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“Zuramaru, give me the pills,” Yoshiko whined, desperately reaching for the bottle that Hanamaru was holding in the air.
“No, zura; Yoshiko-chan, you’re withdrawing from society by taking these sleeping pills. You have to move on from her,” Hanamaru tried to push Yoshiko away, but the chuunibyou’s relentless assault was gradually breaking her defenses down.
“But Zuramaru, when I sleep is when I can be with her, and those help me sleep.”
“I won’t allow you to continue these destructive habits.”
“Please, Zuramaru, I only want these for one night.” Yoshiko got on her knees, clasping her hands together.
Hanamaru softly looked at Yoshiko, pleading for the sleeping pills that Hanamaru was holding. In her moment of weakness, she sympathized with Yoshiko’s trauma, and she relented. “Fine, you can have these, Yoshiko-chan; just make sure you wake up on time, alright zura?” Yoshiko eagerly nodded, taking the bottle.
Poor Yoshiko-chan, though … for such a tragedy to strike, Hanamaru thought, reminiscing about the past. I just hope she’ll move on; may God be merciful upon her soul. She vividly remembered the day, even though she was not the one whose soul had been carved and hollowed the most.
It was July 13, 2020. Hanamaru worked at a high-end restaurant during the pandemic; even though most restaurants were closed, the one she worked at still provided home delivery services, meaning that she could make money by following the protocol and delivering food to customers. She was at work to prepare a special surprise for Yoshiko; after all, it was the girl’s birthday, and she deserved something special. While she was boxing a box of mochi, she heard a shout from an adjacent room; it was her boss. “Kunikida! You’ve got a call on the official company phone directly for you!”
“Okay, zura! Be there in a second!” Hanamaru rushed over to the phone, wondering what surprises awaited her on the other side of the line. Was it a bitchy customer? Was it a complaint? Was it the prime minister?
Something much worse would present itself, though it at first kept its ugly head hidden in a bush of honeyed and sugarcoated words. She nervously gripped the receiver, waiting for the words that would dictate her fate. “Maru-chan? Are you there?”
A voice rang from the other side of the phone; it was clearly Ruby Kurosawa, one of Hanamaru’s dearest friends. “Ruby-chan zura? What is it? Is anything wrong zura?”
“It’s about Riko-chan.”
“Riko-chan? Did something bad happen to the birthday preparations, zura?”
“Come over to the Jikei University hospital, Hanamaru-chan; it’s urgent.” Ruby’s voice was serious; it was unlike any other time she had heard Ruby.
“What hospital zura? Did anything happen?”
“It’s address is 3-19-18 Nishi Shinbashi , Minato-ku.”
“Ruby-chan?”
“I’ll explain once you’re there.” Ruby hung up on Hanamaru, leaving her slightly frustrated.
“Go to the hospital, Kunikida; I’m giving you the next few days off,” her boss said, empathetic to her situation.
“Alright then, boss,” Hanamaru said. She rushed out the door, still in her work uniform, hoping that whatever had happened wasn’t mortal or terrible. She wasn’t familiar with the way to the hospital, so she had to ask a pedestrian for directions; luckily, she found gold on her first attempt, so she quickly hopped on the next bus. After she departed and paid the bus fare, she was faced with the hospital that Ruby had mentioned.
Jikei University hospital was not an aesthetically appealing building, though Hanamaru paid no attention to that; she couldn’t focus on the repetitive pattern of rectangular windows lining the walls when there were potential dangers lurking inside the hospital that Ruby had told her about on the phone. She hurriedly put her mask on before entering.
She found Ruby in the lobby waiting for her. “Ruby-chan? I’m here now, zura; can you tell me what’s going on?” She was frightened at what could possibly be happening.
“Follow me, Hanamaru-chan,” Ruby replied. Her voice sounded slightly solemn.
“You said you’d explain to me what had happened when I got here, zura.”
“Seeing is believing,” Ruby said before walking to the receptionist. “Excuse me? Which room is Sakurauchi Riko in? We’re her good friends and we’d like to see her.”
“She’s in room 137.”
“Thanks,” Ruby replied, walking back to Hanamaru. “Let’s go, Hanamaru-chan.”
Hanamaru was unsure of what would happen, though a feeling of foreboding gradually possessed her. When Ruby led her to a room marked 137, they stopped. “Open the door if you want to see what happened, Hanamaru-chan.”
Hanamaru obliged Ruby’s words, nervously taking the door’s handle in her right hand, already heavily sweating in worry about what could’ve happened. However, when she opened the door, she wished that a bright star’s light had blinded her; her hands stopped sweating, not due to relief or positive emotion, but due to incapability.
Red was a color that was very attractive when Riko wore it. Often, whenever she had run out of anything light pink to wear, which was her signature and image color, she would pick something red to wear; the effect was the same dazzling effect that she had on people, especially Yoshiko. The red that she wore on this occasion, however, was not the kind of red that brides wore in traditional Chinese weddings; it was ugly, displeasing, repulsive, and hideous. It was a feeling that only the crimson and scarlet scenes that blood painted could evoke and elicit from people.
Her face was neither calm nor placid. Instead, it was distorted into a terrible expression, as if she had been strangled by a vile force of nature. In contrast to her normally straight and prepared hair, her hair was disorderly and in shambles. Patches of dried blood were clear along her mouth; it was almost as if she had decided to messily eat a bowl of cherries. Her hair was also dirtied from its pink color; many sections of it were now decorated by a hue of red that no one wanted to see.
The central portion of her body was gruesome and brutal, to say the least. Luckily for Hanamaru’s sanity, there was a white covering over her midsection, meaning that Hanamaru wouldn’t be peering into any of Riko’s internal organs; however, she already knew what was up. The covering was no longer its original pale color; it had been tainted and dyed by the torrent of blood that Riko had lost. Hanamaru could still see the red on the tarp over the central portion of the body spreading out like a tumor; it signaled that the wound was still fresh and that just a few hours ago, Riko was still vibrant and vivid, enjoying life and hoping to surprise Yoshiko on her birthday.
Hanamaru could gain some solace by looking at Riko’s lower portion, which was relatively peaceful compared to the massacre that had occurred on the upper parts of her body. In contrast, there were streaks of blood that lined all the sides of her legs; if an onlooker only judged by the condition of her legs, they would still be under the impression that the victim of a brutal crime present in front of them was still alive, though with some injuries. A few streaks of blood lined Riko’s legs, evidence of the blood that had been shed.
Hanamaru walked out of the door, wanting to puke. “Vomit, zura,” she said to Ruby as she ran out of the room.
Before she could make it to the bathroom, a doctor stopped her, having observed that she was in Riko’s room. “I assume you are close to Ms. Sakurauchi?”
“Yes … I would be.”
“I just want to give you her medical information from today’s incident.” He handed Hanamaru a file before speeding away, presumably for another case. Hanamaru looked at the file. It said that Riko Sakurauchi had been declared dead at 1:07 pm, July 13, 2020, from stabbing and slashing by a sharp object.
“Poor Yoshiko-chan…” she quietly muttered to herself while in the bathroom stall.
Hanamaru woke up at seven o’clock the next morning; her biological clock was adjusted to that time. She knew that Yoshiko would probably be waking up late, but she didn’t want her to wake up after ten. During the two and a half hours before she would barge into Yoshiko’s room, she decided to occupy herself with her most beloved hobbies: eating and reading. She prepared a simple meal for breakfast, taking a few ingredients out of the fridge and mindlessly mixing them together before she had a full meal. She sat at the table in silence, thinking about her life decisions while eating. Once she had finished her breakfast, she deposited the dishes in the sink, mentally noting that she should wash the dishes sometime. Her life was full of routine.
She pulled out a magazine, deciding to indulge herself for a bit; she needed a break from many of the academically heavy material she had exhausted herself with for the past few days. Looking at the cover, she noticed something that sparked and fired up her mind. Nijigasaki … where have I heard that name before? She read the magazine about school idols, seeing names she didn’t recognize, such as Uehara Ayumu and Yuki Setsuna. I must finally be behind on modern trends now, she thought.
Her perception of time sped up considerably when she was reading the magazine about school idols while sipping coffee. After putting the magazine down, she realized it was 9:30, and she decided that it would be appropriate to wake Yoshiko up. “Yoshiko-chan!” She shouted from the living room, hoping that by some remote chance, Yoshiko would hear her.
It didn’t work, so she had to resort to more drastic measures. She marched up to Yoshiko’s door and gave it a good pound. “YOSHIKO-CHAN! YOU SAID YOU’D WAKE UP A REASONABLE TIME!” Being a former school idol, her voice could boom through long distances; however, it seemed that the unstoppable object had won this battle, given that Yoshiko didn’t rush out of the door or reply with anything. Hopefully, she didn’t take too many, she thought.
She opened the door and saw that no one was in bed. That’s odd. Shouldn’t Yoshiko-chan be asleep? However, one quick glance told her about the true situation; instead of being in bed, Yoshiko had gone to her land of dreams sitting on the floor. “Yoshiko-chan zura? It’s time to wake up.” Unresponsive, Yoshiko stood still as if she was dead. Hanamaru poked Yoshiko, hoping to earn a reaction; however, Yoshiko still remained motionless. She was about to resort to violent shaking, but she saw the empty pill bottle beside Yoshiko’s left hand. Shit, she thought. Picking up her phone, she dialed 119. “Yes? I have an urgent case. My friend overdosed; she needs care fast.”
Hanamaru nervously sat in the waiting room, awaiting the doctors’ verdict. It had only been five minutes, yet she was still more worried than when Ruby had given her that fateful call on July 13, 2020. She hoped that Yoshiko wasn’t dead. Her feet shifted in her shoes, and her palms sweated so much that she often had to wipe the liquid on her legs. After many minutes of restlessness, a doctor approached her. “Kunikida-san? You can visit Tsushima-san now.”
Hanamaru’s face brightened with new hope. “Is Yoshiko-chan all better, zura?”
“I’m sorry, Kunikida-san; we determined her time of death was 9:19 am; the current date is September 19, 2028. She died of overdose.”
Hanamaru’s world shattered. 19 … that was 11 minutes before I went to check on her. I feel so sad about Yoshiko-chan’s death, but a part of me thinks that the tears I weep should be of joy; after all, didn’t she overdose to be with Riko-chan forever, zura? Death is the most permanent sleep.