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Yoriko Kusumoto knew it was going to happen.
When this man, who looked exactly like one from “Vertigo” by Sekiguchi-sensei, approached her, a part of her knew that he is sent into this world to end her, to punish her for her sins. And she had many sins that needed punishing, indeed.
She desired, to the point of obsession, to be beautiful, like her mother was when she was young. And because of this, she grew to hate her mother like she was now. She told her to die, and caused her great sorrow, driving her into that mad monk's clutches. And by submitting to her fate and walking towards her doom, she is going to give her mother even more sorrow, but she has no choice anymore. This is the price she needs to pay now. For what she did to Kanako.
She believed that Kanako would be her salvation, but in the end, she herself brought Kanako to ruin. She refused to see Kanako as anything other what she herself wanted to be, and when Kanako failed to live up to her expectations she... she...
Yoriko thought she was like the ugly duckling, temporarily trapped in lowly, pathetic form yet destined to find happiness alongside beautiful swans and to live alongside them, but in the end, she was more akin to a vulture, waiting for those much better then her to die so she would feast on their remains, to satisfy the emptiness she feels inside.
She told this man everything. About what she did to Kanako, and about that building. She did not know why – maybe she just wanted someone to listen to her confession. He told her everything too. How he saw Kanako, now trapped in the box. This is the fate she inflicted on her. She did not know if Kanako was alive or dead, but if she was dead, it was her fault, and her alone.
And so she lay here, strapped to the table, trying to compose herself. Because she did not deserve to feel sorrow about her fate.
And yet, like a weakling she is, when this man put a knife in her arm, she screamed and cried for her mother to come and save her. Because it hurt. Because it hurt so much.
“How unsightly,” this man said, disappointment palpable in his voice. “All of you are like this. No matter how many of you find, you always fail to show me the beauty I saw inside this box.”
He was right. She can never be like Kanako. She was foolish to think she can ever become like Kanako. Because she...
“Kusumoto-kun.”
Yoriko heard the voice she did not dare to hope to hear again.
“K-Kanako?”
And there she saw her, looking as beautiful as ever, as if she descended from the heaven to witness her miserable end.
“Yes, it's me,” she said with a smile on her face. “You are in pain, and you are scared. This is why came here to see you. I am your friend, after all.”
“Kanako, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sor-”
Yoriko's apology was cut short by a shriek of pain, as that man moved his knife to her other arm. And then to her legs. It was for the better: she did not deserve to explain herself to Kanako. After all, when Kanako cried, when Kanako was in pain, Yoriko was not there for her.
And yet, Kanako smiled at her, and gently stroked her agonized face.
“It will be over soon. And when this happens, I hope... I hope we can meet again, so that we can do it better. So I want to say to you: see you later, Yoriko.”
And then, when this man finally put his knife to her torso, when she could no longer even scream, she was hit with the last wave of pain. And then, it was all finally over.