Chapter 37: The Red-Haired Shrine Maiden

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There was no one else in front of the shrine’s main gate. The priest who had been kicked unconscious was the only night watchman. He had probably seen two people arriving in the dead of night with knives in hand and attacked without a second thought.

It was hardly surprising. This was yakuza territory, after all. For all they knew, many people had once come here seeking revenge, only to be ambushed along that very path and driven back in defeat.

“Oh, I nearly forgot why we’re here.”

As they passed the last charred torii, Sakiko suddenly remembered. She turned around, drew her PPK, and fired twice.

The specially fitted suppressor made the PPK astonishingly quiet. Two Frigg rounds traced elegant arcs through the air.

The first struck the Saarloos wolfdog directly in the head. The animal, which looked almost exactly like a wild wolf, did not even have time to react before the rapidly spreading, highly potent anesthetic left its entire body limp and sent it collapsing to the ground.

The second bullet was insurance—and it struck the priest in the head as well.

The guard dog did not bark, and the guard himself was already unconscious, but it was still more reassuring to make certain. The lesson Uesugi Yue had taught Sakiko was simple: always watch until your enemy has lost the ability to fight, then put a knife through his heart.

Sakiko and Mutsumi Wakaba pushed the main gate open just wide enough to slip through. Beyond it stretched another long approach. If they continued, they would reach the purification pavilion and the main sanctuary.

They had not come to pray, so there was no need to go there. Besides, Tomori Takamatsu was unlikely to have been left in the main sanctuary where offerings were made.

To the side of the sanctuary ran a wooden corridor. The courtyard was filled with chrysanthemums, and the building looked genuinely ancient. Even the stone Jizo statues in the corners were thick with moss. Yet every detail was exquisitely arranged. Colored glass covered the lanterns, allowing them to see everything clearly even without electric lights in the dead of night.

Everything was silent. Only their light footsteps, almost too faint to exist, disturbed the stillness. Not a single person was in sight.

It was almost as though this shrine truly belonged to the gods, as though setting foot here meant entering the divine realm, where every word and gesture had to be watched carefully lest divine punishment descend upon them.

They walked for a long time, passing one tightly closed door after another. It was nothing like the scene they had imagined, in which hordes of burly men would leap out to block their way. Many of the doors looked as though they had not been used in years; a light touch left their hands covered in dust.

They had been walking for more than ten minutes, yet had not seen a single person. The late hour was partly to blame, but the greater reason was that the shrine was astonishingly vast.

“Do you think we’re lost?” Mutsumi asked in a low voice.

“Of course not,” Sakiko replied, though without much confidence. She was certain they had not been walking in circles. Her sense of direction had always been reliable.

The problem was that the corridor seemed to grow deeper the farther they went, while the scenery around them remained unchanged.

She could not help feeling as though they were two little mice who had wandered into the divine realm, with no idea where the end lay or which way they were supposed to go. All they could do was keep walking back and forth along the corridor and hope for a stroke of luck.

Reality always differed from the plan. Since they could not find any living person, their plan to catch someone, beat them up, and demand answers had been thoroughly ruined.

Sakiko could not help feeling a little resentful toward Mortis. If that kick of hers had not been so vicious, they could have questioned the night watchman.

Did they really have to shout, “I’m here, you bastards! Get out here right now!”?

If they summoned anyone that way, it probably would not be decent people who appeared, but a gang of hulking men with scowling faces and bulging muscles—men whose eyes alone could devour a person alive.

Although she had long since prepared herself to fight her way out of the shrine, Sakiko still hoped to avoid making too much noise if possible. The incident at the Wakaba residence was still fresh in her mind. The yakuza’s retaliation was clearly more frightening than Inuyama Kaga and Mori Minami.

They dealt in things that could not bear the light of day. The Toyokawa family was hardly a soft target that anyone could squeeze at will, but causing trouble for her grandfather again and again was never a good idea. As long as things did not become too complicated, there would still be room to smooth them over.

If all else failed… they could try opening a few doors and see whether any priests were asleep inside. Throw a blanket over someone’s head, beat him up first, then drag him out and question him.

That was what she was thinking when the winding corridor finally came to an end. One room stood with its door ajar, and a sliver of light shone from within.

At last, a living person!

Joy surged through Sakiko. She and Mutsumi exchanged a glance, then approached without a sound. Keeping one hand on the sheath of her sword, Sakiko pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Unexpectedly, there was no one in the room. But Sakiko caught the scent of a girl.

It was not perfume, but the natural fragrance that clung to a girl’s body. It felt as though a girl had been here only a short while ago.

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This truly looked like a girl’s room. It was spotlessly clean, and the furniture possessed an old-fashioned elegance. On the writing table stood a candlestick covered by a rose-red gauze shade. Beside the bed was a standing clothes rack bearing several miko outfits in red and white—long white robes and scarlet hakama skirts. On the display shelves, all kinds of different cloth dolls stared at one another with their large eyes.

At first glance, it seemed like a place devoted to purity and restraint. Yet a gigantic screen hung on the wall, paused on a menu, and beneath it sat a glowing PlayStation.

So… this was a miko living in a shrine who secretly played video games in the middle of the night?

Sakiko was momentarily lost in thought. Something about it felt wrong. Weren’t religious officials supposed to drink clear water, eat rice balls, and spend every day with tranquil hearts? Staying up until dawn playing games was clearly the behavior of a shut-in from an all-boys’ school.

Light footsteps came from behind them. Sakiko and Mutsumi turned instinctively and drew their swords at the same time. Murakumo tore through the air. At such close range, even Uesugi Yue would have had to take the attack seriously to catch it.

Their fierce assault halted just before it struck home. Murakumo and Scarlet Stain came to rest above and below the miko’s throat and chest. The slightest further movement would have sent blood spraying across the room.

The miko, however, seemed completely unaware of what such a perilous scene meant—or perhaps she simply did not care. Her clear, dark-red eyes held nothing but curiosity. No outsider had ever entered her room before.

The rich aroma of meat spread through the room. A drop of oil fell onto the tatami. In the miko’s hands were three skewers of grilled chicken wings wrapped in foil.

It seemed she had just gone out to get herself a midnight snack.

The atmosphere became awkward.

Sakiko had come to the shrine that night with the intention of knocking down anyone she encountered. She had known in advance that everyone here belonged to the yakuza, and those two words alone were enough to make her show no mercy—especially with Tomori Takamatsu involved.

Yet the person standing before her was a miko who looked only slightly older than herself and seemed to have nothing whatsoever to do with the yakuza.

Sakiko could beat Crow to a pulp without the slightest psychological burden; anyone could tell at a glance that Crow was bad news. But she could not bring herself to attack an innocent girl who looked entirely harmless.

“We… aren’t bad people.” At the crucial moment, Mutsumi spoke first, her voice dry and awkward.

Sakiko nearly buried her face in her hands. Who would believe that? They already had blades pressed against the girl’s throat, and the pistol at Sakiko’s waist was plainly visible. What kind of good person pointed a knife at someone?

And yet the miko actually nodded. She offered a faint, chilly smile, as though to say that she understood.

Then she held out one skewer to each of them, leaving one for herself. The freshly grilled chicken wings became a friendly greeting.

What was this supposed to mean? Was the miko simply thick-skinned, or had she spent so long meditating before the Buddha that she could no longer see weapons? Did she really believe them just because they said they were good people? If she went to Tokyo like this, some thug would set his sights on her, strike up a conversation, and carry her away!

Sakiko’s inner commentary went into overdrive. She wanted desperately to complain, but she could not.

What was happening before her had already exceeded the limits of her understanding. The miko had entered her room to find two knife-wielding bandits waiting inside, yet she had neither panicked nor shown fear. She had even given them chicken wings, taken them by the hand, and sat them down—as though they were close girlfriends gathering for a chat.

“Miss Eri?” Sakiko asked cautiously.

The name had been written in waterproof marker on the belly of a yellow duck plushie: “Eri’s Duck.” Sakiko guessed that it was the girl’s name.

A single short phrase contained Chinese characters, Japanese syllabary, and an English word. Sakiko decided that Eri’s language teacher must have died very young.

Eri nodded and began enjoying her delicious midnight snack.

“We really are good people. We didn’t come here to do anything bad.” Sakiko spoke with absolute sincerity. If she had had a piece of paper at hand, she would have written the words “good person” on it and stuck it to her forehead. Mutsumi was looking somewhat nervous as well.

Eri nodded again, busy wrestling with the chicken wing in her hand. It seemed that, to her, anyone who said they were a good person must truly be one.

“We’re sorry for barging into your room and disturbing you. A friend of ours was brought here. Her name is Tomori Takamatsu.”

Sakiko gestured as she spoke, half a piece of meat still in her mouth. She had no appetite, of course, but since she needed a favor, she had to accept the food first to show her sincerity.

“Have you seen her? She’s about this tall, with short hair. She looks a little like a small animal.”

“What is she to you?” Eri wrote in a small notebook and held it up for Sakiko to read.

“A friend. A very important friend.”

Only then did Sakiko confirm that Eri could not speak. No wonder she had been communicating through gestures and kept a pen and notebook on hand.

“If you’ve seen her, could you tell us where she is?”

For some reason, Eri possessed a natural air of intimacy. To Sakiko, she was like a thin sheet of white paper. She might refuse to write down an answer for you, but she would never write a false one to deceive you. She was utterly incompatible with the words “yakuza,” and seemed much more like a miko who had genuinely grown up here, devoted to the gods.

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Eri was the only person they had encountered, and therefore the only one they could ask, even if they were not truly on the same side.

“I saw her. In the dungeon.” Eri answered with complete frankness, without the slightest attempt to conceal anything. “But you cannot save her.”

“Does that mean there are a lot of people here?” Sakiko asked, already assuming that a fierce battle was unavoidable.

“There are only twenty-seven priests in total. Including me, there are twenty-eight people. My older brother is away, and so is the family head. That makes me the strongest person here.”

Eri wrote in her notebook:

“‘You cannot save her’ does not mean that you cannot escape. It means that Tomori Takamatsu is about to become a Dead Apostle. Even if you take her away, she cannot return to normal without the serum. The family will still come after her, and when they do, she will have to be eliminated on the spot.”

She understood exactly what had happened here, and she knew the nature of Tomori’s problem. In a certain sense, the two of them were alike.

“Then we still can’t leave her here. She’ll die if she stays, won’t she? It only depends on when you decide to kill her.”

Sakiko looked into Eri’s eyes.

“She’s my friend. She’s someone very, very important to me. She’s waiting for me, and there are many people waiting for her. People can always find a way. We’ll take her home first. Even if she truly can’t be cured, even if she eventually has to be put to rest, we’ll be the ones to offer her flowers. Not even being able to see the final moments of someone you love—that would be too cruel.”

“She may hurt you,” Eri wrote.

“I have hurt her before.”

The instant the words left her mouth, countless memories came rushing back. Everything flashed before her eyes like scenes from a passing dream. She had been the one to hurt Tomori, so she had to be the one to save her. Some mistakes had to be made right with one’s own hands. She could only hope that it was not already too late.

Eri lowered her head and pondered for a while. Sakiko and Mutsumi exchanged a helpless glance. Both of them felt certain they were about to be refused.

Eri had no hostility toward them and was willing to answer their questions, but in the end she was still a member of the shrine, standing on the side of the yakuza. Refusal was what they should have expected.

“I can take you to her,” Eri wrote, raising the notebook again, “but you have to take me with you.”

“Take you where?” Sakiko asked.

“Shinjuku. I want to see Kabukicho. I’ve never been there. My family won’t let me go.”

“Then your family will think we kidnapped you, won’t they?” Sakiko felt that this was a crime she could not possibly bear. Coming to find Tomori was an act of justice, but taking Eri along would turn them into traffickers of young girls.

“It’s all right. They’ll find me soon.”

With three strokes of her pen, Eri drew a smiling face in her notebook, signaling that they need not worry.

Sakiko and Mutsumi exchanged glances. Their motorcycle could carry three people at most. There was no way it could accommodate a fourth.

But if they refused Eri and went looking for someone else in the shrine, who knew what kind of trouble they might encounter? The priests were unlikely to be as easy to deal with as this adorable girl, and Eri clearly held an extremely high position here.

“All right.” Under the circumstances, Sakiko could only agree if they wanted to move forward. “But I can’t promise that I’ll succeed in helping you.”

“I know what to do.”

Eri wrote several pages in her notebook and prepared them, then handed them to Sakiko. After that, she opened the small refrigerator in the corner, took out five test tubes, placed them in a portable car cooler, and handed it to Mutsumi.

“What are these?” Mutsumi examined the transparent test tubes. A blood-red preparation was visible inside.

“Something that can save a life, but only temporarily,” Eri explained. “Inject this into Tomori Takamatsu, and it will keep her stable for a while. One tube should work for a day.”

“Then if we have enough of this, we can save Tomori?” Sakiko’s eyes lit up. “What is it made from?”

“Dead Apostle serum.”

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