Chapter Text
The room was filled with the sound of popcorn and the quiet hum of the television. Matikanefukukitaru lay there, her gaze bored and apathetic, devoid of her usual spark, without any fortune-telling, without any desire—as if her life had been reduced to this single moment. Soft, almost imperceptible sounds came from behind her. Matikanefukukitaru paid them no mind; she didn't care. She just kept staring at the screen, eating popcorn.
"Interesting movie?"
The voice from behind was quiet, disinterested in what was happening, making the question sound like an act of courtesy. Fuku knew this voice, it was maddeningly familiar, but she couldn't place it, and she didn't want to think about it.
"No."
Fuku's voice was lifeless and cold.
"A pity. The plot is simple and gives food for thought."
Fuku wanted to object, but she quickly suppressed her indignation, squinting at the screen as if trying to physically see the meaning. A cheap, old, and rather nonsensical romantic detective story was playing on TV, though it could barely be called a detective story. The main character was a private detective working for an agency. The plot began with her investigating a mysterious murder, with supporting characters: a witness who was a close friend of the detective, a police officer helping with the investigation, and one of the suspects, who had a thuggish persona. And all three had feelings for the heroine.
"What do you think about the heroine?"
Fuku's interlocutor suddenly reminded her of his presence, pulling her out of her thoughts.
"She's... weird? I don't know how to describe it. She thinks she's a mediocre friend and constantly worries that she's a bad detective too. Yet she burns with altruism, even though every time she tries to help, she only makes things worse. Such a cheap plot device, drama for drama's sake."
Saying this, Fuku seemed to grow more irritated with each word; she really didn't understand the heroine.
"Well, such insecurity is quite understandable. Her family consists of hereditary police officers, but she couldn't become one and went into detective work. With her altruism, she tries to convince herself she's not useless, as if trying to prove her family can be proud of her despite taking a different path. Her whole journey is about finding her family's recognition on this other path."
"It still looks like unjustified drama that gets too much attention. What you're saying is only mentioned in passing. Seriously, throughout the whole movie, they show her self-flagellation but don't properly reveal the reasons for it, even though she's a decent detective."
Her interlocutor chuckled at this remark, muttering, "What irony," to which Fuku paid no mind; she didn't want to solve riddles right now.
"In my opinion, what they gave too little attention to is the relationship between the detective and her boss."
"What about them?"
Matikanefukukitaru slightly turned her head, stopping to listen to the film, expecting some revelation.
"Well, look: she's the only employee, yet she clearly considers this normal, thinking she just got lucky to be hired, not understanding that her boss needs her just as much as she needs him, because she's the only one who believed in him. Their agency survives on their mutual dependence. And the main character satisfies her inferiority complex with this, assuring herself that she's not one of a dozen employees, but the one her boss hired. Yet, they maintain a strictly boss-subordinate relationship until the end, despite the heroine's somewhat fanatical attitude toward her boss."
"Like a priest before her god?"
"Exactly. You always understood me perfectly."
Matikanefukukitaru sighed at this, sinking back into her thoughts.
"I wouldn't say that. Remember last week, you told me it would rain, and I didn't believe you, so I got soaked, and a truck splashed me with mud."
At the memory, Fuku cringed, seeing the image of blinding headlights and a piercing horn. Her own scream and someone else's echoed in her ears, along with the pain of the cold, like a dull blow, and the splashes of dirty water, like...
"Hey, Fuku."
Her interlocutor's voice pulled her out of her thoughts again.
"Don't dwell on it. It happened, but now you understand me better."
Fuku focused on the film again, or at least tried to. Unpleasant images crept into her head, and fatigue dragged her toward emptiness.
"Not time to sleep yet, Fuku. Let's go, take a walk, give yourself one last chance."
Fuku blinked a couple of times. She had no strength to resist, wanting to give in to the temptation to finally sleep. But she didn't want to contradict her interlocutor, so she sluggishly stood up, looking at the floor as if she didn't want to see anything.
Matikanefukukitaru didn't even realize how she ended up outside. Was the air cool? Honestly, she didn't care; she hadn't even put on shoes. She stood by a guardrail on a hilly section of the highway, leaning her hands on it. The stars shone, and their light danced across the milky blue of the night sky. For the first time in a while, she seemed alive, and all thoughts receded, allowing her to focus completely on the stars.
"Beautiful, isn't it? Ever thought that the stars are trying to tell us something with their twinkling?"
Fuku didn't answer, too mesmerized by the sky.
"But they are. And right now, they're speaking of loss and regret."
Regret? Can stars regret anything? Do stars have anything to lose except their shine?
"Regret that another star stops burning. However we think of them, they grieve each time a star fades."
For a moment, it seemed to Fuku that her interlocutor wasn't talking about stars at all.
Ring.
The sound jerked Matikanefukukitaru from her thoughts, fixing her gaze on the source—a payphone.
"Don't want to answer? Maybe someone on the other side is waiting for you?"