NHK ni Youkoso! Vol 1 Chapter 10

Chapter 10
Dive
Part One
Summer ended. I'd depleted my living expenses. I had no money left for
food, so I decided to try sleeping to conserve energy. I would be awake
for five hours, and then I'd sleep for fifteen. I tried living on that
schedule.
For the first three days, I didn't really have any problem fasting. At
worst, my stomach hurt a little bit. By the time the fourth day rolled
around, though, I couldn't think of anything but food. I want to eat
ramen. I want to eat curry and rice. Regardless of my will, my body
seriously wanted calories. This craving was impossible to fight.
Finally, on the fifth day of fasting, I left the apartment. Spending my
last few hundred yen to buy a pastry and another part-time job
magazine, I decided to start doing physical work that very day. 
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Physical day labor. . . I mastered the work surprisingly easily,
bringing supplies into event halls, helping with moving and the like.
Once in a while, I made a mistake and got punched by one of the
higher-ups; even so, the work was refres.h.i.+ng. The rougher I treated my
body, the more and more empty my head became. For the first time in
several years, I could go to sleep and wake up feeling refreshed.
Given all my credit card debt, I worked night and day for the first
month. After registering with a temporary agency, I was able to get daily
work. Once I'd acc.u.mulated a degree of wiggle room in my savings, I
immediately reduced the amount of work I was doing. I decided to work
for about half a month at a time, then staying holed up for the second
half. As long as I could make about one hundred thousand yen a month,
I could actually maintain a rather pleasant life.
Whenever possible, I tried to work nights. Nighttime traffic control
was the best job. To be a security guard, you needed to get registered by
taking a four-day legal training course; once you finished that, however,
no other work was easier.
In the middle of the night, I waved the glowing red guide stick back
and forth at construction sites far from human habitation. The only
thing I could hear all night long was the echo of construction equipment
operating behind me. On the nights when I worked as a guard, I was
alone. Sometimes a car would pa.s.s, but all I had to do was wave the
guide stick appropriately and caution, "Look out, slow down."
Because I almost never needed to speak to others while working, I
felt the same as when I holed up in my apartment. I just relied on my
conditioned reflexes to wave the guide stick, back and forth, back and
forth. The night wind was a bit chilly, but my pay for this was ten 
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thousand yen per night, counting my travel fare.
I'd work, and then I'd shut myself away—earn my living expenses,
and then shut myself away. This lifestyle continued and, with
frightening speed, time went by. While I kept working, it turned to
winter.
It was the winter of my fifth year as a hikikomori. This year felt
thoroughly cold—probably because I had previously sold off my kotatsu
to the secondhand shop. Even covered head to toe with a blanket, I still
was freezing, always s.h.i.+vering uncontrollably. At that point, in place of a
body warmer, I decided to try using the laptop computer, which
Yamazaki had left behind when he moved.
"It's an off-brand Pentium 66 MHz notebook computer. I didn't
want to have to carry it, so I was going to throw it away. But seeing as I
have it, I'll give it to you, Satou," he'd said.
He'd left with those words.
I set the laptop on my stomach and turned on the power. A noisy
whirring indicated that it was operating, and an anime wallpaper
appeared on the liquid crystal screen. Being an older machine, it
generated an amazing amount of heat. Soon, I warmed up and began to
grow sleepy.
Just then, I recognized a familiar icon displayed on the computers
desktop.
It looked like the executable file for the erotic game that Yamazaki
had been making. Positioning the cursor on the file, I clicked to open it.
The hard disk started groaning. After a long loading period, the game
began.
I played it for several hours. And then, I understood. . . I understood 
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that this was a terrible, terrible game.
The genre was an RPG, but it was an extremely cheap RPG, with
about one hundredth of the first Dragon Quest35 game's content.
It wasn't an erotic game any longer, and the story was utterly
ridiculous—basically, the concept was something along the lines of "a
journey about love and youth taken by soldiers fighting against a giant,
evil organization." The game told the story of an average young man
who becomes a warrior to fight evil and protect the heroine. This wishfulfillment
scenario eventually bypa.s.sed the player, continuing
meaninglessly on and on and on.
I was dumbfounded.
Come on, what idiot could have come up with such a stupid scenario?
It was me. I was the very person who had written the original outline
for the story.
I grew sad. It was a bittersweet sadness, because I thoroughly
understood the scenario of the game: Soldiers taking a stand against evil.
This had been our exact desire; we had wanted to fight an evil
organization; we had wanted to fight villains. If a war had broken out,
we would have joined the JSDF36 right away and launched kamikaze
attacks. That definitely would have been a meaningful way to live and an
attractive way to die. Had there been villains in the world, we would
have battled them. Fists raised in the air, we would have fought. There
was no mistake about it.
There weren't any villains, though. The world was just complicated
in various ways, and there weren't any obvious villains to be found. It
was excruciating.
Our personal desires had become the framework for the game. As I 
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progressed farther into it, I realized that it actually had a wonderful
story. It was a simple, beautiful story. Right now, in fact, the main
character, fighting an enormously powerful enemy, vowed to protect the
heroine.
"I'll protect your life!" Heedless of his own safety, he prepared to
challenge the gigantic enemy and the final battle began. I was nearing the
end of the game.
There were three battle commands: "attack," "defend," and "special
attack." No matter how much I attacked the last boss, I couldn't do any
damage. Naturally, just trying to defend myself didn't help, either.
Finally, I had no choice but to use the special attack—the final death
blow. Using my own life energy, I sacrificed myself in order to deal a
mortal wound to the enemy. There was no other way to defeat the final
boss. So, the hero of the game held his "Revolutionary Bomb" in his right
hand and went to perform his special attack.
However, at the very, very end—at the exact second the hero
executed his special attack on the final boss—the game suddenly froze!
The game window closed, and the text editor started up. Yamazaki
apparently had left a letter that seemed like an excuse.
"There really isn't any other way to destroy the huge, evil
organization than to use your special attack. You can gain victory only if
you choose death for yourself because the giant, evil organization
actually is made up of our entire world. Because the second you choose
death, the world disappears into nothingness, the evil organization, too,
disappears into nothingness. Then, peace will come to you. Still, I didn't
blow my own head off with a bomb. That was my choice. No, it
definitely isn't that I just didn't want to go through the pain of drawing 
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the CG for the game ending or that I got downright tired of making a
terrible game. Nothing like that. . . "
At first, I tried to smash the laptop. Then, I changed my mind. I had
watched Yamazaki desperately work on this game, but the final
shoddiness of it hit me pretty hard.
What in the world could he be doing right now? This question suddenly
began to bother me, but I decided to try and forget it. I hadn't heard any
news from him since he left, and I didn't feel like contacting him, either.
Those idiotic days from that period in my life had ended long ago.
Christmas came once again. The city lights twinkled.
The guide stick grasped in my right hand, too, lit up in the darkness.
Tonight's work was traffic control in the parking lot of a new
department store that had opened near the station. Because the
entrances were equipped with fully automated ticket machines, I had
absolutely nothing to do. When it got crowded, I tried helping out the
machines; but each time, I just ended up swinging my stick back and
forth.
There were no accidents, nothing happened, and Christmas Eve
marched on in safety.
About an hour before the store closed, a car came by. The car itself
was the sort of j.a.panese model found anywhere, with nothing special to
note about it. However, because the interior lights were on, I recognized
the girl sitting in the pa.s.senger seat. I saw her clearly.
Startled, I tried to push my cap down over my eyes as much as 
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possible. The car pa.s.sed me without hesitation, so there hadn't been any
recognition. But I felt that my high school acquaintance, sitting in the
pa.s.senger seat, had looked my way, just for a second.
Of course, that, too, was just a delusion.
My s.h.i.+ft ended, and I changed out of my uniform and put the guide
stick and helmet into my bag. Swaying back and forth on one of the last
trains of the night, I headed toward my apartment. On the way, I
stopped by a convenience store to buy alcohol and the like.
I decided I should try getting into the Christmas spirit. Walking up
the steep road that led to my apartment, I drank a beer. I hadn't had
alcohol in a while, so it took effect quickly. Somewhat shakily, I slowly
hiked up the long, sloping path. In the distance, an ambulance's siren
pierced the otherwise quiet night. I finished my second beer.
Merry Christmas.
By the time I pa.s.sed the park, my gait had been reduced to a
drunken stumble. Walking carefully, I could avoid swaying drastically,
but I figured I might as well just walk like a drunk. I increased my pace
and wobbled from telephone pole to telephone pole. I tripped over a
stone and almost fell. I staggered and was about to collapse in the middle
of the road when, right in front of me, an ambulance rushed past.
I had almost been run over!
I thought perhaps I should complain in a loud, drunken voice, "You
id—"
I stopped in mid-sentence.
The ambulance had pulled up in front of Misaki's house. Her uncle
dashed out of the front door. He yelled to one of the paramedics as they
ran into the house, carrying a stretcher. A short while later, they carried 
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the stretcher back through the front door. Misaki was limp.
I watched as Misaki, her aunt, and her uncle sped away in the
ambulance at a breakneck speed.
Part Two
It was almost New Year's Eve. One afternoon, I loitered in front of the
large hospital at the edge of town. This was where Misaki had been
admitted.
Earlier that morning, I had headed down to the manga café near the
station and had gotten the information from her exhausted uncle.
"Anyway, I'm so sorry." Her uncle apologized to me for no reason.
"We thought she was doing better. She'd been much calmer since
quitting school and had seemed really happy recently. I wonder if maybe
that was because of what she'd planned. By the way, how do you know
Misaki?"
"We're sort of acquaintances," I answered. I retreated from the
manga café and had headed straight for the hospital, but. . .
I had been hanging out in the courtyard for nearly two hours.
Among the visitors and patients out for strolls, I was pacing back and
forth on the path from the main gate to the front entrance.
Misaki was in a private, fourth-floor room on the open psychiatric
ward. Apparently, she'd swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills. It was
nearly a fatal dose; had they arrived much later, it might have been too
late. 
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It was uncertain where Misaki had obtained the sleeping pills, but
they may have been from the neighborhood psychiatrist. But to have
ama.s.sed enough pills for an effective suicide attempt, she must have been
going there for quite for a while. That meant that this attempt clearly
had been intentional. Misaki had planned her death for a long time.
What in the world did I intend to do, showing up unannounced? I
couldn't make anything better for her.
Should I cry saying something like, "Don't die!". . . ?
Should I try yelling something like, "You still have tomorrow!". . . ?
Misaki had written numerous, similar clichés in her secret notebook.
But they hadn't helped her, so she'd tried to overdose on sleeping pills.
In short, there was nothing I could do for her. It might even be
better for me to avoid showing my face. She probably would feel even
emptier, getting a hospital visit from a pathetic hikikomori.
When I thought about the situation that way, I'd decide to go home;
but at the hospital gate, my feet would stop on their own. Once more, I
turned back toward the front entrance and repeated the entire cycle.
My thoughts were looping around. If this kept up, it looked like I
would just keep walking to and fro until nightfall. I couldn't make up my
mind.
Finally, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up my courage, I dashed into the hospital before I
could change my mind again. I got a visitor's badge at the front desk,
pinned it to my chest, and headed up to the fourth floor.
The entire fourth floor was an open psychiatric ward. At first
glance, it seemed no different from a normal hospital. I'd thought that a
psychiatric ward would be full of straitjackets, electroshock equipment,
and lobotomy laboratories. However, this open ward was clean and 
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cheerful; it seemed like an ordinary part of the hospital.
Or so I thought. When I noticed that an older woman of around
sixty, apparently a patient, had squatted down in the corner of the
hallway, I quickly headed for room 401.
In the far corner of the fourth-floor hall, a nameplate identified
Misaki's room: "Misaki Nakahara," it said.
There was no mistake. This was the room.
I knocked softly.
There was no answer.
I tried knocking again, a little harder; there was still no answer.
However, my knocking seemed to have dislodged the door, though it
might have been open partially to begin with.
"Misaki?" I peeked into the room.
She wasn't there.
Well, if she's not here, there's nothing I can do. I'll go home!
I decided to leave behind the fruit basket I had bought in the
hospital gift shop. And I noticed someone had left a train schedule open
on the shelf next to the bed. The schedule was annotated here and there
in red ballpoint pen. Moving it aside, I put down the fruit basket.
As I did, a sc.r.a.p of paper fluttered to the floor. I picked it up and
read it: "Mikka Tororo was delicious. Therefore, farewell, everyone."
Shoving the sc.r.a.p of paper and the schedule into my coat pocket, I
dashed out of the hospital and headed toward the station.
The sun had begun to set. 
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They should have put her on a closed ward with iron bars over the
windows, not an open one where she could come and go freely. They
should have put her in a straitjacket and pumped her full of medicine to
make her happy. But because they hadn't, Misaki had left the hospital.
She was heading back to the town where she'd been born. She was likely
going there to die.
I remembered the discussion we'd had a good while ago:
"Tsuburaya, the runner, apparently went home to the countryside
right before he died. Then, he ate grated yam with his mother and
father, it says."
"Hm."
"I guess everyone wants to return to their hometown before they die,
after all."
That was probably true. Misaki, too, must have started wanting to
return to her hometown. She likely intended to dive into the sea from
the tall, sheer cliffs at the cape, where she'd said she often played. It
wasn't going to be that easy, though. Now that I had found her suicide
note and the train schedule, her luck had run out.
As far as I could tell from looking at the notes marked on the
schedule, Misaki had boarded the train only an hour or so before. If I
chased after her, I should be able to make it in plenty of time. I knew
where she was headed, and on top of that, I had money. If I used taxis for
part of the trip, I might even reach the destination before Misaki. There
wasn't any reason for me to worry.
On the night train, I opened a map, purchased at a bookstore along
the way. I looked for that cape—the one where Misaki said she often
played when she'd been little. Here it is. The map showed only one cape
near her hometown, so this had to be it. 
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Misaki probably had boarded the train that had departed right
before mine. Mixed in with people returning home for the year's end, she
likely was heading for the town where she'd been born, toward the cape
known as a famous suicide spot. However, she didn't know that I was
following her.
I wouldn't let her escape. I was certain to catch up with her. On that
point, at least, I wasn't worried. The problem lay elsewhere.
When I found Misaki, what should I say to her?
I understood her suffering, if only a little bit. It was just the very tip
of her pain; even so, I could imagine it to some degree. She probably felt
trapped, as though she'd run out of options. And her pain would never,
ever disappear, not in her entire life.
Of course, that was natural. In a way, her pain was common to all
mankind. It was an ordinary suffering. Everyone is troubled by similar
feelings. I, too, was troubled by them.
Even if I keep living, there's nothing to he done. It's only pain.
Knowing that, could I stop her from jumping? Did I have the right
to stop her? As a member of society, I probably should say something
appropriate like, "Even so, keep living!" or "Stop whining!"
I understood all that.
While I was mulling over these things, the train arrived at it's
destination.
Exiting the station, I found that the town was deserted. It was
already the middle of the night; but even given the time, the area around
the station was as silent as a ghost town. There was no sign of anyone on 
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the streets.
On top of that, it was snowing and really cold. As the town was
located on the Sea of j.a.pan, it was in something of a blizzard zone. I
fastened shut the neck of my coat and headed toward the sole taxi in
sight. The driver seemed surprised by a customer's arrival. The man,
poised at the threshold of old age, looked like he'd been sleeping in his
seat. Hurriedly, he wiped his eyes.
Getting into the warm car, I pointed at the map to show him my
destination. The driver looked at me for confirmation, with an
expression that said, "Are you serious?"
I nodded, and the car took off, causing the chains on the tires to
clank.
"Sir, why would you want to go to a place like that so late at night?"
"Sightseeing. Please hurry."
About half an hour later, the taxi exited onto a hilly road that ran
along the ocean sh.o.r.e. It headed straight up a steep hill. On the right,
the pitch-black sea spread out. When we reached the top of the hill, the
taxi stopped.
"This place actually has become quite a famous tourist spot, but
there isn't anything here." The taxi driver spoke as though in apology.
I paid the fare and got out of the taxi.
"You don't really plan to. . . No, the construction is complete, so it
should be fine." With that, the taxi driver pulled back onto the road.
I looked around. There really wasn't anything here. Or more
accurately, it was so dark that I could barely see.
As the ocean was on my right side, I thought I would find the cliff if
I headed in that direction, but only spa.r.s.ely scattered streetlamps lit the 
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area. I felt terribly helpless. For the time being, I crossed the road and,
climbing through the s.p.a.ce between the guardrails, I set off on a snowcovered
path.
Misaki had to be at the other end of this path. Stepping through the
snow, which came up to my ankles, and taking care not to slip and fall, I
continued down the path cut through the thick brush. With each step,
the surrounding darkness grew deeper and deeper.
Before long, the light from the streetlamps no longer reached me,
and I could hardly see anything at all. Then, the brush thinned abruptly.
The path ended, and in front of my eyes stretched the coal-black sky and
the Sea of j.a.pan. That's right. I had made it to the very edge of the cape.
It was too dark for me to see well, but the cliff was about thirty feet
ahead. I finally had arrived. I had reached my destination!
But what about Misaki?
I looked around, but I couldn't see much. A large full moon floated
in the night sky, but my eyes weren't used to the dark yet, so I couldn't
make out anything but vague outlines. There seemed to be no sign of
anyone anywhere. That was all I could tell.
What did this mean? Had I arrived first? Or had Misaki stopped
somewhere along the way? Or could it be that. . .
My heart began pulsing violently, and my blood curdled.
No, no, it couldn't be. There was no way that she could have jumped
before I even arrived, right? She'd be here shortly. Soon, Misaki would
come walking down that path.
I stepped back and sat on a bench that faced the ocean. With my face
turned expectantly toward the little path, I waited for Misaki.
An hour pa.s.sed. Misaki didn't come. It began to seem as though she 
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wouldn't come down the path at all. I put my head in my hands.
Without realizing it, I started talking to myself.
"Why?"
"'Why what?"
"Did I arrive too late?"
"No, you didn't."
"Misaki is. . . "
"You were off by only five minutes. Maybe you should be a
detective."
I slowly turned my face to the right. Standing there was Misaki. She
was wearing a black coat that blended with the darkness.
Perching on the edge of the bench, Misaki explained, "You finally
said something. I didn't know what to do because you were silent for so
long."
Part Three
A violent rage boiled up inside me. I felt as though she had made an a.s.s
out of me. Forcing those feelings back down inside, I said in as gentle a
tone as possible, "Well then, let's go home! It's cold out here!"
"I don't want to."
What do you mean you don't want to?! You, ah c.r.a.p, just stop making a
fool out of me. I nearly started railing at her as hard as I could; but
somehow, I was able to control the impulse.
I tried to remember a book I had read long ago called The Psychology
of Self-Injury. It had theorized, "Those who try to commit suicide 
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actually want someone to save them. They want someone to listen to
what they have to say, so try and listen to them with a kind demeanor, as
gently as possible, without chiming in with any sort of negative
comments."
Those seemed to be the key points.
I turned to Misaki as I fixed my collar. That was proof of my gentle
att.i.tude. Then, I said, "Don't die. Let's keep living!"
Misaki smiled. It was a derisive smile.
I wanted to tell her just how much trouble I had gone through to get
all the way here; of course, I held back. In a kindly voice, I asked, "Why
did you attempt suicide so suddenly?"
"It wasn't your fault or anything, Satou."
"I know that. So. . . "
"I've grown tired of living."
"Explain in more concrete terms."
"I got sick of everything. There was no reason for me to keep on
living." She chanted these abstractions, a smile still on her face. Was she
making a fool out of me, after all?
"Yeah, that's right. I don't think that I can get help from you any
longer, Satou. You're just a hikikomori, in the end."
The blood rushed to my head. "Go ahead and die!"
"I will die."
"No! I was kidding. Don't die. If you die, you'll go to h.e.l.l."
"You don't have to be in such a panic. To begin with, I'm basically
already dead, seeing how I took all the drugs I'd saved over an entire
year. If my uncle hadn't found me, I would have succeeded. No matter
what you do, Satou, I'm determined to go ahead and die." 
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There, in the winter, standing at a cape in the inky darkness, we
continued discussing whether to live or die. The conversation was light
years removed from the normal, everyday world.
It was already past midnight, and it was freezing. Misaki's teeth
chattered.
"Either way, I'm going to die." She had grown defiant. "Go ahead and
try to stop me if you want, even though it's impossible."
Clearly, the views on suicide traditionally retained by our society no
longer held any merit. Without any shame at all, she was arguing for
death.
I reb.u.t.ted, "If you're saying stuff like that, Misaki, then you don't
really feel like dying anymore, do you?"
In response, Misaki put her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out
a metal object.
"I have a box cutter here." The blade slid out of the handle. She
declared, "Right now, I'll cut my wrists with this box cutter!"
"That's dangerous!" I tried to grab Misaki's hand.
"Don't come near me!" Misaki quickly jumped up from the bench to
avoid my grasp.
"I don't know what to do. I'm sure that I've gone crazy. If you come
too dose, I'll probably cut you!" As she shouted this, Misaki stretched
out her right hand, which gripped the box cutter, and put her left hand
behind her back. She looked like she was attempting some fencing pose.
"What are you doing?"
"I learned it from a book called The Art of Murder that I read at the
library. I'm employing the knife-fighting art of the Sicilian Mafia."
Putting several feet between us, Misaki swung around the box 
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cutter, threatening me.
"Aren't you disgusted? Disgusted because the person you came all
this way to save really is crazy? There's nothing I can do about that,
though, Satou. I'm sure you were thinking something along those lines,
right? Like, you wanted to show how cool you are by saving some crazy
girl about to commit suicide. That's what you were thinking, wasn't it?
But it's impossible. It's impossible!"
With the moon at her back, it was hard to see her, so I couldn't tell
what expression she wore. Though it sounded like a farce, it wasn't.
That much seemed certain. I asked her seriously, "If I told you I'm
deeply in love with you, what would you do?"
"I wouldn't do anything. I'm finished. I mean, you're just a
hikikomori to begin with, Satou. And you look like you'd change your
mind quickly. Besides, in actuality, you don't like me at all, right? If
someone won't be mine from the top of his head to the tips of his toes,
it's better for me to die. It's not like my desires can be granted by just
anyone. I always knew this. And that's why, either way, I just need to
die."
"I like you! I love you! Please, don't die!"
"Ha ha ha. You're so funny, Satou. But it's no use. I'm going to die!"
Our dialogue was somehow very much like a shoujo manga.
Still, I knew that words like "love" and "hate" probably weren't that
important. The problem likely lay in a deeper, more fundamental place.
I thought that I should try my best to explain this to her. I should
somehow put it into words for Misaki. However, the words would slip
away at once. The second I p.r.o.nounced them, they would lose all
meaning. 
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I just didn't understand. What should I do? What did I want to do?
What was I thinking. . . ? It didn't really matter if she died. That's what I
thought.
It's all the same in the end. The only difference is whether death comes
sooner or later. Even if I do keep living, there will he only more suffering and
more hards.h.i.+p. There's no meaning to it. There's no meaning to life. It would
be better to die. This was a thoroughly logical conclusion that no one
could refute.
At least, I couldn't refute it. In fact, I doubted that anyone was less
suited to the role of convincing someone else to give up on suicide than I
was.
"It's not right." I kept saying these ridiculous things. "Don't say
you're going to die."
All the words sounded artificial.
Deciding to rely on force, I stepped toward Misaki, who was still
swinging the box cutter around. She backed up. Ignoring her wild
movements, I lunged forward and reached out my right hand. Just before
my hand touched Misaki's body, the blade of the box cutter sliced open
my palm. A second later, blood began to flow. It soaked into the snow.
It hurt, but the pain was wonderful.
Misaki stared at the b.l.o.o.d.y box cutter, a dreamy expression on her
face. I gave her a smile.
Misaki looked as though she were also about to smile.
The wind blew, and powdered snow danced upward. 
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Finally, I understood. I knew what I needed to do: I would keep this girl
alive. I would save her.
How? Does a hikikomori like me have the power to do things for others?
Wasn't that kind of thing impossible? Shouldn't I know my place? Well?
Yet somewhere, there had to be a wonderful solution. I truly
believed this. There had to be a way for everything to work out. There
had to be a way to fulfill Misaki's wishes and my own hopes. Surely, I
already knew the answer.
I would erase her pain and make it possible for her to live on,
laughing and happy. I would give her the vitality to make it until
tomorrow, give her the strength to live. The method—I had to know it
already, somehow.
Once, she'd said to me, "If that type of bad G.o.d did exist, then we
could go on living in good health. If we could push the responsibility for
our misery onto G.o.d, then we would have that much more peace of
mind, wouldn't we?
"If I could believe in G.o.d, I could become happy. Even if G.o.d is a
bad guy, I know I could become happy. The problem is. . . the problem is
I have a poor imagination, so I can't believe in G.o.d very easily. Look,
couldn't He create some really showy miracle for me, just like He does in
the Bible?"
She wanted to believe in a G.o.d, but her G.o.d was a villain. He was
the main instigator of all evil. If she could believe in the existence of
someone so evil, Misaki had said that she could keep on living. If a
miracle occurred in front of her, it would prove the existence of this
villain. She had said that, in that case, she would be able to keep on
living. I'll grant your wis.h.!.+
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The method was unfathomably difficult, terrible, and likely would
require an enormous sacrifice. That, itself, however, was what I desired.
To sacrifice myself to save the heroine would be the n.o.blest act I could
perform.
Ah, I wanted to brag to Yamazaki, I'm living right now, this very
moment, burning out my life in a wonderful manner. I truly feel alive. I
wanted to hold my head high with pride and brag to him.
It was true, looking at it objectively, that this was quite a dramatic
night. A girl swinging a knife around and me trying to stop that girl from
committing suicide. It was all rather moving. Given that fact, the words
should come pouring forth. In this situation, I should be able to say
something eloquent.
Misaki was trembling. I probably was trembling, too. I was
frightened, so I tried to bolster my courage.
Memories from my twenty-two years pa.s.sed through my mind. I
realized that I had existed for this moment, when I would do whatever I
could—anything I could—to keep this girl alive. It was probably my life's
mission. If not, then there was no meaning. . . No meaning for my having
lived up until now, no meaning in living and then dying. At that instant,
I understood everything. I knew everything, and everything was
connected.
I would help Misaki, who was shaking with terror. I would give my
life to help her. This kind of situation must have been what I'd desired
all along. The flags that guided me toward the ending all had unfurled.37
My dialog, leading toward this ending, was all that remained to set this
scene into motion. Because of that, I would stand up and face it. Misaki
could find a reason to live. It would be a happy ending. 
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I was scared. Please, help me. . .
Even so, I gathered my courage and embraced the trembling Misaki.
"It's not your fault, Misaki."
I hugged her with all my strength and whispered into her ear, "It's
not your fault at all, Misaki. Not a single part is your fault."
She was slight, thin. Shaking, she clung to me, and the darkness
surrounded the two of us.
The wind was strong that night. Snow fell lightly. The stillness grew
deeper. Why were we so sad? Why were we so lonely? Do you know the
reason? Oh, I understand. It's because we're about to part, about to say farewell.
That's why we're trembling. We're forever alone, and we're forever lonely.
That's how it always is, the way it's supposed to he. Everyone is like this, so
don't hate yourself. Don't hate yourself. There are other things you should hate.
You need to know that.
"That's right, there are bad people. There are people who've hurt
you, Misaki."
There's no need for you to be sad. No need at all. Why must you be sad? If
you always had to live in pain, lonely and suffering that would be irrational. It
would be strange, wouldn't it? That's just nonsense. That's why there has to be
someone, somewhere, behind all this. A villain who forces you to suffer.
That's why. . .
That's why, in this world, conspiracies exist.
However, there is a more than a ninety-nine percent chance that the
plausible-sounding conspiracies that you hear about from others are
simple delusions or even intentional lies. When you visit a bookstore,
the books with rides like The Great Jewish Conspiracy to Ruin the j.a.panese
Economy! or The Super Conspiracy of the CIA That Hides Their Secret Pact 
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220
with Aliens! are all just trivial delusions.
Even so. . .
Even so. . .
A tiny percentage of people actually have stumbled upon a real
conspiracy. There is, in tact, one person who witnessed with his own
eyes a conspiracy that exists, at this very moment, in the most extreme
secrecy.
Who is this person?
It's me.
What was the enemy's name? I knew it. I had known it for a long
time, the name of the evil organization that tortured us, the terrible G.o.d
for which Misaki had earnestly wished. Its name was. . .
N.H.K.
That's right! I remembered everything now: the name of my enemy,
my mission, the reason for my existence, the reason I had continued to
live until now, and the reason I had spent every day empty and vapid.
Yes, my life has existed only to save you. This is probably true. It's all true, so
listen to me!
Still embracing Misaki so she couldn't pull away, I explained in brief
detail. "Listen, Misaki. In this world, there is an evil organization. It's
name is N.H.K. N.H.K. is a huge organization that spans the entire
globe. They're an evil, secret society, and they're the ones who put us
through this pain. It's all the N.H.K.'s fault. After this, if anything bad
happens around you, it's all the N.H.K.'s doing. Everything is the
N.H.K.'s fault!
"For starters, the name N.H.K. itself is simply a coincidence. The
actual name doesn't matter at all. If you don't like 'N.H.K.,' you can call 
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it whatever you want. If you wish, you can even call it Satan. Or call it
the evil G.o.d. It all means the same thing.
"It's true. The names don't matter at all. They're just a set of sounds.
An imaginary enemy torturing you: That is the real essence of N.H.K.
For example, take that girl from my high school literature club. To her,
it could signify the 'Nihon Hiyowa Kyokai,'38 as her own weakness
continually defeated her. She was weak in both mind and spirit."
Please, stop trying to slash your wrists. Please, become happy, somehow.
I continued, "In the case of Misaki, N.H.K. means 'Nihon Hikan
Kyokai.'39 Because of the misfortunes you were born with, Misaki, you
saw everything in a pessimistic way. Please, forgive me for being alive. Don't
hate me. You always were self-defeating like that.
"Then, my own N.H.K. . . .
"Well it's actually the N.H.K.'s fault that I became a hikikomori,
just as it's their fault that you suffer, Misaki. That's the truth. I learned
this through a certain technique. I fought with them. I've been fighting
them for a long time, but it's no use anymore. I've finally fallen victim to
them, and they'll kill me before long. But Misaki, you're fine. You must
live on, in health."
Misaki clearly was frightened as I kept spewing nonsense.
I released her and took a step back. Now, I would show her a
miracle, a great miracle, in order to prove the N.H.K.'s existence. I
would reveal my true nature as a strong soldier who battled the N.H.K.,
and I would defeat them for her.
If I did that, Misaki probably would believe my story. She would live
on, smiling. She most likely would stop hating herself, and her
pessimistic personality probably would be healed.
That was the answer. I would give her immutable love. You were 
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afraid. You were afraid of being hated by others. You were afraid that others'
feelings might change. But you'll be okay. My feelings won't change. I love you,
and that feeling absolutely will never change.
And the reason. . . ?
"Ah! I can't go on! It's a psychic attack by the N.H.K.!"
I rolled around in the snow.
"Do I look like I'm going crazy? If so, then that, too, is caused by the
N.H.K. I'll be killed soon! I'll be killed by the N.H.K.! But I'll return the
blow! Just you watch!" I got up and ran, heading for the edge of the cliff.
I started out running slowly.
"Goodbye, Misaki! My legs are moving on their own. I'm going to be
killed by the N.H.K. But in the moment that I die, I plan to do
something to return their strike. I'll destroy them!"
My speed gradually was increasing.
"That's right! In order to defeat the N.H.K., I have to sacrifice my
own life so that I can use my special attack. This is why I must go, but
I'll protect you!"
I was moving at full speed now.
I had to run out into the night sky with all my strength. The cliff
edge was nearing. Ah, I'll jump. I'll dive. I'll use my special attack.
Because of my unbelievably idiotic end, Misaki would have to believe
in the evil organization. Due to my special attack, she might see the end
of that evil organization. And it probably would bring her happiness.
And despite everything, Misaki would not need to feel guilty at all.
This was all I had wanted. I always had intended to die. 
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I would fulfill my own life's purpose and also save Misaki. Truly, this
was the clearest way to kill two birds with one stone. I was the one who
had planned to die. I always, always had planned to die.
After all, I even had tried to starve myself to death. But that had
proven to be impossible. A weak-willed person like myself couldn't carry
through with something like a fast: My limit was four days. Then, I had
worked to earn my living expenses. That was the single time I had
worked hard before my death. I always had been searching for some way
to die.
In short, I was a much crazier person than you. It proves that, emotionally,
I am an abnormal person. I mean, if I weren't, then I couldn't do something like
this, right? Misaki, while you look down on me, at the same time, please accept
my love or whatever it is. I'll die soon, but Misaki, you must live-on. I will
defeat the N.H.K. and get rid of dye evil organization. Please, believe this. If
you do, you can stay alive. Misaki, you can keep living.
Watch my special attack and burn it into your mind. Look, can you see it?
Can you see the Revolutionary Bomb, brightly s.h.i.+ning in my right hand? It's
the Revolutionary Bomb that Yamazaki refrained from using, an earthshattering
bomb that destroys villains. It's very, very weak, far too weak to blow
away the N.H.K. But it's more than strong enough to snuff out this minuscule,
pathetic, worthless living creature—in short, me. And if I die, my N.H.K. also
will disappear, because the N.H.K. is G.o.d. It is the entire world. And with my
death, my world will dissipate. And the N.H.K. will disappear. That's exactly
why I need to do my special attack right now, with the legendary Revolutionary
Bomb.
I was going to die. I was going to dive from the cliff soon. Behind me,
Misaki was screaming something, bur her voice no longer reached me. 
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224
No one could stop me now.
This was the best! My body ran like the wind. Ah, I felt good. I felt
invigorated, running as fast as I could, atop the cliffs, in the dark.
I also was scared. I didn't want to die.
There was no reason for me to live. I didn't want to live.
Soon, I would die. Only a few feet remained before the cliff's edge. In
mere seconds, the s.p.a.ce of one heartbeat, I would soar out into the wideopen
sky.
After just a few more seconds, swinging my arms as hard as possible
and sticking out my legs as far as I could, I would dive. For the first time,
I could truly escape, leave my six-mat, one-room apartment and fly
higher and higher into the open sky. I would jump and fly.
Ah, just a little longer. I'll fly soon.
I would jump into the Sea of j.a.pan, as though I were doing a running
long jump. I'd jump out. . .
I'm jumping. . .
I jumped.
I jumped!
Both my legs left the ground. My body was floating in the air, and
after a few moments, my body would fall soon.
I would fall and smash into the Sea of j.a.pan.
The ending was very near—just like in the erotic game that
Yamazaki made, I would use my special arrack on the N.H.K. To
protect the heroine, I would rush forward into the final battle. I had
wished for that game scenario, and I was going to die exactly the way I
had wanted. It was the greatest happy ending. 
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Soon, I will be saved. . . .
Then, it happened. Suddenly, something came to mind that concerned
me. The ending of that game—no matter how I tried, I couldn't
remember it. Did the hero of the game defeat the evil organization? In
fact, was there even an ending at all?
Someone said, "There's no way to win."
It might have been a dream. I already might have lost consciousness
some time ago. As I danced through nothingness, the pitch-black Sea of
j.a.pan and a bright, starry sky stretched out before my eyes.
And then, I saw them. They were mocking me.
My body would start falling soon. I would die. That had to happen.
But they said, "Remember."
On this bluff, where there had been too many incidents,
construction to prevent them had already been completed. The
Revolutionary Bomb disappeared without going off.
I screamed, "Is that how you do it?! You cowards!"
No answer came back to me.