7
Once the detective's car had left, Ogami went back into his room and shut the door. The cramped space was as cold as outside if not colder, and even turning on the heater didn't seem to be warming things up at all. It was as if the room had invited in a unique chill while he was away.
He took a shower and got right into bed, but his body heat escaped in no time at all, and an unpleasant cold swirled around his extremities. Getting up, he went over to the kitchen, heated some water and gulped it down raw, and returned to bed. Even then, drowsiness just wouldn't come.
Kujirai had been living in this room until not long ago, Ogami thought, staring up at the pitch black ceiling. He had simply assumed that his parents' house being vacant meant he had left town, but that wasn't the case. Kujirai had rented this room to stay in town, and furthermore, belonged to the same troupe as Sumika.
Neither of these could be coincidences, of course. Staying in town, joining the troupe, it was obviously because of Sumika's presence. Was Sumika someone special to Kujirai after all?
No, hold on. Ogami stopped and reconsidered things. Much like how I'm now a Sakura for Kasumi, isn't it possible Kujirai became Sumika's Sakura? Kasumi mentioned her being in a dangerous state after graduating middle school. So it wouldn't be at all strange if Kujirai, being both close to Sumika and having shown extraordinary aptitude for the task already, was selected as a Sakura.
However, if that were it, then it would also mean Kujirai failed in his duty as a Sakura. Was that a conceivable outcome? Could it be that a man with that much talent as a Sakura was unable to prevent the suicide of Sumika, someone he may have even had feelings for?
He would have also had disadvantages. Kujirai and Sumika had once acted together as Sakura for Ogami. Serving as a Sakura for someone with experience being one is like trying to counsel someone with counseling experience; it would surely come with many difficulties. Knowing too much about each other could also become a hindrance to that task.
But even accounting for that, Ogami couldn't accept it. That was just how highly he regarded Kujirai's abilities. Whatever the circumstances, he was a man who once deceived me utterly.
There, Ogami was struck by another possibility. A theory that he may have come to right away, if only he hadn't known Kujirai as a person.
What if it was Kujirai who killed Sumika?
Maybe he was betrayed by Sumika, just like the six members she deceived - or maybe Kujirai himself went unharmed, but the incident greatly angered him - and so he plotted her murder?
However, this theory felt less convincing than the Sakura theory. The Kujirai who Ogami knew wasn't the sort of impulsive person who'd harm others in anger.
There was so much he didn't know. He came to feel that there was no use thinking about it further with the information he currently had.
Still, as far as the coincidence of him moving into this room as if he were taking Kujirai's place, Ogami did come to an explanation he could be satisfied with. It was the same situation as with the photo hiding spot. We're strangely aligned in those sorts of ways. That was all there was to it.
As the pale morning sun began to shine through the window, Ogami finally got to sleep. His alarm rang three hours later, rousing him from his short sleep. For a while he couldn't remember why he'd set an alarm, but then he remembered: today was the day Kasumi was coming over.
From the day he left his parents' house all the way until today, Ogami'd had only a single acquaintance come to visit his room. A visit from one of his coworkers four years ago, with no advance notice whatsoever, was the first and the last.
She was a college student about two or three years older than him with a plain appearance. She did good work, but was awfully unsociable, sticking out about as much as Ogami did in the workplace. They often bumped into each other in the smoking area behind the shop, but it was rare that they'd converse, making her an ideal person for Ogami to associate with.
One day, Ogami was feeling sick and had her take over his shift. She was as unsociable as ever when she answered the phone, but agreed to fill for him in just two replies. She hung up without a word of concern for his health, which was comforting to Ogami. He even found himself thinking, "if everyone was like her, life would be a little easier for me."
So when she came over to his place at night, he carelessly opened the door jumping to the conclusion that it had to be some work-related matter. The instant he saw the shopping bag hanging from her arm and her strained smile, he regretted opening it. "She's one capable Sakura," his mind judged immediately.
She showed surprising tenacity. As much as he tried to drive her out, she wouldn't withdraw. "I know the feeling of not wanting anyone to bother about you," she said in a pacifying manner. "But you're too inexperienced to be living that life, it's too dangerous. You need to learn to lean on others sometimes, or you'll never manage."
After a thirty-minute back-and-forth, Ogami managed to send her away. The whole mess had worsened his condition, and he spent several days lying in bed. He felt like he'd said something cruel to her as she left, but his fever and headache made him forget what. Once he did return to work, she treated him with the same attitude as before, yet Ogami sent in his resignation the next month and fled from that town.
He didn't know whether or not she was a Sakura. But thinking about it now, he felt she probably wasn't. Maybe she only decided to visit because of their meager fellowship as people who didn't fit into the workplace, and nothing more.
These days, Ogami probably would've used more careful judgement. For instance, he could have accepted her kindness on the surface, then naturally put distance between them. But his Sakura Delusion was particularly severe at that time, so he saw everyone who spoke to him as Sakura.
At any rate, he didn't need to fear making that same mistake with Kasumi. He could just think about deceiving, and not need to consider being deceived. It made for a truly simple and relaxing relationship. Like interacting with a dog or a cat.
Kasumi rung the apartment doorbell right at 10.
Entering Ogami's room, she gave a brief look around the room, then stared at Ogami's face interrogatively.
"Ogami, is this room usually like this?"
"Like what, exactly?"
"I mean the temperature."
"I do have the heater on. Are you cold?"
"Igloos are surprisingly warm. Did you know that?", she said. "Well, it's about as warm as that."
"I've never been in an igloo."
"You'll wreck your body living in a place like this. Ogami, you don't exactly seem strapped for cash, am I right?"
"I don't like to have too many things. Because who knows when I'll be leaving here."
"Even then, this is just too terrible. Let's go buy something to warm you up."
It wasn't a bad suggestion. Truthfully, Ogami was unable to think up any ideas for how to deepen your friendship with a girl after inviting her over.
Arriving at the home improvement store, the two spent some time looking around. They gazed pointlessly at aquariums and the emergency supplies section, had discussions over bargain bin items with unclear uses, and after buying insulation sheets and thick curtains, went back to the car.
"It's been a long time since I went out in a car," Kasumi remarked, rather delayed.
"Is it fun?"
"Very."
Ogami imagined that with her parents being busy with volunteer work, they couldn't give much attention to Kasumi.
"Is there anywhere you want to go?"
"Are you going to take me?"
"As long as it's not too far."
Kasumi thought it over with an uncommonly serious expression.
"Do you like botanical gardens, Ogami?"
"I visited one once a long time ago, and that's it," he answered. "Want to go over there?"
"Absolutely." Kasumi nodded firmly. "In winter, I come to miss the warmth of that place. Even if it's been quite a while for me, too."
Ogami drove toward the botanical garden. They did some light chatting on the way there, but internally, he was deeply shaken by her speaking the words "botanical garden."
*
As he remembered it, he'd gone together with Sumika to the botanical garden not long at all after they became close. It was before Kujirai was assigned as his Sakura.
Before spring break, the school had that relaxed atmosphere characteristic of the end of a term. While Ogami was getting ready to go home after his afternoon classes, Sumika came over and invited him to go with her to the botanical garden.
"Until the end of this month, apparently the garden's staying open late into the night. That means you can see the greenhouse in the dark with the lights down. Doesn't that sound fun?", Sumika said, as if proposing a sinister plot.
Ogami obviously accepted the invitation. He was interested in seeing a totally dark greenhouse, and above all, it was an invitation from Sumika. He couldn't refuse.
With it being night on a weekday, the botanical garden was deserted. They bought tickets at the front desk and received small flashlights, then headed for the greenhouse.
Ogami saw the greenhouse at the end of a narrow path displaying insectivorous plants with poisonous colors. The lights were off, like Sumika had said, and with the lights from the path reflecting off it, you couldn't see inside.
When the automatic door into the greenhouse didn't open, the two nearly crashed into it. After stopping and stomping their feet a bit, the door clattered open.
"I was worried it was closed," Ogami said with relief.
"Automatic doors just don't respond sometimes," Sumika said, looking behind her.
"I've never had that happen before."
"It happens for me constantly."
"Is it a matter of height?"
"There are lots of people shorter than me," Sumika insisted, sounding insulted. "I'm sure there are body types the mechanism has a harder time detecting or something, right?"
Ogami couldn't particularly remember how the greenhouse at night differed from during the day. His heart was full from the fact that he was spending a night together with Sumika, so the plants weren't what caught his eye. Still, one thing he did remember was the distant green light of the emergency exit being unpleasantly bright.
There was a narrow bridge along the path, and when crossing it, Sumika kept her body right against Ogami's. He could hardly see her as she blended into the darkness, but that only made her presence feel stronger.
To extend their time just a little more, Ogami stood in front of plants he had no particular interest in and lit every nook and cranny with the flashlight, and retraced his steps for no reason. Despite his efforts, they were approaching the entrance before he knew it, and the two were once more returned to light. Sumika, too, remarked with regret that she wished they could've taken their time and looked around more.
While looking at a diorama display on the second floor, an announcement of the garden's closing played, and the two hurried out of the building. They bought canned coffee from a vending machine by the entrance, and sat down to take a break. There were specks of snow outside, but the heat of the greenhouse remained inside their bodies, so the chill was comfortable on their skin. Sumika remarked that it was like summer and winter had traded places in an instant.
Then, the two had a discussion about suicide.
Maybe because of the unordinary darkness they'd been cutting through, death felt closer to them than usual. In such darkness that you couldn't see your own limbs if you turned the flashlight off, they felt a floating sensation like they were souls who had left their bodies behind.
He'd been thinking for a while that he should speak frankly with Sumika about Kozaki's suicide. And there was no more appropriate timing for it than now. So he resolutely asked Sumika:
"What did you think about Kozaki's suicide?"
She must have been startled. Because the high-risk individual who she was watching over as a prompter had suddenly brought up suicide.
Sumika looked up into space, holding her empty can, and thought about the question for a while.
"If it were me, I wouldn't try to die in winter," she said. "I think I'd choose spring."
"Why?"
"Because I think I could sleep better in spring."
That's a strange reason, Ogami laughed. It is a strange reason, Sumika laughed alongside him.
Then she asked him back: "What season would you choose, Ogami?"
"I might pick winter, same as Kozaki."
"Why's that?"
"It's a season where lots of stuff is dying, so my death would be easier to accept."
Sumika put a hand to her mouth and went "hmm."
"But Ogami, don't you think you'd be more likely to go "if everyone's going to die, maybe I'll dare to try living"?"
"Maybe," Ogami admitted. "I guess I won't really know until that time comes."
I'd like to keep not knowing, Sumika said. Ogami agreed with that.
*
That was Ogami's grounds for thinking that Sumika's death wasn't suicide. If she were to kill herself, she would choose spring.
It was just as easy to brush it off as a frivolous remark she'd made in middle school. And yet, he felt her joke reflected at least some small part of her real feelings. In the first place, her position as a Sakura meant she should have denied the act of suicide entirely. The fact she gave a response like that in spite of this meant that the question was one she couldn't just yield to.
Because I think I could sleep better in spring.
Sumika was a girl who slept often. During lunch breaks, she'd often invite Ogami for "afternoon naps," in which they'd sneak into an empty classroom to sleep. Furthermore, for some reason this was restricted to times when Kujirai wasn't around; Ogami surely wouldn't have slept soundly otherwise. While napping, he would wait for suitable times to lift his head and gaze at her in secret.
Thinking about it, maybe she was just too timid to talk to Ogami when alone with him, and thus designated that time for napping. Or perhaps she was putting on the appearance that her heart was open to him by sleeping defenselessly in front of him.
However, what was clear was that her sleep itself wasn't feigned. She was indeed asleep. Ogami could tell, as an budding expert at feigning sleep.
The botanical garden was still there, the same as it was back then.
After paying the entrance fee, Ogami and Kasumi set their sights on the greenhouse. With it being afternoon on a weekday - he'd completely lost his sense for days, but it was probably a weekday - the garden was empty. They only others they spotted were a group of two young girls in a section displaying local plants.
When he told the story of him visiting the garden with Sumika at night, Kasumi was delighted.
"Please, tell me more stories like that."
"I will, if I remember any others."
"Well, huh. So you can see some interesting stuff if you come at night," Kasumi said with chagrin. "Let's come here again someday. After midnight this time, when it's darkest."
"I have to imagine they'd be closed after midnight."
"When it's decently dark, then."
After going down the path of insectivorous plants and opening the door, the two were engulfed in a humid summer air. The first smell to hit them wasn't the leaves, nor the plants, nor the fruits, but the thick soil that had just been dug up. It was a smell Ogami often caught a whiff of as a child.
There were, sure enough, no other visitors in the greenhouse either. There seemed to be an artificial waterfall somewhere, making a continuous sound like white noise, but it was quiet aside from that. They didn't hear anyone talking, and there was no music playing.
Taking their time, much like when walking through there with Sumika, Ogami and Kasumi proceeded along the greenhouse paths. They carefully read the descriptions on the labels, and looked over each and every leaf. There were dozens of different plants in the greenhouse, but they all seemed dwarfed by the banana plants reaching to the ceiling and the palm trees.
Kasumi was finding it unusually enjoyable. She probably hadn't come to a place like this in quite a while. But that can't be all it is, Ogami thought. No doubt she's enjoying it because she's with me. I should have a little more confidence in that.
As they proceeded along, they saw a bridge over an artificial lake. It was a thin bridge with no handrails, so crossing it side by side would be tricky. When they reached the bridge, Ogami casually held Kasumi's shoulders. Her body stiffened for a moment, but she soon relaxed, and let his arms guide her.
When he looked at Kasumi's face after crossing, her cheeks had become faintly red. So she does have at least some affection for me, Ogami noted, his confidence growing. Maybe it's sufficient to just preserve this relationship now.
After leaving the greenhouse and walking for a while, they found a shop doubling as a café. The shelves had a mix of merchandise, including decorative plants, bottles of jam, and stuffed animals. They decided to take a break to have a light meal at the café.
"My graduation is half a month away," Kasumi mentioned as they ate. "They're having us practice for it, but doesn't practicing for graduation seem kind of foolish?"
"That's true, I could see it lessening the emotional impact," Ogami replied. "On the other hand, I get the school not wanting you to mess up."
"I don't see any particular reason to cry at graduation myself, but strictly speaking, I suppose I could cry about that fact."
"You aren't sad?"
"Not at all. That said, it's not like I feel refreshed either. How was it for you, Ogami?"
"My high school graduation?"
"Yes. Did you cry?"
"I remember the gym was awfully cold."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
"Sure enough, you're like me, Ogami." Kasumi's eyes narrowed in a smile.
"Personally, I'm surprised you're "with me" on that," Ogami responded. "You look like an honest sort to me."
"Looking honest to dishonest people means you're not an honest sort."
Ogami thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Maybe you're right."
After finishing their meal, the two left the botanical garden.
In the car on the way back, Kasumi picked up where she left off.
"Speaking of graduation... This is truly a crude question, and I'm not asking with any ulterior motive, but..."
"Yeah?"
"Why did you stop meeting with my sister after you graduated middle school?"
He knew that question would be coming eventually. So naturally, he'd prepared an answer.
"There was a bit of a change in circumstances. I had a need to quickly learn how to live by myself, without depending on anyone. Before I knew it, we'd been estranged for quite a while, and I was unable to get an opportunity to restore our relationship. Thinking how she might have forgotten all about me and been getting on well with new friends, I couldn't work up the nerve to call."
"It sounds like you've had it rough too, Ogami." Kasumi nodded with a meek expression. "But I believe she always remembered you."
"I hope you're right."
"She didn't seem to associate with many people at all in high school, so she always came straight home and rarely even left the house on days off. I wonder if she might have been lonely after you two separated. She used to always be telling me about you, after all."
"In what way?"
"Well... I'll keep that a secret." Kasumi smiled nostalgically. "I should clarify, my sister feeling down after you left was only up until she joined the acting troupe. So I imagine her ending up the way she did had nothing to do with you."
Thanks, Ogami said.
What a shame, is what he really wanted to say.
If only my existence could have contributed to Sumika's suicide in some way.
When getting out of the car, Kasumi spoke up.
"I guess I made things kind of serious at the end there. Once things have settled, let's go to the botanical garden again together. At night this time."
Convinced that this wouldn't happen, Ogami nodded.
The appointed spot for his meeting with the teacher was a café at a train station. It was a major station, seven stops away from the Town of Sakura. Driving there seemed like it would be a hassle in many ways, so Ogami decided to take the train.
Sitting at an end seat in a car with plenty of empty ones, he gazed out the window for an entire hour until reaching his destination. He saw nothing especially remarkable. Forests grown along the tracks, fields buried under snow, and one old street after another passed by outside.
It was terribly crowded at the large station, so it took him some time to find the café in question. People bundled themselves in plain-colored coats, pacing quickly in the direction they wished to go in boots damp from snow. For the first time in a while, Ogami felt a sense of just how many people were living out their lives in the world. Living in a desolate town where he didn't interact much with anyone made the world feel like a tiny diorama. Or like a cramped stage, say.
Finally finding and entering the café, he saw "Teacher" already sitting down. He knew at a glance it was her because the troupe leader had told him in advance that she always wore dark black clothes.
Indeed, she was dressed as black as a crow. Her coat was black, but her skinny jeans were even blacker, making it look like a hole in space had opened near her legs. And despite being clad in that much black, the teacher somehow gave a casual impression. Taking a look around the whole café, she blended in more than she stood out. What a curious thing, Ogami thought. She must have learned the art of concealing herself amid the background, like a creature with camouflage.
Perhaps she was a superb black-clad prompter on stage, as well. Though of course, the need for prompters seemed to be rarer in modern performances.
The teacher carried the spaghetti in front of her into her mouth with a bored look. It wasn't that she had no appetite; rather, it was the way a person with no interest in the act of eating ate. As if she were saying "I'm only eating because you need to eat to live."
As Ogami greeted her and took a seat, the teacher spoke without looking up. "Sorry, but can you wait until I'm done eating?" She seemed to want to finish off her spaghetti as soon as humanly possible.
Ogami went to the counter, spent some time looking at the menu, then ordered a single coffee. The seats were nearly filled, with all the customers seeming pressed by something as they stuffed sandwiches in their mouths or typed on keyboards. The sounds of utensils touching and the calling voices of employees became one with the background music, creating a comfortable noise like rain.
By the time Ogami brought the coffee cup back to his seat, the teacher was wiping her mouth with a paper napkin and pushing her plate to the side.
"Now, I want to make sure of this first," she began. "Ogami, was it? What kind of acquaintance did you have with Sumika?"
"We were classmates in middle school. For a time, we were close friends."
"That's it?"
Ogami hesitated a bit before speaking again. "She was my prompter."
"Prompter," the teacher repeated. "You mean, supporting people who might kill themselves from the shadows - that kind of prompter?"
"That kind, yes. Though many people call them Sakura."
"I see." The teacher put her index finger to her chin and pondered what that meant. Then she asked Ogami: "Your Sakura, hmm. So, which type are you?"
"Meaning?"
"Are you honestly grateful to Sakura, or are you resentful?"
"Somewhere in the middle," Ogami lied. He had a gut feeling that this would leave a better impression on her than answering that he was grateful.
"I suppose that's about how it goes," the teacher nodded. "You've already heard the gist from the troupe leader, have you?"
"Yes. We thought you might know more details, since you were close with Sumika."
"I don't know anything major. Why, the leader might have more to offer than me. I left the troupe a moment too soon for its dissolution, so I missed the most important scene."
"Which means you were the first to notice Sumika's dangerousness. Isn't that right?"
There was a short silence. Then her expression suddenly relaxed.
"Yeah. That's exactly right. I noticed first, and I ran away. That might have still been too late, though. Really, I should have gotten away from that girl sooner."
"Could I ask what there was between you and Sumika?", Ogami inquired.
"I don't mind. Lately, I've finally been able to sort the matter of that girl out. I was just thinking I'd like to open up about it to someone. You appeared at just the right time, Ogami."
"That's fortunate."
"However, not to make it sound like a trade, but when I'm done with my story, there's something I want to ask you too. It's nothing major, though."
"I'll answer, as long as I'm able to."
"Good," she said with a smile. "Now, where to begin?"
The teacher reached for her glass and took a drink of water, then for a while just stared at the napkin holder, where in the past there would have been an ashtray.
Finally, she began to speak.
*
When Sumika joined the troupe, the teacher was the one who first offered a helping hand when she wasn't fitting in. She had always served the role of looking after new members, but this time, the nature of her motivation differed. She wasn't approaching her out of pure goodwill. In truth, it was a calculated move.
The teacher picked up on the depths of Sumika's talent sooner than anyone else in the troupe. It started from the root of "this girl doesn't give off the same scent as me." Which is to say, the scent of an ordinary person. It meant there was something special about her.
Historically, her hunches of this nature had been startlingly accurate. Almost all the people she'd perceived as special ended up finding success to some degree.
Sumika, having enough acting talent to win over their leader yet not knowing even the most basic fundamentals about theater, was like unprocessed ore. By approaching her while I can and taking on the position of her educator, I might be able to get involved in a kind of success I'd never be able to achieve myself - that was the teacher's scheme.
She had long given up on her own talents. She understood that there was no future for her in this cramped, dark, and dusty rehearsal hall. She always worked backstage in the troupe, supporting other members. Because she felt that by doing so, even if she didn't get to bask in the spotlight, she could at least feel the warmth from that light.
Currying favor with Sumika was simple. With Sumika feeling helpless without any members who'd be friendly, she just had to be nice to an extent that didn't come off as overbearing. Before long, Sumika came to adore the teacher. From there, the teacher didn't even have to take action, as Sumika actively came closer. She seemed to be the type who had trouble getting close, but once she did, she tried to see how deep a relationship she could build. Sumika was quite extreme in that regard, and just one month after getting to know each other, she was walking at the teacher's side like a friend she'd known for years.
Soon, Sumika started to imitate even the smallest things about the teacher's expressions and actions. What she wore, her tastes in books and music, the TV shows she kept up with, the sites she had bookmarked - anything that could be imitated, she did.
The teacher knew a number of girls like that. Girls who couldn't help but imitate everything about a specific friend. Before you knew it, they'd be using the same makeup and going to the same beauty parlor. She didn't understand the mentality behind it, but there was always at least someone like that wherever you went. (Oddly, she'd never seen this behavior from any men.)
If it had been anyone but Sumika, she might have felt a bit put off. But she didn't mind being imitated by Sumika one bit. In fact, she even saw it as something to be proud of. This superb lifeform is approving every facet of me. That thought makes me feel like I've gone up a step as a human being.
Thinking back, she had never even been close to talent in her life prior. That's just how it was as far back as she could remember. People with exceptional qualities depend on each other, while ordinary people build relationships separate from that. Even those who appeared at a glance to treat everyone equally were no exception.
She had witnessed that line being drawn in front of her countless times in the past. She was always on this side, not that one. Even in the troupe she was in now, there existed a clear boundary. Yet Sumika was the one person who would lean over from the other side of the line and smile at me over on this side - at least for now.
Out of a desire to not lose Sumika's respect, the teacher put in a grueling amount of effort in secret. She studied the fundamentals of theater from scratch, practiced by herself in a place separate from the troupe's rehearsal hall, and zealously went to see shows by famous troupes. She just kept on thinking about theater, even as she slept.
The troupe members recognized her positive changes as well, trusting her with important roles she never would have been trusted with before. Sumika was as delighted as if they were her own accomplishments.
If I'm with this girl, maybe I can bask in the spotlight too someday. That was what the teacher quietly thought in her heart.
That happy relationship of theirs lasted for about two years.
The teacher herself didn't remember where she read this story. Maybe it wasn't a book, but a play she watched.
There was once a man who was having some problems in his life. A person who was his exact double then appeared before him. The double initially appeared to treat the man favorably, and the man worked with him to resolve his problems. But the double was more skilled than the real thing, and slowly took his place. After being harshly jerked around by his double, those around him deemed the man a lunatic and sent him to a mental hospital.
She thinks it went something like that.
In autumn two years after Sumika joined the troupe, that was more or less what the teacher experienced.
One day, she was summoned by the troupe leader and shown a video. In it was Sumika. It appeared to be footage from a rehearsal, but the teacher hadn't seen it before. Sumika's performance was perfect, and it would be instantly compelling even to someone who didn't know what kind of play it was.
As for what she was performing: it was the role currently assigned to the teacher, in the play their troupe was currently working on.
"What do you think?", the troupe leader asked, beating around the bush.
"Sumika should play the role for sure," the teacher replied immediately. It was clear he was looking for an answer like that, and their leader was a deliberate person, so he must have shown this video to the other members already. In this troupe, might made right. Even if she made a complaint here, no one would take her side.
It wasn't as if she felt no regrets about having her role usurped, but the fact that it was Sumika softened the blow a bit. It was likely the result of her frantically chasing after me, rather than actually setting out to steal my role. I taught her the basics of theater, so in fact, I should be proud that my education was effective. That's what she told herself.
Yet from that day forth, all the positions the teacher had been holding in the troupe were taken over by Sumika one by one. And not only did Sumika take her positions, she carried out the work they demanded several times better than the teacher ever had. Once she'd seen that, there wasn't a single thing she could do.
Before she knew it, she had nowhere to put herself. Losing sight of her reason for being, she found it difficult to naturally be a part of the troupe's circle. Just like Sumika when she first joined.
This is bizarre - does no one see anything wrong about this situation? The teacher looked at those around her for help. But no one seemed to have doubts about Sumika and the teacher swapping places. The troupe members entirely accepted the change, as if they had been hypnotized to.
Gradually, the teacher's duties returned to being mainly backstage work. But while she had taken the initiative to do them before, now she couldn't work up any enthusiasm at all for it. This isn't my true work. There's a place more suitable for me. Why had I ever willingly accepted these duties in the past?
By the time winter arrived, their positions had completely inverted. Yet even at that point, Sumika was continuing her imitation of the teacher unabated. Her clothes, her makeup, her words, her actions, everything. But it had ceased to look like Sumika was imitating her. Rather, the teacher looked like she was clumsily trailing behind Sumika. If they wore the same clothes, Sumika would wear them better; if they put on the same makeup, Sumika's would look better. If they said the same thing, Sumika would be admired more; if they did the same thing, Sumika would get the better reception.
Soon, the teacher was tormented by a sense of inferiority no matter what she was doing. She'd subconsciously compare herself with Sumika. Sumika would do this better, Sumika wouldn't mess up like this, a voice would whisper in her ear. Everything but Sumika instantly lost color, and she was struck by an immense powerlessness.
Maybe all it would take is to simply say "Please stop imitating me." Maybe Sumika would readily back down and hand back my positions. Maybe she would stop imitating me, and go try to become someone else this time.
But even if things did go that way, would I be able to behave the same way I had before in this troupe? There was no chance. Even if no one else minded, I already know. My identity is just a mass of unremarkable elements that can be reproduced by someone else.
The teacher remembered that in middle school, she'd often made her friends laugh by doing impressions of teachers and classmates. When she did them in front of the person in question, it would usually upset them. The more accurate the impression was, the deeper their anger. They must feel like I'm exposing secrets in their blind spot, she thought at the time.
She wasn't necessarily mistaken about that. But it didn't end there. Now, having become the one being imitated, she finally understood. To be imitated is to have something stolen from you. An excellent imitation brings the subject's very essence out into broad daylight, and then spits on it. By showing how it's not anything as special as they think, just a pattern that can easily be generalized, all its meaning and significance is smashed to pieces. People faintly detected that in my imitation of them, and that's why they were genuinely upset.
After Sumika had taken everything from her, leaving her an empty husk, the teacher gradually stopped showing up at the hall. She couldn't bear the members' gazes that seemed to say "why is she here?" - even if they were only imagined, and it was just her beat-up self-esteem talking.
Soon the teacher left the troupe, and cut all contact with Sumika.
*
"That's the end of my story," the teacher said. "Not very exciting, was it?"
Those words finally brought Ogami back to reality. Taking a drink of his water in which the ice had melted, he was finally able to formulate a decent reply.
"No, that's exactly the sort of story I wanted to hear."
"It's strictly just my perspective on events, you know. Perhaps I was subconsciously twisting the reality. Or maybe it was all a fantasy borne from my biases, and Sumika was simply someone more skilled and well-liked than me."
"I wouldn't say that's it at all. I think Sumika did it entirely consciously. Though I can't say I have a clue as to her motives."
"Yes, that's the key," the teacher said as if affirming a student's answer. "What could have made Sumika carry out that sort of harassment?"
The teacher then gave Ogami some time to think.
"I take it you've already come to an answer of your own?", Ogami asked.
"Well, yes. But let me hear your thoughts first."
"I can't even guess. That's like asking me to imagine how a natural disaster feels."
"A natural disaster," she repeated, seeming fond of the expression. "That might be relatively close to my idea."
"Which is to say, there was no motive at all?"
"No. In my opinion, that girl was an alien."
"An alien?"
"Not that I've ever met an alien before. But suppose there were an intelligent lifeform who was different from us in every way - their culture, language, science, religion. If creatures like that met us Earthlings, what would they do first? Probably, they would try to imitate us. Parrot our words back to us, hold out their hand if we held out ours. Doing that, they'd start to understand "ah, this corresponds to that thing we have.""
At this point, Ogami noticed that she had started posing like a mirror image of him.
"Perhaps that girl was only able to communicate with others by using that approach," the teacher continued. "Yet because she possessed such extraordinary talent for it, maybe it ended up inviting trouble. That would explain the "six-timing" incident. The men of the troupe surely viewed Sumika Takasago as a girl who God had made just for them. Because she instantly saw through to their essence, and matched it exactly. It would be difficult not to fall in love. And when someone wanted her, maybe all she could do was want them back, in an entirely pure way. Because she didn't know any other response."
"You have the most favorable opinion out of everyone I've heard from," Ogami remarked.
"Of course I do. I mean, I still like her even now, and I don't doubt she liked me up to the end." The teacher stopped mirroring Ogami and slumped back in her seat. "That's how I'm choosing to think. It's not that she had any grudge or ill will toward me, she just didn't know any other way to express her affection."
The teacher finished her story there, picking up her plate and leaving her seat. Left by himself, Ogami processed what she'd told him in his own way.
Up to today, I've considered a lot of different possibilities about Sumika as a person. In spite of that, I'd never once questioned the premise that she was a Sakura. But coming this far, that premise which had seemed like the foundation of the whole thing was beginning to wobble.
Let's suppose Sumika was the kind of person the teacher imagined - someone who could only repeat another's words, whose nature was like a living echo. If I liked her, then she would like me too, and if I hated her, she would hate me too; there would be simplistic mechanics like that at work between us.
That snowy day, I had accused that her goodwill was a sham, and Sumika admitted it. But thinking back, I never once spoke the word "Sakura" then. I just asked, "You never really liked me at all, did you?"
Yet supposing the words I spoke to mean "I've seen through you, you're a Sakura" had been interpreted by her as "I've seen through you, your goodwill is hollow," our conversation then still made a similar amount of sense. No, more than that, it was even possible her reply was nothing more than an echo of my words. Maybe all it meant was "if you're going to hate me, I'll hate you too."
Up to that point, maybe she did have an affection for me, however twisted.
But what I couldn't forget in all this was Kujirai. In his case, I had his word. He had clearly admitted to being a prompter. At the time, I didn't doubt that I was an individual with a high risk of suicide who needed a Sakura assigned, so it was only natural to assume Sumika was a Sakura too.
And even supposing she wasn't a Sakura, it wasn't like that changed anything. There's no question that everything I'd believed back then had been a lie. Even if our relationship hadn't collapsed in our third year of middle school, we would have surely arrived at a similar place.
Kujirai. Come to think of it, I need to ask her about Kujirai too.
When the teacher came back from cleaning her plate, Ogami questioned her.
"I hear from one of the troupe members that a man named Kujirai might have been involved in Sumika's suicide. I'd like you to tell me anything you know about him."
"Kujirai, huh?", the teacher said, as if caught off guard. "Haven't heard that name in a while."
"What sort of relationship did he have with Sumika? As you saw it."
"Kujirai and Sumika?" The teacher cast her gaze down and thought. "Publicly, Sumika acted like she was awkward with men, and Kujirai didn't come to rehearsals much either, so I never even saw the two talking face to face. I don't think they had any particular connection beyond being in the same troupe. This is the first I'm hearing about him being involved in Sumika's death."
Ogami passed along the things he'd been told by the detective. That Kujirai had returned to town just before Sumika died, and the two had been meeting in secret.
"I don't think there's any deep meaning to it," she said dismissively. "In fact, maybe it's just process of elimination? By then, she was hated by the troupe. Maybe Kujirai, who kept some distance from it, was the only person left who she could freely talk with?"
"Maybe so."
That was certainly one way to look at it. Perhaps there wasn't a deep meaning to it, like she said.
"What do you think the two talked about?", Ogami asked.
"Who knows. You'd have to ask Kujirai directly to know that."
So that's where this is leading after all, Ogami sighed. Just as the detective said, there would no further progress without finding Kujirai.
That said, he had gotten plenty of intel to bring back as a souvenir for Kasumi. It would surely be enough to convince her that he was diligently investigating.
"Well, no more questions, then?" The teacher started to get out of her seat.
"Nothing from me," Ogami said. "But didn't you say you had a question for me?"
"Right, I nearly forgot." The teacher hurriedly sat back in her chair. "You got to know the troupe leader through Kasumi, right?"
"Yes."
"How is that girl doing lately?"
"She's calm. It seems she's recovered from Sumika's death to some extent."
"Huh?", the teacher gawked, seeming surprised. Then she changed her question. "What's your relationship with Kasumi?"
"We used to only just see each other sometimes. We reunited when I went to visit Sumika's house, and now she's helping me look into Sumika."
"That's all?"
"That's all," Ogami insisted. He had no obligation to reveal his duty as her Sakura.
"Hmmm."
"Is something wrong?"
"I was just imagining that you might be a new emotional support to take her sister's place - to put it plainly, a lover."
"A lover," Ogami repeated without emotion.
"You probably wouldn't know this, but that girl was really moping just a short while ago. She was always inseparable from her sister, you see. Right after Sumika died, I hear she shut herself at home and didn't even go to school. We passed each other in town just once during that time, and at first I didn't even realize it was her. I'd never seen someone so worn out in my life. I imagine she wasn't eating or sleeping well. Even the troupe members were worried she might follow in her sister's footsteps."
"I'm sure she recovered on her own," Ogami said. "I only got involved with her last month, and she was doing just as well then as she is now."
"Or maybe she's pretending to have recovered around you?", the teacher mused. "Well, at any rate, she seems fond of you. You might see her as secondary to Sumika, but take good care of little Kasumi for me."
"I understand she's deeply wounded by her sister's death, really. Even if she won't show me much weakness, I hope I can be of some help to her."
"Good response," the teacher said with a laugh. "Supposing you ended up as her prompter, I think I could rest easy."
Of course, that was her idea of a joke. So Ogami made sure to laugh too.