Chapter 49: What Happens Next

With Ōgami’s final, damning piece of analysis, the supernatural mystery that had consumed them seemed to evaporate, leaving behind only the mundane and rather pathetic truth. The case, it appeared, was closed.

Junko stretched a long, lazy gesture, then slumped onto the table, her arms extended. “I wonder what Kimura-san will do now,” she said with a thoughtful sigh. “He can’t just stay locked in his room forever, can he? It would be so awful if his life was just… ruined like this, over something so stupid.”

Ōgami Yōsuke nodded, his expression now more somber than triumphant. “That’s… not really our concern anymore. However, regarding the truth of this incident, I believe it’s absolutely critical that we keep it to ourselves. If word of this were to get out, the social repercussions for Kimura-san could be… significant.”

“Yōsuke-kun, you’re such a kind person,” Junko said, a warm, genuine smile gracing her lips as she nodded in agreement.

To curse one’s own friends, to lie to them and even deceive one’s own parents, all because of some childish inability to accept that friendships change… yes, anyone who did such a thing would naturally be met with contempt. It might even lead to a far more vicious form of bullying. And as for Itō and Fujita, who had been genuinely worried about Kimura even after being injured themselves… if they were to find out that it had all been nothing more than an elaborate, selfish lie, who knew what they would think, how they would feel.

“Well… that’s not really the only reason,” Ōgami Yōsuke said, scratching the back of his head with a touch of embarrassment. “In any case… it’s better for everyone if we just don’t spread Kimura-san’s story around.”

Just then, Takada Shōji, who had been silently processing the new information, suddenly looked up, a question in his eyes. “Oh, right! Yesterday, Ōgami-san, you said that if Kimura was lying, then what came next wasn’t something we could get involved in. What did you mean by that? I thought that would be the end of it.”

“Yeah, based on your analysis just now, isn’t this incident… over? What else is there?” Kana asked, her face a mask of renewed confusion.

Ōgami Yōsuke let out a long, heavy sigh, as if he had been anticipating this very question. “What comes next, so to speak,” he began, his voice taking on a new, more serious tone, “is to trace this entire affair back to its ultimate source. How, precisely, did Kimura-san fabricate such a detailed, and in parts, such a specific story? Did he truly just… imagine it all, out of thin air?”

Junko tilted her head, thinking. “Isn’t that the simplest explanation? According to your own analysis, Yōsuke-kun, Kimura-san probably got his initial inspiration from the elements in the drama ‘Sleepwalker,’ and then just… embellished it with his own imagination.”

“He did a pretty damn good job of it, though,” Takada Shōji commented, crossing his arms with a grudging respect. “Especially that part about him sleepwalking, getting closer and closer to that mysterious cave. That part was genuinely creepy. The idea of being drawn, against your will, towards some unknown danger, but being powerless to stop it… Hiss… just thinking about it is pretty terrifying. If anyone really experienced something that horrible, I think they should just pack their bags, leave Japan, and run as far away as possible.”

Ōgami Yōsuke frowned, seeming to hesitate for a moment, as if debating how much he should reveal. “That,” he said finally, “is what I thought at first, too. But… but…”

Yomikawa Tsuko, who had been a silent, watchful presence throughout the discussion, raised a delicate eyebrow, her voice cutting through Ōgami’s hesitation. “Are you suggesting, Ōgami-kun, that, as Kana-chan speculated earlier, Kimura-kun did indeed draw his inspiration from somewhere else?”

Kana blinked. “You mean… from ‘Mary-san’s phone call’?”

“I believe Kimura-san did indeed have a source material,” Ōgami said, his voice dropping, becoming low and serious, a chill entering the room that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. “But the object of his inspiration was not that childish urban legend.”

“He based his story on the ancient legend of Tōkigan from Mie Island. And on the bizarre, and still unsolved, homicide case that occurred there, twenty-three years ago.”

A stunned, absolute silence fell over the room.

“Mie Island?”

“The legend of Tōkigan?”

“A bizarre homicide case from twenty-three years ago?”

Ōgami Yōsuke nodded grimly. “The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department is currently preparing to reopen the Mie Island case. And they have invited my father to assist with the investigation. Because of this, he has been given access to a great deal of classified material from the original case file. After reviewing this material, he and I are in complete agreement. We do not know how, or through what channels, Kimura-san obtained his information, but he absolutely, positively, knows some of the inside, and highly confidential, details of the Mie Island incident.”

This explosive revelation was far beyond anything Takada, Junko, or Kana could have possibly anticipated. A simple, almost pathetic school ghost story was somehow, inexplicably, connected to a real-life, high-profile homicide case and a bizarre, ancient legend.

Curiosity, fear, excitement, exhilaration – a wild, chaotic whirlwind of emotions swirled in each of their hearts. If Kimura was somehow connected to the Mie Island incident, then hadn’t they, in their own small, bumbling way, been unconsciously playing the part of real detectives?

Junko, who loved nothing more than a bizarre, real-life mystery, was the first to break the heavy, charged silence in the activity room. “Yōsuke-kun, what do you mean, Kimura-san definitely knows the inside details of the Mie Island incident? Are you… are you suspecting Kimura-san of something more than just lying?”

“But Kimura’s only in his first year of high school,” Takada Shōji said, stroking his chin, striking a classic, if slightly comical detective’s pose. “The Mie Island incident happened twenty-three years ago. How could he possibly know anything about it?”

“I have actual, concrete evidence,” Ōgami Yōsuke said with a weary shrug, indicating this was not mere speculation on his part. “The specific details of Kimura-san’s sleepwalking experiences, the ones we heard secondhand from Itō-san, are remarkably, almost identically similar to parts of the sworn testimony from certain individuals involved in the original Mie Island case. Specifically, testimony that, in order to protect the privacy of the individuals involved, and to guard against tipping off the real killer, has never been released to the public by the police. It is impossible to find this information anywhere, through any public means.”

“Can that,” he asked, his gaze sweeping over their stunned faces, “really be explained away as a simple coincidence?”

Hearing this, Takada Shōji sucked in a sharp, cold breath.

Junko’s eyes were shining with a feverish light. She scooted her chair closer to Ōgami Yōsuke, her voice a hushed, excited whisper. “So, you’re saying it’s possible Kimura-san has been in contact with someone who was involved in the original case? Or even… with the real killer?”

“There is… a distinct possibility of that, yes,” Ōgami Yōsuke admitted after a moment’s heavy hesitation. “And that is why I said yesterday that what comes next is not something we can, or should, get involved in. I imagine the police will definitely be intervening, and soon. Perhaps in the next two days, seasoned detectives will be coming from Tokyo to… ask… Kimura-san, Itō-san, and Fujita-san to assist them with their investigation.”

Kimura was the ‘subject’ of the sleepwalking incident. Itō and Fujita were the first to hear his story. It was almost certain they would be questioned. It wasn’t even out of the question that Kimura might be taken away, for a much more… in-depth… interview.

“If that’s the case, will Kimura-san be in danger?” Kana asked suddenly, her voice filled with a genuine, and now much more warranted concern.

“How could he be in danger? Hasn’t he been locked up in his room this whole time? Hiding in there, he’ll be perfectly fine,” Takada Shōji said lazily, though he didn’t sound nearly as confident as before.

Ignoring the question of Kimura’s immediate safety, Junko was already lost in her own thrilling detective fantasy. “Do you think the detectives will ask us to help with the investigation? After all, we played a part in bringing this to light, didn’t we? And we’ve studied the Kimura-san incident in depth! Maybe they’ll think we’d be really helpful, and they’ll invite us to go to Mie Island with them?”

Kana’s eyes flickered with a deep uncertainty. She didn’t seem nearly as excited as Junko. “That seems… highly unlikely. And going to Mie Island… even though I don’t know what happened there, it sounds… really scary.”

“Tch, Kana, you’re such a scary cat,” Junko said with a dismissive pout. “It’s a case from so many years ago. How could there possibly be any danger? Even if the killer is still alive, he’s probably just some smelly, harmless old man by now.” She then turned back to Ōgami, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Ōgami-kun, what exactly is the legend of Tōkigan? And the homicide case on Mie Island, how bizarre was it? Was it also related to sleepwalking?”

“Yeah, what’s the legend of Tōkigan and the details of the murder case? Hurry up and tell us, Ōgami!” Takada Shōji urged impatiently.

Ōgami Yōsuke scratched his head. “I can’t discuss the details of an active homicide case. And the legend of Tōkigan… to be honest, I’d never heard of it before either. I only learned about it from reading the case files my father was given. But I haven’t finished reading all of them yet, so I’ll have to wait a little longer before I can tell you guys the full story.”

Hearing this, Junko and Takada both looked profoundly disappointed.

Yomikawa Tsuko, seeing that it was getting late and she still had a significant number of fabricated diary entries to compose, finally spoke, her voice cold and decisive. “In that case, let’s end today’s club activity here. Everyone is dismissed.”

“Alright—let’s call it a day then!”

“Ōgami, you’d better read those files quickly! You absolutely have to tell us the story of Tōkigan tomorrow!”

“Ah—I still have so much homework to do today.”

Today’s club activity had been, by any measure, quite interesting, and everyone had had a very good, if somewhat unsettling time. Immersed in the thrill of a real-life mystery, no one noticed that their only remaining window of opportunity, their last chance to perhaps change the course of events, was rapidly and irrevocably closing.

No one could have possibly predicted that Kana’s earlier, worried words would turn out to be a prophecy.

That night, Kimura Shōta disappeared.