Me and myself

(1) Me

[What did he say to you?]

"He told me to become a Jujutsu Sorcerer."

[Wow. Talk about malicious.]

After the police arrested the only psychiatrist I trusted on suspicion of being a serial killer, I had to settle for the next best thing: counseling sessions with my reflection.

It was a good thing my will was strong enough. This kind of self-dissociation could easily lead me down the wrong path, toward schizophrenia and becoming a deranged killer.

[You've dragged this out for a long time, and every attempt has ended in defeat. The underlying problem is obvious. You can't let yourself be so oversensitive.]

"You know how it is. My resentment has built up over the years, growing deeper and deeper. I never meant to see threats everywhere."

A round table stood between me and the mirror. I poured two cups of coffee, both for myself.

[I think you've been wrong about one thing all along. You can't succeed in killing him in a crime of passion. Violence and murder don't need excuses, but you have to trace the motive. You need to find a motive that will let you pull the trigger.]

I lowered my head and took a sip of coffee, then said, half joking, "Does him telling me to become a Jujutsu Sorcerer count as a motive?"

*[...]*

My reflection fell silent.

That was the problem with talking to a mirror. It could never offer an outsider's advice.

Anything I couldn't think of, the "me" in the mirror couldn't think of either.

I finished the coffee, moved the table aside, and found a cloth to cover the full-length mirror.

Talking to a mirror wasn't normal behavior in other people's eyes. And talking to oneself was usually a sign of some psychological disorder.

I was certain my mental state was still within acceptable bounds. I just needed someone to talk to.

The hour hand pointed to six in the evening. Twenty-four hours had passed since Suguru Geto and I parted.

When I left my room, Toji was sitting at the dining table in the living room, his left shoulder hunched up to hold his phone against his ear while his right hand scribbled over a pile of drawing paper.

When my footsteps entered his range of perception, he signaled with his eyes for me to go ahead and eat without minding him.

Everything tasted like cardboard, stripping meals of any appreciation for good food and leaving only the instinct to keep my body functioning.

With fragrant, colorful curry rice in my mouth, I looked at the papers Toji was revising.

He was drawing.

Didn't that sound disillusioning? At least, the first time I saw it, my immediate reaction was that someone had possessed him.

But if I listened closely to the sound leaking from the phone tucked against his left shoulder, I could hear Yusaku Kudo patiently guiding him.

That learned, talented novelist was the connecting side of their three-way friendship.

He had entrusted the manga adaptation of his new work, Islands at the End of the World, solely to Toji, who had no foundation in drawing manga whatsoever.

Meanwhile, Furuya Sō, far away in Hawaii, was responsible for receiving photos of the pages, importing them onto his computer, and polishing them.

One project had brought together three people who might otherwise have drifted apart and forgotten one another.

For no particular reason, I felt a little envious of Toji.

Good friends were better than hobbies that brought three minutes of pleasure.

Because that three-minute rush was like a firework, gone with a single pop. But a friend who cared enough could last for years.

I had worried before that Toji's taciturn nature would affect this friendship, but even after I finished the food left in my bowl, his conversation with his friend still hadn't ended.

An artist starting from scratch and a scriptwriter always had plenty to talk about.

I smiled at Toji. As I took my bowl to the kitchen to wash it, Megumi came home.

A child who had only just turned three couldn't go out alone. No matter how familiar he was with the streets, there was still a risk of being abducted.

So he had only gone downstairs.

A martial arts school had recently opened downstairs. Its owner's surname was Kyogoku, and he was a man who could shatter a wall with one punch despite having no Heavenly Restriction.

I had originally wanted Toji to help train Megumi.

But after one trial session together, the two of them couldn't stand the sight of each other for almost three days.

I was terrified that Toji and Megumi would become another me and Yuanyin, even though I knew Toji loved his son.

But to a child, what was the difference between unspoken paternal love and no love at all?

Love was already something you couldn't touch or see. If it was kept tightly hidden as well, then the person who wanted to be loved was truly pitiable.

I cut our losses in time, letting father and son live together in a way that wouldn't make them hate each other. The tension at home soon dissipated.

I sent Megumi downstairs to train. His body was still young, so the main focus was exercise, with self-discipline and cultivating his temperament as secondary goals.

But Megumi Fushiguro carried a heavy burden in his heart and was especially hard on himself.

Apart from his three meals a day, he practically lived at the martial arts school, desperate to develop his body's potential to the fullest.

Worried, I had gone downstairs to watch over him too. But when I saw Mr. Kyogoku's son, little Makoto Kyogoku, staying by Megumi Fushiguro's side and constantly keeping an eye on his condition, I felt reassured.

Makoto Kyogoku was a child every bit as responsible as his father.

With him there, Megumi didn't really need me.

After washing my bowl, I poured a drink for Megumi, who was exhausted and barely hanging on, then returned to my room.

With the door closed, the room was quiet enough for me to hear my steady heartbeat.

Being quietly alone was what I did best.

I had spent most of my life waiting quietly by myself.

And I could endure that long wait because I had something to look forward to.

Waiting for Yuanyin to come home, waiting for Yuanyin to seek me out, waiting for Yuanyin to remember me.

Those hopes, which had never felt insubstantial to me, had now vanished all at once, like evaporating moisture.

I clasped my knees tightly with both hands and sat still for a while, until my heartbeat lost its rhythm.

Then I rose, moved the table in front of the full-length mirror, and pulled off the cloth.

I switched on a night-light with an oily glow and stared steadily at my reflection.

[Need to talk?]

"I kind of want to say no."

[There's no shame in talking to someone. You repress yourself too much.]

"I've always felt that only people who fear loneliness keep trying to find reassurance in what others say. I really resist becoming that kind of person."

[People aren't pendulums. No one can remain cold and rational forever. Fear of loneliness isn't a character trait. It's an emotion. You just have a hollow place in your heart.]

I hated myself a little for being so incisive, for having the ability to leave myself speechless in a conversation with myself.

"Who do you think would be best for me to confide in?"

[Of the possible candidates, Dr. Hannibal would be the best. But he's already gone to his death with his favorite patient in another world. So right now, Megumi Fushiguro, who knows your past, would be the best choice. But because your worldviews differ, you can't reveal your true self and speak freely with him.]

[You can only talk to "me," or to...]

I frowned. "To whom?"

[I am you. How could you not know what I'm about to say?]

It wasn't that I was being dishonest with myself. It was that this person would throw all my orderly thoughts into chaos, like malicious software that didn't even need to be downloaded. One click was enough for it to burrow into the computer and wreak havoc on everything.

"All right. Suguru Geto."

[You understand his desires more than you want to kill him. I don't believe you haven't felt that instinctive empathy. You don't have to agonize over it so much, and you don't have to do it yourself. When he said the words "Jujutsu Sorcerer," hadn't you already sensed what would kill him in the future?]

That was true.

When Suguru Geto asked whether I wanted to become a Jujutsu Sorcerer in the future, I'd had a premonition.

Even if I did nothing now, he would still die. Only it would be the Jujutsu Society's system that killed him.

He had no idea what being a Jujutsu Sorcerer meant. He simply saw the profession as a form of justice that punished evil and upheld good.

"Should I just stand by and watch?"

[Yuanli, it's the hero slaying the dragon, not the hero saving the dragon, and certainly not the hero empathizing with the dragon. You can only be happy once he's dead.]

I left the stool and lay down on the bed, covering my face with both hands. After a long while, I said,

"I understand."