The Tenth Year of Silence —The Reason I Killed That Child— - At the Bottom of the Fog — The First Contradiction in the City of Silence

The morning air clung to her skin. 　Yagumo Chitose opened the window of her room on the hilltop of Aobagaoka. Outside, a sea of fog stretched in every direction. True to the name Kirigasaki, from spring through early summer, the fog rolled in from the ocean each morning. The view from the fifth floor of the apartment building had its outlines dissolved by the white haze, as though the entire town had sunk to the bottom of the sea. 　Chitose was a small, slender seventeen-year-old with black hair trimmed to shoulder length. Her narrow, dark brown eyes reflected the morning light, shining quietly. Her complexion was pale, her expression sparse. Yet her gaze alone was sharp, staring fixedly outside as if trying to discern something beyond the fog. 　Unconsciously, she covered her left wrist with her right hand. Beneath her sleeve was an old scar. One she showed no one. One she didn't want to show. 　The air in the room was chilly. Chitose exhaled slowly and closed the window. 　When she went downstairs to the living room, her mother had already laid out breakfast. Miso soup with white steam rising from it, grilled fish, rolled omelet. Two pairs of chopsticks were set on the table. "Morning." "Morning, Chitose. The fog is terrible today, isn't it?" 　Her mother said that and looked out the window. Chitose glanced at her profile. Her mother always gazed a little into the distance in the mornings. An ambiguous expression—as if waiting for something, and yet, as if she had given up on waiting. 　Chitose took her seat and sipped the miso soup. The scent of dashi passed through her nose. 　In the living room, there was not a single family photograph. 　Not on the walls, not on the shelves, not beside the TV stand. In the places where photographs had once likely been displayed, there was nothing. Only, here and there, spots where the wallpaper's color was faintly different, revealing that frames had once hung there. 　They did not talk about her father. 　No—more precisely, they could not. When Chitose was small, her father had suddenly vanished from this house. The reason was never known, not to the end. One morning, he left as usual, and that was the last of him. They filed a report with the police. Her mother cried many times. But her father never returned. 　From that day on, "things whose reasons she didn't understand" became a foreign sensation lodged in Chitose's throat, like a small fishbone. She couldn't swallow it. She couldn't spit it out. So she would find out. If she didn't find out, she couldn't move forward. 　In middle school, there had been bullying in her class. The target was a boy who spoke a little differently. Everyone around him looked the other way. Chitose could not look the other way. She wanted to know the reason. Why was that boy the target? Why did no one stop it? 　In the end, Chitose stepped in to stop it. A scuffle broke out, and a box cutter swung by one of the others sliced open her left wrist. Blood stained the sleeve of her uniform red. 　The scar from that time still remained. 　The bullying continued after that, changing forms. Chitose became isolated in her class. But strangely, she had no regrets. Rather, what she felt more strongly was the thought that if only she had acted sooner, if only she had understood a deeper reason— 　Chitose broke apart her rolled omelet with her chopsticks and happened to look out the window. The fog was still thick. "I'll be a little late after school today." "I see. …Be careful." 　Her mother said only that and sipped her miso soup. She asked nothing more. Not asking—that was the rule of this house. 　Chitose quietly finished the rest of her breakfast. 　She slipped her arms through her uniform. A navy blazer with a red ribbon. The designated uniform of Kirigasaki Minami High School. In front of the mirror, Chitose confirmed that the scar on her left wrist was hidden by her sleeve. Then she slid the worn notebook that had been sitting on her desk into the inner pocket of her blazer. 　This notebook was Chitose's second skin. She wrote down anything that caught her attention. The smallest discomfort, someone's casual remark—all of it. A tool that belonged to Chitose alone, for getting to the bottom of reasons. 　When she left the apartment building, the fog had thinned a little compared to the morning. But the town's outlines were still blurred. The new town of Aobagaoka had orderly blocks, with similarly shaped houses lined up in rows. The roads were wide, the street trees planted at regular intervals, the streetlights all new. 　This was a hillside residential area whose development had begun in 1978. By the time Chitose was old enough to be aware of her surroundings, this scenery had already existed. A quiet, clean, and somehow inorganic town. She didn't even know who lived next door. She didn't try to know. 　On her way to the bus stop, Chitose suddenly stopped. 　There was a small flower bed on the side of the road. Someone had planted it—white flowers whose names she didn't know, blooming with droplets of fog clinging to them. Chitose gazed at the flowers for a while. She didn't know their names. Not knowing bothered her, just a little. 　She took out her notebook and wrote: "White flowers, name unknown, Aobagaoka 3-chome." 　…What a strange disposition I have. 　Chitose put the notebook away and started walking again. 　School was the same boring stretch of time as always. During class, Chitose often gazed out the window. Today, the sky after the fog cleared was strangely whitish, glowing. A teacher was saying something in front of the blackboard, but the voice was distant. 　At lunch break, Chitose went alone to the rooftop. The rooftop was off-limits, but the lock was broken, and at some point it had become a hangout for students. Today, there was no one there but Chitose. 　Beyond the fence, the town of Kirigasaki spread out in a single view. 　To the northwest was the new town of Aobagaoka, where Chitose lived. Orderly blocks spread along the slope of the hill. To the southeast, on the other hand, was the old downtown of Hamazaki district. Old wooden houses crowded together, narrow alleys tangled like a maze. The Kirigasaki River flowed east to west, as if dividing the two towns. 　The same town, and yet like a different country. 　Chitose stared at the Hamazaki district. There was an old shopping street over there. Recently, she'd heard it was being shaken by talk of redevelopment. A plan to tear down the old buildings and build a new commercial facility. There were supporters and opponents, and the neighborhood association was apparently in conflict. 　Chitose had heard that talk as though it were something from a distant world. It had nothing to do with her. That was what she had thought. 　After school, Chitose got on the bus. A route bus heading from Aobagaoka toward the seaside. It was about fifteen minutes by bicycle from school, but today she felt like taking the bus. 　The bus descended the hillside, passed through Kirigasaki Station, and headed for Hamazaki Ginza Street. The scenery visible through the window changed little by little. New buildings decreased, old buildings increased. The roads narrowed, utility poles multiplied. 　Chitose pressed her forehead against the window and gazed outside. 　When she got off the bus at Hamazaki Ginza Street, she smelled the sea. The scent of tide, of fish, and of slightly rusted iron. A smell she had never encountered in Aobagaoka. 　The shopping street was terribly quiet, despite it being evening. 　The eight-hundred-meter arcade had apparently once housed as many as a hundred and twenty shops. Now, less than a third of that. Shops with their shutters still down stood out, and even the open ones had a somewhat worn-out impression. 　Chitose walked slowly through the arcade. 　An old sign reading "Hamazaki Ginza Street" hung from the arcade ceiling. The paint was peeling, the letters faded. At the front of a vegetable shop, cardboard boxes with prices written on them were lined up, and in the back, an old man sat alone in a chair, reading a newspaper. There were no customers. 　As she passed an old bookstore, the old magazines lined up on a cart out front fluttered open in the wind. Chitose stopped for a moment. A book with "History of Kirigasaki City" on its spine was stacked in a corner of the cart. 　…I'll stop by later. 　Chitose tried to write down the shop's name in her notebook, then stopped. The shop was called "Namioto-do." She wouldn't forget it. 　Walking further, she came out in front of a fresh fish shop. 　A sign reading "Minazuki." In the display case at the front, fish laid out on ice reflected white light. At this hour in the evening, the shop should have been closed already. 　And yet, a light was on inside. 　Chitose peered through the glass. 　A man was alone at a small table in the back of the shop, writing something. Short hair mixed with white. A scruffy beard. Sun-darkened skin. A broad back. 　Minazuki Naoto. The owner of this shop. A former fisherman, now running a small fresh fish shop like this. 　It wasn't that Chitose knew Naoto personally. She had simply caught sight of him several times while walking through this shopping street. A man with sunken eyes, always seeming to be thinking about something. 　At that moment, Naoto raised his head. 　Their eyes met. 　Naoto's dark eyes caught Chitose. Those eyes held a sunken light. Like old glass beads sunk to the bottom of the sea. 　Naoto slowly stood up. 　Chitose, for some reason, could not move from that spot. 　Naoto came to the shop entrance and opened the sliding door. "…Can I have a moment?" 　It was a low voice. Heavy and damp, like the sound of waves. 　Chitose nodded silently. 　Naoto led Chitose around to the back of the shop. 　In the back, there was a small storage shed. Remnants of fishing gear and unused styrofoam boxes were piled up. The smell of tide drifted more thickly here. 　From the depths of the shed, Naoto pulled out a large cardboard box. The box was packed tightly with A5-sized college notebooks. And newspaper clippings held in clear files. 　Naoto placed them in front of Chitose, then bowed his head deeply, deeply. "…The police won't move anymore." 　His voice was trembling. "Why did that child have to die? …I want you to tell me." 　Chitose caught her breath. 　Naoto stayed bowed, unmoving. 　Chitose looked at the notebooks in the cardboard box. She picked one up. A date was written on the cover. June 2008. Ten years ago. 　She turned the pages. Characters were packed densely in rows. Interview records. Maps. Phone numbers. Photographs. Traces of having visited the same places over and over again. 　This was a record of a search. "…Minazuki-san." 　Chitose finally managed to force out her voice. "I'm not a police officer or a detective. I'm just a high school student." "…I know." 　Naoto raised his head. His eyes were sunken as before. Yet deep within them, Chitose sensed something like a faint heat. "You've been looking into this town quite a bit, haven't you." 　Chitose did not answer. "I know you go to the second floor of Namioto-do often. There are old records of this town there. …You like that sort of thing, don't you." 　Chitose was a little surprised. It was true that recently, Chitose had been visiting the local archives room on the second floor of Namioto-do. She hadn't told anyone. "…Why do you know that?" "This town is small. You can tell right away who's doing what and where." 　Saying that, Naoto held out a newspaper clipping to Chitose. "Read it." 　Chitose accepted the file. 　The clippings were all related to an incident from ten years ago. 　June 3, 2008. 3:40 PM. Minazuki Mio, a third-grader at Kirigasaki Municipal Hamazaki Second Elementary School (age eight at the time), went missing on her way home from school. 　Same day, 6:00 PM. Her adoptive father, Minazuki Naoto, filed a report with the police. 　Three mont

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Episode 1

Name: The Tenth Year of Silence —The Reason I Killed That Child—
Author: Novelia

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