Ever since Kazumi fell into a long slumber, her face, her voice—even just her name—had become something Kotomi Izumi longed for day and night.
The time she had spent with Kazumi would replay in her mind over and over whenever she had a moment to spare, like a short but beloved film. No matter how many times she had already watched it, no matter how familiar she was with its beginning, middle, and end, she still found herself compelled by her heart to watch it again and again.
Kotomi Izumi didn't know what Kazumi was doing now. This was also the first time she had ever seen Kazumi dressed in a kimono.
Kazumi's long hair was pink. Logically speaking, there were many kimono colors that suited a pink-haired girl, yet dark red would hardly be considered one of them. And yet, for some reason, the dark red kimono Kazumi wore looked as though it had been tailored specifically for her.
"Kazumi... can you see me now? Can you hear my voice?"
Kotomi Izumi asked her. She knew full well that this question was pointless, but she still wanted to speak to Kazumi—to say many things, jumping from one topic to another.
After Kotomi's voice fell, the spacious room once again returned to nothing but the tap of clay being struck. Kazumi, seated among candles and ritual stands, gave no response. She remained silent, continuing to repeat the motion of striking the white clay.
Kotomi smiled helplessly, her smile tinged with bitterness. She had long realized that Kazumi could neither see her nor hear her, yet she still couldn't stop herself from speaking aloud.
"Alright then... I'll just keep watching you until I wake up from this dream." Kotomi murmured softly as she gazed at Kazumi's face.
After the turbulence in her heart gradually calmed, Kotomi's gaze mostly lingered on Kazumi's face, though she occasionally looked around with curiosity.
The room was very large, yet completely devoid of furniture, giving it an empty, desolate feeling.
Perhaps it was because of Kazumi's dark red kimono, but Kotomi suddenly felt as if she were in the Shōwa 52 era.
Unfortunately, there was no calendar nearby, so Kotomi had no way of knowing what year this actually was.
After observing the room, Kotomi curiously turned her attention to the white clay placed in the ritual stands.
But the moment she looked, her gaze froze.
If one looked closely, it was easy to notice that within each mound of white clay were several dark red chunks.
Perhaps one mound contained three pieces, while another had two. There was no apparent pattern—the numbers seemed completely random.
However, what froze Kotomi's gaze wasn't the number of the dark red chunks, but the chunks themselves.
Those who had experienced murder cases developed an almost obsessive sensitivity to blood. Some sought it out, constantly looking at more and more bloody images, as if it nourished their eyes. Others recoiled in fear, avoiding it at all costs—even the sight of raw meat while cooking could make them break into a cold sweat, their legs going weak.
Kotomi didn't know which type she belonged to, but she indeed possessed a strange sensitivity toward the blood and flesh of the human body.
It felt as though, even before the serial murder incidents, she had already carried this indescribable sensitivity.
This sensitivity allowed her to instantly recognize the truth the moment she saw those dark red chunks.
They were human flesh.
The pieces of flesh within the white clay were unevenly cut—casually, almost carelessly—as if the only goal had been to cut them off, with no concern for their shape.
Kotomi had no idea that mixing human flesh into the clay was a custom passed down through generations by the family that ruled this village.
It was precisely because of this custom that the family had been able to maintain its control over the village for so long.
At that moment, Kazumi stopped striking the clay.
Her small hands were already covered in white clay, which mixed together with the blood on her skin.
Kazumi reached out and gently stroked the mound of white clay she had been working on. Unlike the others, the clay in front of her had not yet been mixed with human flesh.
At least, not yet.
Kazumi looked out the window. Kotomi followed her gaze.
Snow was falling heavily outside. Although the snow wouldn't blow into the room, the winter wind was still bitterly cold.
There didn't seem to be any kind of heating in this empty house. Kotomi couldn't help but wonder whether Kazumi, dressed in that dark red kimono, felt cold.
The candlelight flickered.
After watching the snow for a while, Kazumi withdrew her gaze and looked down at the mound of white clay she had been working on.
After prolonged pounding, the surface of the clay had been stained red by the blood on her hands. Yet strangely, among the ten mounds of clay, each one bore traces of blood, but the red did not overwhelm the white. Instead, the two colors formed an eerie balance.
It was as if the proportions of white and red on every mound were exactly the same.
Not only that, but after being shaped through repeated pounding, the clay in the ritual stands had begun to resemble embryos.
It was as though the white clay was no longer clay at all, but something that was about to give birth to new life.
The empty room was far from warm. Kazumi's fingertips, which had been striking the clay continuously, had long since gone numb from the cold. Her senses had dulled, yet she showed no intention of resting, because she knew she was performing an extremely important ritual.
Kazumi picked up the short blade placed beside her and took a faint breath.
Gripping the handle, she removed the sheath.
She pressed the blade against her already scarred palm. Perhaps, for her now, the numbness in her hands was a blessing.
Kotomi had no idea what Kazumi was doing. But when she saw her take out the blade and press it against her palm, her instinct to protect surged forward. She rushed toward Kazumi, trying to snatch the blade away.
But the result was the same as before—she passed straight through Kazumi's body, as if through air.
At the same time, when Kazumi felt the blade slightly sink into the soft flesh of her palm, her small hand gripping the handle began to tremble uncontrollably.
Even though this was an action she had repeated many times, she was still afraid of this self-harming act.
Even though her hands were numb and it probably wouldn't hurt much, she was still afraid.
After a long while, Kazumi slowly exhaled, closed her eyes, and in silence pressed the blade down once more. Beads of bright red blood swelled up, and the crimson liquid flowed smoothly from her palm, dripping onto the floor.
But this was not the end.
Kazumi continued to press the blade deeper into her palm, then changed direction. With the sound of flesh being torn, she once again cut a piece of meat from her own hand.
Only then did Kotomi realize that the human flesh inside the clay all came from Kazumi's palm.
Kazumi's eyes looked tired. Just as she was about to take a brief rest, a knocking sound came from outside the room.
Knock knock knock.
After the knocking stopped, a hoarse female voice followed:
"Kazumi, the 'ritual' is about to begin. Is the 'doll' ready?"
Kazumi suppressed the fatigue in her eyes and slowly replied:
"Mother, please wait a little longer. It will be finished soon."
Hearing Kazumi's response, the woman outside sounded somewhat pleased:
"Kazumi, you've done very well. Just like I've always told you—you are a gift bestowed by the gods! As long as you follow the path I've laid out for you, not only will you protect the entire Gokugū Village from the coming 'calamity,' but you will also bring about a rebirth-like transformation for the Kuchihana family! The gods will surely grant me wings to ascend to heaven!"
By the end, the woman's voice had grown extremely excited.
Seated among the candles and ritual stands, Kazumi did not echo her mother's excitement. Instead, she quietly asked:
"Mother... has Kotomi already gone home?"
Kazumi's words acted like a switch that controlled warmth and cold. The moment she spoke, the excitement in the woman's voice outside vanished instantly.
The air fell into a suffocating silence.
In her ghost-like state, Kotomi stood to the side, listening in confusion to the exchange between Kazumi and the woman outside.
She had hoped that by eavesdropping in this state, she might uncover some clues related to Kazumi's commission.
But instead of gaining answers, one overwhelming question after another erupted in her mind.
The woman outside... was Kazumi's mother?
She still didn't know what year it was, but Kazumi's mother had said this place was Gokugū Village.
But where exactly was Gokugū Village? From childhood until now, she had never heard of such a place. And yet, it carried an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
The mother had also mentioned a "ritual," a "doll," and a "calamity."
Could it be that Gokugū Village was about to face some terrifying calamity, and that to suppress it, a ritual requiring a "doll" had to be performed?
In that case, the ten mounds of white clay Kazumi had been pounding and mixing with her own flesh—were they materials for creating those dolls?
Why was Kazumi the one making them?
And earlier, when her mother had been speaking excitedly, Kazumi had shown no interest at all. Instead, she had suddenly mentioned Kotomi, asking whether she had already gone home.
The moment those words were spoken, it was as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over the mother's heated emotions. Her voice had instantly fallen silent—no answer, no continuation.
Kotomi kept turning these questions over in her mind. Yet the more they piled up, the more they formed a dense, impenetrable fog.
Not only did they fail to awaken any related memories, they instead made the invisible shackles on her memory feel even heavier.
What troubled her most was the question Kazumi had just asked.
—Mother... has Kotomi already gone home?
Kotomi searched through all her memories, but found nothing relevant.
As for the name "Gokugū Village," it only gave her that strange, indescribable sense of familiarity.
That familiarity seemed to carry not only something important, but also a blood-soaked unease.
While Kotomi was still lost in thought, Kazumi's mother remained silent, saying nothing.
Standing before the door, Kazumi stared at the eerie shadow of her mother cast upon it by the moonlight. As she sensed the silence in response to her question, a surge of unease flooded her heart.
Her hands began to tremble violently. The numbness caused by the cold vanished in an instant, replaced by the sharp pain of the blade cutting into her flesh.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Bright red droplets slid down Kazumi's small hands and fell onto the floor of the empty room, the sound resembling falling tears.
Just as Kazumi was about to question her mother, the woman outside suddenly spoke:
"Kotomi... has already gone home, of course."
"Huh?" Kazumi was confused. It was such a simple answer—why had her mother been silent for so long before responding?
What had caused that hesitation?
At the same time, the ominous feeling in her heart did not fade because of this belated reply.
Instead, it grew heavier...
"Really?" Kazumi asked again.
A single door separated mother and daughter. If Kazumi were to open it now, what she might see would not be her mother's usual feigned kindness.
"Of course it's true."
This time, her mother answered without hesitation:
"After you entered the 'Doll Room' last night, Kotomi began packing her things. She left early this morning. I even asked if she wanted to come here and say goodbye to you through the door, but she shook her head, said nothing, and left directly."
At this point, her mother even asked with feigned concern:
"Did the two of you have a falling out? Weren't you getting along quite well a few days ago? You listened to her stories so intently—it was like your soul had been captivated. It even made me worry that you might have forgotten the mission you were born with."
"Kotomi only told me about things outside...
Since the day I was born, I've lived inside this residence. When she told me that the 'sea' in her name refers to the ocean, and explained what the ocean is, I truly wanted to go see it with her.
An endless expanse of blue water, surging waves, a boundless sky... These are things I've never known, never heard of, never seen."
"Kazumi!"
As if Kazumi's words had exceeded the limits of what she could tolerate, her mother suddenly interrupted her in a harsh, hoarse voice:
"These meaningless sights are nothing but lies Kotomi made up to deceive you. There is no such thing as an ocean in this world! Stop dwelling on it and focus on what you should be doing."
"Kotomi lied to me?!" Kazumi's eyes widened in disbelief.
"That's right. Girls her age like to fabricate things that don't exist just to show off. Adults won't be fooled by such childish nonsense, and even well-informed children wouldn't believe her.
"But I never expected you to fall for such absurd lies!
"Kazumi, Kazumi... have you truly remembered everything I've taught you all these years? Every word I've said was for your own good! I am your mother—the one who gave you life, who brought you into this world. You should feel endless gratitude toward me! You must trust and carry out every word I say without the slightest doubt!"
Her mother roared hoarsely. But a few seconds after finishing, her tone softened as if to soothe her daughter:
"I care about you this much—would I ever harm you?"
"I..."
Kazumi opened her mouth, unable to refute her.
Her mother continued indifferently:
"In fact, perhaps Kotomi left so early because she was too ashamed to stay. After all, she told so many lies about things like 'the ocean existing in this world.' If she stayed until you realized she had deceived you, she would surely feel humiliated. In that case, wouldn't it be better to leave early?"
"But..."
"There is no 'but'! Kazumi, do you even realize what day it is today? It is December 20th, Shōwa 31. We've already reached the final stage. If you don't finish making the dolls soon... all these years of effort will have been for nothing!
"Can you bear to see the wish your mother has awaited for so many years fall apart?
"Or can you bear to watch the entire Kuchihana family and everyone in Gokugū Village be annihilated without even leaving a corpse in the calamity?"
At the end, her mother spoke softly, as if reciting a spell:
"Don't forget the mission you were born with."
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