Contents

Rumors spread that a mermaid had appeared at Enoshima in early June.

The sighting was reported on by a sports newspaper originally.

A local fisherman had gone out to sea on his boat early in the morning and spotted something black floating in the waves, spread over the surface of the water. At first, he’d thought it might be garbage or seaweed, but then something round had popped up from beneath the water, right in the center of it.

That was when the fisherman had realized the floating black mass was long hair, and that what had emerged at its center was a human head.

The fisherman was startled—was it someone who had drowned? A body someone had disposed of? He leaned over the side of his boat.

Suddenly, the head swiveled in his direction.

It was a woman. Her soaked black hair clung to her pale skin. Her eyes were huge and black. Her lips, red.

That face—beautiful even from a distance—looked at the fisherman, her mouth curled up at the corners, and then…

Her head disappeared back under the water. Half a second later, something leaped out of the sea, cleaving through the waves.

Thin shoulders, heavy breasts, a trim waist that transitioned down into the scale-covered form of a fish tail.

Teasingly, the mermaid—as that was unmistakably what she was—rotated once in midair, sending droplets of water flying, before diving back into the water. That was the fisherman’s account of the event, at least. The article that published his story was nothing major; a mere blurb on the page, it had probably only been meant to fill space.

When it was picked up by internet news sources, however, things started to change.

The link to the article circulated rapidly around Twitter, and people even started traveling to the Enoshima area just to see the mermaid.

Then other people began to come forward claiming to have seen mermaids themselves—“I was surfing in Inamuragasaki and saw a woman’s face floating in the water right next to me. A second later a huge fish tail splashed out of the sea.” “A mermaid waved at me from far out to sea when I was walking along the shore in Shichirigahama.”

Various such stories emerged, and little by little, the mainstream media took notice.

And there was one man, an associate professor at Seiwa University, who was simply guaranteed to sink his teeth into the tale.

“—Which is to say, I’m revising the lesson plan for today. We’re going to talk about mermaids!”

Takatsuki stood at the lectern with a glowing smile across his whole face as he made this announcement. Laughter spread through the room.

Even Nanba, sitting at Naoya’s side, muttered something that sounded like, “Thought so.” It appeared that most of the class had figured Takatsuki would bring the topic up during their lecture. Many of the students snickered as the day’s handouts made it to their seats.

“We get the sense that there aren’t many modern urban legends involving mermaids, perhaps because our impression of mermaids nowadays is heavily influenced by the Western image of them. The mermaids who appear in Hans Christian Andersen’s ‘The Little Mermaid’ fairy tale—as well as those in the Disney movie adaptation—are more ‘charming and likable creature’ rather than ‘monster.’ However, that’s not to say mermaids never get the scary treatment these days. Several years ago, there was a horror event held at the Sunshine Aquarium in Ikebukuro. Has anyone heard of it? Did anyone go? Ah yes, a few of you, eh? It was essentially a haunted house that took the form of an immersive narrative experience at the aquarium at night. The illuminated tanks worked well with the eerie mermaid puppets, and the event drew large crowds. Naturally, those mermaids were depicted as horrifying and grotesque because they were part of a haunted house. After all, it’s not as if you often get the chance to be attacked by a mermaid! You could also see the fish and jellyfish and such, so it was a very enjoyable experience.”

Takatsuki grinned as he spoke. Judging from the way he talked about it, Naoya had the feeling the professor was one of those who’d attended the event. Perhaps with Ruiko and the other grad students? Sasakura seemed likely to decline if he was invited.

“Now let’s take a look at how Japan originally viewed mermaids. Our oldest written description of them comes from the Nihon shoki. Please turn your attention to Handout 1: Chapter 22, the era of Empress Suiko. It reads, ‘In the summer of the twenty-seventh year, on the fourth day of the fourth month. A report from the province of Afumi: In the river Gamafu there was a creature in the shape of a man. Autumn, seventh month. A fisherman of the province of Settsu cast his net into the canal. Something alike in form to a child, which was neither a fish nor a man, entered his net. He knew not what it should be called.’ The ‘river Gamafu’ is what we now know as the lower reaches of the Hino River in Shiga Prefecture. Something that resembled a person was spotted in its waters. Next we have the account of a fisherman in the former Settsu Province who caught something in his net which seemed to be a child. This creature was neither a human nor a fish, so the fisherman didn’t know how to refer to it. This ‘neither human nor fish’ likely means it resembled both human and fish, you see. We tend to think of the sea when we think of mermaids, but the ones in this period seem to have been river-dwelling.”

The idea that reports along the lines of “something sort of weird happened here” were included in the Nihon shoki was comical, in some ways. The same content that made for a sports newspaper article had been written about in a historical record created by the state itself.

“On to Handout 2, which is from volume 20 of the medieval fable collection, Kokon Chomonju, is called ‘In which residents of the seaside settlement of Beppo in Ise Province captured mermaids and presented them to former Assistant Vice-Minister of Justice Tadamori.’ It’s an account of three peculiar fish which were caught and brought before Taira no Tadamori, and as you can see, the term ‘mermaid’ is distinctly used. There’s also quite a detailed description of their appearance. Their heads were humanlike, but they had small, fishlike teeth and mouths that protruded like a monkey’s. Their bodies were exactly like those of regular fish. Furthermore, when people approached these mermaids, they shrieked in voices that sounded human, and even shed tears. Two of the three were presented to Tadamori, who was disgusted and returned them immediately, but the third was carved up by the fishermen and eaten without compunction. They experienced no unusual side effects, only stating that it was delicious. According to the legend of Yao Bikuni, consuming mermaid flesh will grant you eternal youth and longevity, but no such account appears here. It really makes you wonder what mermaid tastes like, doesn’t it?!”

Lecturing animatedly, Takatsuki began drawing on the blackboard. It was probably supposed to be a picture of the kind of mermaid described in the Kokon Chomonju, but it was quite bizarre. Some of the problem certainly lay in Takatsuki’s drawing ability, but the original subject matter itself definitely contributed to the issue. After all, there was a human head stuck directly where the fish’s face would have gone. It was significantly more fish-forward than the one in “The Little Mermaid.” If she had looked like this, she probably would have had a hard time getting a prince to fall in love with her. The prince would probably have just run away, actually.

“Handout 3 is the entry on mermaids from the Wakan Sansai Zue, which was compiled in the mid-Edo period. There’s an illustration included as well. This one is the ‘upper body of a human woman, lower body of a fish’ type. The explanatory section references the Wamyosho as well as the aforementioned Nihon shoki. Between this and the fact that we still occasionally see articles about such creatures being caught in nets, you get the sense that fishermen must encounter mermaids now and then. Although in reality, what they’re catching are probably less like the mermaid in this illustration and more like the human-faced fish—that is, a fish whose face is simply humanlike—we covered in class last year.”

As he followed along with the professor’s words, Naoya remembered the Napoleon fish he had seen on TV before. When people thought of fish, they tended to imagine flat, pointy heads like the ones on sauries and sardines. But the humphead wrasse, with its round, protruding forehead and massive, thick lips, somehow evoked the image of a human face. If someone accustomed to seeing ordinary fish suddenly came across one of those, they might reflexively mistake it for a human-faced fish.

“When it comes to the Edo period, mermaids were considered a relatively mainstream creature. In Santo Kyoden’s illustrated storybook Hakoiri Musume Men’ya Ningyo, mentioned in Handout 4, a mermaid caught by a fisherman out at sea comes ashore, marries the fisherman, and starts working at a brothel to make a living. She is woman from the head to the neck but fish from the shoulders down, and consequently has no arms. However, in Ryugu Namagusa Hachinoki, also by Santo Kyoden, we see the upper half woman, lower half fish type again. Both of these examples were modeled on the tale of Urashima Taro. It’s further established that that mermaid in Hakoiri Musume Men’ya Ningyo is the child conceived of Urashima Taro’s affair with a sea creature other than Otohime during his time at the Dragon Palace.”

The handout Takatsuki indicated as he spoke included a rather striking picture of a woman who looked exactly like the ladies often shown in woodblock prints—at least, as far as her head was concerned. Her body, just below that, was entirely the same as a normal fish’s. She was also human in proportion and depicted standing deftly upon the tatami mats using her tail. Her face would probably have been considered beautiful, but could she really have attracted customers as a sex worker? Staring at the handout, Nanba muttered, “People from the Edo period were somethin’ else. I could never.” Naoya was inclined to agree.

“In Handout 5, we have a report from the second year of the Bunka era that was included in the Gaidan Bunbun Shuyo of a monstrous fish that was caught in Toyama City in Etchu Province. If you look at the illustration, you can see what appears to be a fish with the horned head of a woman. According to the text, ‘Its face resembled that of a hannya mask. The fin was adorned with a vignette-like pattern, and it had three eyes on each flank.’ Fishermen in nearby Sado would sometimes find this kind of creature in their nets, but as it was said that ensnaring a mermaid would lead to a bad catch, we also get an account of a captured mermaid being given food and alcohol before being returned to the sea. Handout 6 is a drawing printed on a flyer in May of the same year titled ‘Ningyo no zu.’ It’s generally the same as the mermaid described in the Gaidan Bunbun Shuyo, but at the end it says, ‘Those who see this fish once will enjoy great longevity, avoid misfortune and disaster, and gain a lifetime of good luck and virtue.’ It’s interesting that, despite its ominous appearance, it seems to have been regarded as a blessing. Later on, pictures of hime-uo, which look very similar to these examples, became popular as protection from disease. In other words—those who peddled said images in the street under that pretext frequently sold out of their wares. Which means there were also many people very happy to purchase them.”

The Ningyo no zu drawing showed the head of a woman with disheveled hair attached directly to the body of a fish. With the two horns protruding from her head, and her mouth open and showing a row of teeth, her face really did resemble a hannya mask. It might have been difficult for modern people to believe that seeing this creature would result in long life, but people from back then probably hung her picture on their walls with great joy.

Looking down at the handout, Takatsuki gave a slightly wry smile.

“In any case, until the Edo period, mermaids in Japan were not very beautiful. There are objects said to be mummified mermaids here and there, but they aren’t pretty to look at, either. Most of them are considered fakes created with taxidermy techniques in which the upper half of a monkey or something similar is attached to the body of a salmon or trout. The mermaid on the cover of the Kyoden story is somewhat beautiful, but she is nevertheless a departure from how we imagine mermaids today. You can see exactly how much our perception of them transformed with the influx of Western culture.”

At that point, a girl seated at the front of the class raised her hand.

“Professor, what does that mean about the mermaid sightings reported out of Enoshima? All the eyewitness accounts say the mermaids are human to the waist and really pretty, too. In other words, they’re the spitting image of Western mermaids, the kind we think of today as mermaids.”

“Yes,” Takatsuki replied, smiling wide. “Judging from the information that has come out thus far, that’s exactly right.”

The girl who had asked the question leaned forward a little.

“So then,” she said, “does that mean those reports are fake after all? I mean, originally, Japanese mermaids were the type where only the head was human, right? It feels like the ones from the current sightings are a bit too far from that image. Did someone who is only familiar with Western-style mermaids make the report up? Or is it just a simple case of misidentification?”

“Hmm, well, in order to make that argument, I suppose you would first need to assume that the human-head type of mermaid actually has inhabited Japan since a long time ago.”

Takatsuki gestured to the drawing he had made on the blackboard earlier.

The female student suddenly covered her mouth with one hand, as if only just realizing her point rested on the assumption that mermaids were real. Other students began to laugh, and the girl curled in on herself in embarrassment.

Takatsuki, however, looked around at the derisively giggling students as if they were the odd ones.

“Huh? What’s so funny? She asked a really great question.”

The laughter subsided, and the girl raised her head just a little.

Offering her a kind smile, Takatsuki said, “This country has many supernatural creatures. Demons, kappa, tengu, just to name a few. All of us, when we hear those words, can drum up images of what those creatures look like. However, there probably isn’t anyone in this classroom who has actually seen a demon or a kappa, right? We all think we know what they look like because we’ve seen them in manga and novels and such. If I told you all right now to draw a picture of Nurikabe, I’m guessing everyone would draw the rectangular character from GeGeGe no Kitaro. You know the one.”

Turning to the chalkboard, Takatsuki drew something that resembled a large, pounded fish cake with short limbs. He added two eyes in the middle of the shape, then swiveled back around, facing the class.

“It’s Nurikabe,” he declared proudly.

The students responded with a smattering of applause. The subject matter was easy to grasp, so somehow, the drawing could reasonably be seen as Nurikabe.

“Through the stories we’ve been told, or else the pictures that accompany them, we are able to clearly visualize figures we’ve never seen. What’s more, our understanding of those visualizations is a shared one. There was a time in this country when the word ‘mermaid’ usually invoked an image of this human-head type, because that’s how the people of the time understood mermaids to look. But with the rapid influx of Western culture to Japan during the Meiji period, we also saw a huge number of fables and tales from other countries being introduced here. Japanese people are exceptionally good at adopting the cultures of other countries. We soaked up Western fairy tales and novels—along with the monsters that appear in them—with ease. As a result, our image of the creatures known as mermaids evolved as the shared understanding of them as ‘beautiful women from the waist up, fish from the waist down’ spread. The truth is, in this case—it doesn’t actually matter what real mermaids look like, because we only know them in the form we’ve been told about.”

Takatsuki gave a slight shrug.

That was true, Naoya thought. It wasn’t likely anyone in the room had met a real mermaid.

But everyone present still had an idea of what mermaids should look like. And now, with the contents of Takatsuki’s lecture fresh in their heads, they could add to that idea the image of “what mermaids in Japan originally looked like.”

Whether said images resembled actual mermaids in any respect, no one could know.

“Fundamentally, people are only able to view the world as they wish to see it. Even the life-changing experience of seeing something that looks like a mermaid at sea will be impacted by our common understanding of mermaids. The moment someone thinks, ‘I just saw a mermaid,’ the image we all have of mermaids in our minds will very tidily work to supplement the likely indistinct full-body view they actually had. And that will only be truer for someone who’s only heard about the sighting. Of course, the nature of the medium that recounts the story will also have an impact. A sports paper would probably want to present the information in an amusing way. After all, a reader’s interest is more likely to be drawn in by a depiction like ‘a beautiful, bare-chested mermaid leaped out of the sea’ than ‘some creepy sort of fish-human hybrid appeared.’”

Still smiling, Takatsuki turned his attention back to the girl who had first raised her hand.

She was no longer withdrawn, hunching down in her seat. Instead, sitting up tall with a normal posture, she was listening to Takatsuki speak with interest. His smile grew.

“We don’t know yet whether the present rumors circulating about mermaids are made up or genuine. But tales about them have been passed down in Japan for generations, so perhaps there really are creatures we would call mermaids here. At least, I’d like to maintain that level of romanticism! I mean, I really want to see a mermaid! At least then I would know whether the human-head or half-human version is correct!”

Takatsuki’s gleaming eyes made the students burst into another round of laughter.

It was extremely typical of him to open with such a huge amount of exposition, only to conclude with a statement like “I want to see a mermaid.” He was probably going to make a trip to Enoshima to search for them before long.

As Naoya considered that if that did end up happening, Sasakura would probably be driving Takatsuki there in his car, the professor’s gaze turned toward Naoya. He was smiling gleefully.

Oh, Naoya thought. He definitely wants to go.

No message came from Takatsuki immediately after class, however.

Walking out of the school building by himself, Naoya considered going to the library. He shoved both headphones into his ears and started to walk.

Then, halfway there, he suddenly changed his mind and turned toward the building that housed the dining hall.

Having bought only a paper cup full of cheap coffee, Naoya sat at one of the tables near the center of the space.

He wasn’t really there to drink coffee, though.

Music played through his headphones, loud enough to drown out other sounds. The song was from an older album by a foreign artist that he had taken a liking to after hearing it somewhere by chance.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Naoya looked casually around the dining hall.

All the surrounding tables were occupied by students in twos and threes.

Some smiled, some frowned—but they were all talking. Naoya just couldn’t hear what they were talking about. The English lyrics blasting through his headphones almost seemed to erect a barrier around him that blocked out their conversations.

Setting down his cup, Naoya lightly adjusted the bridge of his glasses. He took in a small breath, then exhaled.

Then he reached up and took just one earbud out.

The voices filling the hall immediately flooded into his now-empty ear.

“Like I said, you’re worrying too much! It’s not like those two are dating or anything!”

“I’ve read that book before, too! It made me cry so much! It was so touching!”

“Okay, so, this is a true story. At my old part-time job, my senior coworker turned to me and showed me her—”

He could hear the lies—all of which were likely trifling little fibs—being sprinkled in among the interweaving exchanges. They were the kind of lies meant to gloss things over in the moment, or to make a story more interesting. Naoya didn’t think any of the people who were speaking had any particularly malicious intent.

And yet, to Naoya’s ears, just the fact that they were lying was enough to harshly distort their voices, automatically turning the sound of them into an unbearable racket. Naoya looked down, trying to endure the awful chills coursing down his spine.

In April, when they had met, Tooyama had told Naoya it was a good idea to practice ignoring sounds he didn’t want to hear.

Since then, the two of them—who possessed the same ability—had been in contact several times. When Naoya had asked how to go about practicing that skill, this was the method Tooyama had suggested.

While listening to music in a crowded place, remove just one earbud. Then attempt to only half listen to the conversations around you.

Focus on the music playing in your other ear, and even when distorted voices break your concentration, try not to pay them any attention. Once you grant them even a second of awareness, the lying voices will be the only thing you can hear, so think of them as nothing more than static. Ignore them.

Naoya more or less understood what Tooyama was trying to tell him. Sometimes, when people were in the middle of talking to one another, they became less conscious of what was being said in their vicinity because they were focused on their conversation partner’s words. He felt like Tooyama was saying he should develop the ability to use that same skill when he was by himself. The other man had told him that once he was used to doing this with one earbud in, he should advance to taking both out and trying to pick out only the sounds he wanted to hear from the general ruckus.

There was another thing Tooyama had said to do—one that he admitted was the most essential, but nevertheless the most difficult.

“Don’t feel guilty for being able to tell when someone is lying.”

Both Tooyama and Naoya knew the instant someone hid a lie among their words. It didn’t matter how much that person controlled their facial expression or adjusted their tone. Whenever they uttered anything they knew was untrue, their voice would warp.

The thing was, nobody wanted to be caught in a lie.

“It may be true that the ability we possess is no different than being able to spy on other people’s innermost thoughts and feelings, but it’s not as if we’re doing it consciously… Try not to let it weigh on you. Though I realize that’s easier said than done.”

When he’d said that, Tooyama had smiled bitterly. Naoya had felt himself doing the same.

This power had caused even his own family to shun him. It wasn’t as simple as just not caring about it, especially now.

“Yeah, I totally understand that feeling. It’s not really Mami who’s at fault here, right?”

“No, seriously! I’m not lying! The whole thing is true!”

The voices around him vacillated rapidly between shrill, high-pitched ringing and deep, tremolo bass. Feeling like his very brain tissue was being stirred up, Naoya grimaced and slapped his hands over his ears.

Deciding he had practiced enough for the day, he put his earbud back in. Though he thought he’d held on for quite a while, the coffee in his cup hadn’t cooled down much. Naoya forced the bitter liquid down his throat and stood up.

Tooyama had said that even if it was hard at first, he would get used to it a little at a time. He had apparently used to collapse when he was in crowded places, but that didn’t seem to be the case now. At least for the time being, there was nothing Naoya could do except continue to practice as he’d been told.

That said, the experience had left him feeling a little wrung out. He had meant to stop by the library that day, but he headed for the school gate instead, thinking he might as well go home.

The courtyard was as busy as ever. There were plenty of people walking through it or sitting on the benches chatting, but the space was also used for all sorts of club activities. The dance club was performing a routine to music, the drama club was doing vocal exercises, and next to them for some reason was a group of people selling bananas for cheap. No matter where one looked, it was chaos.

On top of all that, Naoya was starting to worry about the sudden and recent increase in pigeons in the area.

Apparently, students who sat on the courtyard benches had been scattering bread and snacks for the birds, causing a huge number of the local pigeons to descend on what they thought was a feeding ground. At that very moment there was a gray pigeon tip-tapping around by Naoya’s feet, completely unafraid of him. There was bird poop everywhere, and some of the pigeons would even fly low, directly in front of people whom they seemed not to recognize as people. It had become a bit of a problem for the university. Despite the registrar’s office putting up DO NOT FEED THE BIRDS signs in various places, the horde of pigeons wasn’t going to disappear overnight.

Concerned, Naoya had asked Takatsuki if he was okay with all the birds around. The professor had answered that he avoided passing through the courtyard as much as possible, so the issue was sort of being handled. Naoya was still uneasy, however, worrying that sooner or later Takatsuki was going to collapse.

Just then, Naoya noticed a man walk through the school gate in his general direction.

The man wasn’t a student. He looked much older than one. He was clad in a fitted three-piece suit, sported a mustache, and had to be at least in his fifties. Perhaps he had a bad knee or something, because he was carrying a cane, too. He could have been a member of the faculty, but Naoya did not recall ever having seen him at school.

More to the point, Naoya was certain he would have noticed someone like this around campus before.

The more he thought about it, the more the man seemed to possess an unreal sort of aura. With his long gray hair tied back in a single ponytail and his neatly groomed mustache, he looked just like a character from a movie. The term “English gentleman” naturally came to mind even though Naoya was pretty sure the man was Japanese. Tall and well-built to boot, the moderate number of creases in his handsome face gave him a touch of refinement.

Naoya might have accidentally been staring at him while lost in these thoughts, because suddenly, the English gentleman turned to look at him.

As soon as their eyes met, the man broke into a bright smile.

At the same time, Naoya was caught off guard by the feeling that he had seen this man somewhere before. Maybe he actually was a film star?

Seeing that the gentleman’s lips were moving as he approached, Naoya hurried to take out his headphones.

“Um, sorry, I couldn’t hear you… Is something the matter?”

The man looked mildly surprised by Naoya’s question before smiling once more.

“I’m sorry to bother you. I’m here to see a man who works at this school. His name is Akira Takatsuki. Do you happen to know where I might find him?”

Naoya was caught a little off guard by this English gentleman saying Takatsuki’s name in his clear, pleasant baritone.

“Oh… Um, if you’re looking for Professor Takatsuki, he’s probably in the faculty building around this time.”

“Ah, you’re not one of his students, by chance? If you wouldn’t mind, I would much appreciate you showing me the way.”

“I don’t mind. This way.”

Naoya had nothing left to do for the day but go home, so acting as this man’s guide was no problem.

Perhaps the man was a professor at another university, since he was here to see Takatsuki. He didn’t seem like a client who had come after finding the Neighborhood Stories site. There was no “I’m being menaced by the occult” vibe about him.

Looking around the courtyard, the gentleman’s eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Quite lively, isn’t it? Is there some kind of event today?”

“No, it’s pretty much always like this. Those are all clubs over there.”

“Reminds me of Covent Garden. I wish there were a cup I could toss coins into.”

The man twirled his cane gently in his hand as he spoke. There was something—a wolf’s head?—carved into the grip. It wasn’t obvious unless one paid close attention, but the man seemed to have a very slight limp in his right leg.

They arrived at the faculty building, and Naoya showed the man to room 304.

When he knocked on the door, however, there was no answer.

“Huh…? Is he not here?”

Naoya tried the doorknob, thinking Takatsuki was usually in his office at this time of day. The door didn’t seem to be locked. Was it all right to just leave the gentleman waiting inside for the time being?

Considering his options, Naoya opened the door and peeked inside—and nearly jumped back in surprise.

There were books and sheets of paper scattered all across the office. Stacks of books were piled up on the table and the floor. Countless photocopied reference pages in clear sheet protectors littered the room with a number of pens mixed in among them. The office looked like the scene of a very recent fight sequence, but there was no one to be seen.

Despite how he seemed, Takatsuki rather liked keeping things tidy. He was in the habit of immediately putting things back where they belonged when he was done with them, so his office was always neat… Naoya could think of only one person who would make the place look like this.

He peered under the table.

“…Ugh, I knew it! Miss Ruiko!”

A long-haired woman was lying on the floor as if she had only just collapsed there. A laptop was left open at her side, its screen long since gone dark. Ruiko Ubukata was one of Takatsuki’s graduate students. She frequently fell asleep on his office floor when she had a research presentation or thesis deadline looming.

“Come on, Miss Ruiko! You can’t sleep there. Wake up, please.”

Naoya got closer and tried calling her name, but Ruiko only mumbled some incomprehensible sounds and rolled over. Usually, Ruiko was the kind of beauty Nanba fawned over, but it seemed she was in an unfortunate state today—hair unkempt, face bare but for the dark circles under her off-kilter glasses.

“Miss Ruiko. Come on, you have to get up. You have work today, don’t you?”

“Hnngg… Fukamachi, you go in my place, ’kay…? I’ll pay you a lot…”

“What are you saying? I can’t do that,” Naoya replied, right as someone opposite him started speaking to Ruiko.

“Pardon me, m’dear. Are you quite all right?”

It was the English gentleman.

He had apparently gone the long way around the table to reach the other side. Leaning his cane against the table, he knelt next to Ruiko and gently helped her sit up.

“A lady shouldn’t sleep on a cold floor like this. Dear me, you poor thing, you look so tired. Come now, at least sit in that chair there. It may be a mere folding chair with absolutely nothing about its molding to compliment, but I’m sure it will accommodate a lovely girl like yourself better than the floor. Here, can you stand?”

In his deep, clear voice, the man unabashedly spouted lines that would have fit right in on a stage. The fellow had to be an actor, Naoya thought, because he doubted an ordinary person would have been able to say any of that without difficulty.

But unfortunately, Ruiko was still half asleep. It was only once she was seated in a chair, propped up by the gentleman, that she opened her bleary eyes.

“Hn…? Professor Akira, when did you grow a mustache…? Oh no, it suits you…”

“Miss Ruiko, that isn’t Professor Takatsuki.”

When he pointed this out to Ruiko, who was blinking sleepily as though she hadn’t yet woken all the way up, Naoya realized something.

That was it—that was the reason he felt like he had seen this man before.

It was because they looked alike.

This man—and Akira Takatsuki.

“Huh? What’s going on? You left the door open.”

Right then, Naoya heard Takatsuki’s voice on the other side of the door.

Several envelopes in hand, the professor walked into the room. He had probably been at the registrar’s office.

“Whoa, Miss Ruiko, you’ve made a mess again… Oh? Fukamachi? And—huh? Huh?! What?! Uncle Wataru?!”

Takatsuki’s eyes widened and then went completely round as he glanced from Naoya to the English gentleman.

The man went back around the table and walked up to Takatsuki.

“Akira, my boy! It’s been too long! How are you?”

“Uncle! What’s going on? I didn’t hear you were coming!”

“Ah-ha-ha-ha, surprise! The nerve of you, becoming such a fine man! I missed you, you damn rascal!”

“I missed you, too, Uncle!”

The gentleman spread his arms wide and wrapped Takatsuki in a hug that Takatsuki happily returned. When they were standing right next to each other like this, it was easy to see the resemblance—their faces, their statures, even the somewhat unreal atmosphere around them.

“Huh…? Professor Akira… There are two of you…? What’s happ’ning…?”

Ruiko was mumbling and swaying a little in her chair.

Naoya thrust his phone, with the time and date displayed on the screen, right in front of her face.

“Miss Ruiko, it’s Thursday.”

“Thurs…day…?”

“You have work today.”

“—Oh.”

In a heartbeat, Ruiko came to her senses.

Shooting to her feet so fast that the folding chair clattered to the floor, she pulled a huge tote bag from under the table and stuffed her laptop, papers, and pens into it at record speed. With no more than a “Sorry, please excuse me!” Ruiko slipped right past the two still-hugging men. It was almost impressive how quickly she moved post-reboot. Though if she had to go home, get ready, and then make it to the cram school where she worked part-time, there probably wasn’t even a second to spare.

“Be careful not to fall, Miss Ruiko!” Takatsuki called through the open door after the sound of her receding footsteps.

Naoya felt like her answering “I will!” came from a considerable distance away.

Finally pulling away from Takatsuki, the man said, “Akira, a gentleman would never let a woman sleep on the floor. I’m disappointed.”

“Well, you see, Miss Ruiko is an eager student and a good kid, but she’s the sort who forgets to sleep and eat when she’s busy, so sometimes she’ll just pass out on the floor like that…”

“My word. Just like you used to be, eh? Well, if you knew this kind of thing would occur, you could have laid a blanket out for her in advance, at least. That’s how we did it at home, after all.”

“Yes, but Uncle, this is my office, not my house. I can’t just leave a blanket here…”

Smiling and shaking his head, Takatsuki closed his office door at last.

Then, with a start, he turned to look at Naoya, whose presence he seemed to have forgotten about until that moment.

“Ah, Fukamachi, I’m sorry! Are you the one who showed my uncle here?”

“Yes. I just happened to meet him at the school gate.”

“I see. Thank you for that. So—this is Wataru Takatsuki, my maternal uncle. I mentioned him before, remember? The relative who took care of me while I lived overseas for a while? That was Uncle Wataru,” Takatsuki explained. “He lives in the UK, usually.”

So he was a real English gentleman after all.

The gentleman—rather, Wataru Takatsuki—bowed his head elegantly toward Naoya.

“How do you do? Ah, your name is Fukamachi, is it? And your given name?”

“It’s…Naoya. Naoya Fukamachi.”

“I see. Well then, Naoya, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance once more.”

Wataru held out his right hand. The handshake was still not a very common custom in Japan, but the older man did not seem like the “when in Rome” type. As soon as Naoya offered his own hand, Wataru grasped it firmly in his larger one and shook it up and down as he pleased. He and Takatsuki really were similar. Even the way they neglected the personal space of someone they’d just met was the same.

From what Naoya remembered, the professor’s father had taken his wife’s name when they’d married, which likely explained why they also shared the Takatsuki surname.

“Uncle, please sit. I’ll get you something to drink. Is black tea okay? I only have tea bags, though. You sit, too, Fukamachi. Have some coffee, since you’re already here.”

At Takatsuki’s urging, Wataru sat in one of the folding chairs. Naoya had been thinking it was about time he went home, but with those words, the chance had passed him by. Not seeing another choice, Naoya also took a seat.

Turning his head this way and that to survey the office, Wataru said, “So you’re an associate professor already? You were still only a lecturer the last time I saw you, I believe. Has it really been five years since then?”

“Yep, that was five years ago. What did you come to Japan for this time, Uncle? Work?”

“Indeed. It seems we’ll be getting some new client companies, so I came to discuss business with them. Also, well, I just wanted to lay eyes on my dear nephew for the first time in a while.”

“I’m in good health, as you can see. You seem to be doing well, too, Uncle. I’m glad.”

Takatsuki carried a drink-laden tray to the table and set a mug of tea down in front of Wataru.

Seeing the cup Takatsuki had used for the tea, Naoya’s brow furrowed. Visitors to the office invariably had drinks served to them in a mug with a multicolored Great Buddha on it, whether they liked it or not. At least, that was how it was supposed to be. But the one Takatsuki had just given his uncle was a red one—Ruiko’s usual cup.

As he put Naoya’s coffee—in his dog-patterned mug—down on the table, Takatsuki smiled wryly.

“Don’t scowl at me like that, Fukamachi. My uncle is an antique dealer in England. He’s quite fussy about aesthetics, so he’d probably tell me off if I got that mug out.”

“Even you care about stuff like that, Professor?”

“Of course I do. I owe a lot to him, you know.”

It was quite unusual to see Takatsuki moving at any pace other than his own.

And yet, now that Naoya thought about it, he thought he remembered Takatsuki saying once before, “I don’t know how I would have ended up if I hadn’t gone to live with a relative for a while.”

Wataru Takatsuki was probably the person who had stood at the professor’s side during the most challenging period of his life.

That thought only made Naoya more uncomfortable. He felt like he was getting in the way. The two were family, hadn’t seen each other in ages, and on top of that, were probably especially dear to one another.

I need to drink this quickly and go home, Naoya thought, lifting the mug to his lips.

But as he did, he realized that, for some reason, Wataru was staring at him.

“Um, yes?”

“—Oh, nothing,” Wataru answered. Deep wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes as he smiled. “I was just thinking that Akira seems to have taken a liking to you. I bet he’s rather attached to you, eh?”

“I feel like ‘attached to’ isn’t a phrase typically used to describe how someone older relates to someone younger.”

“But he is attached to you, isn’t he? Now, now, have a chocolate. Take good care of him for me, will you?”

As he spoke, Wataru took a chocolate candy from his suit pocket and forced it upon Naoya, who could only sit there at a loss.

Takatsuki stepped in.

“Uncle, Fukamachi doesn’t eat sweets. Also, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything weird to him, okay?”

“I haven’t said anything weird. You were always the kind of child who refused to let go of someone once you grew attached to them, weren’t you?”

“That’s the kind of thing I’d rather you not say…,” Takatsuki muttered, frowning.

Naoya hadn’t really seen that expression on Takatsuki before. It was like he was embarrassed to have various things about his childhood revealed without his permission. Wataru was like a parent to him, essentially. Who knew the professor could make a face like that?

Sitting on his uncle’s other side, Takatsuki had his usual blue mug in hand. It seemed to be full of cocoa, but there were no marshmallows in it—another departure from the norm. Naoya found it a bit interesting.

Sipping from his marshmallow-less cocoa, Takatsuki asked, “How long are you in Japan, Uncle?”

“I thought I’d stay for a while, since I have the chance. My business negotiations are over already, but I haven’t been in the country for such a long time, so…”

“What about the company? Will it be okay without you?”

“Yes, because I have a brilliant assistant! Her name is Irene, and she does everything perfectly. The company doesn’t even need me to keep running as long as she’s there. So even if I’m off enjoying myself for a time—”

He was interrupted by a vibrating sound—likely his phone—coming suddenly from his pocket.

Taking out his phone to look at the screen, Wataru muttered a quiet “ack!” The display said “Irene.” Excusing himself, he got up and went to take the call in the hallway, though he looked more like a child on his way to a sermon than a grown man about to talk to his assistant.

He came back in a short while later, his expression a bit dejected.

“…I’ve been told I have one week before I had better go back…”

“It seems awfully nice of her to say you can stay the week, though?”

“You know it’s eight thirty in the morning over there? I wish she loved work a little less and loved me a little more… Blast it, I was thinking of taking my time, visiting Kyoto and going to the hot springs for at least half the month… I wanted to spend more time with you, too, Akira…”

“I’ll spend as much time with you as I’m able, Uncle, so don’t be so discouraged, okay?”

Wataru had slumped, crestfallen, over the table, and Takatsuki patted him gently on the back. Seriously, Naoya thought. These two are so similar. They even pout in the same way.

“Uncle, what about tonight? Let’s have dinner together if you’re free.”

“Tonight is no good. I have plans to meet with someone after this. What about this weekend, instead? If you haven’t got anything on, why not take your old uncle out somewhere fun?”

“Ah. Saturday is, well…”

Wataru raised an eyebrow at Takatsuki’s somewhat noncommittal answer.

“What’s this, then? If you have a date with someone, you had better introduce them to me. It’s only proper, since I’m your uncle.”

“It’s not a date. Um—well, I did want to ask about his weekend plans, so. Hey, Fukamachi, are you free this Saturday?”

“Huh…? Wh-where’s this coming from?”

Not expecting to suddenly become the focus of the conversation, Naoya almost choked on his coffee.

Looking at him from around Wataru, Takatsuki said, “You see, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to the Enoshima area to look for mermaids. I just heard from KenKen that he’s not working Saturday, so he could give us a ride. I’m sure it’ll be fun, you know?”

“Right… Sure, I’ll go. I figured you would want to see it. The mermaid, I mean.”

Naoya had been able to tell that Takatsuki was eager to go from the expression he’d worn during class, but apparently he had just been waiting on confirmation from Sasakura.

The professor’s eyes shone with excitement.

“I mean, they might actually be real! This could be my chance to confirm with my own eyes what Japanese mermaids really look like!”

Wataru cocked his head to the side.

“Mermaids, you say? Are there mermaids swimming in the waters of Japan these days?”

“Yep. It’s a big news topic right now. There have been a number of eyewitness reports. I really want to go to Enoshima this Saturday, since KenKen can actually make it. You could join us if you’d like, Uncle? We could do some sightseeing in Kamakura while we’re at it.”

“Of course I’ll go! Japanese mermaids, eh? How thrilling!”

Wataru smiled with his whole face, his eyes sparkling just like his nephew’s. They really were alike. Even though he was a bit older, that childlike look of joy was the spitting image of Takatsuki.

It seemed that Wataru had only come to say hello to Takatsuki that day. As soon as he finished his tea, he stood to leave. Naoya decided it was a good time for him to head home as well.

Takatsuki said he would see his uncle to the train station, so the three of them ended up leaving the building together.

In the courtyard, the club activities still appeared to be in full swing. The banana stand was gone, but in its place the street performance society was putting on a Chinese spinning-top demonstration. A game of double Dutch had started up as well. It had already amassed quite a crowd, as participants welcomed anyone passing by to join the rhythmic rope-skipping.

Weaving their way through the hustle and bustle, Naoya and the two older men walked in the direction of the school gate. Wataru seemed to enjoy all this sort of revelry. He turned his head to watch the various groups with amusement, occasionally applauding their exploits.

“Now that I think of it, the place you used to live when you were abroad, that was England, right? Were you in London?”

Recalling Wataru’s earlier likening of the courtyard to Covent Garden, Naoya turned to Takatsuki to ask him about the subject. He was pretty sure that was the name of a popular tourist destination in London.

Grinning, Takatsuki looked at him.

“I lived in a neighborhood on the outskirts of London. Uncle Wataru owns a housing complex there. The residents who lived there were like one big family.”

“It kind of sounds like an overseas sitcom.”

“Yeah. It actually was a lot like that, a bunch of people from different countries living in one building… There was an English baker, someone from India who worked in IT, a French counselor, two big dogs, my uncle the landlord, and me—the little freeloader.”

“Wow, what a cast of characters…”

“Right? We all ate meals together and took turns being in charge of the cooking. It was my job to walk the dogs. Every day was a delight. I really miss everyone…”

Takatsuki’s nostalgic smile made Naoya think he must have really fond memories of those days. For some reason, the idea that there was a time the professor had lived like that gave him a sense of relief.

But just then—

A brief shriek rang out from somewhere ahead of them.

What now? Naoya thought, turning to look in that direction.

When he saw them—without even thinking, Naoya’s hand shot out to grab hard onto Takatsuki’s arm.

“Professor—!”

Pigeons.

Several birds, flying noisily and entirely undaunted through the crowd, were headed straight in their direction.

It was too late to dodge them; Takatsuki was already frozen in place.

The pigeons swept in right around eye level, skimming shoulders and heads with their flapping wings as they passed. Naoya and the others ducked to let the birds continue on their way.

“…”

Takatsuki’s faint gasp was just barely audible.

The second Naoya realized what was happening, the professor had already collapsed against him.

“Professor!”

“Akira!” Wataru yelled.

Though he tried his best to support Takatsuki’s weight by himself, ultimately, Naoya ended up sinking to the ground right where he stood, the other man in his arms.

“Akira! Hey, Akira!”

Dropping his cane and kneeling beside them, Wataru shook Takatsuki by the shoulders to no effect. His cheeks drained of color, the professor was as white as a sheet.

“Naoya,” Wataru said, his tone severe, “Akira still gets like this when he sees a bird, even now?”

Naoya nodded minutely.

“…Yes.”

Suddenly, Naoya realized people had started to gather around them. There were some concerned faces in the crowd, but there were many more pairs of curious eyes. This is bad, he thought. He needed to get Takatsuki somewhere else fast, but he wasn’t confident he could carry the man alone, and he couldn’t ask a man who walked with a cane to help. As for the faintly smiling students staring down at them—he was reluctant to go that route, too. Noticing some people’s cell phones out and pointed in their direction, Naoya was horrified. What did they intend to do with the pictures they were taking?

“—Huh? Fukamachi?”

At that moment, Naoya heard a familiar voice and whipped his head around to look.

It was Nanba. He was peering down over the wall of people surrounding them.

“It is you, Fukamachi. What’re you doing…? Wait, is that…Professor Takatsuki?!”

“N-Nanba!”

Naoya couldn’t help but gaze up at him with imploring eyes, which seemed to catch Nanba momentarily off guard before he quickly pushed his way through the bystanders.

“What happened? Did he have a seizure or something? Is he anemic?”

“…Something like that.”

“Seriously? You wanna get him to the health center?”

“Yeah… But, um, I can’t carry him myself.”

“Say no more. I got you.”

“Huh…?”

Nanba had answered like it was the most natural thing in the world. As he took hold of one of Takatsuki’s arms, Naoya could only stare at him, mouth slightly agape.

Nanba slung the professor’s arm over his own shoulders and made to stand, but he wasn’t that different in physique from Naoya, who hastened to assist. Naoya put Takatsuki’s other arm around himself and the two of them managed to get up, supporting the unconscious man as a team.

“—Hey, what the hell are you all lookin’ at?!” Nanba shouted. “Show’s over! Go on, get outta here!”

The rubbernecking crowd scattered.

Wataru, who had taken out his phone to make a call of some kind, hung up and turned toward them.

“I’d rather we take Akira home than to the infirmary. I just called for a cab to meet us in front of the gate. Apologies, but would you mind carrying him there for me?”

“…Sorry, Nanba. Could you help me?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem. Narumi—go ahead without me! I’ll be there soon! I gotta help out here!”

Nanba called out to a ponytailed girl standing on the other side of the thinning human wall. Looking worried, the girl nodded in understanding. She had to be Nanba’s girlfriend.

The taxi Wataru had called arrived in no time. Together, Naoya and Nanba managed to lift Takatsuki into the back seat. Considering Takatsuki would have to be carried all the way up to his apartment, Nanba had to come with them. It was a little cramped, but they got Takatsuki into a seated position in the middle of the seat and squeezed in on either side of him.

Settling into the passenger seat, Wataru gave the driver Takatsuki’s address, which he apparently knew, and the taxi departed immediately. Before long, they were outside the apartment complex in Yoyogi. Wataru searched Takatsuki’s pockets for his keys, and Naoya and Nanba heaved the professor onto their shoulders once more, somehow or other succeeding in getting him to and then past his own front door.

They removed Takatsuki’s jacket, laid him on his bed, and finally got a chance to catch their breath. People were really heavy when they were unconscious. The fact that Sasakura could do this without breaking a sweat was beginning to make Naoya seriously respect him.

“I am so sorry to have troubled you like this,” Wataru said. “I’m sure he wasn’t easy to carry. I’m going to make a quick call. Could you keep an eye on Akira?”

He left the bedroom with his phone in hand.

It wasn’t as if they were doing it just because they’d been told to, but Naoya and Nanba stood over the bed, looking down at Takatsuki. Worrying that he would get uncomfortable, Naoya took off the professor’s tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar. The professor showed no signs of waking.

“Hey,” Nanba said, “who’s the silver fox?”

“Professor Takatsuki’s uncle. He just happened to drop in to see him today.”

“Whoa, for real? Is everybody in his family that good-looking? Those are some powerful genes, huh…? Anyway, is it really okay not to take him to a doctor?”

“This happens a lot, so. If we just leave him be for a while, he’ll wake up on his own…probably.”

“Yeesh. Does he have some kind of chronic illness or something?”

“Well, I mean, it’s…you know. More importantly, Nanba…I’m sorry.”

Nanba looked at him in confusion.

“You had somewhere to be, right? Sorry for dragging you into things.”

“Yeah, but it was just a club meeting. It’s totally fine if I’m late, so don’t worry about it.”

Waving Naoya’s concern off with a little chuckle, Nanba replied in a voice that was slightly distorted. Naoya snapped his mouth shut automatically, feeling a faint tightness in his chest. This idiot, he thought. It wasn’t “totally fine.” His being late was probably going to cause some kind of problem… But even though he was lying, he’d told Naoya not to worry.

It was true—there really were lies like this in the world. Kind ones, told deliberately for someone else’s sake.

“Fukamachi? What’s up?”

“Oh…”

Nanba was squinting at Naoya as though he had been making a really weird face or something.

“…Thanks, Nanba.”

When he opened his mouth to exhale, those words came naturally with it.

Naoya was so glad for Nanba’s readily given kindness. He could not express how relieved he’d been to see that friendly face among all the openly amused stares earlier.

“Aw, come on. This is what people are supposed to do for each other. Besides, it’s always been my dream to come to the aid of someone collapsed along the wayside, and at the end, when they ask for my name, say ‘It ain’t nothin’ worth mentioning’ and leave.”

“Okay, weirdo,” Naoya said. As he laughed at Nanba’s dramatics, his gaze somehow ended up back on Takatsuki.

For some reason, he could practically hear the professor in his ear, saying something he had once told Naoya.

“It’s okay to ask for help when you need it. Don’t forget that—understood?”

At the time, it had annoyed him. It’d felt like Takatsuki was admonishing him like a child.

But—maybe this kind of situation was what Takatsuki had been referring to back then.

“Well, I should get going. When Professor Takatsuki wakes up, tell him he can thank me later, okay? I accept credits as payment.”

“You can’t earn college credit for carrying someone when they faint… And what happened to ‘it ain’t nothin’ worth mentioning’?”

“That’s one story, this is another, and credits are credits.”

Naoya saw Nanba to the door as he finally left for his club meeting.

Then he peered into the living room to see Wataru had just finished his phone call.

“Oh, has the other lad gone? Is Akira still unconscious?”

“Yes. Um…Mr. Takatsuki, didn’t you say you had plans tonight?”

Having settled on “Mr. Takatsuki” after briefly waffling over how to address the man, Naoya received a “Wataru, please” in response.

“I just canceled my plans. I don’t want to leave Akira alone in his condition.”

“Huh? But if we just let him rest, he’ll wake— Oh.”

In the middle of saying something, Naoya remembered.

They had gone on a trip over spring break, and Takatsuki had lost consciousness then, too.

When he had come to, he hadn’t been his usual self.

Wataru’s gaze narrowed slightly, as though he was reading Naoya’s face.

“Naoya, you— Don’t tell me you’ve met the other Akira?”

Startled, Naoya looked up.

One hand idly stroking his chin—yet another habit he shared with Takatsuki—Wataru stared fixedly at him.

“How much do you know? About Akira.”

“How much…?”

Unable to meet the other man’s eyes, Naoya glanced instinctively toward the bedroom. His thoughts drifted to the person sleeping on the other side of that door.

When it came to how much he knew about Takatsuki—the answer was probably “a lot.”

He knew all sorts of things about Takatsuki that he was pretty sure other students didn’t.

“I know he was spirited away when he was a kid… I know about the scars on his back…about his eyes…and that he had problems with his family, so he lived abroad for a while…”

But even as he answered Wataru’s question, Naoya found himself wondering if he actually did know anything about Takatsuki.

He was never really sure, after all.

What kind of person was the real Takatsuki? How did those intermittently blue eyes look at the world? Naoya had gotten intimately mixed up in Takatsuki’s affairs several times already, and he realized that had made him feel as though he knew the other man.

Then Wataru asked him something strange.

“Tell me—have you ever seen Akira’s face do anything other than smile?”

“Huh?”

Momentarily bewildered, Naoya looked back up at him.

Takatsuki was pretty much always smiling. He smiled like a child when he was having fun, and produced a wry smile when he was minorly inconvenienced. Even when he was apologizing for something, he was more apt to smile than not.

But…Naoya had seen him wear other expressions, a few times.

Like during the “Miracle Girl of Okutama” case. That was the first time he had seen Takatsuki angry enough to shout. It was also the first time he’d seen Takatsuki shed tears.

“…I see. Akira seems to be keeping you quite close.”

Perhaps reading Naoya’s expression again, Wataru sighed.

Then, abruptly, he looked toward the bedroom.

“Do you want to know more?” he asked. “About him, I mean.”

Naoya froze.

Wataru knew Takatsuki back before he had grown up. And in all likelihood, he was the person who had made Takatsuki into the man he was now.

The professor had once told Naoya that, due to his mother treating him as the “Tengu’s Child,” he had stopped knowing whether he was a human, a god, or a monster. Both he and his mother had sustained so much mental distress that in the end, his father had sent him to live with Wataru.

It was the years he’d spent with his uncle that had allowed him to regain his humanity, Takatsuki had said.

If Naoya was being honest, he did want to know more about the Takatsuki from that time.

However—

“I…don’t know if he would want me to know.”

In a few key ways, Takatsuki and Naoya were exactly the same.

Takatsuki seemed like an open book, but he actually drew a very clear line between himself and those around him. He skillfully concealed anything he didn’t want to say, and rarely talked about himself to begin with, to the point that Naoya had learned more about Takatsuki from Sasakura than from the man himself.

Wataru smiled, the wrinkles on his face crinkling, and put his hand on Naoya’s head.

“You’re a good lad.”

“Huh…?”

A few additional gentle pats followed the first, and Naoya only became more bewildered.

Then, suddenly, Wataru clapped his hands together.

“—Now, then! Naoya, are you any good at cooking?”

“What?”

“No matter, I’ll make us something. Do you have anywhere to be tonight? You don’t, right? Then allow me to treat you to a home-cooked meal!”

“H-home-cooked…? Why?”

It felt like the conversation had just veered off in an odd direction, but Wataru started toward the kitchen with some sort of spring in his step.

“Well, I had to cancel my evening plans, after all. What can I do other than make myself something to eat here? You might as well join me at this point. Now, let’s see what we have in the refrigerator… Oh, bloody hell!”

Wataru shouted something in English into the refrigerator. Naoya went to find out why and saw that the fridge—which was rather large for a single man who lived alone—was almost entirely empty.

“Oh. I think I remember him saying he doesn’t usually cook…”

“I don’t remember raising him that way! Ah… Oh! There’s miso, at the very least. Some cheese… That’s just a snack, though. Three eggs… Condiments and oil, more or less… There’s rice. Not much, but…rice cooker, check. Pots, pans, basic cooking utensils, check. Right, got it.”

After rummaging around the kitchen as he pleased, Wataru swiveled back around to face Naoya.

Taking out his wallet and promptly withdrawing a ten-thousand-yen bill, he said, “Naoya, I need you to go shopping.”

“Pardon?”

“Fish and vegetables, to start. At this time of year…probably horse mackerel for the fish. If they don’t have it, meat will suffice. Beef, chicken, pork—any of those would be fine. Just basic vegetables will do. Carrots, onions, potatoes, cabbage, whatever you’d like. Here’s my mobile number; call me if you’re unsure.”

“Uh, um, i-is it okay to just use his kitchen without permission…?”

“It’s Akira’s fault for being asleep. Or rather, it’s his fault for having such a fine kitchen and neglecting to use it! I’m appalled. Off you go, now. I’ll put the rice on.”

Shedding his jacket, Wataru wasted no time in trading it for the apron hanging next to the refrigerator. Apparently aprons were just another thing English gentlemen looked good in.

Naoya didn’t see a point in arguing, so he left the building with the ten-thousand-yen bill clutched in his hand. Having located a nearby supermarket on his phone, he bought what Wataru had asked for and returned to Takatsuki’s apartment.

As promised, Wataru was a good cook. He prepared the ingredients expertly and had everything laid out on the dining table in no time without Naoya even needing to help. Salt-grilled mackerel, stewed vegetables, miso soup, freshly cooked rice—for all that he lived in England, the meal Wataru served had a quintessentially Japanese feel.

Over dinner, Naoya mainly listened to Wataru talk about the UK and his work. The older man was a good conversationalist and could make any topic entertaining, but—Takatsuki didn’t come up even once in any of Wataru’s stories.

After eating and clearing the table, the two of them went to peek into the bedroom.

Takatsuki certainly looked asleep, but Wataru nodded after surveying him briefly and said, “He should be fine like this. He’s just sleeping normally, now.”

“How can you tell?” Naoya asked.

Putting a finger to his lips as if to say “shh, listen,” Wataru winked.

Naoya did. And, though it was faint, he could hear the definite sound of a sleeping person’s deep, even breathing.

“Akira doesn’t breathe like that right after he passes out—he barely breathes at all. Hardly a peep out of him until a little while ago, right? He’s changed position, too. We can leave him be.”

Wataru saying that made Naoya realize it was true. Maybe the reason he had felt uneasy every time he had seen Takatsuki’s unconscious form was that the professor was always eerily quiet in that state. He never stirred, never made a sound. He just lay there, like a puppet with its strings cut.

At that moment, Takatsuki was curled up in bed on his side. His face was mostly obscured by the duvet, but judging from each peaceful inhale and exhale, he was sleeping comfortably.

“The other Akira won’t be making an appearance now that he’s in this state,” Wataru added, closing the bedroom door. “No need to worry.”

Naoya looked at him.

“…Um. What…is it? The ‘other’ Professor Takatsuki… Does it usually come out when he loses consciousness?”

“I wouldn’t say that, no. I’ve only met him a handful of times, and I don’t know what he is, either. However…I am certain he isn’t Akira.”

“Is it like a split personality or something?”

“Who knows? I spoke to a specialist about it once, but I was told what I’d described didn’t fit the bill. In any case…I refuse to believe it’s something that came from within him.”

Wataru looked down at Naoya with a conspiratorial grin.

Then, stooping down a little, he peered into Naoya’s face from much too close.

“So, Naoya, I think it’s about time we started exchanging information, eh?”

“E-exchanging information…?”

“I’ll tell you about Akira’s past. You tell me about his present. Ah—we’ll need alcohol. Let’s see… Hmph, his refrigerator is empty, but he’s stocked up on wine, hasn’t he? White or red, Naoya? I prefer red, myself.”

“W-wait a minute! I’m not…!”

Naoya tried to object as Wataru began pawing through the professor’s wine shelf. He didn’t know if that was the kind of discussion they should be having when Takatsuki wasn’t around. But Wataru merely prodded him in the direction of the sofa and grabbed a bottle off the shelf.

“Come, now. You’re going to be close to him for a while yet, after all.”

His tone was casual, the words tossed out offhandedly.

He wasn’t asking for any sort of confirmation; Wataru made the statement like it was already a done deal. Pausing, Naoya stared at him. He couldn’t have known about Naoya’s ears, so why had he said a thing like that?

Wataru looked directly at him and continued with a serious expression.

“Allow me to be frank, Naoya—my nephew is very dear to me.”

“O-kay…?”

“Truthfully, I didn’t want Akira to return to Japan. I thought he should just live happily in Britain with me and my compatriots forever. He would definitely have been happier that way. But Akira made the decision himself to come back to Japan… Rather than letting me protect him, he chose to tough it out alone.”

Wataru removed the apron he had worn to cook and tossed it over the back of a dining room chair.

“And so I want to make sure Akira is surrounded by people—allies—who know him well. From what I’ve seen, he has taken quite a liking to you. Keeps you close. That being the case, I want you to let me use you for Akira’s sake.”

“By ‘use,’ you mean…?”

“I want to keep Akira safe from now on, and I intend to make that a matter for your concern. Past, present, and future are all connected. That’s why I want you to know as much as possible about him. It’s not as though he’ll tell you himself, is it? I do think it’s a shame. You have so much life ahead of you… But it’s always been my policy to utilize anything that can be useful.”

Naoya had heard those words somewhere before.

Oh, I see, he thought. To some extent, Wataru had likely connected the dots regarding Naoya’s relationship with Takatsuki. He must have sensed that Takatsuki kept Naoya close because Naoya, too, was burdened by unique circumstances.

And yet the reason he was about to deliberately tell Naoya all about Takatsuki’s past was—to prevent Naoya from distancing himself too much from Takatsuki?

That was…

“—It’s a bit late for that,” he muttered.

Wataru blinked.

“What was that?”

Naoya didn’t answer; he just sat down hard on the sofa.

It was too late, truly.

Takatsuki seemed to have no intention of letting go of Naoya anytime soon, and Naoya himself…

“As I thought. You’re prepared, then.”

Wataru took two wine glasses from the cupboard, settled himself on the sofa as well, and put one glass in front of Naoya.

“Um, I…”

Rather pointedly, the older man tilted the bottle so that wine poured noisily into Naoya’s glass.

Naoya frowned. It was a generous pour—a merciless one.

Wataru spoke calmly.

“You’re not going to tell me you can’t drink, surely?”

“It’s not that I can’t. But…”

“Go on, then. You can blame it all on the alcohol, right? My saying what I’m about to say, and your listening to it. It’s the wine’s fault.”

He gave Naoya another meaningful smile. It was not the sort of expression a good role model would wear.

Naoya lifted his drink, prompted by Wataru’s “Come now, cheers!” The moment their glasses clinked together, he felt like he had become complicit in some kind of wrongdoing.

Watching the bloodred liquid swirl round and round inside the glass, Naoya was struck by a strange feeling. The idea of getting drunk with a middle-aged Englishman he had only just met that day, at his college professor’s apartment, while that very same college professor lay unattended in another room was… But then, something almost just like this had happened before, when he had first heard about Takatsuki’s situation from Sasakura. He hadn’t been allowed to drink the wine that time, though.

Still…he felt some guilt about it.

Even on that occasion, however, Naoya had been the one to ask for answers.

He brought the wine to his mouth. Unaccustomed to the bitterness, he struggled just a little to get it down. But, he thought, maybe that was a good thing, considering what he was about to hear.

“…How old was he?” he asked. “When you took him in.”

“Fifteen. He was with me for three years.”

All throughout his high school years, in other words.

Topping off their already half-emptied glasses, Wataru continued in a low voice, “I had been living abroad since my midtwenties, so I had actually barely spent any time around Akira when he was little. I rarely came home to Japan, so at most, we’d have a few meals together whenever my sister would go on holiday to Europe with her family— Do you understand? Even though that was the case, Akira was left with me. With an uncle he had met so seldom he could have counted the number of times it happened on his hands. One who had cut practically all ties with the family, no less.”

He paused, his upper lip curling beneath his mustache.

“At the time, Akira seemed normal from an outside perspective. He was always smiling. Maybe even more than he does now… Back then, he had forgotten how to do anything but smile.”

At those words, Naoya drank another mouthful of wine, barely tasting it.

Wataru talked for a long, long time.

The story he told… It ended up being the kind that absolutely called for at least one drink.

Naoya awoke the next morning to someone shaking his shoulder.

It was Takatsuki.

“Fukamachi, why are you at my place?”

“Oh… Good morning, Professor.”

Sitting up from the sofa he had been sleeping on, Naoya rubbed his eyes. He fumbled for his glasses on the table, where he assumed he would have put them the night before, but came up empty. Maybe because he had just woken up, or because of the wine, his head felt hazy. While Naoya groped around fruitlessly, a completely gobsmacked Takatsuki picked Naoya’s glasses up from where they had fallen beneath the table and held them out.

“What do you mean, ‘good morning’? I woke up to your being here, which scared me half to death… Did I collapse again?”

“Yes. Do you remember trying to cross the courtyard to see your uncle to the station? The pigeons…”

“Ah. I see… I’m sorry I caused you trouble. Well done carrying me all the way here, though.”

“Oh, Nanba helped me with that.”

“Nanba? Wow… Could you thank him for me later?”

Takatsuki seemed to have only just woken up, too; his voice sounded pitiful. Hair slightly mussed, he was still wearing the shirt they had put him to bed in.

Naoya glanced at the wall clock and saw it was half past six. After listening to Wataru’s story the night before, Naoya had talked a little, too, but he got the feeling he must have gotten tired in the middle of that and just gone to sleep right there on the couch. He hadn’t particularly planned on spending the night or anything.

“Oh, you’re both awake?”

Wataru swept into the room then, the only one of them who looked put-together. His hair and mustache were both tidy, and even without his jacket he looked the very picture of a proper English gentleman.

“I used your bathroom and borrowed a shirt, Akira. You should shower, too. And have breakfast right after. You must be hungry since you missed dinner.”

“Just a moment, Uncle! You gave Fukamachi alcohol, didn’t you?! You can’t do that—he’s still underage!”

The moment he laid eyes on Wataru, Takatsuki started scolding him. The wine bottle and glasses had been left out on the table, so their drinking-party-for-two must have been quite apparent.

Wataru shrugged.

“As if college students haven’t been drinking heavily at parties since the first day of term. You don’t need to get so angry about it.”

“That’s not the point! The drinking age may be eighteen in England, but in Japan it’s twenty!”

“—Um, it’s okay. I already had my birthday this year, so I’m twenty now.”

It was far too early to be arguing, Naoya thought, so he interjected.

The words were barely out of his mouth before Takatsuki was whipping his head around frighteningly quickly to stare at Naoya.

“…Eh? Fukamachi? What did you just say?”

“Um, just, I’m already of age.”

“Not that. Your birthday. When was it?”

“Last month…?”

“When last month?”

“The…fifteenth…?”

Takatsuki did not have to look so crestfallen, hanging his head like that, Naoya thought. It was just a birthday.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” Takatsuki wailed, abruptly looking back up. “I made a promise with KenKen, we were going to throw a drinking party for you when you turned twenty! Because we hadn’t let you drink before! But you…! You just…! I can’t believe you just celebrated your birthday in secret without telling us!”

“But I mean, you never asked me about it!”

“I was waiting for the right time to ask! I didn’t want to tip you off to the surprise! Ugh—seriously! This is so like you, Fukamachi!”

The pout is annoying, too, Naoya thought. Who went around announcing their birthday to other people at his age?

Takatsuki disappeared into the bathroom in a huff, and Wataru slapped Naoya on the shoulder with a wry grin.

“Akira seems to have become a lot more expressive. How wonderful. Now—I’m going to prepare breakfast. Naoya, could you clean up the bottle and glasses?”

Redonning the apron, Wataru began assessing the leftover ingredients from the night before and the items that they’d originally found in the refrigerator for breakfast possibilities. Upon discovering a bag of bread rolls in the freezer, he seemed to decide on doing Western cuisine instead of Japanese. He made omelets and side salads and popped the rolls in the toaster oven. Takatsuki returned from the bathroom just as Wataru was adding hot water to the pre-warmed pot of black tea leaves.

Still toweling off his wet hair, Takatsuki looked at his uncle.

“Gosh, it’s been ages since I had your cooking, Uncle. Did you go buy groceries for it?”

“Oh, that reminds me! Akira! Sit down! There, now!”

It was Wataru’s turn to give Takatsuki a tongue-lashing. Startled, Takatsuki sat down at the dining table.

“Akira,” Wataru said, standing over him with his arms crossed, “how do you explain this kitchen?! You never cook? I’m disappointed! After all the time I put into teaching you how!”

“I mean, I used to cook more. It’s just that when I cook for only myself, it doesn’t taste good.”

“Then what do you usually do for meals? Don’t tell me it’s takeaway every time; that can’t be good for you!”

“There’s an affordable prix fixe place nearby that’s run by a very kind older couple. Their food is delicious and homestyle, and actually rather nutritious… Anyway, Uncle, I’m thirty-five years old. Would you mind not lecturing me like this?”

“And I’m fifty-eight. Anything else you’d like to say?”

“…No. I’m sorry, that was wrong of me.”

Resigned, Takatsuki apologized meekly.

Naoya watched the two of them, an indescribable feeling in his chest.

If not for what he had heard last night, he might have found it a bit funny, or been able to think, Even Takatsuki can make a face like that, huh?

But now—after learning how the relationship between the two of them had been established, for some reason, all he felt was pain.

“Well, now! The food I went to the trouble of making is getting cold! Naoya, you should take a shower, too, after you’ve eaten. Breakfast first. You need to eat properly to function, and breakfast is the most important meal of the day!”

Wataru clapped his hands together as he made that announcement, then started pouring the tea.

They were all seated at the table, about to start eating—when the intercom rang.

“Blimey, who is it? It’s only seven o’clock.”

Wataru frowned. Naoya noticed that Takatsuki’s face had suddenly gone blank.

The professor walked over to the wall-mounted monitor. The face of a man Naoya didn’t recognize was displayed on the video screen.

“Mr. Kuroki. What is it? You know what time it is, don’t you?”

Pressing the button at the bottom of the monitor, Takatsuki spoke in a cold tone.

An incredibly impersonal, businesslike voice came through the speaker in response.

“Good morning. I have a meeting in the area today, so I decided to pay a visit while I was nearby.”

“I’m in the middle of breakfast. And I have guests.”

“At this hour? Did you have a late-night visitor?”

“That’s a private matter, Mr. Kuroki.”

“I won’t take up much of your time, so if we could speak face-to-face? There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

Naoya was surprised to hear what he thought was the sound of Takatsuki clicking his tongue. It was rare for him to take such an attitude.

“Akira, who the hell is that?” Wataru asked.

“—Mr. Kuroki,” Takatsuki answered, the words coming out with a sigh. “One of Father’s private secretaries.”

He walked over to the front door.

Takatsuki’s father was the president of the Takasaki Corporation, a large company which he had inherited from his father-in-law—Takatsuki’s grandfather, in other words. But what business could one of his employees have with the professor at this time of day?

Naoya heard the door open, followed by another “Good morning.” Wataru got up, going to stand where he could observe the situation, so Naoya followed him, peeking into the hallway from behind the older man.

A man in a dark suit was talking to Takatsuki. With his jet-black hair slicked neatly back and his posture upright, the man looked to be slightly older than Takatsuki. His face was plain and nondescript, except for his slightly piercing gaze.

“I’m glad to see you look well, sir. Have there been any issues with your health?”

“As you can see, I’m fine.”

“I see. I heard you collapsed yesterday, so I was concerned.”

“…How do you know that?”

Everything Takatsuki said was polite, but unlike usual, it was also very curt.

The man named Kuroki, on the other hand, sounded utterly indifferent as he spoke. The vague distortion in his voice when he had said “I was concerned” set Naoya’s teeth on edge. The man wasn’t the slightest bit worried about Takatsuki.

Just then, Kuroki’s gaze shifted in their direction.

“And these people are…?”

“They’re guests. My uncle and one of my college students.”

“Uncle? Ah—you must be Wataru Takatsuki?”

Eyes widening a bit, Kuroki walked straight into the apartment. Takatsuki’s face twisted into a scowl, but Kuroki paid him no attention, making a beeline for the living room.

Wataru glared at him.

“Quite the impudent secretary, aren’t you? Barging into someone’s home this early in the morning.”

“I do apologize. However, this is also a business matter. How do you do, sir? My name is Kuroki. When you suddenly canceled your dinner plans with President Takatsuki last night, I didn’t expect your being here to be the reason. I’m a bit surprised.”

Looking pointedly over Wataru’s aproned appearance, Kuroki held his business card out with a superficial smile. Wataru tossed the card—which read “Kazuma Kuroki”—onto the table without glancing at it.

More shocking than that to Naoya was that the person Wataru was meant to have met with last night was Takatsuki’s father. Takatsuki, too, turned to look at his uncle with a slight furrow in his brow.

“I wanted to visit my dear nephew before meeting with my brother-in-law,” Wataru said. “A spot of trouble arose while I was there, however, so—unfortunate though it may have been—I had to cancel dinner.”

“Ahh, I suppose you were there when he collapsed?”

“I wonder how it is you know about that.”

“Well, you see, this was posted on Instagram,” Kuroki said, taking out his phone to show them the screen. The moment Naoya saw what was on it, he felt like he had been punched in the chest.

It was a short video—a shaky shot while whoever recorded the video approached a crowd of people. The view over someone’s shoulder. The long legs of someone who had collapsed and the back of the person cradling him. There was audio, too. The din of people all talking at once. A conversation—“Did someone faint?” “Isn’t that Professor Takatsuki?” “Oh, you’re right. It’s Takatsuki, the folklore guy.”

The camera shifted to the side to capture the face of the person on the ground.

It was Takatsuki, his eyes closed. A portion of Naoya’s face was visible, too.

It was from the day before, on campus. Probably the work of one of the students who had been there. Some of them had gotten their phones out at the time, Naoya remembered. The post even had tags: #SeiwaU #theincident #AssociateProfTakatsuki.

“I believe this type of post disappears after twenty-four hours, but I submitted a takedown request just in case. Your father was terribly distressed, sir. Don’t you think you should receive proper treatment?”

The way Kuroki said that, as if Takatsuki was the one at fault in this situation, made Naoya flush with anger. How could he blame Takatsuki? The ones in the wrong were those who lacked the common sense to know they shouldn’t upload videos of people collapsing. And anyway, what the hell did he mean by “treatment”?

Perhaps feeling Naoya’s eyes on him, Kuroki glanced in his direction, but appeared to lose interest almost immediately. He turned his gaze back to Takatsuki.

The professor’s voice was ice-cold when he replied.

“Is that all you wanted to say? If so, please leave. As you can see, we’re in the middle of eating.”

“Yes, that’s all the business I have here today. My deepest apologies for coming at such an absurd hour and interrupting your breakfast. Now then, please excuse me.”

Kuroki bowed, the picture of decorum, and left without another word.

As soon as the door latched, Wataru launched into an indignant outburst.

“What the hell was that?! What an inexcusably rude prick! When did he replace the previous secretary?”

“He’s been around for about five years now. The one you knew, Uncle, was three secretaries ago.”

Takatsuki’s response was dispassionate.

“Three…?”

The interjection slipped out of Naoya before he could stop it. Takatsuki looked at him.

He smiled bitterly, like he was somewhat worn down.

“I’m not sure what to call him. My babysitter, maybe? A watchdog? Every once in a while, he shows up unannounced like that to keep me from behaving strangely or doing anything that would draw attention to myself.”

“And the Instagram post? Does he check stuff like that, too?”

“I don’t know where he finds the time, truly—as busy as I expect he is. I should really thank him for his dedication. I got an awful earful that time I was on TV.”

Naoya recalled the time a magazine had been about to publish a photo of Takatsuki with an actress. It had been pulled from the issue before publication due to outside pressure.

Takatsuki’s father had almost entirely cut ties with his son, but whenever something odd regarding Takatsuki started circulating, he made sure it was quashed without exception. Maybe it was Kuroki who carried out those orders.

With a slight shrug, Takatsuki said, “It seems my father’s wish is for me to live as quiet and unassuming a life as possible. I mean, I’m still living in the apartment that he prepared for me years ago, so I can’t complain much. As long as I maintain an ordinary lifestyle, I don’t get in trouble.”

“But that’s…”

Isn’t that just cruel?

What was Takatsuki’s father trying to protect by keeping a constant watch over his son and his surroundings? Was it his company? Or his son?

Judging from Kuroki’s attitude minutes ago, it seemed unlikely that Takatsuki’s well-being was the top priority.

Takatsuki looked at Wataru.

“By the way, Uncle, you were supposed to meet with Father last night? You said you canceled… Is that okay?”

“Oh yes, don’t fret over it. It wasn’t about work. I was told we should have a meal together at least once since I would be in Japan, so I just made an appointment with him. If he has some sort of business with me, I’m sure he’ll get in touch while I’m here.”

“Right… I’m sorry, I caused trouble for you, too, yesterday,” Takatsuki said, his head drooping a tad.

Wataru clapped his hands again.

“Enough of the doom and gloom! Breakfast has gone cold. Why don’t I reheat the bread, at least?”

Takatsuki looked up, smiled, and nodded.

“Yeah, good idea. I know it’s a waste, but let me make a new pot of tea. Oh—that’s right. Fukamachi, do you have classes today? Do you need to go in for first period?”

“No, not until second period. I’ve got time. I’ll go home after I eat.”

It was Friday, which meant both he and Takatsuki had to be at the university later. But even if he had breakfast at Takatsuki’s place, Naoya still had more than enough time to go home and shower before he had to leave for school.

“Ah, and don’t forget we’re going to Enoshima tomorrow for the mermaids! I’ll text you the time and place to meet later.”

“Got it.”

Getting up to boil some water, Takatsuki was already back to looking as he always did. Naoya stood, too, deciding to help reheat the food.

But the smile Takatsuki wore—Naoya couldn’t see it the way he usually did. Not anymore.

Takatsuki… Even now, he smiled. It didn’t matter if he was in pain or if he was sad. He donned that smile like armor, hid everything underneath it and pretended to be fine. Despite the way Naoya had told him off for doing that over spring break.

Last night, Wataru had told him the reason Takatsuki was like this. Thinking of a young Takatsuki who had been faced with no choice but to become this way, Naoya looked down, an inescapable ache blooming in his chest.

Saturday came.

They met up on the earlier side, at eight thirty in the morning. The plan was a short day trip to Enoshima. As always, Sasakura pulled up in his car to get Naoya, and they were off.

Unlike usual, there was another person sitting in the back seat—Wataru. Cane in hand, resting gentlemanlike in his seat, Wataru was gazing out the window happily. With Takatsuki also wearing a suit, it felt like there were two high-class Englishmen in the car. As ever, Sasakura was in casual clothes, wearing black from head to toe.

“Searching for mermaids in Enoshima, huh? I hope they’re beautiful. Mermaids are usually beautiful women, aren’t they?”

“Japanese mermaids typically look like this, actually.”

On his phone, Naoya pulled up the illustration from the Ningyo no zu flyer that Takatsuki had discussed in class to show an eager Wataru. The older man goggled at it and muttered, “Oh, bloody great…” Evidently, it was not to his liking.

“You haven’t changed, eh, Uncle Wataru?” Sasakura said from the driver’s seat.

Sasakura had apparently gone to visit Takatsuki several times when Takatsuki lived in England, so he and Wataru were like old friends.

“Nor you. How wonderful to see that you’re looking as terrifying as usual. Speaking of, I heard from Akira that you were injured while apprehending a violent criminal recently? You’re so dashing, KenKen.”

“Yes, and after that I went on a trip where I was meant to recuperate, but I ended up having to dive into a stream in the middle of winter.”

“You always take such good care of Akira, don’t you? I’m glad. I hope you’ll continue to do so for many, many years.”

“Right… Of course.”

Sasakura glanced at Wataru in the rearview mirror. A furrowed brow was his default expression, though, so what may have looked like a glare was probably just a polite nod.

The drive from within Tokyo proper to Enoshima would take just over an hour. According to Takatsuki, the plan was to start at Katase Fishing Port because that meant they might get to speak to the fisherman who first saw the mermaid. Next, they would do some sightseeing on nearby Enoshima before heading to Inamuragasaki.

“The first sighting occurred in the waters off Katase Fishing Port, but they’ve since been happening around Shichirigahama and Inamuragasaki,” Takatsuki told them, fiddling with his phone in the passenger seat. “Recently, there have been an especially large number of sightings in the vicinity of a park in Inamuragasaki.”

Sasakura’s gaze flicked briefly skyward.

“It looks like the weather…might just barely hold out.”

“I’m not sure. But it is the rainy season, after all. Still, there will be fewer people around if it rains, right? Kamakura and Enoshima are quite touristy places. I’ve rarely been there myself, though.”

“At this time of year,” Naoya said, “rain doesn’t put a dent in the crowds in Kamakura.”

Takatsuki turned around to look at him.

“Why not?”

“Because tons of people are there to see the hydrangeas. The wait at Meigetsu-in is two hours if you’re unlucky.”

Meigetsu-in was a well-known hydrangea-viewing destination. The temple appeared in all sorts of guidebooks, and both foreign and domestic tourists flocked to Kamakura in droves during the appropriate season.

“Then it sounds like it would be best to avoid that area. Oh, right—you’re from Yokohama, aren’t you, Fukamachi? Not far from Kamakura and Enoshima. Are you well-acquainted with the area?”

“I wouldn’t say that, but I have been there a handful of times. My middle school class trip was in Kamakura, too… But, um, there is something that’s been on my mind.”

“Huh? What is it?”

“Will you be okay in Enoshima, Professor?”

Naoya’s question seemed to puzzle Takatsuki quite a bit.

“Be okay with what?”

“Well, because—there’s always a huge number of black kites flying around over there?”

“Eh—?”

Takatsuki’s face stiffened.

A heavy silence fell inside the car. Apparently, that hadn’t occurred to anyone else.

The issue had been weighing on Naoya from the minute he’d heard they were going to Enoshima. Maybe he should have brought it up sooner.

Sasakura was the one to break the silence.

“…Now that you mention it, I’ve heard about that before. You know, kites flying up on someone from behind to steal their lunch and stuff? I feel like it was on the news.”

“Yes. They’re not like the pigeons at school. These fly at you on purpose.”

“Blech, enough! I can practically see it happening…”

The blood was already draining from Takatsuki’s face.

His tone stern, Wataru said, “Akira, I think we’d better not go to Enoshima. Don’t you agree?”

“Mmnn, but we already came this far…”

Takatsuki was wavering. What he’d just heard was apparently more than he was confident he could withstand.

“Chill out. Let’s just go sightseeing in Kamakura instead. If we don’t go all the way to the coast, there shouldn’t be as many kites, right?”

“Yeah, but the mermaid…! Augh, I’ve never hated the way birds affect me more than I do now…!”

Still, when he tried to look things up for himself online, all Takatsuki seemed to be able to find was information about watching out for black kites. When he got to a picture in which there were so many kites flying about that they nearly blotted out the sky, Takatsuki quietly put his phone down.

“…Okay. We’ll see Kamakura and then go home. We can just…go to the Great Buddha and Tsurugaoka Hachimangu Shrine…I guess…”

“Don’t cry, Akira. I’m sure it’ll still be fun.”

“That’s right, Akira! Let Uncle buy you some of those pigeon biscuits they’re famous for, eh?”

Sasakura and Wataru took it in turns trying to cheer up the despondent Takatsuki. He wasn’t actually crying, but it was hard not to feel bad for him.

“Enoshima may be out of the question, but Inamuragasaki should still be okay, right?”

Takatsuki turned back around to Naoya again. The expression he wore made him look just like the only child who wasn’t allowed to go to the festival.

The incident with Kuroki had happened just the day before. They had to go on this trip to get him out of the house, but even so, Naoya at least wanted him to enjoy himself.

“The kites probably go to Enoshima because there’s a fishing harbor, not to mention lots of people from all the tourism. But at least from what I found online, the park in Inamuragasaki doesn’t get very crowded, so there might be fewer kites, too… Though I guess if there aren’t a lot of people to talk to, you won’t be able to gather information like you usually do…”

Naoya showed Takatsuki the article he had found on his phone. There weren’t any kites in most of the photos it used, at least.

Frowning, Takatsuki thought for a few moments, then turned to Sasakura.

“…KenKen, is it okay if we just try going? It doesn’t seem like we can do much of an investigation anymore, but I want to see where the mermaid has been appearing, at least.”

“Fine.”

Sasakura nodded.

“I mean, worst-case scenario, if you collapse, I’ll let you sleep it off by yourself in the car while Uncle Wataru, Fukamachi, and I go do a little sightseeing around there. It’ll be fine.”

“Thanks so much for the words of reassurance,” Takatsuki said, smiling wryly. “Right, in that case, just don’t trouble yourself, okay?”

The park was just off of National Route 134. They parked the car in a nearby lot and ever so cautiously peeked up at the sky. There were some kites flying around, but not many. They were at a fairly high altitude, too, and didn’t show any signs of dive-bombing the group.

“Oh, I think I’ll be okay if it’s just like this…”

Once Takatsuki had made that judgment, they decided to try checking out the park.

Naoya had never been to this place before, either. He wondered if it might have been more accurate to call it a nature preserve than a park. It was located on a portion of land that jutted out slightly into the sea. There was a long, sandy beach, from which the rocky seaside coast rose up into something like a small hill. The top, which seemed to have been leveled off, was blanketed in grass. Beneath the cloudy sky, the endless expanse of water lost some of its luster, but even so, the waves rushing in from the distance to surge over the shore one after another—accompanied by the constant sound of water cresting and rolling and retreating—were magnificent. Ah, Naoya thought, even though it was the most obvious thing in the world, I’m at the sea. After all, it had been quite a long time since he had been to the ocean.

They could see people surfing off the coast. Looking off to the side, along the land, they could even see Enoshima. The view was excellent, and there really didn’t seem to be many tourists. If anything, it felt like the sort of place where locals would go for a nice, leisurely stroll.

There was, however, one unanticipated group of people on the beach—the media, TV cameras in hand.

They were also after the mermaid, apparently. Stopping surfers and passersby, the reporters asked questions with their microphones held out. Maybe they planned to run the footage on some kind of infotainment segment.

“Akira, what do you want to do?” Sasakura asked.

Takatsuki’s gaze shifted toward the hill.

“Let’s skip the beach. There don’t appear to be many people over on that hill, so let’s check it out.”

Turning their backs to the water, they started walking toward higher ground.

The two of them seemed concerned about Takatsuki being caught on camera accidentally. Even if he wasn’t interviewed, just appearing in the background would probably be enough to earn the professor some snide comments from Kuroki.

Thinking about that made Naoya furious. It wasn’t as though he wanted Takatsuki’s face carelessly splashed across the television, but it felt like restrictions were being put on Takatsuki’s behavior, and that was just unreasonable.

Suddenly, Naoya felt a hand come down with a whap right on top of his head.

He looked up, startled, to see Sasakura.

“What was that for?”

“—I heard you met Kuroki. Akira told me.”

Sasakura spoke quietly enough that the waves almost drowned him out.

Takatsuki was walking with Wataru a short ways ahead. Probably, only Naoya had heard what Sasakura had just said.

“…He seemed like a really nasty person. What does he even think about Professor Takatsuki?”

“I can’t stand that guy, either,” Sasakura spat.

“Does Kuroki really check to see if he’s appeared in any articles or whatever every single day? Why go that far…? I heard he was awful that time the professor was on TV, too…”

“…I mean, when I learned after the fact that he’d been on TV, I got pissed, too.”

“Huh?”

Naoya looked at Sasakura in mild surprise.

The other man stared out toward the sea for a little while, like he was searching for the right words.

“—Listen, you’ve heard about Akira’s mom getting lost in her own fantasy world over whatever was behind the kamikakushi incident a bunch of times already. But Akira’s father and his grandfather…they did the opposite.”

“The opposite?”

“They concluded he was kidnapped by a person…some kind of pervert.”

It was a very realistic train of thought. So realistic that Takatsuki’s mother had simply not been able to consider it.

She would not entertain the idea that, at the age of twelve, Takatsuki had been kidnapped and imprisoned by some common deviant—one who’d injected him with some strange drug that had altered his brain and his eye color and, right at the end, carved the skin from his back before dumping him like trash.

Of course, there wasn’t any evidence to back up that theory. As thoroughly as the police had investigated at the time of the incident, they’d been unable to discover the cause of Takatsuki’s disappearance. But considering he’d been missing for a month, as well as the circumstances in which he’d been found, it was no wonder his father and grandfather felt the way they did.

“And when it comes to Akira himself, he considers both possibilities. Even though he’s real taken with the unrealistic angle, the other side of his brain thinks there might be someone in this world who kidnapped him.”

Sasakura kicked roughly at the sand. Traversing beachy terrain for the first time in a while was harder than Naoya had expected it to be. In no time, his sneakers were covered with sand. He wondered if the gentleman duo walking ahead in their leather shoes were managing all right.

“When he told me the reason he’d agreed to be on TV, I was horrified… Akira’s face hasn’t changed much since he was a kid. There’s a good chance anyone who knew him from back then would recognize him.”

Fighting just to hear Sasakura’s voice over the sound of the waves, Naoya didn’t fully understand at first what those words meant. It didn’t take long to hit him, though.

And the moment that realization hit, he felt sick to his stomach.

“Don’t tell me—he didn’t… He didn’t try to use himself as bait, did he?”

If Takatsuki thought his former captor would try to strike a second time after seeing him as he looked now…

Sasakura’s already grim face bent into something even more fiendish as he nodded.

“He had the nerve to say to me back then, all calm and composed, ‘Someone who kidnapped a child to perform heinous acts on them might not be interested in an adult, but just on the off chance that they might be’—that was why he did it.”

“‘The off chance’?! He put himself in that dangerous of a situation for that?!”

“Like I said, I was pissed. I mean, nothing came of it in the end, and I think Akira has given up on that tactic, too, but…”

Even so, the risk had been too great.

There was one thing that had fallen into place for Naoya, though.

When Takatsuki unmasked someone who hid their wrongdoings behind a supernatural veneer, he sometimes acted with a shocking amount of aggression.

Naoya was certain that was because Takatsuki was imagining the day when he would capture the person who had kidnapped him with his own hands. That was why he had become as strong as he was.

It was just another part of himself that he concealed behind a smile.

“Akira’s father uses Kuroki to prevent damage from being done to the company by Akira’s past being dug up or having the ‘Tengu’s Child’ thing he was forced into come to light. I do think that’s true—but in the end, it still kinda feels like he’s protecting Akira, too. His being victimized again would be a huge problem, even if there is only the ‘off chance’ of it happening. He’s learned some self-defense and arrest techniques so he can handle that possibility, but…no matter how much stronger he gets, he has one hell of an Achilles’ heel.”

Sasakura turned his gaze upward.

Although there weren’t many of them, black kites were soaring through the sky here, too.

If one of them were to fly at Takatsuki out of nowhere, he’d lose consciousness then and there. If the person who’d kidnapped him knew about that weakness, there was no way they wouldn’t use it against him. In that scenario, with Takatsuki unable to even put up a fight, if things took a turn for the worse, he could die.

“…Mr. Sasakura,” Naoya said, kicking through the sand like Sasakura had done before, “you really are the professor’s guardian, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

Sasakura glared at a kite flying far overhead.

Though it had seemed just about to circle around in their direction, the kite suddenly changed course and flew away.

“Uh?! Mr. Sasakura?! Do you have laser beams shooting out of your eyes or something?!”

“Animals are sensitive to body language. And birds have good eyesight.”

Had he really just scared that kite off? It hadn’t been coincidence…? Well, maybe any animal would have turned tail and run if they were on the receiving end of a stare with that much bloodlust in it.

By Wataru’s standards, Sasakura was definitely one of Takatsuki’s “allies.” But since the two of them had been friends since they were young, it wasn’t like Sasakura had been put up to that role or anything.

Wataru also wanted Naoya to become one of those allies, and Naoya himself had every intention of being one.

But even though he was on Takatsuki’s side, Naoya wasn’t strong like Sasakura. He couldn’t protect Takatsuki in an emergency. Naoya was well aware that, if anything, he was usually the one who needed protecting.

As for potential weapons, Naoya had only his ears.

Lightly, he put his hand to one side of his head.

It wasn’t until he’d met Takatsuki that Naoya had even been able to think of his ability in that way. If he could just put his ears to slightly better use…

“Oh, that reminds me. You’re gonna come drink with us at Akira’s place tonight,” Sasakura said all of a sudden.

“Huh? No one told me about that.”

“I just did. You turned twenty, right? Your drinks are on us.”

“…Um, well, my tolerance isn’t very high, so I’m good, actually. Besides, the thought of partying with guys like you and Professor Takatsuki, who drink alcohol like water, is terrifying.”

“That’s why I didn’t say we’re going out somewhere. Relax, I’ll take care of you when you pass out.”

“Could you not be so eager to get me to that point?!”

This thought had occurred to Naoya while drinking with Wataru, too—why did it seem like he was surrounded by adults who were too tolerant of alcohol? He couldn’t remember ever seeing any of them actually drunk. Meanwhile, two glasses of wine were enough to make Naoya sleep like a baby.

They reached the bottom of the hill as they talked. It looked like, if they climbed the gently rising staircase, there would be a great view at the top.

“Are you okay to keep going, Uncle?”

“Oh yes. We’ve come this far, let’s go all the way up.”

The gentleman duo started up the stairs after their short exchange, Naoya and Sasakura following behind.

At the top was a landscaped park furnished with benches and covered rest areas, with a number of pine trees planted throughout. There were even some hydrangea bushes in bloom. The side of the hill facing the water ended abruptly in a cliff, marked off by a low fence. Beyond it, the sea and sky stretched out endlessly. People were scattered about, but as expected, the park seemed like a place intended for locals.

“—Multiple people claim to have seen the mermaid from here,” Takatsuki said, approaching the fence. Naoya and the others joined him so that the four of them stood side by side, gazing out at the ocean.

The view of the water from up high was good despite it being overcast. Beneath the thick, puffy clouds, the blue-gray surface of the sea undulated and rose, cresting and breaking as whitecaps. Naoya could have stood and watched it for ages without losing interest. But while they could spot the occasional surfer frolicking in the waves, nothing mermaid-like was visible anywhere on the horizon.

Looking around the park, Takatsuki saw a middle-aged woman who seemed like a local walking her dog. Taking advantage of the opportunity presented to him, he walked over to her.

“Hello, may I speak to you for a moment?”

The woman stopped walking when Takatsuki greeted her with his bright smile. Her dog, a Shiba Inu, sat politely at her feet and looked up at the professor with its tail wagging gently.

When Takatsuki asked her about the mermaid, the woman snorted in amusement.

“Really? You’re a college professor but you took the trouble to come out here to investigate those rumors…? Hmmm, I mean, I’ve never seen one. A mermaid, I mean. But I guess some people in town are friends with the fisherman who first said he saw it, so I heard about it secondhand. I was told the news article hugely exaggerated the story. They said the part about the mermaid jumping out of the sea and spinning in the air was made up.”

“I see. Then what was it that the fisherman actually saw?”

“I guess all he said was that he saw a woman swimming quite far from the shore. He also just happened to see what looked like a huge fish fin at the same time, apparently. That’s why he thought maybe he’d seen a mermaid. But I mean, it’s the ocean. Fish are everywhere in it.”

The woman giggled as she recounted the story.

“I suppose that’s true. It could be that a large fish was, coincidentally, swimming right beside a woman who was casually swimming in the ocean. Which makes me wonder, why would that woman be swimming out there? Is it a well-known locale for long-distance swimmers?”

“No, you wouldn’t want to swim in that area. Or rather, you wouldn’t normally expect to see anyone swimming there. That’s why the fisherman thought she might be someone who died by suicide at first. I guess he realized that wasn’t the case when she looked at him and smiled. Though when he looked back out at the water a little while later, he couldn’t see her anymore.”

Dragging her dog—who seemed reluctant to part with Takatsuki—along in her wake, the woman continued her walk.

Sasakura piped up.

“So, what, it’s a hoax after all? That woman basically just said the story boils down to ‘someone saw a woman swimming,’ right?”

“Mmm, it seems so.”

Takatsuki stroked his chin lightly with his fingers, his smile wry.

“The truth appears to be that someone saw, firsthand, a woman swimming and a large fish tail, and those two things were combined into ‘I saw a mermaid.’ The resulting story was published in a sports newspaper and spread online, allowing for fresh gossip to flourish. I believe most of the sightings reported after the sports paper article were posted to Twitter.”

Just like internet forums, Twitter could be highly anonymous—a good place to invent and disseminate fabricated information. When people found a post interesting enough, they would like or retweet it. The more a topic was trending, the more copycat tweets would appear.

“As reports of mermaid sightings increase, people who read those reports will begin to form a solid connection in their minds between the words ‘Enoshima’ and ‘mermaids.’ Once that happens, there will be people who believe the stories are real—that mermaids really do exist in these waters.”

The result was that people had begun traveling all the way to Enoshima to see mermaids.

Then, as a matter of course, there were more misidentification incidents and more people posting online as though they had actually seen mermaids. Eventually, it became a hot enough topic for the media to cover it.

And at that point, it didn’t matter if there really were mermaids around here. People would behave as if it were true.

“It reminds me, you know, of Loch Ness and Nessie,” Wataru said, tapping the end of his cane gently on the ground.

Takatsuki nodded.

“Yep, it’s exactly like that. That lake was also swarmed by people who had gone to see a sea monster whose existence was unconfirmed. Even after the most famous photo of Nessie—the ‘surgeon’s photograph’—was exposed as a fake, it didn’t do much to stop people from going there. They even did some scientific investigations. There are still people who believe Nessie exists, and probably even more who hope that she does. The current situation here is likely very similar, resulting from quite a lot of people wanting mermaids to be real.”

Looking off toward the beach, they could still see what appeared to be a television crew. That crowd in particular probably didn’t actually believe there were mermaids here, but they were almost certainly filming programs with the goal of insinuating that it could be true.

For some reason or another, Naoya recalled the “Kisaragi Station” story.

That story had been created through various contributions to an online forum by people who—despite not knowing for sure whether the original post they were replying to was made up or not—had proceeded as though it was real.

This whole media storm around mermaid sightings was very similar. People who found the initial story of a man seeing something that looked like a mermaid interesting rapidly piled on. The bevy of eyewitness reports that flooded the internet thus gave rise to a new urban legend: that there were mermaids in Enoshima.

It may even have been the case that a surprisingly large number of the world’s ghost stories and urban legends were born that way. Somewhere, some small utterance grew with every subsequent mouth that told it, until finally becoming a version of itself that was accepted as common knowledge.

That was how people had arrived at understandings such as Nessie’s existence in Loch Ness, and the presence of mermaids in Enoshima. It didn’t really matter whether those things deviated from the truth.

Because after all, the majority of people telling the story had never actually seen a mermaid themselves.

Takatsuki turned back toward the sea.

“But you know, I am a little curious about who that woman might have been. A woman swimming somewhere unfit for swimming is, in itself, a bit of a mysterious and impactful occurrence. Enough that I can’t fault the fisherman for thinking of mermaids in the moment.”

“You mean it’s like he interpreted the bizarre experience of seeing a woman where he didn’t expect to see one as ‘that wasn’t a human, that was a mermaid’?”

Takatsuki nodded at Naoya’s words.

“Yep, that might be it.”

As he stared fixedly out into the water, like he thought he might see a mysterious woman splashing among the waves, Takatsuki’s eyes shone with just a flash of indigo.

“Regardless of the interpretation, however, the notion that there was a woman there cannot be discounted. What in the world was she?”

“Probably a case of suicide after all, don’t you think?” Sasakura said.

“Or a ghost!” Wataru added excitedly, causing Sasakura to scowl in disgust.

Takatsuki smiled at the two of them in turn.

“One could also theorize that both of you are correct.”

“What do you mean?” Naoya asked, his head cocked to the side.

“Well, I did a little research the other day. There was, in fact, someone who died by suicide here in the water a year ago. The body was never found, but more and more women have been sighted swimming out to sea. Maybe what that fisherman saw was a more recent body, or maybe it was the ghost of the woman from a year—”

“—She’s not dead!”

Suddenly, a high-pitched voice cut across Takatsuki’s.

They all turned to look in the direction it had come from, startled.

A young boy—no older than a first- or second-grader, probably—with an adorable head of soft, curly hair, stood staring straight up at Takatsuki. How long had he been there?

“Mama isn’t dead!” the boy yelled, his voice the sort of sharp, piercing one typical of children. “She’s not! She turned into a mermaid in the sea!”

This is the son of the woman who died by suicide a year ago? Naoya thought, incredulous.

Takatsuki crouched down in front of the boy.

“So, your mama became a mermaid?”

“Yeah! Sae even said so!”

“Sae? Who is that?”

“She’s, um, a lady who comes to the store! She’s Mama’s friend and she sells fish!” the boy answered.

Takatsuki glanced at Naoya, who shook his head. The boy’s voice wasn’t distorted.

Children his age tended to lie intentionally because it was fun to say things that weren’t true, and telling such untruths to as many people as possible was like a game to them. But just now, the boy hadn’t been lying. He really believed his mother had become a mermaid.

Naoya’s ability didn’t work specifically to determine the absolute truth of things. If someone believed what they were saying, their voice wouldn’t come out warped, even if their words didn’t align with reality.

Just then, an older man sitting on a nearby bench looked their way and stood up.

“Oh, Riku. What are you doing here?”

“I was bored so I came here to play!” The boy—Riku—gave a very spirited reply.

Standing up straight, Takatsuki asked the man, “Do you know this child?”

“Oh yes, yes. His family runs a restaurant right around here.”

“My name is Riku Harada! I’m six years old!” Riku announced, standing up as tall as he could.

He seemed frustrated that Takatsuki was so much higher up now that the man wasn’t crouching. But when the professor reached down and scooped Riku up in his arms, the boy giggled happily.

“Riku, you came all the way here by yourself?”

“I’m not supposed to! But I was really bored, so I did it anyway!”

“I see—you came here anyway, huh? Even though you’re not supposed to.”

Takatsuki smiled wryly.

It seemed the old man had overheard the entire exchange with the woman walking her dog before, because he said to Takatsuki, “Did you say you were a college professor earlier? That you’re here to investigate the mermaids?”

“That’s right. I’m Takatsuki; I teach at Seiwa University.”

“Nowadays there seems to be an awful lot of people making a fuss about mermaids. But I’d rather you didn’t talk about that in front of him. He seems to really believe his mother became a mermaid.”

“So then, his mother actually…?”

“Yes. A year ago.”

The man’s words were deliberately vague. Apparently, there was no doubt that the person who’d died by suicide a year ago was Riku’s mother.

“Where is his family’s restaurant? I think I should take Riku home. His family must be worried.”

The old man told them they could find the restaurant right across the road.

Takatsuki set Riku down and crouched again to talk to him at eye level.

“Riku, let’s go home, okay?”

“Awwwww!”

“I’ll walk you there. All right?”

“…Then, could you hold my hand?”

Riku reached one small hand toward Takatsuki.

“You know, um, I’m not good at walking. I just fall down. I’m really good at swimming, though! When I’m in the water, I can go so fast. Not on the ground, though. So hold my hand, please?”

“Yep, I understand. We’ll hold hands.”

Standing up with a big smile, Takatsuki took Riku’s hand. Naoya noticed when he glanced down that Riku’s knees, peeking out from under his shorts, were covered in adhesive bandages. Just as he had said, he probably fell down often.

“Um, so! The reason I’m not good at walking, it’s because my mama is a mermaid! That’s why, um, I’m better at swimming than walking!”

“Did Sae say that too?”

“Yeah! Sae always comes over to play with me!”

The idea that someone had explained to Riku that his clumsiness was due to his being the child of a mermaid was pretty interesting. Although Naoya had a feeling the truth was that all children his age were prone to falling down because their heads were still disproportionately large.

They went back down the hill, walked along the sandy beach and back to the road with Riku. The restaurant was exactly where the man in the park had indicated it would be, just on the other side of the street. There was a small box truck parked on the spacious front lawn, which seemed to double as a lot. Behind that stood a log cabin–style building with a wooden sign that said RESTAURANT HARADA. Under that, the sign informed them that the restaurant opened at eleven. Naoya checked the time—it was only ten forty. Since they were escorting the family’s child home, though, it was probably okay to go in a little before opening time.

Standing on his tippy-toes, Riku opened the shop door and practically leaped through it.

“I’m ho-o-ome!”

They heard a female voice shout from inside.

“Oi, Riku! Where have you been?!”

“Ah, excu-use me?” Takatsuki called, holding the door open. “We happened to meet Riku at that park across the way. A neighbor told us he lived here, so we brought him home.”

“Oh geez, um, Mr. Harada! Looks like Riku’s caused some trouble for some people! Ah—sorry, please come inside for now!”

Doing as the woman’s very energetic voice bade them to, they went into the restaurant.

The shop was tiny, with four tables and five seats at the counter. The interior brought the log cabin–style warmth indoors to match the exterior nicely. Large windows supplied a clear view of the sea, and seashells had been used to make various decorations in the space. There were also some rather old-seeming framed black-and-white photos hung on the wall and displayed on the counter, which caught Naoya’s interest slightly, since they looked fairly out of place against the rest of the cheery decor.

There was a young woman holding a mop inside, dressed casually in a T-shirt and worn-out jeans. Waist-length, jet-black hair tied back behind her neck, she looked like she was in her twenties and would have been very aptly described as a “classic Japanese beauty.” Her fair, oval-shaped face somehow brought to mind the dolls used in Girls’ Day celebrations. There was a mole just under her right eye that gave her a particular kind of charm.

“I’m sorry you had to go to all that trouble. Tell you what, how about having lunch while you’re here? The fish is really good! They buy it from the place I work.”

Riku twined himself around the woman’s legs, and she laughed while tousling his hair. She was probably the “Sae” person Riku had spoken about.

Wataru turned to Takatsuki, his expression serious.

“Akira. Let’s eat lunch here. We can’t refuse the invitation of such a beautiful woman.”

“Sure, that’s fine, I was planning on doing that anyway.”

Takatsuki gave an exasperated smile. The English gentleman was apparently very fond of women.

Then, a flustered-looking man—Riku’s father, Harada, it seemed—poked his head out of the kitchen at the back of the shop. He was a short but well-built person with tanned, boyish features. He looked like he might surf or something in his downtime.

“Um, has my son been a nuisance somehow?”

“No, not at all. He told us he went to the park alone because he was bored, even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to. I figured he would be missed, so we escorted him back here.”

“For goodness’ sake…I am so sorry about that.”

“No, please, we should apologize to you for barging in before the restaurant opens. Though we would like to have lunch here, if possible. Would that be all right?”

“Oh, of course! Please have a seat!”

Harada’s face overflowed with gratitude.

Judging from the blackboard menu hung inside the restaurant, they served Italian food. The house recommendation was a seafood pasta, which all four of them ended up ordering.

Harada disappeared into the back after taking their orders, and the woman from before came up to their table instead.

“You all don’t look like you’re here for a day at the beach. What did you come to do at the seaside dressed in suits?”

Her tone was friendly and open, and Takatsuki smiled brightly in return.

“We came to investigate mermaids. I teach folklore studies at Seiwa University. My name is Akira Takatsuki.”

“Wow, a college professor! That’s cool! I’m Sae Umino. I work at a local fishmonger’s.”

“Do fishmongers also offer kitchen cleaning services to their clients?”

Takatsuki gestured to the mop Sae was holding.

Sae laughed.

“Oh, no. This is a freebie. I deliver the fish to customers, and this place is my last stop. And ever since the incident last year, Mr. Harada has been having a hard time running things by himself. So I help with simple things at the end of my delivery route. Cleaning, hanging out with Riku, seeing to customers, that sort of stuff.”

Sae mentioned “the incident” in a really light tone, probably because Riku was right nearby. He had climbed onto a counter chair and was watching them, legs swinging in the air.

Looking around the restaurant, Takatsuki’s gaze settled on the black-and-white photos on the wall. The pictures showed people working on a sandy beach and tinkering with boats in a harbor.

“Those photographs look quite old. Are they shots of this area in the past?”

“Oh, yeah, I think that’s what he said. Hey, Mr. Harada? What’s with these photos again?” Sae called loudly over her shoulder toward the kitchen.

Harada yelled back in return, his voice mingling with the sounds of cooking.

“I found those at my grandpa’s place! I want people to be able to see what things were like back then! Not a bad idea, right? It’s preserving our culture!”

“But they’re kinda tacky. Wouldn’t it look nicer if you had some color landscape photos or pictures of the sea? Look, this one has a bunch of old people in dirty clothes drying fish on the beach! That’s boring! Won’t customers be bummed out just looking at it?”

As she spoke, Sae very decisively laid the countertop photo face down. The pictures didn’t bum Naoya out, but he supposed it was true they weren’t exactly bright and colorful.

Walking back over to their table, Sae said, “Mr. Harada was still in the middle of prep work, so it’ll probably be a little while longer before he can start cooking. Ooh, I know—I’ll read your palms for you! I’m really good at it. Come on, hands out!”

Unsurprisingly, the first person to put his hand out was Wataru.

“Just having a lady take my hand is enough to make me happy! Japanese women really are beautiful. Skin like porcelain even though you work by the seaside. You’re like an antique doll, it makes me want to put you in a glass cabinet and take you back home with me!”

“Uh-oh, this creepy old guy is talking like a psychopath! His palm looks pretty normal, though.”

Deftly sidestepping his rhetorical flourishes, Sae looked carefully over Wataru’s palm.

“Hmm… Is there a woman close to you that you’ve been angering? One you’re also currently in love with? If you work hard at your job, your love might come to fruition, so don’t abandon hope! Give it your all!”

Sae flashed a bright smile at Wataru, who drew his hand back, pressing it to his chest as if he had been stabbed.

“I say… You mean Irene? Fruition? It’ll come to fruition, will it? With that workaholic woman?”

Wataru was muttering to himself, so it seemed that Sae had, unexpectedly, hit a bull’s-eye.

“Next. You, tough guy!” Sae said, calling on Sasakura.

Sasakura held one large hand out to her with a surly look on his face. Sae examined his palm intently.

The next time she spoke, the first thing she said was, “You’re a worrier, aren’t you?”

“…”

Sasakura’s scowl deepened at her straightforward assessment.

“Listen, tough guy, don’t push yourself so hard, okay? There are limits to what a person can do! You can’t be responsible for every little thing! But hang in there, okay? You seem like a good person!”

With that, she gave Sasakura’s back a hearty slap. It was already impressive that, despite having just met him, his scary face didn’t intimidate her, but from the look Sasakura was wearing now, Sae had once again been spot-on. Grinning, she slapped his back one more time.

“Next! Your turn, glasses boy!”

She singled out Naoya this time.

“Um. No thank you.”

Naoya declined immediately. He was worried she was on a winning streak.

But Sae just reached out and grabbed ahold of his wrist.

“Come on, don’t be a wet blanket. Show the nice lady your hand…! Eh?”

Looking down at Naoya’s palm, Sae’s eyes suddenly opened wide.

Instinctively, Naoya tried to tug his hand away. There was no way such a thing would happen, of course, but what was he supposed to do if she told him he was going to die the next day or something? Sae held on tight, though, not only refusing to let go but even bringing her face in close to study his palm even more thoroughly.

“You… Your palm is awfully interesting.”

“I-interesting? What does that mean?”

“Yeah—interesting.”

Sae looked up.

Still clutching his hand, she stared straight into his eyes. It was probably just the low lighting, but Sae’s eyes were pitch-black. Naoya jerked his head back in surprise.

He didn’t know why, but just for a moment, Sae’s eyes had reminded him of Takatsuki’s. The color was different, but the way they made him feel like he was about to be dragged into their depths was dreadfully reminiscent of those indigo night-sky eyes.

“You—you have some sort of secret.”

“…What?”

Naoya felt another jolt of shock hit his shoulders. At his side, Takatsuki looked at Sae, his expression shifting subtly.

“There are trials ahead…,” Sae murmured, as though delivering a prophecy. “Make sure you don’t get swallowed up, okay?”

Then she let go of him.

Naoya pulled his hand back and looked back up at Sae. She seemed to have lost interest in him already, though, because she had turned to Takatsuki with her grin back in place.

“Okay, here we go! Time for your reading, Mr. Professor. Your hand, please!”

Holding his hand out toward Sae, Takatsuki joked, “This is a bit scary, isn’t it?”

As Sae spread his hand open, the expression abruptly vanished from her face.

Her line of sight shifted from his palm to his face. Her eyes had gone wide again.

“…Is something wrong, Miss Sae?” Takatsuki asked, voice calm.

Reaching forward, Sae grabbed Takatsuki’s face in both of her hands, drawing it toward her own and gazing into his eyes. The professor made no effort to resist, simply returning her gaze.

Staring at Takatsuki, whose brow was slightly furrowed, from so close that the two of them could almost have kissed, Sae’s eyes looked pitch-black once more. When she saw the flickers of indigo in the depths of his stare, her eyes opened even wider.

“…Who is it? Who’s in there?” she whispered.

Takatsuki’s frown deepened. Sasakura and Wataru both looked at Sae, their faces somewhat stiff.

“Miss Sae?”

At the sound of her name, Sae gave a little start and blinked.

Then she looked at Takatsuki again. This time, it was like she was trying to meet his gaze rather than peer into the recesses of it.

“You have a secret, too,” she told him.

Takatsuki’s eyes narrowed.

“You must be more careful. You shouldn’t go looking for trouble to throw yourself into. Those around you will be dragged into it, and it will end in disaster. You mustn’t try to understand everything… There are some things in this world that you’re better off not knowing.”

Those words sounded just like a warning.

Takatsuki smiled.

“What could that possibly mean, I wonder?”

Sae let go of his face, stood up straight, and grinned back.

“Who knows? Just kinda got that feeling, I guess.”

“It didn’t quite feel like a palm reading to me, though.”

Takatsuki held up his hand, fluttering his fingers for her to see.

Grabbing the mop she had leaned against the table, Sae said, “Why would I look at a hot guy’s hands when his face is right there? Thanks for the nice view, Professor! Well—your food is probably just about done! I’ll go see!”

She disappeared into the kitchen.

Shortly thereafter, Harada and Sae emerged each holding two large plates of pasta, so apparently their food was ready. Piled high with squid and shrimp and shellfish, the pasta looked absolutely delicious. It was no wonder it was the house recommendation.

Takatsuki smiled at Harada.

“Thank you very much. And—pardon me, but would it be all right if we had a minute of your time while we eat?”

“Oh, sure. There aren’t any other customers here at the moment, so that’s fine. What did you need?”

“I came here to investigate the mermaid issue that’s been causing such an uproar lately. Earlier, Riku was telling us that the mermaid is his mother.”

“Ah, right… He said that, huh…?”

Frowning uncomfortably, Harada looked at his son. Riku, seated in the counter chair with his legs still dangling, smiled at them. He seemed pleased to have been brought up in the conversation.

“That’s right! Mama turned into a mermaid! Right, Sae?!”

“Yep, that’s right! Riku’s mama is a mermaid! Right?”

As one, Sae and Riku turned to each other, smiling, and said, “That’s right!”

Harada looked more uncomfortable.

“Hey, um, Sae? Sorry, but could you play with Riku for a bit? I don’t really want him to hear this.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem. Hey, Ri-i-ku! Come with me, let’s play over here!”

After leading him to a table in the far corner of the restaurant, Sae started a game of patty-cake with Riku. Though she was still fairly young, Sae seemed comfortable dealing with children. Plus, it looked like Riku adored her.

Harada grabbed a chair from another table and sat down alongside theirs. He opened and closed his mouth several times as though not sure where to start. Running a hand roughly through his short hair, he cast his gaze toward the corner of the counter, where a picture frame, smaller than all the rest, sat on display.

The photo inside showed Harada, Riku, and a kind-looking woman with long hair, who must have been Riku’s mother.

He drew the frame closer, sighed once, and started to speak.

“My wife and I met in the sea.”

Her name was Yuuko.

They had met eight years ago, when Harada was still a student.

At the time, Harada had spent nearly every waking hour surfing in the surrounding waters. Other people would join him sometimes, but more often he would just wander down to the beach alone to ride the waves.

Except one day, he noticed there was a woman swimming right next to him in the water.

“I remember thinking it wasn’t safe. If my surfboard hit her, she could be seriously hurt. The second I started panicking about it, I lost my balance and fell off the board. When I surfaced, there was Yuuko, laughing. She looked so happy.”

Yuuko, young and unmarried, had a live-in job at a local soba restaurant run by an elderly couple. She was about the same age as Harada but hadn’t chosen to go to college.

After that, they saw each other at the beach a lot. Yuuko preferred swimming to surfing, but once Harada taught her how to ride a board, she mastered it in no time. The effortless way she maneuvered over bigger waves, her delighted laughter ringing out all the while, had made Harada fall head over heels for her before he knew it.

“This restaurant was originally run by my father. He told me he would be retiring when I graduated from college, so we decided I would take over for him. And at the same time, I proposed to Yuuko.”

She had accepted his proposal happily.

Keeping a small restaurant afloat as newlyweds wasn’t easy, but they enjoyed it. Soon, they were blessed with a child. Riku was born, and they became a family of three.

Yuuko had been friends with Sae since before she met Harada. When Sae would come around to the restaurant to sell them fish, she would make time to hang out with Yuuko and Riku. She was practically another member of the family.

Several years after Riku was born, however, Yuuko had collapsed in the shop.

“From day one after she gave birth, she had a hard time with the recovery. She just got weaker and weaker… I was told, by the time she collapsed, her insides were already in such bad shape…”

Eventually unable to even get out of bed, Yuuko had looked at Harada with big tears rolling down her face, apologizing over and over. “I’m so sorry,” she would say. “I’m sorry this is happening. I thought we would be together forever.”

Harada decided to temporarily close the restaurant to tend to Yuuko, but she didn’t want him to. Her hospital bills had cost quite a lot, for one thing, and they would still need money to provide for Riku.

But Harada said he wanted to spend as much time by Yuuko’s side as possible.

“Thinking back on it now…I shouldn’t have done that, telling her I would close the shop for her sake. I think she felt backed into a corner.”

One day, having gone out shopping with Riku, Harada happened to glance toward the water as they drove down the seaside road.

Way offshore, facing the open sea, a head of black hair was bobbing along the rising waves.

Oh, somebody’s swimming, Harada had thought at first.

But then he realized that couldn’t be right.

It was winter at the time, and there was no way anyone would be out swimming. It wasn’t out of the question to see people in wet suits surfing, but that wasn’t what he had seen.

Harada had a bad feeling. He rushed home and checked Yuuko’s room.

It was empty. She shouldn’t even have been able to sit up on her own.

Leaving Riku at home, he had sped to the beach, but he could no longer see anyone out in the water.

Instead—there were witnesses.

There was a couple who had come to the seaside for a date just by chance. They were in a panic, discussing whether to call the police, and when Harada asked what was going on, they told him.

A woman had showed up at the beach and just walked right into the water. She’d swum farther and farther away from the shore until eventually, they’d lost sight of her.

Harada showed them a picture of Yuuko. Without a doubt, they said, that was the woman.

The police determined that she had died by suicide as a result of her illness. Her body was never found.

“I didn’t know how to explain it to Riku,” Harada said, hanging his head.

When he spoke again, it was in a low voice. He didn’t want his son—still in the corner playing with Sae—to overhear.

“I couldn’t tell him his mother ended her own life. I was at a total loss, and when I asked Sae for help, she told Riku the mermaid story…”

“You mean the ‘your mother became a mermaid’ one, right?” Takatsuki asked, head cocked to the side.

Harada nodded, looking troubled.

“We were trying to avoid hurting him, but I mean, he’s at that age, you know? He ended up totally convinced it was true and started talking about it with people away from home. That was a bit awkward. But it wasn’t like I could tell him it was a lie at that point.”

It was true—when it came to six-year-olds, they were still likely to believe in things like Santa Claus. They might very well believe their mother had become a mermaid and returned to the sea if that was what someone had told them to explain why she was gone.

“I figured he would forget about it with time, but then this mermaid incident happened, and he just got more excited. He seems to be under the impression that Yuuko has come back.”

One hand over his face, Harada shook his head.

Then—

“—It’s not a lie.”

A high-pitched voice spoke up.

With a start, Harada picked his head up and looked around.

Without their noticing, Riku had come to stand right behind his father. He was staring up at him with his big eyes.

“It’s not a lie. Mama came back.”

Sae stood and approached their table. She crouched next to Riku and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Riku, you shouldn’t interrupt when adults are talking, okay? Come on, let’s go back over there to play.”

But Riku just shook Sae’s hand off and stared even harder at Harada.

“Mama was outside my window the other night,” he said.

Harada looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“Riku…”

“She was outside my window, and she sang me a song. I heard it.”

“Riku, that… It was just a dream.”

“It wasn’t a dream. I was awake. Mama promised me one time. She pinkie swore! I asked her not to go anywhere and she told me it was okay. She said even if something happened and she had to go away, she would come back to see me again, no matter what!”

Voice rising to a shout, Riku looked somehow desperate.

Oh, Naoya thought, as he gazed at the boy’s face.

To Riku, the idea that his mother had become a mermaid was a dream he could not afford to wake up from.

Because if it wasn’t true, it meant his mother was dead. That he would never see her again. He couldn’t bear that. Even if his father told him it was a lie, he would cling to the story the way children clung to fairy tales. He wanted it to be true.

Just like Takatsuki’s mother. Both of them, turning their backs on the harsh reality and escaping into the fiction of a dream to protect their own hearts.

Naoya’s eyes drifted unconsciously to Takatsuki. What would he say to Riku? Takatsuki didn’t allow fake mysteries to persist. Digging up the real events behind the farce and exposing the truth was just how he went about things. Every time.

But to do that to a six-year-old boy? That seemed wrong.

Sae put her hand on Riku’s shoulder again.

“Riku, it’s okay—we get it. Your mama was a mermaid all along, right? But living on land was bad for her body, so she had to go back to the sea, right?”

She spoke to him in a gentle voice, and Riku just nodded and silently sucked his thumb, as if he had regressed to being an infant. Big tears dripped down his cheeks. Watching him, Harada’s own eyes welled up.

Carefully taking Riku’s thumb from his mouth, Sae patted his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Riku, do you wanna come play outside with me for a bit? You don’t mind, right, Mr. Harada?”

“Right, yeah… Sorry, Sae.”

Harada nodded, and Sae and Riku left the shop still holding hands.

Harada watched them go, wiping at his eyes. When he turned back to their group, it was with red eyes and another troubled expression.

“I apologize. Talking about stuff like that… Your food has gone cold, hasn’t it? I’ll remake it.”

“There’s no need.”

Takatsuki smiled and dipped his fork back into his meal, which wasn’t even half finished. Naoya, Sasakura, and Wataru slowly followed suit. The tomato and seafood pasta was just as delicious cold, but Naoya struggled to get it down.

Sniffling, Harada excused himself and stood. He put his chair back where it belonged, and as he was returning to the kitchen, his back to their table, Takatsuki called out to him.

“—Mr. Harada.”

Harada paused but didn’t turn around. He sniffled again.

“If it heals his wounded heart even a little,” Takatsuki said, “I don’t think it’s wrong to play along with your child’s fantasy for a short while.”

Wataru looked down. Sasakura’s eyebrows rose slightly. A little surprised, Naoya looked at Takatsuki, who continued talking.

“But the time will come for him to face reality… When it does, if you’re there for him, it’ll be okay.”

As he continued facing the kitchen, Harada’s shoulders shook.

They heard a small, tearful voice reply: “Thank you.”

As they walked away from the restaurant and back toward the car parked in the lot, Sasakura turned to Takatsuki.

“…You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Takatsuki gave him a tiny smile.

Sasakura stared down at Takatsuki, glowering. But then, that was just how Sasakura looked all the time.

“Good, then.”

“Yep.”

Takatsuki nodded.

Naoya glanced at Wataru, who was walking unhurriedly next to him, his cane tapping along the ground as he went. He seemed to be focusing intently on the pair ahead of them.

“…Mr. Wataru?”

The older man shifted his attention to Naoya.

“Akira has grown stronger—even more than I realized.”

Wataru chuckled softly, his gaze turning forward again.

Naoya looked at Takatsuki, too.

He and Sasakura appeared to be discussing where to go next. Sightseeing in Kamakura sounded like the logical choice, but there was no shortage of things to see there. Neither of them was very familiar with the city, so every place they mentioned was somewhere famous.

Eventually, Sasakura looked back at Naoya.

“Oi, Fukamachi. You’re from around here—don’t you know anywhere good that isn’t as well-known?”

“I’m not from here, I’m from Yokohama!”

“Why do people from Yokohama always make a big deal about that? It’s the same prefecture, ain’t it?”

“Please don’t lump the whole prefecture together! Do you have any idea how big Kanagawa is?”

Right as Naoya replied, there was a sudden pat-a-pat-a sound, and he felt something cold land on the tip of his nose. Within seconds, the asphalt beneath their feet was covered in wet splotches.

“Eep, the rain is here! Let’s hurry!” Takatsuki yelped, holding his arms over his head.

No one started running out of concern for Wataru, but they picked up their pace and made straight for the car.

Once they had all climbed back into the vehicle, Naoya got stuck following Sasakura’s unreasonable order to “find somewhere we can go sightseeing that’s out of the rain.” He sat in the back seat, frantically tapping away at his phone, fed up with being surrounded on all sides by buffoons. If all they cared about was “having fun” all the time, why couldn’t they look things up themselves?

Takatsuki called Naoya to his office the following Monday.

That morning, he said, he’d received a call from Harada.

“Actually, it was Riku on the other end of the line. He told me his mother visited him again last night.”

Beside himself with excitement, the boy had repeated his news over and over into the receiver: “Mama was here. She sang to me through the window. Come here, I’ll show you the proof.”

Shortly after, Harada had taken the phone from his son and apologized several times to Takatsuki, sounding like he was at his wit’s end. Apparently, Riku had insisted on calling the professor and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Takatsuki wanted to go—he had told Harada as much.

“KenKen has work today, and Uncle Wataru is out on business, too. What about you, Fukamachi? I’m going to go see evidence of mermaids… Do you want to join me?”

Naoya nodded. “I’ll go.”

He had classes until fourth period on Mondays, but he was pretty sure he’d do fine in the last one even if he didn’t attend every lecture. Plus, Nanba was in that course, too, so he’d be able to borrow the notes he missed. Takatsuki frowned when Naoya told him he would skip a class, but if they waited until after fourth period to leave, they would probably get to Harada’s restaurant around the dinner hour, when they were likely to be busiest. When Naoya pointed out they would be causing trouble for the family that way, Takatsuki reluctantly gave in.

When his third-period class was over, Naoya and Takatsuki took the train to Inamuragasaki.

They made it to the shop, and Riku came bounding their way; he had been keeping his eyes peeled for their arrival.

“This way! Um! Come with me!”

Pulling Takatsuki along by the hand, he led them to the backyard. The rear of the restaurant functioned as living quarters, and Riku’s bedroom faced the back.

Outside his window, Riku pointed animatedly at the ground. The soil was slightly muddy from the rain that had fallen over the weekend. Riku jabbed his finger at it eagerly.

“Look! See?! Here, here it is!”

Naoya wasn’t sure what “it” was, though. There were small footprints—probably Riku’s—but nothing else of note. Only tracks left behind by the flow of water.

Then it was like a glint of light reflected off something in the mud.

Brow furrowing, Takatsuki crouched down. Very carefully, he plucked something out of the muck with his fingertips.

Naoya studied the object from beside the professor. It was half covered in dirt, but he could see that it was semitransparent, curved, and thin, like a scrap of cellophane or a delicate glass shard.

“What is it?”

“This is—”

Taking out his handkerchief, Takatsuki gently wiped the soil away and held it up in front of his face.

Apparently unable to wait for Takatsuki to state his judgment, Riku hollered, “Can’t you tell? It’s a scale! A mermaid scale!”

“A scale…?”

Naoya squinted hard at the thing between Takatsuki’s fingertips.

Now that it had been pointed out to him, he could tell that it was indeed a scale, approximately the size of a fingernail and pastel red in color. Looking more closely at the ground, he noticed there were a handful of similar scales scattered around in the dirt, as if some scaled creature had crept along the ground, following the streams of runoff like roads.

“Last night, um, Mama came here in the middle of the night! I was asleep at first, but I woke up and knew it was her right away! The shutters were closed so I couldn’t see her, but I heard her singing! The song she used to sing to me when I was really little! Um, I always used to fall asleep when I heard it, and last night I did, too! But then I woke up in the morning and came out here, and look! Mama must have left these behind!”

Riku jumped up and down as he told them his story, unable to contain his excitement.

A beleaguered-looking Harada held him by the shoulders.

“It’s been like this all morning. He’s been telling the neighbors and even people who come to the restaurant… You know there’s media swarming the beach around here. If they catch wind of it and pile into the shop…”

Even though it was coming from a child, it was probably not a great time to be shouting about mermaids visiting. Some reporter might descend on them, hungry for a story, or it could show up online, posted by some ordinary person who happened to hear about it.

“I’m in the service industry… I can’t have the restaurant earning some strange reputation. I just… I don’t know what to do…”

“Papa, why aren’t you happy?! Mama was here! She’s healthy! Come on, be happy with me!”

Shaking off Harada’s hand, Riku went back to bouncing on the spot and yelling. Harada told him to stop, but Riku gave no sign of hearing.

“Hey, Papa! Why?! You don’t want Mama to be alive?! She’s not allowed?! Why, Papa?! Tell me!”

Finally, Harada broke. He shouted, “Riku, that’s enough!”

Startled, Riku stopped jumping. Tears welled up in his eyes immediately, and overflowed.

“…But why…? Why, aren’t you h-happy, Papa…?”

“Riku… Riku, your mother—”

“Mama isn’t dead! She came to see me…!”

Riku started to wail in earnest, sob after sob tearing its way loudly from his throat. Harada stood helplessly, watching his son cry.

His mother dying by suicide was too cruel a reality for a six-year-old to face. He wanted her to be alive, even if she lived as a mermaid. He wanted her to come visit, even if it was only a dream.

Takatsuki crouched down in front of Riku, holding out the scale he had picked up off the ground before.

“Riku, here. Take this. It’s precious to you, right?”

Continuing to cry, Riku looked at Takatsuki. He took the scale and cupped his tiny hands around it tightly.

“Listen, Riku,” Takatsuki said, his voice kind. “This has to be our secret.”

“…S-se…cret…?”

Takatsuki nodded.

He put one hand on Riku’s head, stroking it lightly, and gestured to the ground with the other.

“If your mama really came here, she probably didn’t want anyone except you and Papa to know that. That’s why she came in the middle of the night, when no one else would see her.”

“B-but, b-but why…? Why w-would…she…n-not want th-them…to know…?” Riku asked, heaving with sobs.

Takatsuki smiled at him.

“Because people would be frightened, right? Of a mermaid coming out of the sea. You remember the people from the TV stations at the beach? Those people came here looking for mermaids. If they captured your mama, that wouldn’t be good, right?”

“N-n…no! I w-would…h-hate it!”

“Of course you would! So—that’s why you have to keep it a secret that your mama was here. Don’t talk to anyone about it except the people who are here right now, okay? That scale, too—you have to keep it hidden somewhere safe. Can you do that?”

Riku nodded, holding the scale out, clenched in one little fist.

“C-can, can I, k-keep this, as a t-treasure?”

“You can. Treasures have to be kept inside treasure chests. Do you have a treasure chest, Riku?”

“Yeah! I’m gonna go put it in there!”

Picking his way carefully across the ground to avoid trampling on any traces of mermaid presence, Riku scrambled into the house through his bedroom window.

Harada exhaled a single large sigh.

“Professor Takatsuki, I’m so sorry… Thank you so much.”

He bowed deeply to Takatsuki, who looked at him and said, “Mr. Harada—this is as much as I can do.”

His detached tone made Harada raise his head.

They could hear Riku banging around inside his room. Takatsuki’s gaze shifted to the house, and he continued in a low voice.

“You’re his father. When he’s ready to come to terms with reality, you have to be there to support him…so he doesn’t end up like some other unfortunate soul.”

After they left the restaurant, Naoya and Takatsuki walked along the seaside road for a while without speaking.

Naoya was the one to break the silence.

“…Are you sure it’s okay to leave things like that?”

This time, Takatsuki had not settled things in his usual way.

He had reinforced the fantasy Riku harbored that his mother had become a mermaid. But if that caused the boy to sink deeper and deeper into the illusion, wouldn’t it be a problem?

What if Riku ended up like Takatsuki’s mother?

Takatsuki’s mother had closed her eyes so tightly to reality that she’d ultimately even denied the existence of her own son as he stood right in front of her. If Riku rejected reality that way—

“It’s okay,” Takatsuki said, his voice slightly raspy. “Riku is still a child. At his age, the line between dreams and reality is inherently blurred, but it’ll become clearer as he grows. He’s going to find out the truth someday, but when he does, I’m certain his father will be there for him… They’re not like my family.”

Takatsuki looked down, a somewhat lonely smile on his face. Naoya’s chest ached.

He wanted to believe Takatsuki was right.

Which was why there was something the two of them still needed to do.

“It’s this way, Professor.”

Checking the map on his phone, Naoya took the lead with Takatsuki following meekly behind.

Their destination was the fish seller’s shop that Sae worked at.

Takatsuki had a recollection of the shop’s name. During their first visit to the restaurant, there had been a small box truck parked out front—the one Sae used to make deliveries. Naoya didn’t remember the name of the business emblazoned on the side of the truck, but it was seared into Takatsuki’s brain like everything else he saw.

When they got to the shop, the balding manager told them they could find Sae out back.

Going around the building, they spotted an apron-clad Sae cleaning the storehouse floor. She used a hose to rinse stray fish blood and scales from the concrete, then scrubbed at it with a deck brush.

“—Oh! Professor Takatsuki and glasses boy? What’s going on? Another mermaid investigation?”

Upon noticing their approach, Sae flashed them her usual grin.

Returning the smile, Takatsuki stepped up to Sae.

“Miss Sae, you spread scales around in the backyard of Mr. Harada’s house last night, didn’t you?”

“…Well, darn. I’ve been found out, huh?”

Sticking her tongue out, she rapped a fist gently against her own head.

Takatsuki looked down at the floor drain that was covered in stubborn fish scales.

“You work at a fishmonger’s, after all. You could get your hands on as many scales as you’d like, I imagine… Did you sing, too? Last night, for Riku.”

“Of course I did. I mean, it would be difficult for a mermaid to pull herself up onto the land from the water and actually crawl along the ground. Maybe it was presumptuous of me, but I sang on her behalf. I heard Yuuko’s lullaby so many times, you see.”

Sae spoke not with shame, but with pride.

She probably thought she had done a good deed, that she was doing the most she could for a young child who had lost his mother.

“I made marks on the ground with a mop, too, did you notice? I figured I would manage somehow or other since it was after the rain we got, but it was surprisingly hard to make it look good! I got as many pretty scales as I could and picked out all the same color ones to scatter around. I wanted him to think of her as a beautiful mermaid, so—”

Takatsuki cut across Sae’s crowing, his words plain and resolute.

“—I came to tell you that your consideration is no longer necessary.”

Sae’s eyes widened a little.

“…Huh? Uh-oh. Professor Takatsuki, are you mad?”

“I understand that you did it for Riku’s sake. You want him to believe his mother is alive as a mermaid, right? But if this is a kind fantasy, then no more proof is needed. Dreams and reality are different, after all.”

At those words, Sae’s wide-eyed gaze narrowed.

“…What’s the problem? Isn’t it fine to live inside a dream? Things are more fun that way.”

“I know someone who is no longer able to return from the dream she lives inside… It’s a miserable existence. It doesn’t make anyone happy, not even the person in question.”

“Maybe Riku is different.”

“Even if he is, it’s the role of those around him to help him reconcile his dream with reality. We mustn’t do anything more to point his attention toward the fantasy world. It wouldn’t be right to do that to him.”

“…What if it isn’t just a fantasy world?” Sae replied facetiously, tossing down the deck brush she was holding.

It hit the floor with a clatter, but she ignored it and took off her apron.

She looked at Takatsuki through upturned eyes, pouting slightly, like she was tired of being reprimanded.

“You study the mysterious, but you deny the fantastical. And yet I think you know very well that things that run contrary to human logic are surprisingly common in this world. Isn’t that right?”

“Well, I’m not so sure. I wish desperately to encounter real monsters every day, but it doesn’t appear to be working very well.”

“Oh? I see. Then I guess those eyes are just for show. That’s surprising.”

Takatsuki’s brow furrowed.

“…What does that mean?”

Still looking up at him, Sae’s lips curled suddenly up into a smile.

“What, indeed? Figure it out yourself, Professor.”

Her eyes, narrowed to crescent moons, were pitch-black. As though it had been lured out, a faint indigo light flashed in Takatsuki’s gaze. If Takatsuki’s were the night sky filled with countless stars, Sae’s were the absolute darkness of a moonless, starless night. The kind of blackness that swallowed up everything.

“—Just kidding.”

Sticking her tongue out at them again, Sae blinked, her eyes brightening just a tad. Her usual smile returned to her face.

“I see… Okay, well, that’s fine. If it makes you that upset, I’ll stop.”

“Miss Sae—”

“I was just trying to show some kindness in my own way, but maybe it wasn’t nice after all, since you say so… I’m sorry, ’kay? I’m not so good at understanding stuff like that. Humans sure are complicated, aren’t they?”

Sae shrugged, rolling her apron up in her hands. Turning, she started to walk toward the shop.

“Well, Professor, I have something I should attend to, so I better go.”

“Miss Sae, please wait—”

“No can do. I told you, I’m busy. Bye-bye, Professor. See ya later.”

Blowing them a kiss with one hand, Sae disappeared into the building.

All she left behind was the deck brush she had thrown down on the wet concrete floor.

As he and Takatsuki walked back along the coastal road, Naoya felt some sort of unease in his chest.

A few steps ahead of him, Takatsuki was quiet. He wouldn’t get lost on a route he’d taken at least once, so Naoya didn’t need to mind him, but his total silence since they’d left the fishmonger’s was a little worrying. Even from behind, Naoya got the feeling as Takatsuki kept up his brisk pace that something was being intently turned over and over inside that head of his.

But then, something had been niggling at Naoya’s brain, too.

Something was…wrong.

Ever since their first trip to Inamuragasaki, he hadn’t been able to shake that odd feeling. He also hadn’t been able to identify what it was, exactly, though it continued to tug at the edges of his consciousness.

Naoya looked out toward the water. This area seemed devoid of surfers today. He watched a large wave roar up to its peak before crashing down. Then, among the frothing whitecaps, something dark and round caught his eye. Someone was swimming—quite a ways from shore. With waves that big, were they okay?

Naoya stopped walking absentmindedly as he watched. Takatsuki called back to him.

“Fukamachi? Is something wrong?”

“Oh…just now—”

But as he turned his gaze back to the open sea, he realized there was no sign of the head from a moment ago—there were only the rolling waves. Maybe he had just been mistaken. The seemingly endless number of people claiming to have seen mermaids here had probably experienced something very similar.

At that moment, Naoya felt as though something inside himself had finally clicked into place.

“Fukamachi?”

Takatsuki had walked back toward him, concerned that he was still standing in place.

Naoya looked up at him.

“Professor. Um, there’s something that’s been bothering me for a while.”

“What is it?”

“Miss Sae—she thinks mermaids are real, doesn’t she?”

There it was. The source of his discomfort.

The first time they had visited Harada’s restaurant—how many times had Sae turned to Riku and said, “your mother is a mermaid”? That was supposed to be a fantasy made up for Riku’s sake. A gentle dream.

In other words—a lie.

“I mean, it’s odd. Her voice never distorted, not once. That means, when she said Riku’s mother is a mermaid, she really believed it.”

“That’s…”

Suddenly, Takatsuki’s eyes snapped toward the sea.

One long finger extended, he pointed to a particular spot in the water.

“Fukamachi—look.”

Following the line of his finger, Naoya saw it again—that dark, round thing. Someone’s head.

Before, it had been facing the open water, but now it seemed to be looking in their direction.

He couldn’t really make out any facial features; the distance was too great. Nevertheless, somehow, he got the feeling that, whoever that head belonged to, it was smiling at them. A pale arm rose up above the water and waved as if in greeting.

And then—

Just as the head and arm sank back into the ocean, something else broke through the surface—a massive fish tail.

“—Pr-Professor! Professor, no, no, no! Professor, stop, you can’t do that! Stop, please stop!”

Before Naoya could blink, Takatsuki was attempting to clamber over the guardrail and jump down to the beach below. Naoya only barely managed to hold him back. It didn’t matter that the ground he would have landed on was largely composed of sand—jumping from this height was a bad idea. Not to mention the thing he was trying to get to was way out in the water. What would Takatsuki have done once he was on the beach, unless he seriously intended to start swimming in his three-piece suit?

Takatsuki looked back at him, and Naoya sucked in a breath.

His wide-open eyes had turned a deep blue.

“Fukamachi—did you see that? Just now.”

“I did, but…”

“The face, too?”

“From here, no…”

“I saw it,” Takatsuki stated. “These eyes, they could see it. That—that was Yuuko.”

“Huh…?”

“The family photo at Mr. Harada’s shop. She was in that. And just now, over there, that was the same face.”

Takatsuki pointed to the sea again. There was nothing there anymore.

The professor started walking again without warning, his pace even quicker than before.

“P-Professor? Where are you going?!”

“Fukamachi—there’s something that’s been bothering me for a while as well.”

“What is it?”

“The pictures at the restaurant… Why was it just that one photo that Miss Sae turned over? I couldn’t see that one from where I was seated at the time. Could you?”

“I might have… But I don’t remember it, really.”

Naoya thought he recalled it showing people making dried fish on the beach. Black and white and a bit grainy, it was the kind of photo one expected to see in a Japanese history book.

“We’re going to go check,” Takatsuki said, speeding up yet again.

His legs were so much longer that Naoya was already jogging to keep up. But oddly, for once, Takatsuki paid no attention whatsoever to how Naoya was faring and simply chugged along without slowing.

Restaurant HARADA was already seating customers for dinner. Thinking more patrons had arrived, Harada looked over to greet them, then blinked in surprise when he realized Takatsuki had walked in. Ignoring the man’s instinctive welcome call, Takatsuki slipped between the occupied tables, reached around the customers seated at the counter, and grabbed the face-down picture frame.

“…Fukamachi.”

He pointed to one part of the photo.

It was, as Naoya had thought, a shot of people drying seafood on the beach. The two most prominent figures in the photo were a man who could have passed for the fairy-tale fisherman Urashima Taro, and a woman who looked like she belonged in an old Japanese movie.

Takatsuki was pointing at something behind them—a woman walking on the sand, facing the camera. Judging from the big round basket she carried under one arm, she, too, was engaged in some sort of work.

“—That’s Miss Sae,” Takatsuki said.

“What?!”

Naoya squinted hard at the image, trying desperately to make it out. It was so old, and it had probably been enlarged to some extent. The graininess was too intense for him to even confirm whether the woman had a mole under one eye. Still, there was no mistaking it—the oddly familiar smile on that face, which had suffered much less loss of clarity than the two larger subjects, was undoubtedly Sae’s.

Standing side by side, Naoya and Takatsuki stared at the picture. Naoya could feel the gazes of the customers and Mr. Harada on them. Mr. Harada tried to get their attention—“What’s the matter? Is there something wrong with that photo?”—but Naoya couldn’t even summon the will to answer. No, it wasn’t just that—Naoya had no idea how he ought to reply at all.

There, in an old photograph, probably from the late 1920s or early 1930s, was a woman they had been speaking to just minutes ago.

It could have been coincidence. Just someone who happened to look similar, or perhaps a blood relative. Either of those theories could hold water. But Naoya had never yet met anyone with a relative who looked this much like them.

So what in the world did it mean?

Outside the shop windows, under the darkening sky, the deep ocean waters rolled gently. A long time ago, people had believed the Dragon Palace existed in that ocean. They’d envisioned a world far, far below the surface, where humans could not reach, one different from their own. Another world—harbored beneath the shifting tides of the sea.

On Wednesday, when Takatsuki went to see Wataru off as he was returning to the United Kingdom, Naoya ended up tagging along.

“Thank you for the company,” Wataru said, tapping his cane against the floor. Having checked the rest of his luggage already, his cane was his only carry-on.

Takatsuki hugged him.

“See you, Uncle. Come again anytime, okay?”

“Yes. You too, come visit me sometime. I’ve got vacancies in the apartment block.”

“…Yeah, thank you.”

Nodding, Takatsuki closed his eyes for a moment, then let his uncle go.

Wataru turned to Naoya.

“Naoya, thank you for spending time with this old chap as well.”

“I’m not going to hug you, just so you know.”

“Why not? That’s what you do when you say good-bye to someone—you hug them!”

“Sorry, but I’m Japanese born and raised. I’m too reserved for that.”

Wataru poked sulkily at the ground with the tip of his cane. He really is Takatsuki’s uncle, Naoya thought. Not that he wanted to believe “pouting like a child” was something inscribed at the genetic level.

But just when Naoya was letting his guard down, Wataru threw his arms open wide and wrapped Naoya in an emphatic hug.

“Hey! I said—! Japanese people—! Don’t hug!”

“I hug, and I’m Japanese. Naoya—please, take good care of Akira, won’t you?”

Holding Naoya tight as he made to struggle out of the embrace, Wataru whispered into his ear, and Naoya reflexively went still.

“…If you’re that worried about him, you could just live here, you know?”

“The air in Japan doesn’t agree with me. Living overseas is in my nature.”

Wataru ruffled Naoya’s hair and stepped back. Glaring at him, Naoya pressed his hands over his mussed head. Why couldn’t members of this family leave his hair alone?

He felt like he could still hear the clink of glasses ringing in his ears from that night.

That toast had been like a ritual naming him as an accomplice to some unholy act.

The story that had followed—an account of Takatsuki’s past that Naoya had washed down with bitter red wine.

“Well then, Akira. Naoya. Until next time.”

Waving, Wataru walked away from them and out of sight through the international departures gate.

Takatsuki watched him leave with a small sigh.

“Well, he’s gone.”

“Yeah. There he goes.”

“I wish he could have stayed a bit longer. I really missed Uncle’s cooking… Although the more he’s around, the more people’s embarrassing pasts get disclosed without their permission, which I suppose is a problem.”

Takatsuki looked sidelong at Naoya, who took a startled step back. Had they been found out?

“Pfft.”

A small snort of laughter burst out of Takatsuki.

“…Oh, Fukamachi, you really are so easy to read. So he did tell you after all? About my past, I mean.”

“Huh? Wha…? Wait, did you just trick me?!”