Chapter 136: The Tattered Diary
When Kamihara Shinji returned to the operating room, hours had passed. Starting from the kidney door, he had ventured through doors for the stomach, gallbladder, large intestine, and small intestine. The ordeal left him physically and mentally drained.
Beyond the kidney door, every subsequent door resulted in the removal of the corresponding organ—and death. Counting from the lung door to the small intestine, he had explored ten doors. He suspected a brain door at the top, making eleven. Yet, the space hadn’t bottomed out. Did doors extend to the body’s extremities, perhaps the feet? As always, further investigation was needed.
Entering an operating room for a small intestine surgery, Kamihara waited for the door to appear. He stepped through with practiced ease, as if returning home. Closing the door, he glanced at the sign, scrawled in blood-red: 『Small Intestine』.
His expression remained calm. A faint rumble echoed from above, much quieter than before. The blood torrent, rushing from the top, would take time to reach the small intestine door—enough for him to descend to the next. Despite numerous deaths, only the kidney door spared him. He had a hypothesis but wasn’t ready to test it outside. First, he needed to gauge the depth and scale of this space.
Kamihara moved unhurriedly, aware of the consistent distance between doors. At the small intestine door, running was unnecessary. Expecting another door below, he crossed the final step and landed on flat ground.
Huh?
His face twitched, surprise flickering in his eyes. Flat ground? No more stairs? Had he reached the bottom? Cautiously, he took two steps, confirming the solid surface. Peering ahead, the darkness revealed nothing.
Which way now? The space lacked airflow or breezes; if not for breathing, he might’ve thought it was outer space. Without hesitation, he ran forward.
Bang!
Two steps in, he collided with a wall, tumbling to the ground. Rubbing his forehead, he grimaced. A dead end. He stood, choosing to head left or right instead.
As the blood’s wave-like roar approached, he reached a door. Its sign glowed, but unlike the others’ faint light, this one shimmered blood-red. The characters puzzled him: 『Heart』.
Another heart door? Before he could ponder, the blood neared. Stepping forward, his shoe caught something, tearing it with a rip. No time to check—the blood was upon him. He entered the door.
Expecting an operating table, he was startled. Scanning the room, his gaze locked on a floating heart ten meters away, pulsing rhythmically. Eleven tentacle-like strands, descending from above, pierced it—perhaps extensions of the heart itself.
Unlike the dark void outside, this vast room was well-lit. Yet, looking up, Kamihara saw no ceiling; the tentacles stretched into infinity. Eleven tentacles—eleven doors? A realization hit: was Harajuku Private Hospital sustaining this heart?
Breathing grew labored, a sensation intensifying since entry. A sharp pain stabbed his chest, movement becoming arduous. His heart felt gripped, tightening painfully. Its rhythm synced with the floating heart’s. When they aligned perfectly, a squelch echoed within. His heart burst.
Reviving, a lingering ache pulsed in his chest. He pushed the door open, relieved it worked. Hearing the blood’s rumble above, he felt oddly comforted. Taking a step, he noticed he’d stepped on something again. Bending down, he picked up a damp, tattered object—a notebook, slimy to the touch.
Without lingering, he moved in the opposite direction. At the next door, the sign read: 『Uterus』.
Uterus? Puzzled but undeterred, he entered. To his shock, no operating room awaited. Instead, he stood in a small grove, a breeze brushing past, refreshing despite the night’s darkness at 7 p.m. Distant lights glowed. Spotting nurses pushing wheelchair-bound patients, he realized he was still at Harajuku Hospital, likely in its rest area. A quick inquiry confirmed it.
He’d escaped the human body space? Avoided death? Sitting on a bench, Kamihara sorted his thoughts. The information was plentiful but complex. First, Harajuku’s staff were likely hypnotized by the anomaly. Second, the inner space held thirteen doors, eleven along the staircase, each tied to an organ’s operating room. The brain door remained unconfirmed, a task for later.
At the bottom, two paths diverged. The heart door guaranteed death within seconds, its heart syncing fatally. The uterus door, however, was the true escape. Researching “uterus” on his phone, he understood its significance, nodding in realization.
He examined the tattered notebook from the heart door’s threshold. It resembled a diary, eerily familiar. His gaze sharpened—it matched Chihaya Mashiro’s diary. Despite its blood-soaked, trampled state, the style was unmistakable. Flipping a page, he read:
2019, Jan…3
Today…
Arrived at…
Hospital…
Accompanied…friend…surgery…
Frowning, he confirmed it was a diary, but too damaged to decipher fully. Written in 2019, the month began with a “1”—January, November, or December? If Chihaya’s, she’d have been in her third year of junior high.
A thought struck, and he stood abruptly. If it was December 2019, six months ago, it aligned with the police’s report of a fire at Harajuku Hospital, destroying records. If this was Chihaya’s diary, she’d visited the hospital then, entered the door’s world, and survived.
But how? The diary was at the heart door, where he’d died in seconds. Anomaly rules were merciless. Had she avoided the blood without entering? His hypothesis unraveled, clouded by the diary’s presence.
He suspected Chihaya survived via the Moon ability of her Destiny Coin. Previously, he’d held the unclaimed coin, learning its powers: Day, Year, and Moon. Moon traded at least a month’s memories to alter fate—toward life or death. Chihaya, alive, likely chose life. But could a coin defy the heart door’s lethality, the blood’s pursuit, and organ extractions?
The diary’s location baffled him. Unable to resolve it, he emailed Chihaya: “Is your dad home? I’d like to visit to discuss novel plots with your uncle.”
Direct questions were futile, especially with the fire and diary suggesting no coincidence. He needed caution. Chihaya replied: “Dad’s home. Come over, we can eat together! (?′ω`?)”
“I’m on my way,” he responded.
At the hospital’s entrance, he glanced back, resisting the urge to alert the police. Aoji’s advice was to leave anomalies active to study their patterns, using ordinary people as test subjects. Kamihara also feared that emptying the hospital might alter the anomaly unpredictably. Having come this far, he intended to contain it himself, seeking Special Division aid only if necessary.
Taking a train to Meguro Ward’s Ryusui Apartments, he was warmly welcomed at the Chihaya household, prompting a faint smile. Though eager to probe, he engaged earnestly to avoid seeming dismissive. After chatting with Chihaya Masato, he casually asked, “Uncle, have you ever visited Harajuku Hospital?”
“Harajuku Hospital?” Masato paused, unsure of the question’s intent. “We used to live in Chiyoda Ward, so we went there often for checkups.”
“Have you had surgery there?”
The blunt question made Masato’s eyes twitch, his face darkening. “Is… there an anomaly at Harajuku Hospital?”
Kamihara sighed, shaking his head. “No, just a lead. Don’t worry, Uncle.”
Knowing the hospital’s hypnotic control, he wondered if the Chihaya family, frequent visitors, had been affected. Masato relaxed slightly. “We visited for checkups, but no surgeries, I think.”
“You think?”
“Well…” Masato said awkwardly, “late last year, Rinako and I were in a car accident. We lost some memories.”
Kamihara’s heart skipped. “Late last year?”
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 137: Twelve Months of Memory
“Late last year?” Kamihara asked calmly.
Chihaya Masato nodded after a moment’s thought. “Around December, I believe. I was driving too fast, and we crashed. Rinako and I were hospitalized, but we can’t recall anything from November to December last year.”
His face grew grimmer as he spoke, eyeing Kamihara intently. “Shinji, is everything really okay?”
Had it been before, Masato wouldn’t have pressed. But knowing about anomalies, he was rattled. “It’s not anomaly-related,” Kamihara said with a wry smile. “Don’t overthink, Uncle. If anomalies were that common, could the government hide them? Humanity would’ve been wiped out.”
“True,” Masato conceded, unable to read Kamihara’s expression. He remained uneasy but knew pressing further was unwise. The more he knew, the worse it could be. Still, matters of life and death compelled his curiosity.
Seeing Masato’s unease, Kamihara refrained from further questions. The Chihayas’ accident likely wasn’t treated at Harajuku Hospital, given the fire. The fire, he deduced, was tied to Chihaya Mashiro’s use of the Destiny Coin. The accident, too, was likely influenced by it.
Mashiro had used the Moon ability, choosing life. Her parents’ memory loss was the coin’s price, ensuring her survival. If they recalled the truth, Mashiro might die. Sorting his thoughts, Kamihara was confident in this logic.
Bidding Masato farewell, he claimed he was heading home but pulled Mashiro outside first. Rinako teased them, and even Masato, despite his tension, flashed a knowing smile. Mashiro, nervous and avoiding Kamihara’s gaze, stood at the door. When he remained silent, she peeked at his serious expression.
“President,” she whispered timidly, “why’d you call me out?”
He was strategizing how to ask without triggering the coin’s consequences. If Masato and Rinako regained their memories, Mashiro could die, as they knew she’d visited Harajuku Hospital. Kamihara now knew she’d entered the door’s world six months ago.
As Mashiro grew anxious, he spoke slowly. “In your third year of junior high, did you have any close friends?”
“Junior high third year?” Mashiro’s head dipped, lips trembling, her voice fragile. “I’m sorry, President. I… don’t have any memories from that year.”
Kamihara’s spirit jolted. Taking a deep breath, he saw her overwhelming loss and self-doubt spill out. Her delicate features could’ve made her an idol, yet her lack of confidence stemmed from missing a year’s memories. Without those, she didn’t recognize those who knew her, warping her psyche and personality. This explained her disguised appearance—her beauty invited attention, but new connections were painful, given her memory losses.
Patting her shoulder, he said, “From now on, I’ll be your friend.”
“Huh?” Mashiro looked up, stunned, thinking she’d misheard. Since joining the Ghost Club, she’d aimed to understand Kamihara, even dreaming of being his girlfriend. But his indifference crushed that hope. She’d settled for being a coin-tossing tool, content to stay in the club. His rejections, though cold, hid a subtle kindness—or so she imagined. His offer now felt surreal.
“President!” Tears streamed as she hugged his arm, sobbing uncontrollably.
Kamihara groaned, trying to shake her off. “Let go! Your snot’s on my sleeve—gross!”
“Oh!” Blushing, Mashiro wiped his sleeve, smearing it worse. Flustered, she sweated, fumbling helplessly.
Kamihara sighed, exasperated. Mashiro’s emotional maturity lagged, her sensitivity evident. His offer stemmed from the Soul-Trapping Pencil’s curse, prompting him to seek friends to anchor his humanity. He sensed his mentality shifting—once a compassionate worker, he now felt emotionally numb. Nightmares of using his notebook to contain all anomalies and rule as a god chilled him. Divinity without humanity was joyless.
Mashiro wasn’t a peer but a friend to ground him. Handing her a small bag, he said, “Soul beads. Absorb them tonight, and you’ll reach the second stage.”
“What are these?” she asked.
“Soul beads,” he replied flatly.
(End of Chapter)
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