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The sound of an alarm woke her, and she rose, sleepy-eyed. A circle on the opposite wall flickered to life as she did, displaying the time (6:42, far too early), the date (Monday, June 28th, 2083), and a weather forecast (raining all day, and way too cold).
As she walked to the bathroom, her bed folded into the wall, and intricate machinery began to activate, transforming her bedroom into an office by dropping panels from the wall to make desks. A series of computer screens lit up around the circular screen. On the opposite wall, a bright “window” displayed the image of a sun rising over Mount Fuji.
She showered, and dressed herself. As she walked into the third and final room of her tiny apartment, a small kitchen with enough automated facilities to almost make toast, and to fail to make coffee, she took her phone from a socket on the wall and began skimming through the news. It was the same as it always was; they’d found a cure for one of the pandemics, there’d been a few natural disasters, and more people had gone missing without explanation.
Most people kept their phones by their beds, but she didn’t have anyone she’d want to talk to when she was on her own anymore. She was unmarried, and had few friends, none close. She wasn’t interested in romance. She wasn’t interested in much anymore; but then, few people truly were. It was difficult to get excited for things these days.
The window in this room displayed a beautiful field, but she clapped her hands and it faded, revealing a series of looming skyscrapers over a decaying city. The rain buffeted against the reinforced steel and concrete, a steady thrumming noise, and she clapped her hands again and the beautiful field returned.
She ate. She returned to her room, and took a well-worn hat from a stand in the corner. It was a personal touch, as much a part of her identity as anything else, and at the end of the world, you had to cling to every personal touch you could.
Her name was Usami Renko. She was 38, she was a practical physicist (specialising in strings), her job was to help prevent the end of the world, and she -- along with the rest of the human race -- was failing it.
She checked her emails. The first to appear was marked “urgent”, but it was just a reminder that there was a Committee meeting that week. There was always a Committee meeting, and it never went anywhere. More and more people were beginning to skip them, including her. The pointless hours of bickering was time that could be better spent doing anything else.
There were a few from the other members of her team. Their latest project seemed to be going well, but they were worried about funding, since it wouldn’t have many practical applications. These days, all people wanted were results, but there weren’t many results to be found in strings -- not yet, at least. Maybe someday, if they could tweak the universe’s building blocks, they could come up with a solution to one of the world’s problems, but for now it was simply experimentation. Plucking at strings, and seeing what happened.
Not much yet.
There had been a time where physicists had existed on the frontier of science, but they had delved as deep as they could, and found the building blocks of creation, and found no great solution with them. They had unified all the natural forces, but this didn’t unlock any great secrets of the universe. They couldn’t create an engine to travel through time, or to create wormholes, or to fix the damage to the planet.
Entropy had already set in. The world was dying, and it was only a matter of time.
There were a few spam emails, and she quickly deleted those. She almost deleted another, too, but something about it caught her eye.
“USAMI RENKO CLICK HERE. IMPORTANT. YY”
Feeling foolish, she clicked it, and was rewarded with… well, she wasn’t sure what it was.
“Usami Renko,”
the email read,
“Warmest Condolences.
I am your friend, and I wish you well. I appreciate your trust in these matters.
I was wondering if you might help me solve a riddle:
I have eyes, but I do not see;
I have ears, but I do not hear;
I tell lies, and call them truth;
I have dreams, and call them memories;
I build to the sky and never reach;
I look to the stars and see nothing.
Who am I?
I appreciate your cooperation in these matters.
When you have your response, please go to the gateway to the Netherworld.
The answers you seek are there.
Yours, forever,
YY”
And that was it. There were no links, so it wasn’t some kind of a virus. Perhaps it was a prank? But to what end? And the mention of the gateway to the Netherworld…
She scrolled back to see who sent it, only to find that field blank. Somehow, they’d managed to conceal their identity -- not just send it from a throwaway account, but send it from nowhere at all.
She considered it for a moment, and then deleted it. If it was a joke, it was in poor taste. The gateway to the Netherworld…
The girl she’d visited that place with was dead now, after all. She already knew the answer that awaited her in a graveyard.
Nonetheless, she found herself distracted that day; every time she tried to concentrate on her work, or on her delicate digitised models, one phrase or another of the riddle popped into her mind. She found herself muttering them under her breath, until she finally had to call out, saying she wasn’t feeling well.
She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but something in those esoteric words had reminded her of--
She booked a train for the next day, and a hotel in Kyoto. She pulled up a few games on her phone, playing them idly, mulling over the riddle, over and over and over…
The next morning she woke up before her alarm, eager to go. Her mind was buzzing with possibilities, but it was only when she dismissed the false sunrise and gazed out over the dull reality of Tokyo that she realised.
She got ready quickly, gathering her bag and her things. Something in the back of her mind told her that even though this was only an overnight trip, she might not be coming back for a while. That thought excited her, too. It had been so long since anything had happened to her; perhaps she’d been waiting, and she just hadn’t known what she’d been waiting for.
The elevator in her apartment complex was quick, and she was down to the ground in less than a minute. She took one of the automated cars, programmed in the train station, and travelled through the deserted streets. For one reason or another, no-one went out much these days. The towers loomed around her, their windows closed. Even if it did turn out to be only for a day or so, she looked forward to escaping from this gloomy city.
The car pulled up just outside the terminal, and she gathered her things. She’d be taking the Hiroshige, which was another thing to remind her of her past.
The terminal was deserted. The train was empty, other than her. She could almost hear the echoes of a long-ago conversation as it travelled along, as she sat and watched the false scenery pass.
“--Because I’m with you--”
She shook her head. She could feel herself getting her hopes up, and for what? She was gone. She’d been gone thirteen years. And she wasn’t going to be waiting in Rendaino.
The last thing she’d heard from her was a text message.
“I’ve got something to show you tomorrow.”
The next day she was gone. Another missing person.
The train pulled into Higashiyama-ku. Kyoto had managed to avoid becoming the same kind of centralised city as Tokyo, but at the cost of its population. Despite becoming the capital, the spiritual centre of Japan had continued to lose residents as the population declined and the cityscape of Tokyo looked more and more appealing. Nowadays it was almost abandoned; less than half a million people still lived there. But those that remained clung to their traditions tighter than ever, maintaining the past even as the future crept ever closer.
She’d arrived late in the morning, but something told her that she wouldn’t find the answers she was after in broad daylight. So she checked into her hotel, left her things, and went for a walk to Kyoto University.
It was the middle of winter, but it wasn’t so cold today, and she quickly found herself warming up until the pale sun. The streets of Kyoto were unchanged, if slightly more decrepit, but they were as silent as the streets of Tokyo. But it was a pleasant walk, and as she found herself nearing the University she began to see students milling around, which encouraged her further.
She turned the corner and saw some of the familiar buildings, and hesitated. Part of her wanted to wander in, to see how it had changed; but she hesitated, and she didn’t know why.
“Did you used to come here?” asked a voice, and she turned to see a woman in a pale blue coat and a large hat smiling at her pleasantly.
“I-- yes,” she replied. “A while ago. I just happened to be in town, and thought I should visit. But…”
“I was wondering, do you know anywhere nearby to eat?” the woman continued. “I’m also visiting, but my companion had business today, and she left me alone, and I don’t really know the area that well.” She murmured something to herself, and added, “But if you’ve been here…?”
Renko considered. “Sure,” she said, after a moment. “There’s a place just around the corner that I used to go after classes with--”
“With…?”
“With-- an old friend of mine. She’s not around anymore.”
“That’s a shame,” said the other woman, still smiling. “I’m sure I would have liked to have met her, too.”
“So,” started Renko, as they walked around the edge of the campus, “where are you from?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t recognise it,” she replied airily. “Just a little place, far from here. I haven’t been in a big city like this in a very long time, honestly…”
“It’s not overwhelming, I hope?”
“It is a little,” she admitted, “but I’m good at dealing with people. And once you can do that, you can handle the things they make, too~” She grinned.
“I-is that so…?” Renko wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Anyway, here we go… it’s just a little place, so I’m glad it’s still open.”
The places that sprung up around universities were more along the lines of fast food than anything, having to supply so many people, but the discerning students knew where the best food was, and this place had stuck out in Renko’s memory for always having a good selection. The other woman certainly seemed pleased.
“It smells good…” she murmured, mouth watering. Then she suddenly blinked, and frowned apologetically at her. “Oh, I… don’t suppose you could pay for me…? I only carry cash, and I forgot that most places in the cities only take cards these days.”
Renko sighed. “If you give me the cash, I’ll pay for you.”
“Thank you~!” She dug into her coat and pulled out a large purse, which she began digging into eagerly until she pulled out a large handful of coins. Renko stared at them in dismay.
“You know… it’ll be my treat, actually.”
The other woman shrugged, and put the coins back into the purse.
The inside of the little restaurant was empty, which was somewhat disorienting to Renko, who vividly recalled having to fight for space every time; but the proprietor was the same, and after a moment she recalled Renko and cheerfully greeted her. She ordered a meal for herself and the stranger, collected them, and went to sit down.
The other woman was looking around in something approaching wonder, but looked back down eagerly as her meal was put in front of her. “Itadakimasu~!” she said cheerfully, and began digging in with startling efficiency.
Renko, eating more slowly, examined her carefully. She still wasn’t sure what to make of her; she seemed kind of airheaded, but somehow that didn’t gel with the impression her voice and actions gave off. She cleared her meal quickly, and then grinned.
“Nothing like a warm meal on a cold day~!” she said cheerfully. “And it was really good, as well~ I appreciate your paying for the meal, too. You’re sure you don’t want me to pay you for it?”
“I’m sure,” said Renko. There wasn’t much she could do with that pile of coins, after all. “And I’m glad that you enjoyed it.” She considered for a moment, as she slowly ate her own meal. “If you’re not busy this afternoon, I could show you some of Kyoto’s sights…? I’m free until this evening, after all.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ve promised to be back by 3,” the woman replied. “But who knows? We might run into each other again. It’s a small world these days, after all~!”
She was quiet after that, smiling to herself, and Renko finished her meal without any more questions. Not that she didn’t have any; but she couldn’t even begin to think of how to bring them up. Something about this woman was throwing her off.
As they got up to leave, the woman looked around, and then suddenly sighed. “It seems I’m needed back even sooner than I’d thought,” she said. She bowed, and then smiled again. “But it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Usami. I wish you the best of luck with your business tonight.”
She walked out the door, and by the time Renko had gathered her bag and followed, she was already out of sight. It felt like a haze had suddenly left her mind, and suddenly she had all the questions that she’d been unable to think of on the tip of her tongue, and another one on top of it--
When did I tell her my name?
But the odd woman faded from her thoughts as suddenly as she’d come, and by the time she’d walked back to her hotel, her thoughts had once more turned to that night. It was still early in the afternoon, and although there were other places she could visit, she had that strange worry one has with an event planned that day -- that if you do anything, it’ll somehow hold you up, and you’ll end up missing it out altogether.
So she sat in her room for a few hours, checking up on emails, apologising that she hadn’t been around that day, and reading the news.
The same as usual. More disappearances. She supposed they had to be reported, but most people lived alone these days, and it was always people living alone that vanished. At first, the police had thought it was a serial abduction case, but there’d been nothing linking the victims, and they’d come from all over Japan. In most cases, there wasn’t even any evidence that they’d been disturbed; in a few cases, certain precious or sentimental belongings had vanished with the victims, but that only made them more incomprehensible.
Eventually, even though the police were ostensibly still investigating, they’d long since given up. The number of disappearances was past the mark of a few thousand, after all; that many people gone, and no solution, was bound to depress anyone.
Renko had already lost someone to a disappearance, and she knew that it only really mattered to the people around them. No-one else had really acknowledged that she was gone, and she knew it’d be the same for all these names. Only the people that knew them would miss them; to her, and to the rest of the world, they were barely a memory.
Maybe that was the case for everyone, these days.
Somehow, she fell asleep without realising, and when she awoke it was almost one in the morning. Panicking, she got herself tidied up, and grabbed her bag. The hotel was quiet, and she crept along the corridors as silently as she could. The rushing elevator sounded unbearably loud, but no-one said anything. There was no-one at the desk, and she quietly let herself out.
The streets were empty, illuminated by the bright streetlights and the full moon overhead. She walked quickly, still feeling uncomfortable, as if she were disrupting the emptiness by her movement, until she came to the entrance to the Netherworld.
But the silence was broken as she approached Rendaino; a quiet voice drifting through the air, a soft, confident, playful voice, whispering to itself. And it was as she got closer that she could hear the words.
“I tell lies, and call them truth,” it whispered. “I have dreams, and call them memories.”
She turned a corner, and there was a single gravestone, and a woman in a violet dress sitting on it, facing away from her, and gazing up at the stars. She glanced back as she arrived, her piercing golden eyes freezing Renko on the spot as her heart felt like it could leap from her chest.
Then she smiled wryly. “You’re always late, Renko. Do you have an answer for me?”
“A-an answer…?” she repeated. She could almost feel her mind rebelling against itself -- this couldn’t be happening. It had to be a dream. In fact, the woman in front of her couldn’t be there ; therefore, this could only be a dream.
“To my riddle, of course.”
The riddle. That was how this had begun, only a little more than a day ago. When she’d gotten that feeling. And she’d had the answer that morning…
“I’m human,” she whispered, and the woman in the violet dress laughed.
“You’re only human,” she confirmed. “Got it in one~”
“And you’re not.”
She glanced up at the sky. “I’m not who you’re looking for, no. At least,” and she glanced back down at her, “not anymore.”
“Merry…”
“Ah, I haven’t introduced myself!” She jumped off the tombstone, and held out a gloved hand. “Yakumo Yukari.”
Renko looked down at the offered hand, and carefully reached out to it, before gripping it tightly. It was warm, and felt real enough. “Like Yakumo Koizumi…” she mused.
Yukari grinned, and took her hand back. “You know, you’re the first person who’s gotten that. I chose it quite carefully. The same can’t be said of my other name, but it is what it is…”
“What-- what happened to you, Merry?”
Yukari sighed. “I told you, I’m not Merry anymore. Merry died, quite a long time ago. She was murdered, in fact, not too far from here.”
“But--”
“I messed up, Renko. I broke a boundary I shouldn’t have, and I was punished for it. I was sent far back, into the wastes of history, and for the crime of being different I was murdered. But it was already too late. …Renko, do you remember that we once talked about youkai?”
“I seem to remember that we talked about youkai quite a lot, Merry.”
“Yukari. But we talked about youkai, as creatures existing within the gaps of the quantum world… honestly, I didn’t really understand it at the time, but I do now. It’s a matter of belief. The humans that killed Merribelle Hearn believed that she was a youkai, and so she became one.”
“Because of belief?”
Yukari smirked. “Tell me, have you ever seen one of your strings?”
“ Seen a string?”
“Seen it, with your own eyes. Or even an atom, for that matter. Can you prove that the building blocks of the universe are there?”
Renko frowned. “I know they’re there. The theories have proved--”
“That’s what you don’t see, Renko. That’s what no-one else can see. It’s all just belief, but with different degrees of proof. You believe in strings, and others believe in youkai, and we both exist down there. The boundary of human knowledge is faith.” Yukari frowned, as Renko still seemed confused. “I’m not upsetting you, am I?”
“Humans reject what they don’t believe,” murmured Renko after a moment, “and accept what they do. As humans developed the scientific method, they rejected those things that didn’t fit within it… So if that’s the case, how can youkai still exist?”
Yukari blinked in surprise, and began laughing. “I should have known!” she cried. “Oh, you saw right through to the most important question!” She suddenly stopped, and smiled. “It’s because I ensured that humans wouldn’t stop believing in youkai. I created a world where they would have to, because youkai would undeniably exist.”
“A parallel world?” asked Renko, getting excited.
“Kind of,” agreed Yukari. “It’s more of a surface on top of the surface of the Earth. Like a reflection of the Moon in a lake that became its own Moon. I suppose if you call the human world the world of truth, then my Gensokyo is a world of lies, created to support the greatest lie that all humans tell themselves.”
“Which is?”
“Oh, I’m glad you’re getting into it, Renko. I’ve missed talking to you about things like this~” She took a deep breath, and said, clearly and dramatically, “‘Everything will turn out okay.’”
“Huh?”
“All humans think that everything will be alright if they keep doing what they’re doing,” explained Yukari. “That things will take care of themselves. That their lives will sort themselves out. They might not necessarily realise that on a conscious level, but it’s the burden of a creature that can only see from its own perspective -- it can’t conceptualise a world that isn’t the one it currently has. All it has are memories and dreams, and neither of those are real. Just more illusions.”
Renko frowned. “I don’t know a lot of people who think that everything’s going to turn out okay anymore.”
“Unfortunately,” agreed Yukari. “Humans have forgotten that sometimes a comforting lie is better than a harsh truth, and so they’re shedding their final lie. And when that’s done, there’ll be nothing left; just a desperate species prolonging its own end.”
An endless eternity of Committee meetings, people coming up with ideas that didn’t work.
“And Gensokyo?”
“I created Gensokyo for youkai and gods, to sustain their existence through human faith,” mused Yukari. “But it can fulfil the opposite function, too. By drawing in those humans who haven’t given up -- those who still believe that the Earth can be saved -- it can make that the case. If Gensokyo is a world supported by faith, then that faith can support the world.”
“You’re behind the disappearances.”
“I offer all of them a choice, and most of them agree. Call it my own attempt to save them.”
“And so where do I come into this? I’m… I believed in youkai. I always have, even before I met you. But…”
“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Yukari, surprised. “I just wanted to see you. And, I suppose I wanted to make you the offer I made them.”
“To visit Gensokyo?”
“To remain in Gensokyo.”
Renko frowned, and then asked, hesitantly, “Who are you, Yukari?”
Yukari grinned again. “I was once a human of boundaries, and now I am a youkai of boundaries. I created a paradise, and did my best to make those within it happy. Gods have been made of less, and yet I am still merely a youkai. I’m just another creature that lurks in the dark, a nightmare that humanity cannot live without. But it wouldn’t matter if I were a youkai or a god. I’m not real, after all; just another lie. Gensokyo is a world of lies, after all.”
“And you’d want me to throw away reality for that?”
Yukari nodded, once.
And for a moment they were both silent.
“…Is it truly hopeless? Is there really nothing left for the world?”
Yukari held out her hand once more, and smiled at her weakly -- not the catlike youkai’s grin that she’d worn this whole time, but once ever so much more familiar. “Would you like the harsh truth, or a comforting lie, Renko?”
Renko took her hand.