A few hours before the first train of the morning, I woke up and drank a nutrient beverage from the vending machine. My body hurt all over. The light was still dim in the sky, and the cicadas, crows, and turtledoves were busy with their morning calls.
Back inside the station, Miyagi was stretching in a seated position. It was the most human action I could remember seeing her performing.
I stared at her, still holding my bottle. Because of the humid night, she had removed her summer cardigan and placed it over her lap, exposing her thin, pale shoulders.
…I was probably in a state of confusion. Perhaps it was the fact that I was going to die in three months, perhaps it was all the crushing disappointment, perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or perhaps it was the exhaustion and pain. Perhaps it was that I liked Miyagi's looks more than I was willing to admit to myself.
It didn't matter. The only thing I knew was that I suddenly wanted to do something terrible to her. Or to be more direct, I wanted to have my way with her. I wanted to use Miyagi as a conduit to exorcise all the emotions I'd been struggling with.
It was the most inappropriate thing I could think of, and my life would undoubtedly end right then and there if I actually tried it. But so what? It would mean dying a few months early, nothing more. Better to die doing something I wanted to do. One of the items on my bucket list was Don't hold back when you want something.
Until now, I'd consciously kept her outside of that category, but once I allowed myself to see things this way, it seemed no one could be a more appropriate victim for this kind of desperate act than Miyagi. For whatever reason, she had the effect of stimulating my sadistic side. Because she was so proper and self-controlled at all times, the occasional glimpses of her true vulnerability caught my attention, and perhaps that made me want to expose it, to rip loose her facade. "You make yourself look so tough and in command, but in reality, you're so weak," I wanted to tell her.
When she saw me standing before her, Miyagi seemed to sense danger and took a more guarded pose.
"I've got a question for you," I said.
"…Yes?"
"When a monitor observes the target performing some kind of 'inappropriate action,' how much of a time lag is there until the rest of his life is actually taken away?"
Miyagi's eyes were cautious now. "Why would you ask that?"
"I want to know how long it would take until I'm dead if I attacked you right now."
But she was not alarmed. Instead, her gaze was colder than ever, full of scorn.
"Contacting home takes only an instant. From there, it won't be more than twenty minutes. And it is impossible to escape."
"So I'll have at least ten minutes, huh?" I retorted immediately.
Miyagi looked away and mumbled, "I didn't say that…"
Silence descended between us.
Curiously, Miyagi did not attempt to run away. She just stared down at her knees.
I reached out toward her.
I figured she would lash out or insult me, but when my hand made contact with her exposed shoulder, she only froze in place and looked sad.
I would pull her down to the ground, lie on top of her, and give in to my desire. Perhaps some part of her would get hurt. Perhaps she'd have another injury above those pristine knees of hers, like the one she already had. Perhaps her already-darkened eyes would lose whatever spark of light they still contained. And when it was over, perhaps she would stare at me with disdain and offer one of her usual barbs: "Are you satisfied?"
Would I be satisfied?
What was I trying to do?
All of a sudden, the raging of my instincts faded. A powerful surge of emptiness replaced it.
The resignation on Miyagi's face had infected me with her melancholy. I let go of her and sat down two seats away. I was ashamed of how rashly I acted.
"It's a tough job you've got," I said, "having to deal with scum like me."
Miyagi did not look in my direction. "I'm glad you understand," she said.
Ah yes. This is why I was only worth three hundred thousand, I thought. I was one step away from making the most heinous mistake I could make.
"It's dangerous. I bet you've seen more than a few like me, huh? People who lose their minds at the idea of dying and take it out on their monitor."
She slowly shook her head. "If anything, you're on the easier side to deal with. There were many people who went to more extreme measures," she said, offering a mitigation of my transgression.
I wanted to ask about the large wound above her knee that I'd noticed at our first meeting, but I decided not to say anything. It would be hypocritical if I suddenly turned around and pretended to be concerned about her.
Instead, I asked, "Why are you doing this job?"
"Put as simply as possible, it's because I have no other choice."
"Tell me the not-simple version."
Miyagi seemed surprised by this. "I assumed you had no interest in anyone aside from Himeno."
"That's not true. If I didn't find you attractive, I wouldn't have done what I did earlier."
"…I see. Thank you."
"If you don't want to talk about it, that's all right."
"It's nothing I'd have to hide anyway… Let's see. You remember that you could sell health and time in addition to life span, right?"
I nodded.
"I sold my time. About thirty years' worth."
Ah. I'd been wondering about that. What did "selling time" mean?
"I see. So when you sell your time…"
"Right. The majority of the monitors are people who visited that store just like you, and they chose to sell their time. The result is that I basically sold away my safety and friendships, too."
"And you were a normal person before that point?"
"Yes. Just like you."
I had a vague impression in my mind that Miyagi was just a naturally blunt, sarcastic, and tough-minded person. But from what she just said, it seemed as though those qualities were things Miyagi had to learn in order to survive.
"You still age, though, right? So if you sold thirty years of time, you'll be released from this job when you're fortysomething?"
"That's correct. Assuming I live that long, of course," she said with a self-deprecating chuckle.
It meant she would continue to be an invisible woman for decades to come.
"…Why did you go to such lengths to get money?"
"You have lots of questions today."
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
"It's not a very interesting story."
"It's got to be better than mine."
Miyagi looked at the schedule for the trains. "Well, we have plenty of time before the first train arrives," she said, and she began to tell her story.
"I still don't know why my mother chose to sell decades of her time in order to buy more life span. I remember she was always complaining about her life. My father left before I was born. At every opportunity, she cursed his memory, but deep down, I think she really wanted him to come back. Maybe she was trying to extend her life just so she could continue waiting. Obviously, that wouldn't lengthen my father's life, and it meant my mother became imperceptible to everyone—but most of all, I can't understand the desire to wait for the man who left her with so many invisible scars. And even if she was doing it to wait for my father, the truth is, I don't think she cared who it was. She just didn't have someone else to cling to. She didn't know anyone else who would love her like my father had… I hated my mother for being so miserable. She hated me, too. She said, 'I wish I never gave birth to this thing' so often, it was like her catchphrase. I remember I was six years old when she became a monitor and vanished. For the next several years, I had to live at my aunt's house, but they didn't like me very much, either."
At this point, Miyagi stopped talking and became thoughtful. She wasn't overcome with emotion, by my estimation; she was probably uncomfortable with the idea that her story could seem like a ploy to elicit sympathy.
When she resumed, it was even more frank and bloodless, as if she were describing someone else's life.
"When I was ten, my mother died. I don't know what the cause was, exactly—except that she was murdered by her monitoring subject. Extending your natural life span doesn't keep you from dying of injury or illness, apparently. When I heard that, the whole thing sounded like a sham to me… The man who came to tell me about her death told me something else important, too. 'You have a debt,' he said. 'Your mother left behind a massive deficit. There are only three ways you can pay that back right away. Sell your life span, time, or health.' My mother had extended her life span by selling almost an entire life's worth of time, but she died before she could work it off. As the person closest to her, I had to assume the debt she hadn't finished paying. And if I couldn't pay back the money on the spot, I had to choose one of their three options so they could take the value from me."
"And you chose time," I said.
"That's right. The amount due was enough that I could pay it off by selling just about thirty years of my time… And that's why I make a living as a monitor. It's a dangerous and lonely job, but you learn some deep wisdom about the value of life and the way people live. By the time I've finished this debt, I think I'll be able to live my life properly, better than anyone. In that sense, it's not the worst job I can imagine."
She seemed to think she'd found the silver lining, but I couldn't see Miyagi's life as anything but a pure tragedy.
"I don't get it," I said. "I'd sell off that life. You're not guaranteed to even survive long enough to repay the debt, right? I mean, your mom died. Even if you make it out alive, you've already lived out the prime years of your life. I'm not trying to be sarcastic, but you said it yourself before: you're only standing at the starting line when you're done. It's a tragedy—a life of misery and indignity until it finally starts when you're forty. So it's better to sell off your life span instead."
"If my life span were worth anything close to average, I probably would have done that."
"How much was it?"
"The same as yours," Miyagi said mirthfully. "Ten thousand yen per year. I think the reason I'm harder on you than I need to be is because I can't forgive myself for only being worth that much, too. I probably see too much of myself in you. I'm sorry for always taking it out on you."
"…There's no way to say this nicely, but wouldn't it be better to die and get it over with?" I asked. "What kind of hope could you still have for the future at this point?"
"It's a good question. You're exactly right. Except the fact that I chose this instead probably means I do share my mother's blood. I'm helplessly stupid—that's what it means. Living won't do me any good, but all I can do is keep going. Maybe I'll even die the same way she did. But…you know how it goes. I just can't give up. You never know when 'something good might happen.'"
"Well, I know one guy who was slated to live for fifty years without a single fucking thing going his way," I joked.
"…So do I," Miyagi said with a smile.
I couldn't help but return it, and I lit a cigarette. Miyagi then stood up, pulled one right out of my hands, and popped it into her mouth. I moved the lighter closer, intending to ignite hers, but it had just run out of fluid and wouldn't light after several attempts.
Instead, she pointed at the one in my mouth and leaned closer. I took her meaning and leaned in, too.
When the ends of the two twitching cigarettes brushed each other, Miyagi's caught fire.
For the very first time, I saw her relax in my presence, and I had a thought.
Maybe I should strive to be the one subject she remembers being most comfortable around.
I stared across the tracks. Dawn was breaking at last.