Welcome to the NHK!

Part One

Summer ended. I’d depleted my living expenses. I had no money left for food, so I decided to try sleeping to conserve energy. I would be awake for five hours, and then I’d sleep for fifteen. I tried living on that schedule.

For the first three days, I didn’t really have any problem fasting. At worst, my stomach hurt a little bit. By the time the fourth day rolled around, though, I couldn’t think of anything but food. I want to eat ramen. I want to eat curry and rice. Regardless of my will, my body seriously wanted calories. This craving was impossible to fight.

Finally, on the fifth day of fasting, I left the apartment. Spending my last few hundred yen to buy a pastry and another part-time job magazine, I decided to start doing physical work that very day.

Physical day labor… I mastered the work surprisingly easily, bringing supplies into event halls, helping with moving and the like. Once in a while, I made a mistake and got punched by one of the higher-ups; even so, the work was refreshing. The rougher I treated my body, the more and more empty my head became. For the first time in several years, I could go to sleep and wake up feeling refreshed.

Given all my credit card debt, I worked night and day for the first month. After registering with a temporary agency, I was able to get daily work. Once I’d accumulated a degree of wiggle room in my savings, I immediately reduced the amount of work I was doing. I decided to work for about half a month at a time, then staying holed up for the second half. As long as I could make about one hundred thousand yen a month, I could actually maintain a rather pleasant life.

Whenever possible, I tried to work nights. Nighttime traffic control was the best job. To be a security guard, you needed to get registered by taking a four-day legal training course; once you finished that, however, no other work was easier.

In the middle of the night, I waved the glowing red guide stick back and forth at construction sites far from human habitation. The only thing I could hear all night long was the echo of construction equipment operating behind me. On the nights when I worked as a guard, I was alone. Sometimes a car would pass, but all I had to do was wave the guide stick appropriately and caution, “Look out, slow down.”

Because I almost never needed to speak to others while working, I felt the same as when I holed up in my apartment. I just relied on my conditioned reflexes to wave the guide stick, back and forth, back and forth. The night wind was a bit chilly, but my pay for this was ten thousand yen per night, counting my travel fare.

I’d work, and then I’d shut myself away—earn my living expenses, and then shut myself away. This lifestyle continued and, with frightening speed, time went by. While I kept working, it turned to winter.

It was the winter of my fifth year as a hikikomori. This year felt thoroughly cold—probably because I had previously sold off my kotatsu to the secondhand shop. Even covered head to toe with a blanket, I still was freezing, always shivering uncontrollably. At that point, in place of a body warmer, I decided to try using the laptop computer, which Yamazaki had left behind when he moved.

“It’s an off-brand Pentium 66 MHz notebook computer. I didn’t want to have to carry it, so I was going to throw it away. But seeing as I have it, I’ll give it to you, Satou”, he’d said.

He’d left with those words.

I set the laptop on my stomach and turned on the power. A noisy whirring indicated that it was operating, and an anime wallpaper appeared on the liquid crystal screen. Being an older machine, it generated an amazing amount of heat. Soon, I warmed up and began to grow sleepy.

Just then, I recognized a familiar icon displayed on the computer’s desktop.

It looked like the executable file for the erotic game that Yamazaki had been making. Positioning the cursor on the file, I clicked to open it. The hard disk started groaning. After a long loading period, the game began.

I played it for several hours. And then, I understood… I understood that this was a terrible, terrible game.

The genre was an RPG, but it was an extremely cheap RPG, with about one hundredth of the first Dragon Quest[35] game’s content. It wasn’t an erotic game any longer, and the story was utterly ridiculous—basically, the concept was something along the lines of “a journey about love and youth taken by soldiers fighting against a giant, evil organization”. The game told the story of an average young man who becomes a warrior to fight evil and protect the heroine. This wish-fulfillment scenario eventually bypassed the player, continuing meaninglessly on and on and on.

I was dumbfounded.

Come on, what idiot could have come up with such a stupid scenario? It was me. I was the very person who had written the original outline for the story.

I grew sad. It was a bittersweet sadness, because I thoroughly understood the scenario of the game: Soldiers taking a stand against evil.

This had been our exact desire; we had wanted to fight an evil organization; we had wanted to fight villains. If a war had broken out, we would have joined the JSDF[36] right away and launched kamikaze attacks. That definitely would have been a meaningful way to live and an attractive way to die. Had there been villains in the world, we would have battled them. Fists raised in the air, we would have fought. There was no mistake about it.

There weren’t any villains, though. The world was just complicated in various ways, and there weren’t any obvious villains to be found. It was excruciating.

Our personal desires had become the framework for the game. As I progressed farther into it, I realized that it actually had a wonderful story. It was a simple, beautiful story. Right now, in fact, the main character, fighting an enormously powerful enemy, vowed to protect the heroine.

“I’ll protect your life!” Heedless of his own safety, he prepared to challenge the gigantic enemy, and the final battle began. I was nearing the end of the game.

There were three battle commands: “attack”, “defend” and “special attack.” No matter how much I attacked the last boss, I couldn’t do any damage. Naturally, just trying to defend myself didn’t help, either. Finally, I had no choice but to use the special attack—the final death blow. Using my own life energy, I sacrificed myself in order to deal a mortal wound to the enemy. There was no other way to defeat the final boss. So, the hero of the game held his “Revolutionary Bomb” in his right hand and went to perform his special attack.

However, at the very, very end—at the exact second the hero executed his special attack on the final boss—the game suddenly froze! The game window closed, and the text editor started up. Yamazaki apparently had left a letter that seemed like an excuse.

“There really isn’t any other way to destroy the huge, evil organization than to use your special attack. You can gain victory only if you choose death for yourself because the giant, evil organization actually is made up of our entire world. Because the second you choose death, the world disappears into nothingness, the evil organization, too, disappears into nothingness. Then, peace will come to you. Still, I didn’t blow my own head off with a bomb. That was my choice. No, it definitely isn’t that I just didn’t want to go through the pain of drawing the CG for the game ending or that I got downright tired of making a terrible game. Nothing like that…”

At first, I tried to smash the laptop. Then, I changed my mind. I had watched Yamazaki desperately work on this game, but the final shoddiness of it hit me pretty hard.

What in the world could he be doing right now? This question suddenly began to bother me, but I decided to try and forget it. I hadn’t heard any news from him since he left, and I didn’t feel like contacting him, either.

Those idiotic days from that period in my life had ended long ago.

Christmas came once again. The city lights twinkled.

The guide stick grasped in my right hand, too, lit up in the darkness. Tonight's work was traffic control in the parking lot of a new department store that had opened near the station. Because the entrances were equipped with fully automated ticket machines, I had absolutely nothing to do. When it got crowded, I tried helping out the machines; but each time, I just ended up swinging my stick back and forth.

There were no accidents, nothing happened, and Christmas Eve marched on in safety.

About an hour before the store closed, a car came by. The car itself was the sort of Japanese model found anywhere, with nothing special to note about it. However, because the interior lights were on, I recognized the girl sitting in the passenger seat. I saw her clearly.

Startled, I tried to push my cap down over my eyes as much as possible. The car passed me without hesitation, so there hadn’t been any recognition. But I felt that my high school acquaintance, sitting in the passenger seat, had looked my way, just for a second.

Of course, that, too, was just a delusion.

My shift ended, and I changed out of my uniform and put the guide stick and helmet into my bag. Swaying back and forth on one of the last trains of the night, I headed toward my apartment. On the way, I stopped by a convenience store to buy alcohol and the like.

I decided I should try getting into the Christmas spirit. Walking up the steep road that led to my apartment, I drank a beer. I hadn’t had alcohol in a while, so it took effect quickly. Somewhat shakily, I slowly hiked up the long, sloping path. In the distance, an ambulance’s siren pierced the otherwise quiet night. I finished my second beer.

Merry Christmas.

By the time I passed the park, my gait had been reduced to a drunken stumble. Walking carefully, I could avoid swaying drastically, but I figured I might as well just walk like a drunk. I increased my pace and wobbled from telephone pole to telephone pole. I tripped over a stone and almost fell. I staggered and was about to collapse in the middle of the road when, right in front of me, an ambulance rushed past.

I had almost been run over!

I thought perhaps I should complain in a loud, drunken voice, “You id-”

I stopped in mid-sentence.

The ambulance had pulled up in front of Misaki’s house. Her uncle dashed out of the front door. He yelled to one of the paramedics as they ran into the house, carrying a stretcher. A short while later, they carried the stretcher back through the front door. Misaki was limp.

I watched as Misaki, her aunt, and her uncle sped away in the ambulance at a breakneck speed.

Part Two

It was almost New Year’s Eve. One afternoon, I loitered in front of the large hospital at the edge of town. This was where Misaki had been admitted.

Earlier that morning, I had headed down to the manga cafe near the station and had gotten the information from her exhausted uncle.

“Anyway, I’m so sorry.” Her uncle apologized to me for no reason. "We thought she was doing better. She’d been much calmer since quitting school and had seemed really happy recently. I wonder if maybe that was because of what she’d planned. By the way, how do you know Misaki?”

“We’re sort of acquaintances”, I answered. I retreated from the manga cafe and had headed straight for the hospital, but…

I had been hanging out in the courtyard for nearly two hours. Among the visitors and patients out for strolls, I was pacing back and forth on the path from the main gate to the front entrance.

Misaki was in a private, fourth-floor room on the open psychiatric ward. Apparently, she’d swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills. It was nearly a fatal dose; had they arrived much later, it might have been too late.

It was uncertain where Misaki had obtained the sleeping pills, but they may have been from the neighborhood psychiatrist. But to have amassed enough pills for an effective suicide attempt, she must have been going there for quite for a while. That meant that this attempt clearly had been intentional. Misaki had planned her death for a long time.

What in the world did I intend to do, showing up unannounced? I couldn’t make anything better for her.

Should I try saying something like, “Don’t die!”… ?

Should I try yelling something like, “You still have tomorrow!”… ?

Misaki had written numerous, similar clichés in her secret notebook. But they hadn’t helped her, so she’d tried to overdose on sleeping pills.

In short, there was nothing I could do for her. It might even be better for me to avoid showing my face. She probably would feel even emptier, getting a hospital visit from a pathetic hikikomori.

When I thought about the situation that way, I’d decide to go home; but at the hospital gate, my feet would stop on their own. Once more, I turned back toward the front entrance and repeated the entire cycle.

My thoughts were looping around. If this kept up, it looked like I would just keep walking to and fro until nightfall. I couldn’t make up my mind.

Finally, screwing up my courage, I dashed into the hospital before I could change my mind again. I got a visitor’s badge at the front desk, pinned it to my chest, and headed up to the fourth floor.

The entire fourth floor was an open psychiatric ward. At first glance, it seemed no different from a normal hospital. I’d thought that a psychiatric ward would be full of straitjackets, electroshock equipment, and lobotomy laboratories. However, this open ward was clean and cheerful; it seemed like an ordinary part of the hospital.

Or so I thought. When I noticed that an older woman of around sixty, apparently a patient, had squatted down in the corner of the hallway, I quickly headed for room 401.

In the far corner of the fourth-floor hall, a nameplate identified Misaki’s room: “Misaki Nakahara”, it said.

There was no mistake. This was the room.

I knocked softly.

There was no answer.

I tried knocking again, a little harder; there was still no answer. However, my knocking seemed to have dislodged the door, though it might have been open partially to begin with.

“Misaki?” I peeked into the room.

She wasn’t there.

Well, if she’s not here, there’s nothing I can do. I’ll go home!

I decided to leave behind the fruit basket I had bought in the hospital gift shop. And I noticed someone had left a train schedule open on the shelf next to the bed. The schedule was annotated here and there in red ballpoint pen. Moving it aside, I put down the fruit basket.

As I did, a scrap of paper fluttered to the floor. I picked it up and read it: “Mikka Tororo was delicious. Therefore, farewell, everyone.”

Shoving the scrap of paper and the schedule into my coat pocket, I dashed out of the hospital and headed toward the station.

The sun had begun to set.

They should have put her on a closed ward with iron bars over the windows, not an open one where she could come and go freely. They should have put her in a straitjacket and pumped her full of medicine to make her happy. But because they hadn’t, Misaki had left the hospital. She was heading back to the town where she’d been born. She was likely going there to die.

I remembered the discussion we’d had a good while ago:

“Tsuburaya, the runner, apparently went home to the countryside right before he died. Then, he ate grated yam with his mother and father, it says.”

“Hm.”

“I guess everyone wants to return to their hometown before they die, after all.”

That was probably true. Misaki, too, must have started wanting to return to her hometown. She likely intended to dive into the sea from the tall, sheer cliffs at the cape, where she’d said she often played. It wasn’t going to be that easy, though. Now that I had found her suicide note and the train schedule, her luck had run out.

As far as I could tell from looking at the notes marked on the schedule, Misaki had boarded the train only an hour or so before. If I chased after her, I should be able to make it in plenty of time. I knew where she was headed, and on top of that, I had money. If I used taxis for part of the trip, I might even reach the destination before Misaki. There wasn’t any reason for me to worry.

On the night train, I opened a map, purchased at a bookstore along the way. I looked for that cape—the one where Misaki said she often played when she’d been little. Here it is. The map showed only one cape near her hometown, so this had to be it.

Misaki probably had boarded the train that had departed right before mine. Mixed in with people returning home for the year’s end, she likely was heading for the town where she’d been born, toward the cape known as a famous suicide spot. However, she didn’t know that I was following her.

I wouldn’t let her escape. I was certain to catch up with her. On that point, at least, I wasn’t worried. The problem lay elsewhere.

When I found Misaki, what should I say to her?

I understood her suffering, if only a little bit. It was just the very tip of her pain; even so, I could imagine it to some degree. She probably felt trapped, as though shed run out of options. And her pain would never, ever disappear, not in her entire life.

Of course, that was natural. In a way, her pain was common to all mankind. It was an ordinary suffering. Everyone is troubled by similar feelings. I, too, was troubled by them.

Even if I keep living, there’s nothing to be done. It’s only pain.

Knowing that, could I stop her from jumping? Did I have the right to stop her? As a member of society, I probably should say something appropriate like, “Even so, keep living!” or “Stop whining!”

I understood all that.

I understood it, but still…

While I was mulling over these things, the train arrived at its destination.

Exiting the station, I found that the town was deserted. It was already the middle of the night; but even given the time, the area around the station was as silent as a ghost town. There was no sign of anyone on the streets.

On top of that, it was snowing and really cold. As the town was located on the Sea of Japan, it was in something of a blizzard zone. I fastened shut the neck of my coat and headed toward the sole taxi in sight. The driver seemed surprised by a customer’s arrival. The man, poised at the threshold of old age, looked like he’d been sleeping in his seat. Hurriedly, he wiped his eyes.

Getting into the warm car, I pointed at the map to show him my destination. The driver looked at me for confirmation, with an expression that said, “Are you serious?”

I nodded, and the car took off, causing the chains on the tires to clank.

“Sir, why would you want to go to a place like that so late at night?”

“Sightseeing. Please hurry.”

About half an hour later, the taxi exited onto a hilly road that ran along the ocean shore. It headed straight up a steep hill. On the right, the pitch-black sea spread out. When we reached the top of the hill, the taxi stopped.

“This place actually has become quite a famous tourist spot, but there isn’t anything here.” The taxi driver spoke as though in apology.

I paid the fare and got out of the taxi.

“You don’t really plan to… No, the construction is complete, so it should be fine.” With that, the taxi driver pulled back onto the road.

I looked around. There really wasn’t anything here. Or more accurately, it was so dark that I could barely see.

As the ocean was on my right side, I thought I would find the cliff if I headed in that direction, but only sparsely scattered streetlamps lit the area. I felt terribly helpless. For the time being, I crossed the road and, climbing through the space between the guardrails, I set off on a snow-covered path.

Misaki had to be at the other end of this path. Stepping through the snow, which came up to my ankles, and taking care not to slip and fall, I continued down the path cut through the thick brush. With each step, the surrounding darkness grew deeper and deeper.

Before long, the light from the streetlamps no longer reached me, and I could hardly see anything at all. Then, the brush thinned abruptly. The path ended, and in front of my eyes stretched the coal-black sky and the Sea of Japan. That’s right. I had made it to the very edge of the cape. It was too dark for me to see well, but the cliff was about thirty feet ahead. I finally had arrived. I had reached my destination!

But what about Misaki?

I looked around, but I couldn’t see much. A large full moon floated in the night sky, but my eyes weren’t used to the dark yet, so I couldn’t make out anything but vague outlines. There seemed to be no sign of anyone anywhere. That was all I could tell.

What did this mean? Had I arrived first? Or had Misaki stopped somewhere along the way? Or could it be that…

My heart began pulsing violently, and my blood curdled.

No, no, it couldn’t be. There was no way that she could have jumped before I even arrived, right? She’d be here shortly. Soon, Misaki would come walking down that path.

I stepped back and sat on a bench that faced the ocean. With my face turned expectantly toward the little path, I waited for Misaki.

An hour passed. Misaki didn’t come. It began to seem as though she wouldn’t come down the path at all. I put my head in my hands. Without realizing it, I started talking to myself.

“Why?”

“‘Why’ what?”

“Did I arrive too late?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Misaki is…”

“You were off by only five minutes. Maybe you should be a detective.”

I slowly turned my face to the right. Standing there was Misaki. She was wearing a black coat that blended with the darkness.

Perching on the edge of the bench, Misaki explained, “You finally said something. I didn’t know what to do because you were silent for so long.”

Part Three

A violent rage boiled up inside me. I felt as though she had made an ass out of me. Forcing those feelings back down inside, I said in as gentle a tone as possible, “Well then, let’s go home! It’s cold out here!”

“I don’t want to.”

What do you mean you don’t want to?! You, ah crap, just stop making a fool out of me. I nearly started railing at her as hard as I could; but somehow, I was able to control the impulse.

I tried to remember a book I had read long ago called The Psychology of Self-Injury. It had theorized, “Those who try to commit suicide actually want someone to save them. They want someone to listen to what they have to say, so try and listen to them with a kind demeanor, as gently as possible, without chiming in with any sort of negative comments.”

Those seemed to be the key points.

I turned to Misaki as I fixed my collar. That was proof of my gentle attitude. Then, I said, “Don’t die. Let’s keep living!”

Misaki smiled. It was a derisive smile.

I wanted to tell her just how much trouble I had gone through to get all the way here; of course, I held back. In a kindly voice, I asked, “Why did you attempt suicide so suddenly?”

“It wasn’t your fault or anything, Satou.”

“I know that. So…”

“I’ve grown tired of living.”

“Explain in more concrete terms.”

“I got sick of everything. There was no reason for me to keep on living.” She chanted these abstractions, a smile still on her face. Was she making a fool out of me, after all?

“Yeah, that’s right. I don’t think that I can get help from you any longer, Satou. You’re just a hikikomori, in the end.”

The blood rushed to my head. “Go ahead and die!”

“I will die.”

“No! I was kidding. Don’t die. If you die, you’ll go to hell.”

“You don’t have to be in such a panic. To begin with, I’m basically already dead, seeing how I took all the drugs I’d saved over an entire year. If my uncle hadn’t found me, I would have succeeded. No matter what you do, Satou, I’m determined to go ahead and die.”

There, in the winter, standing at a cape in the inky darkness, we continued discussing whether to live or die. The conversation was light years removed from the normal, everyday world.

It was already past midnight, and it was freezing. Misaki’s teeth chattered.

“Either way, I’m going to die.” She had grown defiant. “Go ahead and try to stop me if you want, even though it’s impossible.”

Clearly, the views on suicide traditionally retained by our society no longer held any merit. Without any shame at all, she was arguing for death.

I rebutted, “If you’re saying stuff like that, Misaki, then you don’t really feel like dying anymore, do you?”

In response, Misaki put her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out a metal object.

“I have a box cutter here.” The blade slid out of the handle. She declared, “Right now, I’ll cut my wrists with this box cutter!”

“That’s dangerous!” I tried to grab Misaki’s hand.

“Don’t come near me!” Misaki quickly jumped up from the bench to avoid my grasp.

“I don’t know what to do. I’m sure that I’ve gone crazy. If you come too close, I’ll probably cut you!” As she shouted this, Misaki stretched out her right hand, which gripped the box cutter, and put her left hand behind her back. She looked like she was attempting some fencing pose.

“What are you doing?”

“I learned it from a book called The Art of Murder that I read at the library. I’m employing the knife-fighting art of the Sicilian Mafia.”

Putting several feet between us, Misaki swung around the box cutter, threatening me.

“Aren’t you disgusted? Disgusted because the person you came all this way to save really is crazy? There’s nothing I can do about that, though, Satou. I’m sure you were thinking something along those lines, right? Like, you wanted to show how cool you are by saving some crazy girl about to commit suicide. That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it? But it’s impossible. It’s impossible!”

With the moon at her back, it was hard to see her, so I couldn’t tell what expression she wore. Though it sounded like a farce, it wasn’t. That much seemed certain. I asked her seriously, “If I told you I’m deeply in love with you, what would you do?”

“I wouldn’t do anything. I’m finished. I mean, you’re just a hikikomori to begin with, Satou. And you look like you’d change your mind quickly. Besides, in actuality, you don’t like me at all, right? If someone won’t be mine from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, it’s better for me to die. It’s not like my desires can be granted by just anyone. I always knew this. And that’s why, either way, I just need to die.”

“I like you! I love you! Please, don’t die!”

“Ha ha ha. You’re so funny, Satou. But it’s no use. I’m going to die!”

Our dialogue was somehow very much like a shoujo manga.

Still, I knew that words like “love” and “hate” probably weren’t that important. The problem likely lay in a deeper, more fundamental place. I thought that I should try my best to explain this to her. I should somehow put it into words for Misaki. However, the words would slip away at once. The second I pronounced them, they would lose all meaning.

I just didn’t understand. What should I do? What did I want to do?

What was I thinking…? It didn’t really matter if she died. That’s what I thought.

It’s all the same in the end. The only difference is whether death comes sooner or later. Even if I do keep living, there will he only more suffering and more hardship. There’s no meaning to it. There’s no meaning to life. It would he better to die. This was a thoroughly logical conclusion that no one could refute.

At least, I couldn’t refute it. In fact, I doubted that anyone was less suited to the role of convincing someone else to give up on suicide than I was.

“It’s not right.” I kept saying these ridiculous things. “Don’t say you’re going to die.”

All the words sounded artificial.

Deciding to rely on force, I stepped toward Misaki, who was still swinging the box cutter around. She backed up. Ignoring her wild movements, I lunged forward and reached out my right hand. Just before my hand touched Misaki’s body, the blade of the box cutter sliced open my palm. A second later, blood began to flow. It soaked into the snow.

It hurt, but the pain was wonderful.

Misaki stared at the bloody box cutter, a dreamy expression on her face. I gave her a smile.

Misaki looked as though she were also about to smile.

The wind blew, and powdered snow danced upward.

Finally, I understood. I knew what I needed to do: I would keep this girl alive. I would save her.

How? Does a hikikomori like me have the power to do things for others? Wasn’t that kind of thing impossible? Shouldn’t I know my place? Well?

Yet somewhere, there had to be a wonderful solution. I truly believed this. There had to be a way for everything to work out. There had to be a way to fulfill Misaki’s wishes and my own hopes. Surely, I already knew the answer.

I would erase her pain and make it possible for her to live on, laughing and happy. I would give her the vitality to make it until tomorrow, give her the strength to live. The method—I had to know it already, somehow.

Once, shed said to me, “If that type of bad God did exist, then we could go on living in good health. If we could push the responsibility for our misery onto God, then we would have that much more peace of mind, wouldn’t we?

“If I could believe in God, I could become happy. Even if God is a bad guy, I know I could become happy. The problem is… the problem is I have a poor imagination, so I can’t believe in God very easily. Look, couldn’t He create some really showy miracle for me, just like He does in the Bible?”

She wanted to believe in a God, but her God was a villain. He was the main instigator of all evil. If she could believe in the existence of someone so evil, Misaki had said that she could keep on living. If a miracle occurred in front of her, it would prove the existence of this villain. She had said that, in that case, she would be able to keep on living. I’ll grant your wish!

The method was unfathomably difficult, terrible, and likely would require an enormous sacrifice. That, itself, however, was what I desired. To sacrifice myself to save the heroine would be the noblest act I could perform.

Ah, I wanted to brag to Yamazaki, I’m living right now, this very moment, burning out my life in a wonderful manner. I truly feel alive. I wanted to hold my head high with pride and brag to him.

It was true, looking at it objectively, that this was quite a dramatic night. A girl swinging a knife around and me trying to stop that girl from committing suicide. It was all rather moving. Given that fact, the words should come pouring forth. In this situation, I should be able to say something eloquent.

Misaki was trembling. I probably was trembling, too. I was frightened, so I tried to bolster my courage.

Memories from my twenty-two years passed through my mind. I realized that I had existed for this moment, when I would do whatever I could—anything I could—to keep this girl alive. It was probably my life’s mission. If not, then there was no meaning… No meaning for my having lived up until now, no meaning in living and then dying. At that instant, I understood everything. I knew everything, and everything was connected.

I would help Misaki, who was shaking with terror. I would give my life to help her. This kind of situation must have been what I’d desired all along. The flags that guided me toward the ending all had unfurled.[37] My dialog, leading toward this ending, was all that remained to set this scene into motion. Because of that, I would stand up and face it. Misaki could find a reason to live. It would be a happy ending.

I was scared. Please, help me…

Even so, I gathered my courage and embraced the trembling Misaki. “It’s not your fault, Misaki.”

I hugged her with all my strength and whispered into her ear, “It’s not your fault at all, Misaki. Not a single part is your fault.”

She was slight, thin. Shaking, she clung to me, and the darkness surrounded the two of us.

The wind was strong that night. Snow fell lightly. The stillness grew deeper. Why were we so sad? Why were we so lonely? Do you know the reason? Oh, I understand. It’s because we’re about to part, about to say farewell. That’s why we’re trembling. We’re forever alone, and we’re forever lonely. That’s how it always is, the way it’s supposed to be. Everyone is like this, so don’t hate yourself. Don’t hate yourself. There are other things you should hate. You need to know that.

“That’s right, there are bad people. There are people who’ve hurt you, Misaki.”

There's no need for you to be sad. No need at all. Why must you be sad? If you always had to live in pain, lonely and suffering, that would be irrational. It would be strange, wouldn’t it? That’s just nonsense. That’s why there has to be someone, somewhere, behind all this. A villain who forces you to suffer.

That’s why…

That’s why, in this world, conspiracies exist.

However, there is a more than a ninety-nine percent chance that the plausible-sounding conspiracies that you hear about from others are simple delusions or even intentional lies. When you visit a bookstore, the books with titles like The Great Jewish Conspiracy to Ruin the Japanese Economy! or The Super Conspiracy of the CIA That Hides Their Secret Pact with Aliens! are all just trivial delusions.

Even so…

Even so…

A tiny percentage of people actually have stumbled upon a real conspiracy. There is, in fact, one person who witnessed with his own eyes a conspiracy that exists, at this very moment, in the most extreme secrecy.

Who is this person?

It’s me.

What was the enemy’s name? I knew it. I had known it for a long time, the name of the evil organization that tortured us, the terrible God for which Misaki had earnestly wished. Its name was…

N.H.K.

That’s right! I remembered everything now: the name of my enemy, my mission, the reason for my existence, the reason I had continued to live until now, and the reason I had spent every day empty and vapid. Yes, my life has existed only to save you. This is probably true. It’s all true, so listen to me!

Still embracing Misaki so she couldn’t pull away, I explained in brief detail. “Listen, Misaki. In this world, there is an evil organization. Its name is N.H.K. N.H.K. is a huge organization that spans the entire globe. They’re an evil, secret society, and they’re the ones who put us through this pain. It’s all the N.H.K.’s fault. After this, if anything bad happens around you, it’s all the N.H.K.’s doing. Everything is the N.H.K.’s fault!

“For starters, the name N.H.K. itself is simply a coincidence. The actual name doesn’t matter at all. If you don’t like ‘N.H.K.’, you can call it whatever you want. If you wish, you can even call it Satan. Or call it the evil God. It all means the same thing.

“It’s true. The names don’t matter at all. They’re just a set of sounds. An imaginary enemy torturing you: That is the real essence of N.H.K. For example, take that girl from my high school literature club. To her, it could signify the ‘Nihon Hiyowa Kyokai’[38], as her own weakness continually defeated her. She was weak in both mind and spirit.”

Please, stop trying to slash your wrists. Please, become happy, somehow.

I continued, “In the case of Misaki, N.H.K. means ‘Nihon Hikan Kyokai.’[39] Because of the misfortunes you were born with, Misaki, you saw everything in a pessimistic way. Please, forgive me for being alive. Don’t hate me. You always were self-defeating like that.

“Then, my own N.H.K. …

“Well, it’s actually the N.H.K.’s fault that I became a hikikomori, just as it’s their fault that you suffer, Misaki. That’s the truth. I learned this through a certain technique. I fought with them. I’ve been fighting them for a long time, but it’s no use anymore. I’ve finally fallen victim to them, and they’ll kill me before long. But Misaki, you’re fine. You must live on, in health.”

Misaki clearly was frightened as I kept spewing nonsense.

I released her and took a step back. Now, I would show her a miracle, a great miracle, in order to prove the N.H.K.’s existence. I would reveal my true nature as a strong soldier who battled the N.H.K., and I would defeat them for her.

If I did that, Misaki probably would believe my story. She would live on, smiling. She most likely would stop hating herself, and her pessimistic personality probably would be healed.

That was the answer. I would give her immutable love. You were afraid. You were afraid of being hated by others. You were afraid that others’ feelings might change. But you’ll be okay. My feelings won’t change. I love you, and that feeling absolutely will never change.

And the reason…?

“Ah! I can’t go on! It’s a psychic attack by the N.H.K.!”

I rolled around in the snow.

“Do I look like I’m going crazy? If so, then that, too, is caused by the N.H.K. I’ll be killed soon! I’ll be killed by the N.H.K.! But I’ll return the blow! Just you watch!” I got up and ran, heading for the edge of the cliff.

I started out running slowly.

“Goodbye, Misaki! My legs are moving on their own. I’m going to be killed by the N.H.K. But in the moment that I die, I plan to do something to return their strike. I’ll destroy them!”

My speed gradually was increasing.

“That’s right! In order to defeat the N.H.K., I have to sacrifice my own life so that I can use my special attack. This is why I must go, but I’ll protect you!”

I was moving at full speed now.

I had to run out into the night sky with all my strength. The cliff edge was nearing. Ah, I’ll jump. I’ll dive. I’ll use my special attack.

Because of my unbelievably idiotic end, Misaki would have to believe in the evil organization. Due to my special attack, she might see the end of that evil organization. And it probably would bring her happiness.

And despite everything, Misaki would not need to feel guilty at all.

This was all I had wanted. I always had intended to die.

I would fulfill my own life’s purpose and also save Misaki. Truly, this was the clearest way to kill two birds with one stone. I was the one who had planned to die. I always, always had planned to die.

After all, I even had tried to starve myself to death. But that had proven to be impossible. A weak-willed person like myself couldn’t carry through with something like a fast: My limit was four days. Then, I had worked to earn my living expenses. That was the single time I had worked hard before my death. I always had been searching for some way to die.

In short, I was a much crazier person than you. It proves that, emotionally, I am an abnormal person. I mean, if I weren’t, then I couldn’t do something like this, right? Misaki, while you look down on me, at the same time, please accept my love or whatever it is. I’ll die soon, but Misaki, you must live on. I will defeat the N.H.K. and get rid of the evil organization. Please, believe this. If you do, you can stay alive. Misaki, you can keep living.

Watch my special attack and burn it into your mind. Look, can you see it? Can you see the Revolutionary Bomb, brightly shining in my right hand? It’s the Revolutionary Bomb that Yamazaki refrained from using, an earth-shattering bomb that destroys villains. It’s very, very weak, far too weak to blow away the N.H.K. But it’s more than strong enough to snuff out this minuscule, pathetic, worthless living creature—in short, me. And if I die, my N.H.K. also will disappear, because the N.H.K. is God. It is the entire world. And with my death, my world will dissipate. And the N.H.K. will disappear. That’s exactly why I need to do my special attack right now, with the legendary Revolutionary Bomb.

I was going to die. I was going to dive from the cliff soon. Behind me, Misaki was screaming something, but her voice no longer reached me. No one could stop me now.

This was the best! My body ran like the wind. Ah, I felt good. I felt invigorated, running as fast as I could, atop the cliffs, in the dark.

I also was scared. I didn’t want to die.

There was no reason for me to live. I didn’t want to live.

Soon, I would die. Only a few feet remained before the cliff’s edge. In mere seconds, the space of one heartbeat, I would soar out into the wide-open sky.

After just a few more seconds, swinging my arms as hard as possible and sticking out my legs as far as I could, I would dive. For the first time, I could truly escape, leave my six-mat, one-room apartment and fly higher and higher into the open sky. I would jump and fly.

Ah, just a little longer. I’ll fly soon.

I would jump into the Sea of Japan, as though I were doing a running long jump. I’d jump out…

I’m jumping…

I jumped.

I jumped!

Both my legs left the ground. My body was floating in the air, and after a few moments, my body would fall soon.

I would fall and smash into the Sea of Japan.

The ending was very near—just like in the erotic game that Yamazaki made, I would use my special attack on the N.H.K. To protect the heroine, I would rush forward into the final battle. I had wished for that game scenario, and I was going to die exactly the way I had wanted. It was the greatest happy ending.

Soon, I will be saved….

Then, it happened. Suddenly, something came to mind that concerned me. The ending of that game—no matter how I tried, I couldn’t remember it. Did the hero of the game defeat the evil organization? In fact, was there even an ending at all?

Someone said, “There’s no way to win.”

It might have been a dream. I already might have lost consciousness some time ago. As I danced through nothingness, the pitch-black Sea of Japan and a bright, starry sky stretched out before my eyes.

And then, I saw them. They were mocking me.

My body would start falling soon. I would die. That had to happen.

But they said, “Remember.”

On this bluff, where there had been too many incidents, construction to prevent them had already been completed. The Revolutionary Bomb disappeared without going off.

I screamed, “Is that how you do it?! You cowards!”

No answer came back to me.