to say something and make her less wary, Kousaka thought, and so he opened his mouth.
“I want to be friends with you.”
It struck him as shady once he’d said it. Just the kind of line someone approaching with impure motives would say. Wasn’t there some better way of expressing it? He could hardly make a case if she went running to the police to say “a suspicious man called out to me.”
Sanagi looked at Kousaka with emotionless eyes. There was a long silence. She sucked on her cigarette and dropped the ash with an experienced motion. Then she kept staring at Kousaka as if appraising him.
Just say something already, anything, Kousaka pleaded silently. The cold sweat under his arms was unpleasant. He wanted to give up on this idiocy, go back to the apartment, and take a shower. He longed for his sacred grounds full of air purifiers and antiseptic.
After a while, Sanagi discarded her now-short cigarette by her feet. The flame went out immediately as it touched the ground wet from the snow.
“I guess Izumi asked you, right?”, Sanagi asked listlessly, letting out a final puff of smoke. “You’re the seventh one so far.”
The smoke Sanagi let out was carried on the wind, and Kousaka covered his mouth at once.
Then a moment later, he guessed the meaning of “the seventh one.”
“…You mean there have been others before me he’s asked to be friendly with you?”, Kousaka asked.
“Huh, Izumi didn’t tell you anything?”
Kousaka revealed everything with resignation. “He just told me to "look after a kid.” I assumed you were like a ten-year-old boy, so I was confused when I saw you.“
"Then we’re in the same boat. I never imagined he’d send a guy as old as you over. Wonder what he’s thinking?” Sanagi scratched her chin with annoyance. “What’s your name?”
“Kengo Kousaka.”
“Izumi threatened you into doing what he says too, didn’t he? Hey, what weakness is he exploiting from you?”
He hesitated briefly, but decided to answer honestly. Even if he kept his silence here, Sanagi would just get it out of Izumi.
“He’s letting some criminal behavior of mine slide.”
Sanagi showed great interest in those two words. “Criminal behavior?”
“Cybercrime. I made a computer virus and spread it.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“Because I like to. It’s a hobby.”
“Hmph. A hobby.” Sanagi furrowed her brow, finding it hard to understand.
“By the way, what’s your relation with that man?”
“I dunno. Parent and child?”
“Parent and child,” Kousaka repeated. “I don’t mean to stick my nose in someone’s family matters, but were you ever taught to show respect to your parents at your house?”
“It might be parent-in-law and child.”
“…Well, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”
Kousaka turned around, putting his back to a fence, and looked up at the night sky. Just then, he discovered what looked like a bird’s nest in the branches up above him. But it was too well-formed for a bird’s nest, and a little too big. Maybe it’s mistletoe, he concluded. He’d heard there were parasitic organisms that inhabited cherry trees and the like and stole nutrients.
Sanagi seemed to remember something and spoke up.
“Oh yeah, did Izumi say he’d pay you?”
Kousaka nodded. “If this job went well, sure.”
“How much?”
Kousaka quietly informed her of the amount.
“That’s quite a bit.”
“Yeah. It’s a small fortune to me right now.”
Then Sanagi extended a hand toward Kousaka.
The sight of her throwing bread crumbs barehanded crossed his mind, and he stepped back without thinking.
However, she wasn’t seeking a handshake.
“Give me half,” Sanagi casually demanded. “Then I’ll be your friend.”
“…Is that what friends say?”
“A man like you and a girl like me becoming friends needs that kind of value. Common sense, right?”
“Is that how it is…?”
“That it is,” Sanagi stated confidently. “If you don’t want to, I don’t mind. I don’t care what you do.”
“Got it. I’ll pay.” Kousaka readily accepted the demands of the girl years younger than him. Then he asked, taking a look around: “…By the way, you won’t let Izumi hear about this part, will you?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
“How can you say that for sure?”
“By having years of experience,” she answered. “Now, hand over the money quick.”
“…Can’t it wait until after I get my payment?”
“No. If you can’t pay upfront, I can’t trust you.”
“I don’t have much on hand. Can you wait until next time we meet?”
“Sure, but don’t try to fool me. If you offend me, I’ll go to the police and tell them everything that did and didn’t happen.”
“I’m not lying. I’ll have it ready by next time.”
“Then I’ll come see you tomorrow. Tell me your address.”
Kousaka winced. What a forceful girl. He told Sanagi the apartment address, and she entered it into her smartphone. It seemed she was checking the location with a map application.
“It’s in walking distance from here,” Sanagi said to herself. “When do you get home?”
“Anytime.”
“Anytime… so, what’s your job?”
“None.”
“Then why are you wearing a suit?”
He didn’t care to explain, so Kousaka just replied “For show.”
Sanagi had an expression of deep shock, but immediately muttered “Well, I guess I can’t speak ill of others” and glanced toward her own outfit. Kousaka waited for further words, but she’d already wrapped things up for herself.
“You know, I was wanting somewhere to kill time all day. Loitering around outside on weekdays would get me escorted home.”
“You don’t go to school?”
Sanagi ignored that question. Kousaka figured it was a pointless question, too. A proper student who attended class wouldn’t have hair dyed this color or earrings.
“I’ll come visit at whatever time tomorrow. Bye-bye.”
With that, Sanagi put her headphones back on, turned her back to Kousaka, and began to walk. He hastily cried “Hold on,” but his voice was overpowered by the music.
This has gotten worrying, Kousaka thought.
His holy ground was in danger.
Chapter 3: The Lady Who Loved Insects
Kousaka first got a girlfriend in autumn when he was 19. He was introduced to a girl two years his elder by a not-particularly-friendly high school acquaintance, and by going with the flow, they started dating. Her appearance, personality, hobbies, skills, you name it, were completely average. He couldn’t even remember her face very well now. All that was left in his memories was that she had short hair, and her face dimpled when she smiled.
Before they started their acquaintance, Kousaka decided to be frank about his cleaning habits. He explained that it was serious enough to impede regular life, but she just smiled and accepted it.
“That’s okay. I’m kind of a clean freak myself, so I’m sure we’ll get along.”
It wasn’t a lie, really. She was rather clean-loving. She always carried around various anti-bacteria products, washed her hands frequently, and took one or two - on days off, three - showers a day.
But compared to Kousaka, she really was nothing more than “clean-loving.” It was just a strong attention to hygiene, and decisively different from the compulsions he had.
Her theory was that even the most fastidious person could get over most obstacles as long as they had trust. Kousaka insisted that no matter how much they might trust each other, if he “can’t,” he can’t - but she rebutted that this simply meant there wasn’t enough trust. She viewed the fact that as much as time passed, he wouldn’t kiss her, much less hold hands, as proof of insufficient love. While it was true there was a lack of love, she wouldn’t lend an ear as he tried to make her understand the more fundamental problem.
Their semi-similar personalities made for calamity. She was convinced she understood fastidiousness, and had a kind of pride in her own love of cleanliness. The actions of Kousaka’s that went beyond her understanding - washing change after getting home, discarding pens he lent to others, taking a day off class just because of a light drizzle - she decided for herself that these arose not from a fear of the unclean, but a different mental cause.
She wasn’t a bad person, but she had a fatal lack of imagination. It was a miracle their relationship even lasted three months. After breaking up with her, he didn’t find anyone new. His first and last lover. Well, then again, maybe there wasn’t any love there at all.
Hijiri Sanagi visited the room at 2 PM. The intercom sounded, followed by a sound like the door was being kicked down. He unlocked the door and opened it to find Sanagi standing there with her hands in her cardigan’s pockets, pursing her lips with displeasure.
“You should leave it unlocked. You want the others to see me come in?”
“My bad,” Kousaka apologized.
“I assume you’ve got the money?”
He handed Sanagi an envelope, and she opened it and checked it on the spot. Once certain the specified amount was inside, she put it back and placed it in her bag.
“As promised, I’ll be your friend.” Sanagi grinned. “Let’s get along.”
“Yes, let’s,” Kousaka politely replied. “That aside, before you come in the room, there’s one thing I want to ask…”
He was going to ask her to wait so he could get wet wipes to at least clean her exposed skin with, but it was too late. She threw off her loafers, ignored the slippers Kousaka prepared for her, went into the living room, and sat down on the bed like it was her own. Kousaka nearly shrieked.
“Wait, please, not the bed, okay?”, Kousaka begged, pointing to his work chair. “If you’re going to sit, use that.”
“Don’t wanna.”
Kousaka’s pleas were in vain, and Sanagi lied face-down on the bed, put a pillow under her chin, and began to read a book from her bag. Kousaka cradled his head. This is the worst. He’d have to wash those sheets and the pillow cover once she left.
“Incidentally, how long do you plan on staying here?”
“About two hours,” Sanagi answered without looking up from her book.
“Err… and what should I do during that time?”
“Don’t ask me. Make a computer virus or something?”
Then Sanagi put on headphones and started listening to music. She had no intent whatsoever of striking up communication with Kousaka.
Kousaka sat in the work chair, turned away from the bed, and opened a book he’d been reading. He wasn’t in the mood for reading, but he didn’t know what else to do. A few pages in, he heard the sound of a lighter clicking behind him. He turned around to see Sanagi trying to light a cigarette.
“No cigarettes,” he warned, standing up in a hurry to speak into her ear. “Please, just endure it while you’re in this room.”
“…Shaddup.”
Sanagi reluctantly shut the lighter and put the cigarette in her mouth back in the case. Kousaka sighed with relief. Still, what a thing to do to put back a cigarette she’d already put in her mouth. Didn’t she find that filthy? Well, surely someone with such hygiene attitudes wouldn’t smoke in the first place.
After being informed of the no-smoking rules, Sanagi obediently read on the bed. Kousaka wondered what kind of book she was reading and tried to look, but the writing was too small to tell, and a leather cover obscured the front of the book.
Kousaka opened his book again. But he couldn’t focus on the words, and staring at the blank space on the page, began to think about things unrelated to the book’s contents.
Ultimately, what did that Izumi person hire me for? What kind of role was he expecting me to fill for Sanagi? Izumi was saying he “wanted me to look after a kid.” And then said to “be friends with Hijiri Sanagi.” And it seemed she didn’t diligently attend school much at all. From all of these, maybe it was proper to assume that my intended role was “someone who, as a friend, can help the school-skipping Hijiri Sanagi return to school.”
But then, Izumi’s use of the word “suitable” made me wonder. I can’t imagine I’d be considered “suitable” if what you want is someone who can guide a delinquent student. Though granted, I might be a superb bad example.
Or maybe I should look at it more simply than that. Maybe Hijiri Sanagi’s parents indulge her, silently consenting to her skipping school, but are hiring people to be friends so she doesn’t get bored. In that case, the “suitability” would mean being friends who are unsuited to society like her. Surprisingly, this felt closest to the truth.
But in any event, putting an underage girl in the care of a 27-year-old man was certainly not proper. Did Izumi or Sanagi’s parents understand that she was in my room?, Kousaka wondered. Perhaps Izumi chose me to be a friend because he knew my cleanliness guaranteed he wouldn’t even touch a woman? If so, his judgement was extremely apt. I couldn’t lay a finger on Hijiri Sanagi even if I was asked to. Maybe that could be considered suitability, too.
After about an hour, Sanagi took off her headphones, and Kousaka asked a question, having waited for her to do so.
“Hey, Hijiri-chan, what role do you think Izumi wants me to fill?”
“Who knows. Maybe he thinks you could help me rehabilitate?”, Sanagi said, turning over on the bed. “Also, don’t ever say "Hijiri-chan.” It’s gross.“
"I was asked to look after you, but what exactly should I do for that?”
“Don’t do anything,” Sanagi spat coldly. “It’s best to just keep fooling Izumi’s eyes like this and wait until he gives up. Don’t think I’m seriously going to try and be friends. It’s impossible anyway.”
“…Understood,” Kousaka nodded. That seemed safest, like she said.
“Oh, but,” she appended. “I guess I will trade contact info with you. If I don’t, Izumi will find it unnatural.”
Sanagi held out her smartphone. Kousaka took it, face twitching.
“Add yourself.”
Kousaka followed the instruction and registered his number on her phone. He faintly expected it, but there were only three people in her address book. And those three numbers didn’t even have names assigned to them, to boot. She didn’t seem like the most sociable sort.
Once done, Kousaka quietly washed his hands with disinfectant. Who knows what’s on other people’s belongings. Especially things they use daily.
Once two hours had passed, Sanagi closed her book, put it in her bag, and left the room. Kousaka put the the sheets in the washing machine and went around cleaning everything, then showered for about an hour.
Sanagi had said “I’ll come around 6 PM tomorrow.” This is no joke, Kousaka grieved. At this rate, his holy grounds would be completely dirtied. Wasn’t there some way to prevent contamination? His ideal would have been for Sanagi to take a quick shower and change into clean clothes before entering the living room, but it would unquestionably just annoy her to make such a request. Besides, it may have just caused unwanted misunderstandings.
In the end, he came up with no good ideas. The next day, and the day after, Sanagi spread filth around his room. She might have not had any ill intentions, but as a result, Kousaka became neurotic about it and couldn’t sleep at night. His room was losing its function as a holy ground. Sanagi always lied in the middle of the bed, so he started sleeping in the corners. He nearly fell to the floor many times while getting accustomed to it, but eventually learned how to properly position himself.
Maybe if he just said the words “I’m a clean freak,” Sanagi might have shown a little consideration. However, since breaking up with his girlfriend, Kousaka had never revealed it to anyone. Not only that, he took great efforts to not do anything compulsive where people were watching. His efforts were successful enough that at some of his workplaces, there were people who didn’t realize he had any such disorder. They merely thought of him as a person who was often late to work and bad at socializing.
“If my being a clean freak was common knowledge, then maybe I would have some small relief from my difficulties” - such thoughts never crossed his mind. But it wasn’t like it was selective obstinacy. People with obsessive-compulsive disorders always try to keep such thoughts and actions hidden from others.
Being aware of your own abnormality is a feature of this disorder. Those who have it don’t try to “make others understand.” Because they acknowledge they won’t be able to have people’s understanding. But despite having that level of objectivity toward themselves, that doesn’t mean they can stop their compulsions. Rational arguments are all but meaningless. Pharmacotherapy using SSRIs and exposure response prevention therapy are said to be effective treatments, but Kousaka tried them during college, and it only seemed to make things worse.
It was questionable whether Sanagi noticed his disorder or not. Sometimes she would smell the antiseptic scent and complain “Smells like an infirmary,” but that was all.
Belying her appearance of silver hair and earrings, Hijiri Sanagi was a bookworm. She might not have had any interest in novels and poems, though, as she read nothing but technical books and science magazines. Once, she fell asleep with her book open, so Kousaka was able to sneak a peek inside. The book she was reading then was about parasitic diseases.
He later had more chances to peek at what she was reading, and found that 90% of the books Sanagi read were about parasites. It appeared she had an unparalleled interest in them.
Kousaka recalled a story from the Tsutsumi Chunagon Monogatari he’d studied in high school, The Lady Who Loved Insects. It was about a strange noble girl who was blessed with beauty, yet did not use cosmetics nor blacken her teeth, but just stared at caterpillars. It seemed a fitting nickname for this girl who was treated by Izumi overbearingly like a princess, and read nothing but books about parasites.
Silver hair, pierced ears, short skirts, cigarettes, and parasites. To Kousaka, they were all symbols of impurity, and he would consider Hijiri Sanagi a manifestation of all of them put together. Meanwhile, Sanagi had no interest in Kousaka from the start, and didn’t expect anything from him beyond providing her a room to kill time in. Even though they were close together, a tall, thick wall stood between them.
*
A week passed after he met Sanagi.
Usually, the intercom would sound, and Sanagi would open the door to come in immediately after, but today was different. Even once the intercom’s echo faded, the door hadn’t budged. Kousaka concluded that this visitor was not Sanagi.
He went to open the door, and found it was indeed Izumi. Once again, he wore a drab Chester coat over a worn suit. As usual, his hair was oily, and he had a beard resulting from neglecting shaving for two days or so.
Kousaka silently let Izumi inside and closed the door. Then he carefully passed by so as not to touch him, and turned away from the living