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The glass trembled.
Beyond the observation tower's glass curtain wall, thirty-three Raptor engines spewed infernal fire. Sakiko Togawa, left eye clamped shut, sextant raised, tracked the fiery plume's ascent with a stark terror. High above the rocket’s apex, a dim Venus wavered in the distorting heat.
Five degrees. Ten. Twenty, Sakiko counted off the sextant’s markings. The night sky was pitch black. Her right eye, assaulted by the glare as if staring into a magnesium flash, stung to the point of tears. Vertigo. The floor tiles vibrating. A roar that devoured the world.
When the rocket reached the zenith of its arc on the sextant, her world would end.
She hoped - she prayed - for her world to end then.
In the spring of her final year of middle school, Sakiko Togawa finally came to know fear. The fear of death.
Most other children confronted this milestone in elementary school or even kindergarten. On some unremarkable night, the meaning of death would dawn on them, and they would then spend a long time desperately trying to deny its horror. The bright ones would give up after a year or two; the duller ones would spend the rest of their lives at it.
Sakiko was an exception. No scenes of poultry slaughter, no violent news reports, no gory films could penetrate the gates of the Togawa estate to reach Sakiko's eyes or ears. Shielded thus, she had managed to postpone this epiphany indefinitely, until death itself - true, unadulterated death - came calling.
Her realization occurred at the south intersection of the Shinjuku Park Tower, where Tochō Avenue met Gijidō Avenue. She was in the back seat of the family car, a lap-sash seatbelt fastened, her back habitually straight as she gazed out the window. Blades of light from the elevated highway railings shot through the window, striking her kneecaps. Earlier that day, her father had mentioned a meeting with space agency officials and had asked her to bring a document from home to his company.
The Togawa Building loomed to her right front. Twin elliptical towers, one primary, one ancillary, both clad in glass curtain walls. The near-midday sun scorched the glass to a white heat, forcing Sakiko to squint and shield her eyes. Through the glare, she could faintly discern a black line at the primary tower's summit. A rooftop antenna, perhaps, or a central air conditioning unit.
No. As she watched, a thread-thin, dark blue line unfurled from the black shadow. Then the line detached itself from the shadow, rose, and fluttered down from the heights. The black shadow then began to move towards a corner of the rooftop terrace.
It was a person, Sakiko realized. A person who had just ripped off and discarded their tie, now standing on the very edge of the Togawa Building's roof. A wave of terror rose from her stomach to her throat.
She sat frozen in the back seat for five seconds. When the full reality crashed into her mind, she began to wrestle with the seatbelt buckle as if it were a stuck joystick, then fumbled with the door lock, pulled the handle, and finally shoved the door open, preparing to scramble out. She didn’t look left or right, as she should have.
The instant the door opened, a wall of sound, hard as brick, slammed into her. She heard the roar of diesel engines, the rush of wind, a blaring perfume advertisement, and the cacophony of car horns from all directions. She had no idea how many were honking at her. She just stared at the black figure on the skyscraper's roof, numbly extending her right foot onto the asphalt and standing up.
The pedestrian light to her right glowed a silent red. Diagonally above, the shadow on the rooftop remained motionless, as if awaiting a signal. She screamed towards it with all her might. But she couldn't even hear her own voice.
Then the shadow fell. Sakiko had once seen an Olympic diving competition, where athletes, after leaping, would rotate slowly, methodically as a second hand, until they inverted completely, plunging into the water at a perfect six o'clock. That shadow reminded her of the competition. It fell from the main tower's roof, rotated calmly mid-air for a half-turn, then plunged face-down behind the sapphire-blue glass curtain wall of the ancillary building.
She saw no splash.
Then the traffic light turned green, and the chorus of angry horns behind her intensified. Shrill-shrill-shrill, the traffic policeman standing in the middle of the intersection blew his whistle at Sakiko.
Then the front passenger door of her car opened, and the driver, shouting something indistinguishable - something like, "Miss! What are you doing!" - ran towards her. Sakiko just stood there, stunned, feeling an unnerving silence gradually descend around her.
She might have stood there in a daze for a mere second, or perhaps until the sun dipped below the horizon. She didn't know. Because the next moment etched in her memory was the following morning.
Sakiko awoke with a jolt from a nightmare. The dream's specifics had eroded before she could recall them, but a searing pain, as if branded by fire, still lingered on the back of her neck. Without hesitation, she sat up, swung her legs out of bed, slipped on her shoes, and trotted downstairs for a glass of water.
It was still very early. As she descended the stairs, only an almost imperceptible glimmer of light filtered through the curtains, staining the wallpaper with bluish-green hues. The house lights were mostly off; aside from one or two early-rising servants, she was likely the first one awake.
She saw light seeping from behind the frosted glass door of the kitchen and, without thinking, pushed it open. The kitchen was empty, but a pot on the stove bubbled merrily, and the faint, coppery tang of burnt gas hung in the air. The cook had probably stepped out for a moment.
The sight of the bubbling pot - an undeniable trace of human activity - finally convinced her she wasn't still dreaming. But the ensuing wave of relief brought yesterday afternoon’s memories crashing back. The deluge of noise, the glass curtain wall, the half-twisting dive.
Forgetting was far harder than knowing. Desperate for a distraction, her gaze fell upon the stove and the stainless-steel pot. Approaching the stove, she hesitated for a moment before the column of steam jetting from the lid’s vent, then reached out and lifted the lid.
Sakiko almost thought she was still dreaming.
Tumbling in the boiling water was an egg-shaped sapphire, its larger end attached to a patterned brass relief base, like an egg cup. As it tumbled, the gem and its base periodically struck the pot's rim, emitting a metallic “ding” or a duller “thud” of metal on brass. She stared at the sight, taking a long time to trust what she was seeing.
“Whose… gem are you?” she asked the sapphire. It didn’t answer, probably too busy rolling in the heat. Sakiko slowly took a step closer.
That’s your gem, you see, a voice replied in her mind.
Sakiko recoiled two steps, her eyes darting around nervously.
On the kitchen windowsill, she saw a cat, profiled against the morning light, its tail erect, looking at her. Its fur was a light purple, its eyes wine-red.
That cat definitely wasn't there a moment ago, she thought.
Sakiko hesitated. “Hello?” she ventured. Too many strange things had happened in the last twenty-four hours; she was probably developing a tolerance for them, she thought with a touch of self-mockery.
A pleasure, my dear Miss Sakiko. It seems you've already acquainted yourself with your new vessel?
The same female voice echoed coolly in her mind.
“…Vessel?” She hesitantly looked down at her own body and clothes, then up at the stainless-steel pot, her gaze finally settling on the sapphire tumbling in the boiling water.
A keen guess. The purple cat spoke to her telepathically. That is your Soul Gem. You made a contract with me: you get one wish, and in return, she is now the vessel for your soul, the remote control for your body. With her, you can use magic. Stray too far from her, and you’ll die instantly.
“I… I don’t understand. It… she… was just an egg, wasn’t it? The chef wouldn’t boil a sapphire, surely?” Sakiko asked.
Precisely. Until 11:15 yesterday morning, she was the private property of a hen on a suburban farm. At 11:15, she dropped from the hen’s oviduct, slipped through the gaps in her tiny wire cage, and landed in the sponge-padded collection tray below, along with eggs from five tiers of other cages.
“Wait a minute! Eleven-fifteen… that was when the incident at the Togawa Building happened, wasn’t it?”
Eleven-twelve, to be exact. Three minutes after the incident, we received your wish and initiated the process of extracting your soul. This egg just happened to be laid at the same moment, and being a natural vessel for a soul, we performed a little switcheroo. Even now, to anyone but you and me, this is just an ordinary egg.
“But that’s practically robbery! Couldn’t you have created a new gem or something?”
Well, Miss Sakiko, would you like to pay for the materials and labor? It's only thirty thousand yen, but just because your family can afford it doesn't mean you can. The cat began to pace back and forth on the windowsill. Rest assured, however, the victim is far too busy laying eggs to press charges. And even if she did, no one can win a case against the deeply rooted Togawa family.
“Alright, alright.” Sakiko shook her head. “I strongly disapprove, but even if I accept what you’re saying, there’s still one thing that doesn’t add up at all.”
“I have absolutely no memory of making any contract with you. I might have heard of such contracts in cartoons, but I have no recollection of ever meeting you.”
The purple cat fell silent for a moment. It narrowed its eyes at Sakiko, a playful curve to its lips.
How heartless, forgetting me after less than a day. We signed a lifetime agreement, you know. It paused its pacing. But seriously. The most likely reason for your memory loss is that when you wished to save that suicidal unfortunate, you yourself were outside the remote-control range of your Soul Gem. The instant the wish took effect and your soul was extracted, the gem, far away on that farm, switched your body to an unconscious autopilot mode. So, for the rest of that day, your actions seemed normal, but your soul was absent.
And this morning, the supplier delivered this batch of eggs to your home. And so, the autopilot disengaged.
“So… so I really saved him? Is it true?”
The cat didn't answer immediately, but its whiskers twitched. Sakiko thought it was smiling.
You're adorable, Miss Sakiko. Yes, you did indeed save him. And with the magic you gained from your wish, you might be able to save many more.
“My magic?”
You’ll discover it. Just watch, and listen.
“So, will I need to, say, fight bizarre-looking monsters with magic, like in Puella Magi Kanon Magica? Normally, these contracts have a clause about the contractor's obligations, right?”
The cat chuckled again, this time without even looking at Sakiko. No, no, my dear. No monsters are necessary at all.
People like you, who still agree to the contract after understanding the Soul Gem's principle, people with this inexplicable hero complex, none of you ever live long. Not a single one, since the dawn of time.
It lay down, turning its face to the side, and scratched its cheek with a hind paw.
But I have high hopes for you. Don't die too quickly, okay?
The purple cat vanished from the windowsill as suddenly as it had appeared. The water in the pot on the stove continued to boil, gurgle, gurgle, gurgle, a muffled sound emanating from within.
Sakiko soon discovered her magic.
After her conversation with the mysterious cat, Sakiko found she could see a blue aura around everyone. The aura emanated from their shoulders and head, converging upwards like a plume of blue fire. On children, the aura was short and transparent; on drunkards and the homeless, it was thick, long, and deeply colored, its edges as sharp as ice.
That was the embodiment of pain, Sakiko was certain. Just as a newborn masters crawling and breathing, the meaning of those colors bloomed in her mind the instant she saw them. This must be magic, she thought.
On her way home from school that day, Sakiko put her magic to practical use for the first time.
A kilometer west of Tsukinomori Girls' Academy, a footbridge arched over the railway cutting. Cherry blossom season had arrived a week prior, and the cutting and the bridge were often carpeted with fallen petals. Sakiko had more than once seen sanitation workers clearing the blossoms from the tracks before the first train of the morning.
It was while crossing this bridge that Sakiko saw the most vibrant, unrestrained blue flame yet. It emanated from a small, grey-haired girl. The aura above her head was so thick it almost condensed into tangible droplets, appearing to fall from the air. The girl stood at the apex of the arch, leaning against the railing, her body angled forward over the edge.
Sakiko needed no prompting to understand the implication of that posture.
She dropped her satchel and broke into a sprint, racing towards the girl. She heard the tearing sound of threads in the shoulder of her school blouse, but within three or four heartbeats, she had reached the girl's side.
Startled, the girl on the bridge turned to face her, just in time for Sakiko to execute a controlled collision. At the moment of impact, Sakiko used her left hand to shield the back of the other girl’s head, and then they both hit the paved surface of the bridge hard.
The collision earned Sakiko a scraped knee (and later, a penguin-themed band-aid); the other girl acquired two bruises, one on her hip and one on her calf. Once they had recovered their wits, the misunderstanding was quickly cleared: the girl, named Tomori Takamatsu, had been leaning out merely to admire the fallen petals, with no intention of harming herself. Or at least, that’s what she said. But the blue gloom enshrouding her was irrefutable. After some deliberation, Sakiko decided to invite this girl, Tomori, to her home.
I just can't seem to let things go, she thought as she helped the girl to her feet. This is probably meddling.
But judging from the girl’s expression, a mixture of relief and delight, Tomori clearly didn't see it that way.
She chanced upon Tomori’s notebook, filled with lyrics or perhaps innermost thoughts – which, of course, were often one and the same.
She improvised an arrangement for one of the pages, performing it for Tomori on the piano, singing along. She called it “Song of Wanting to Be Human.” At Tomori’s request, she played it three times in total. After the first rendition, the girl merely applauded silently. After the second, Sakiko saw Tomori dab at the corner of her eye and then ask her to play it once more.
Before the third rendition was even finished, Sakiko heard sobs from behind her. Suppressing the urge to stop and turn, she decided to transition into tempo rubato in duple time, trying her best to match the stresses of the music to the rhythm of the girl’s breathing.
When Sakiko released the pedal and turned around, she saw Tomori covering her face with her hands, weeping. Salty tears slipped through her fingers, blurring the ink on the lyric sheet spread across her lap. Sakiko said nothing, remaining seated on the piano bench, patiently waiting for her to regain composure. The electric kettle hummed softly in the room.
Perhaps my initial assessment on the bridge wasn't wrong after all, she thought.
Sakiko noticed then that the aura above Tomori's head and on her body had faded considerably, to an almost negligible level compared to before. Could an hour of conversation and a three-minute performance truly have such power? She couldn't understand it.
Perhaps this too is the effect of magic, Sakiko silently added to her list of things to investigate.
Later that day, she invited Tomori to form a band.
Tomori looked up, her eyes red-rimmed, and asked, “For a lifetime?”
Sakiko nodded without a moment's hesitation. In retrospect, she often worried whether she had perhaps taken advantage of the situation.
In the period that followed, one bad thing and one good thing happened.
The bad thing was that Sakiko began to have nightmares with alarming frequency. They always started on the rooftop of the main Togawa Building, where she stood alone, overlooking the Tokyo nightscape. The view was a familiar panorama of needle-like skyscrapers and streets laid out with the intricacy of an integrated circuit, punctuated by the occasional wing lights of passing airliners. The moon, Venus, Alpha Centauri, and Vega were visible in the night sky, but Mars and Triangulum were indiscernible. All this was identical to the real Tokyo nightscape.
The difference lay in the auras. Over every city block, Sakiko could see a mist-like cluster of fluorescent blue light. The Toshima, Shinagawa, and Ota wards pulsed with the most intense and brightest auras, while the neighboring Chiyoda and Minato wards were almost entirely dark.
Then, the Sakiko in the dream would be uncontrollably drawn towards an area of extremely dense and bright blue. On previous occasions, these had included Kabukicho's red-light district and an abandoned industrial zone in Ota ward. The movement wasn't a smooth flight but more like zooming and dragging on an electronic map – her field of vision would rapidly expand in one direction, and then, accompanied by a nauseating wave of dizziness, she would find herself standing on an unfamiliar street.
There were other people on these streets. Prostitutes leaning against alley walls, smoking; low-wage slaughterhouse workers, drunk in tiny bars. Each was submerged in their own enormous, bubble-like blue aura, and none paid Sakiko any mind.
The ones who did notice Sakiko were the children. The little boys and girls of the district, their heads and shoulders, like the adults', blazed with blue fire. Sakiko couldn't see their faces clearly, but their voices were so distinct they seemed to resonate directly in her mind. The children would scrutinize her with a morbid curiosity, discuss her, and then, hand in hand, encircle her.
Big sis, why are you here? they would ask. You are not like us. You don’t have on you the fire, the devastating fire consuming your body and soul. We only see elegance, nobility, and luck in you.
As if accused of the most heinous crime, she would try to open her mouth to refute their claims about her “elegance, nobility, and luck.”
“But I can understand you! I’ve read about this fire, I’ve seen this fire! I am familiar with all its theoretical properties, including those you yourselves are unaware of!” she would want to say.
But she would find herself unable to speak, unable to move her limbs.
The children would erupt in laughter, telling her she would never understand. They would lift her, build a pyre of firewood and coal briquettes beneath her, all the while assuring her that this won’t hurt at all, because noble, sacred blood flowed in her veins, destined for no fire to cause her pain. They would use the fire from their own palms or shoulders to light the wood, and she would discover that the children spoke the truth.
She would turn to ash in the painless, crimson fire, her remains carried by the howling wind higher than any skyscraper. And there, the nightmare would end.
The good thing was this: after her agreement with Tomori to form a band, CRYCHIC was officially born very quickly.
The very next day, Sakiko found a suitable rehearsal space, a live house named "RiNG" on a central street in Ikebukuro. The street was narrow and old, paved with stone bricks on the south side and asphalt on the north. Looking out from the second-floor rehearsal room window, one could see the shaded, yellowish-brown facade of the building opposite, the storefronts of general stores and arcades, and the ivy-covered stone pillars supporting the building at ground level.
Sakiko, Tomori, Soyo, Mutsumi, and Taki gathered in the practice room for the first time a week later, each with their respective instruments. Before then, the other four had only met Sakiko individually. So, when Sakiko pushed open the rehearsal room door at the appointed time, she found them clutching their instruments (except for a bewildered Tomori and Taki, who sat before her drum kit with her arms crossed), caught in an awkward silence.
Fortunately, Sakiko was adept at handling such situations. She navigated between performance and small talk like an earthworm through soil, avoiding pebbles, softening sharp edges. By the time the two-hour rehearsal ended, the atmosphere in the room was as comfortable as spring earth. They could almost be called friends.
The only real hurdle was getting Tomori to sing out loud. Tomori’s mental state was visibly improving day by day, and by the second week, they made a decisive breakthrough. When Tomori’s voice finally emerged from the speakers, everyone was slightly taken aback. Her voice had the texture of frosted glass – delicate and smooth, yet with a substantial, weighty feel. Tomori’s control over dynamics was still unrefined, sometimes too soft, sometimes too loud, but they had plenty of time to improve. At least, Sakiko thought so.
After they dispersed that day, Sakiko quietly pecked Tomori on the cheek.
That night, Sakiko had a dream with a new twist. The setting was the interior of a metal container, roughly the size of two tatami mats, and pitch black. Only a set of dimly glowing needles on an instrument panel above her head provided any light. The scales and annotations on the dials were incredibly complex, and when she tried to focus on them, the supposedly familiar characters began to shift, distort, and rearrange themselves, making them perpetually unreadable.
Beneath her was the cold touch of metal. There was a window above her head, through which she could make out a faint outline of mountains and a starry sky. She craned her neck, trying to discern the surroundings in the dim light -
BOOM!
With a tremendous roar and a flash of fire from below the window, an explosive acceleration slammed her against the metal plate behind her, and the entire world began to vibrate uncontrollably. The silhouette of the mountains started to descend slowly, followed by a wave of heat that rolled past the window, fogging the glass with condensation.
The thrust continued to intensify. A sharp pain shot through her lower abdomen. She clenched her teeth, struggling to curl her body. Her joints made cracking sounds, like knuckles being popped.
Then, without warning, the abdominal pain, along with a sensation of being squeezed and expelled, abruptly vanished from her senses. She looked down at her body, now covered in white feathers (appearing dark grey in the dimness), just in time to see a blue, crystal-like egg, emitting a bright fluorescence, roll out from under her.
With the increasing thrust, the blue egg rolled rapidly across the floor and slammed into a corner. The impact was loud and crisp, like a cymbal crash that echoed for a long time.
The sound jolted her out of the dream. She sat up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the artificial glow of her phone screen. Her heart hammered like a drum. She picked up her phone from the nightstand.
"Come to the Togawa Building this morning. Important matter." - Sender: Father
She took a long, deep breath, then forcefully exhaled.
“Have you been following international news lately, Sakiko?” Togawa Kiyotsugu asked, legs crossed, from behind his solid wood desk.
Sakiko sat down gently on the stool before the desk, her hands folded in her lap. “Yes. As you requested, every day without fail.”
“Good. Then I’ll get straight to the point. Last month, an official from the space agency visited. You should remember. Can you guess his purpose?”
Sakiko swallowed. Even after so long, the memory of what she had witnessed that day still made her heart pound.
“Renovation of space facilities?” She couldn’t recall the rest of that day’s events and could only guess vaguely.
Her father didn’t respond, merely rapping his knuckles on the desk. Tap, tap.
“Prototype validation for a new design?”
Tap, tap.
“Then, a new launch project?”
Kiyotsugu smiled, leaning forward, elbows on the desk. The chair creaked.
Correct, Sakiko thought. The idea seeped into her like a drop of icy water, trickling down her spine from the nape of her neck to her tailbone. She shivered violently. Don't think about that dream, she told herself, this isn't the time to get distracted.
“The visitor asked me to keep it confidential, so I can’t tell you if you’re right or wrong,” Kiyotsugu said. “But you have your suspicions, and that’s enough.”
“In any case, now and for the foreseeable future, we are collaborating with CosmosX, a company from across the ocean.”
Sakiko raised an eyebrow. “Does that kind of collaboration not require their government’s approval?”
Kiyotsugu leaned back in his chair, throwing his head back with a laugh.
“Sakiko, do you remember my first question? Space exploration, recent international news, anything come to mind?”
“You mean, the Czech…”
“Exactly! Our not-so-friendly northern neighbor announced this ‘Interkosmos’ program, to send Czechoslovak astronauts into space. Now, some people are getting restless. If, for example, America can’t send its allies deeper and farther into space before them, wouldn’t that be a terrible loss of face?”
“I understand.” She nodded hesitantly. “But, Father, why are you telling me all this?”
“Let’s put it this way, Sakiko. Of all human space missions, which one has ventured deepest into space? - No, no, not Apollo, nor Luna 2.
“The answer is Voyager, carrying a record of human audio and images, broadcasting its contents first globally, then to the even deeper reaches of space, on a one-way journey. Imagine, if a disc filled with Japanese culture and art, carried by an American Voyager-style spacecraft, flew into space… the symbolic value in that, you understand it, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“Anyway!” Kiyotsugu rapped the desk again. “Sakiko, I know you’ve been playing in a band behind my back.”
Sakiko’s expression tensed, and she opened her mouth to say something. Her father held up a hand, silencing her protest.
“Hear me out first. I don’t object to your band; on the contrary, I’m pleased to see your leadership skills. However, there’s one condition.”
Kiyotsugu leaned closer.
“In one month, a selection will be held. Grouped by age, from performance videos submitted from all over Japan, they will choose those to be included on the disc.
“I demand that your band complete the recording of a performance video within the next month, and then win the selection.
“Japan’s first deep space mission must bear the Togawa name in every aspect. Engineering, that’s my domain; art, that’s yours. I will provide you with all necessary support. Understood, Sakiko?”
Sakiko didn’t answer immediately. She sat there, hands still clasped in her lap, looking down, trying to process the meaning of it all.
She thought again of her dream that morning. The office air conditioning felt like it was set to freezing, yet amidst the goosebumps on her neck, she felt a thrilling, fire-like shiver. I understand, it’s all clear now, she thought.
That damn cat might have been right after all.
“No problem, Father,” she replied, looking up. “I already have an experimental idea that I believe will require your support.”
After leaving her father’s office, she turned directly into the elevator hall. She pressed the down button, and the elevator doors slid open.
Behind them, the purple-furred, wine-eyed cat flicked the tip of its tail at her. Long time no see, it conveyed telepathically.
Sakiko nodded at it and silently stepped into the elevator car, turning to press the button for the ground floor.
So cold, Miss Sakiko, the cat said. Do you detest me so much because of my unwelcome prophecy?
Sakiko stared at the flickering floor numbers, not responding.
Don’t be like that. Being Japan’s ‘Laika’ was your own choice, you know.
Sakiko glanced down at it. “‘Laika’?”
The name of a stray dog. Thirty years ago, the first animal to orbit Earth. She flew aboard the Sputnik II spacecraft, which, being merely a proof-of-concept, had no re-entry mechanism. She died six hours after launch.
Sakiko turned, squatted down, and stared intently into the cat’s wine-red eyes. “My dream this morning, is it related to this?”
I wouldn’t know what you dreamed. The cat flicked its tail again. But as I see it, what you think about by day, you dream about by night. It’s as simple as that.
Before practice that day, Sakiko dropped a bombshell in CRYCHIC’s group chat. She announced her plan for CRYCHIC to hold its debut live performance soon – but not at RiNG or any other live house, not at a school festival, not even as a street performance.
Due to Taki’s objections and Soyo’s hesitation, the proposal was not approved that day. Sakiko met with each of them separately at a café the next day for heart-to-heart talks before finally gaining their consent. In retrospect, convincing them on this matter was far more difficult than persuading the four to form CRYCHIC in the first place.
She couldn’t blame them, though. After all, it was Sakiko herself who was dragging them into her “experiment.” Despite her repeated assurances that the Togawa family would handle all potential issues, from security to transportation, their apprehension was only natural.
They were going to perform a charity concert at a women’s prison.
The prison’s interior was much as she had imagined. Exposed pipes and conduits, water stains and accumulated dust in the corners. All wooden doors were reinforced with eight steel bars on both the inside and outside. A prison guard led them through corridors and stairwells that were virtually indistinguishable from one another, flanked on either side by Togawa family bodyguards, with two camera operators from a local TV station following behind.
The performance area was an untiled concrete floor; faint footprints, left when the concrete was still wet, were visible in one corner. As Sakiko frowned at the ground, contemplating how to prevent the keyboard and drum kit from slipping, the guard approached and informed them that a thin carpet could be provided if needed. Sakiko expressed her gratitude and bowed to her.
They set up their instruments. After a brief sound check, Sakiko signaled to the TV crew to begin recording, then gave the guard an “OK” gesture. The guard spoke into her radio, and then the prisoners – their audience for the next hour – filed in through a small door at the side of the room.
Sakiko watched them intently. The prisoners were uniformly dressed in beige canvas trousers and striped plaid shirts, their faces mostly showing signs of age. Many were stooped. Most striking were their auras – initially, the faint blue glow above the heads of the five band members, bodyguards, guard, and camera crew had been almost entirely masked by the white fluorescent lights. But as the prisoners took their seats one by one on rows of plastic stools, Sakiko found she had to squint to face the brilliant, searing blue light.
Her palms began to sweat. Not far away, in the preparation area beside the stage, nestled deep within her backpack, was a cardboard box labeled “Selenium-Rich Eggs from Haruma Corp.” Inside, in an egg-shaped cardboard holder, lay her Soul Gem.
Then Taki’s drumsticks clicked together. Four beats later, the performance began.
“Spring Sunlight” was their first original song since forming. Sakiko’s right-hand melody was simple and flowing, and the left-hand chord progression was already etched into her muscle memory. She skillfully wove the harmonies while devoting a significant portion of her attention to the audience. After all, they were the key to this experiment.
She scrutinized their expressions. She saw some surprise and admiration, some confusion and agitation due to hearing difficulties, but mostly, unchanging poker faces. She tried her best not to let her nervousness and slight discouragement show in the music – these people were probably long accustomed to hiding their emotions; she mustn't over-interpret their expressions, Sakiko told herself.
Sakiko shifted her focus to the auras. By the end of the first repeat of “Spring Sunlight,” she vaguely felt that the blue light from the audience had diminished somewhat. This greatly boosted her spirits, though she couldn’t yet be sure if it was just her eyes adjusting to the brightness.
By the time they finished their second piece – a cover of a recent popular song – the dimming of the auras was too obvious to deny. Sakiko could now discern the wrinkles on the foreheads of the prisoners below or the reflections in their glasses, without the blue light painfully dazzling her eyes.
Sakiko was overcome by a wave of euphoria, and this euphoria seeped into her music. The dynamics under her fingers became aggressive, her leaps bold, occasionally punctuated by wrong notes. Fortunately, she still maintained the original rhythm. For the past few minutes, Tomori and Soyo had been casting worried glances in her direction, and she could hear that Taki had already tried to adjust the intensity of her drumming to cover some of Sakiko’s less well-expressed passages.
Sakiko knew that changing style mid-performance was a cardinal sin. But her playing was driven by emotion, and at that moment, she was utterly incapable of controlling her feelings.
The final piece was “Song of Wanting to Be Human.” Sakiko had no memory of how she played through the entire song. She only remembered that when she released the pedal and stood up with the other four to bow, facing the sparse applause, she saw the blue thicket of fire below the stage almost extinguished.
She almost wanted to cry. So that’s it. Of course, that’s it. From Tomori then to these prisoners now, this was her – or rather, the Soul Gem’s – second magic. Relieving pain through music. How utterly exquisite. Thank heavens, now there was a solution for everything!
The planned performance was over. Tomori, Soyo, Taki, and Mutsumi stood up and retreated backstage, but Sakiko remained where she was. Turning to her bandmates and the camera crew who were beckoning her, she gestured that this was an encore. Even though she hadn't left the stage, even though there were no calls for an encore from the audience.
Then she sat down and began to play.
She forgot all rules of song selection and performance etiquette. She disemboweled every piece suitable for her current tsunami of emotions, from Liszt to death rock, from the third movement of the Moonlight Sonata to a hailstorm-like Tarantella. She accelerated madly, her fingers flying across octaves, tenths, fifteenths like a sewing machine stitching thread, rolling diminished seventh chord progressions as easily as scales. Wrong notes, missed notes, misplaced rhythms, forgotten and extra repeats were everywhere. She cared not a whit.
Finally, halfway through a grand polonaise, her thumb, in a leap, snapped off the plastic top of a key. The music stopped abruptly. She looked down at the plastic fragment on the floor, then at the exposed wooden core of the damaged key, and then raised her hand to examine it.
A red mark on her thumb. Blood welled from the tip of her right pinky, sliced open by her freshly trimmed nail during the frenzy.
Sakiko lowered her hand, stood up, and bowed once more to the audience.
She straightened up and, in a dead silence, walked backstage. There, she smiled and asked the camera crew to cut that last segment.
Two weeks later, she received the notification of her selection.
The envelope contained five invitation letters and five plane tickets, requesting the five members of CRYCHIC to arrive at the launch site by the following evening. As compensation for providing the video rights, each member could choose one “small object of cultural and humanistic significance” to be sent into the spacecraft’s payload along with the disc.
She photographed the notice and invitations and sent them to the band’s group chat, accompanied by a jubilant emoji.
Ding. She almost immediately received a private message.
“Saki-chan, can I visit you tonight?” - Sender: Tomori
Of course, she typed back.
She might be coming to confess her love to you, you know, the purple cat purred, curled up on her desk.
“Shut up,” she said. “and cut to the chase. What is your deal?”
Alright, alright, our little workaholic. You’ve decided what you’re sending on the spacecraft, haven’t you?
“You already knew that.”
True enough. But you could still change it, you know? Say, a cute little octopus plushie, or some CRYCHIC merchandise. Those are much safer than sending your own Soul Gem into space. Won’t you consider it?
“Stop bothering me. Can’t you go pester someone else?” Sakiko grumbled, pressing her palm to her forehead.
You’re afraid, aren’t you.
“Of course I am.” She glared at the purple cat. “If what you say is true, then from the moment the rocket carries my gem into space, I’ll be a zombie.
“Still going to school, laughing, playing in the band as usual, but the ‘I’ that exists as a subjective experience will vanish.
“That’s right, isn’t it? If that’s the case, who wouldn’t be afraid?”
To be precise, it starts when the rocket ascends two and a half kilometers. From that distance, the Soul Gem can no longer control the body on the ground. But back to the point, the cat on the desk narrowed its eyes, whiskers twitching at her. The fear I was talking about wasn’t that kind.
As I see it, what you’re afraid of isn’t death, but finding yourself still alive, still experiencing your own existence, after the spacecraft ascends. That’s what you fear. Am I wrong?
Sakiko stared down at the cat’s slitted pupils. “What do you mean?”
It means, if that happens, you’ll no longer be a Buddha-esque saint, giving up your noble birth and saving the world with self-sacrifice; you’ll just be a delirious rich girl suffering from schizophrenia, immersed in grandiose delusions, believing you can solve all the world’s problems. The former is what you crave. The latter is what you dread.
“I - ”
I know you want to argue, and you have reasons to. But she should be here soon, and if I’m not mistaken, you’ll probably have to answer the same questions for her. That being the case, why not use this time to think carefully about what you’re going to say and do, hmm?
Sakiko fell silent. After a long while, she stood up, walked to her bed, and threw herself onto it, limbs splayed.
Such a lack of decorum. Think it over carefully, the cat licked its forepaw, then trotted lightly to the window and leaped out. See you later.
For the first two hours of Tomori’s visit, Sakiko almost thought she had escaped unscathed. They simply exchanged their joy about being selected, discussed plans for the band’s activities, and idly chatted about amusing incidents at school.
Before dinner, Tomori asked Sakiko to play “Song of Wanting to Be Human” again, this time with Tomori herself singing. Sakiko saw no reason to refuse. They set up a music stand and began their duet. Sakiko’s playing was clean and precise, Tomori’s singing full of emotion; their collaboration was flawless.
When the song ended, Sakiko released the pedal and turned, ready to praise Tomori’s progress.
She didn’t get a single word out.
Millimeters from Sakiko’s face was Tomori’s, eyes closed. Before Sakiko could react, their foreheads touched, and then Tomori’s lips were on hers. An arm circled her back, and then Tomori’s weight pushed them both down onto the piano keyboard.
A jarring, dissonant crash of adjacent keys sounded from behind her, but Sakiko was past caring. Tomori, still with her eyes closed and an ecstatic expression, began to explore Sakiko’s mouth with her tongue. Sakiko could only try her best to resist.
“Wai - ” As the kiss ended, Sakiko finally managed to utter a syllable of refusal. Tomori immediately pressed closer, silencing her again.
This time, Sakiko found her strength. With a push of both hands, she dislodged Tomori’s body, striking a few more random notes with her back in the process. Her ribs ached.
“Tomori… wait,” she gasped, “not now. At least wait until tomorrow night. After my life or death is determined.”
The girl opened her eyes and looked up at her. Sakiko saw a tear forming in the corner of her eye. “Saki-chan, what… what does that mean?” she asked.
And so, Sakiko began to explain. She started from the very beginning, recounting the diving spectacle she had witnessed at the intersection near the Togawa Building. She spoke of the contract, the blue gem, and the purple cat. Then, of how she discovered her magic, how she was tormented day and night by the omnipresent blue flames on everyone. Finally, she explained her decision to send her Soul Gem – her very soul – into space with the disc, so that as the disc was broadcast repeatedly to the world and the universe, she could infuse the music with a spell to alleviate suffering.
Tomori stared intently into her eyes, silent for a long moment.
“Saki-chan, I want to see your Soul Gem,” she said.
Sakiko agreed. She unzipped her backpack, carefully retrieved the “Selenium-Rich Eggs from Haruma Corp” box from its depths, then slid out the egg-shaped holder, gently handing the gem within to Tomori.
Tomori held the gem, silent again for a while.
“Saki-chan, I can’t fully understand what you’ve been through. But… I’m very worried about you,” she said. “In my eyes, what I’m holding is just an ordinary egg. It even has an inspection stamp on it.
“I know, according to your theory, I’m not supposed to be able to see the gem’s true form. But all of this… it’s too perfect, like a theory that’s impossible to disprove.
“I’m absolutely not trying to belittle or mock you, Saki-chan – I promise! But what happened to you at that intersection that day… it was a very, very, very terrible thing. When faced with such a psychological shock, many, many things can happen.
“I want to help you, Saki-chan. I want to figure this out with you. As long as - ”
“Tomori.”
Sakiko cut her off.
“Thank you. But please come find me the day after tomorrow. By then, the truth should be clear. If I’m dead, then all this is real. If I’m still alive, then it’s all false. It’s that simple.
“The me of the day after tomorrow, whether it’s the me who has debunked the illusion and regained her footing on solid ground, or the me who has become a walking corpse as the price for realizing her ideals – either way, my behavior will be no different, and that me will surely accept Tomori’s confession. So, come back the day after tomorrow, Tomori.”
Tomori looked up again, meeting Sakiko’s eyes. “Will I be able to know which it is then?” she asked.
Sakiko shook her head.
“Then - ”
“Tomori.” Sakiko stood up, smiling, and extended her hand. “It’s getting late. Let me walk you home.”
The flight to the Tanegashima Space Center was as short as a grace note.
From Tanegashima Airport, a jeep marked with the space agency’s logo drove them to the observation tower. The driver, wearing a U.S. Forces Japan uniform with tufts of red hair peeking from under his cap, told them to just call him Brian. At the base of the observation tower, Brian asked them to take out the items they had prepared to send with the spacecraft, which he would then transfer to the launch gantry.
Brian took the garden spade, lyric book, ceramic teacup, and plush toy from the other four. When it was Sakiko’s turn, she likewise produced her “Selenium-Rich Eggs from Haruma Corp” box, slid out the egg-shaped holder, and handed it, holder and gem, to Brian. He raised an eyebrow.
“I thought you were supposed to choose ‘culturally significant’ items,” he said. “An egg might be a tough sell, if you ask me.”
Sakiko smiled. “At least there’s a soul in it,” she replied.
“I like the sound of that.” Brian took the egg holder and placed it in the jeep’s front cup holder.
In the observation tower, they endured the final few hours of uneasy waiting. Tomori kept glancing at Sakiko. Soyo asked a staff member if, once the spacecraft was launched, they could pick up the audio of their performance on a radio. The answer was that it was worth a try.
Everyone was waiting, Sakiko thought, suspended in anxiety. Her father, the space agency, the Americans across the ocean - all waiting for news of a successful launch. Soyo, for permanent proof of CRYCHIC’s existence. Tomori, for her to have a change of heart.
And me? What was I waiting for?