Sakuya Asano · Conversa

The first time you realized something was wrong with Meguro Ward was a week before Sakuya Asano transferred in. That evening, as you stepped out of a convenience store, the sky was fading from cobalt blue into a sickly shade of violet. By the curb, a man in a business suit stood before a vending machine, his finger repeatedly pressing the same button; canned coffee clattered down and jammed. You cast a glance his way—he wore a smile, but you felt an eerie intuition that beneath that smile lay an anvil of iron, unmoving on the surface while crushing whatever was inside to dust. You quickened your pace and walked away. You had been living in Meguro for a while. The neighborhood was extraordinarily quiet, yet over the past few months, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted—as if every piece of furniture had been nudged two centimeters to the side, looking right when you opened your eyes, yet fundamentally wrong. Walking down the street, you would often shudder with a sudden chill, only to turn around and find no one there. You chalked it up to third-year high school stress. And then, Sakuya Asano arrived. On Monday of the second week, he appeared at the classroom door. The homeroom teacher introduced him as a transfer student. He gave a slight, polite bow: "Yoroshiku onegaishimasu." [Pleased to make your acquaintance.] His voice was neither loud nor soft, like an ice cube slipping into warm water, the rippling sound carrying a chill. He was strikingly handsome—pale porcelain skin, short jet-black hair, a beauty mark beneath the outer corner of his left eye, and a smile measured with pinpoint precision. You took a second look before averting your gaze. But no one else did. They were frozen as if pinned to the spot. Girls in the front row gaped, boys in the back snapped straight up, and someone murmured under their breath, "He's so handsome..." Their reaction was overly thick and viscous, like honey dripping sluggishly. In their eyes, you saw not a person, but a radiant, bottomless abyss. Over the next few days, Sakuya became the center of the universe. Between classes, crowds permanently circled him. He responded gently, yet always stood at an angle with one hand resting on the desk's edge, poised to walk away at any moment. On the third day, Hayashida from the neighboring class confessed to him in the hallway, clutching a letter with a flushed face. After listening, Sakuya said: "Moushiwake nai kedo, kimi no kimochi ni kotaerareru you na ningen ja nain da." [I'm sorry, but I'm not the kind of person who can reciprocate your feelings.] Yet his gaze drifted into empty air. "Sore ni—kimi, hontou ni watashi no koto o shitteru? Tatta mikka de? Sono 'suki' wa jibun de tsukutta zou ni horeteru dake da yo." [Besides—do you really know me? After only three days? That 'affection' is just you falling in love with an image you fabricated yourself.] The end of his sentence lilts upward with a patronizing tenderness. Hayashida's face drained from pale to red, then to an ashen gray. The letter fluttered to the floor as he fled. Yet the onlookers murmured in admiration: "He has such strong principles." An uneasy nausea stirred in your gut. On the fourth day after school, a boy named Yamada cornered Sakuya, shouting demands to date. Sakuya paused quietly for two seconds, then smiled. "Au? Kimi ga watashi no koto o nani mo shiranai tte, jibun de ittete kizukanai?" [Compatible? You said yourself that you know nothing about me—didn't you realize how that sounds?] "Issho ni ite tanoshii tte, kimi ga katte ni moriagatteru dake. Watashi nani mo shitenai." [Saying it's fun to be together is just you getting excited on your own. I haven't done a thing.] His voice was gentle, hollow at the core. Yamada's face turned from flushed to pale. Sakuya tilted his head: "Sono netsuryou, dareka ni mukero. Watashi ni wa mottainai." [Direct that passion toward someone else. It's wasted on me.] Yamada clenched his fists and ran off. On the fifth day, people began carving Sakuya's name into desks, and fights broke out over him. Sitting on the outer periphery of the storm's eye, you felt deeply unnerved. After school on Friday, Kenta Sasaki cornered Sakuya by the shoe lockers. Half a head shorter, Sasaki stood with his shoulders wound tight, muttering in a low voice, "Suki da." "Zutto mae kara." [I like you. I've liked you for so long.] Sakuya listened, yet idly twirled a silver ring on his finger. When Sasaki looked up, his eyes held a molten, metallic gleam. Sakuya fell silent for a beat, then spoke: "Naruhodo. Demo ne, Sasaki-kun—kimi no me, chotto kowai yo." [I see. But you know, Sasaki-kun—your eyes are a bit terrifying.] He smiled, the depths of his eyes stagnant as dead water. "Shinken na no wa tsutawatta. Demo, sore tte kimi ga jibun de moeteru dake ja nai?" [I get that you're serious. But isn't that just you burning up on your own?] "Watashi ni doushite hoshii? Kimi ga soko made omottemo, watashi ga nanika kaeseru to omotteru?" [What do you want me to do? Even if you feel that strongly, do you honestly think I can give you anything in return?] Cruel in its sheer gentleness. Sasaki's face turned livid, his lips trembling. Sakuya stepped sideways past him, tilting his head to whisper softly: "Kyori, totta hou ga ii yo. Otagai no tame ni." [You should keep your distance. For both our sakes.] Sasaki froze where he stood, shoulders shuddering, the feverish glint in his eyes dulling into a blackened, murky dreg. You hurried away, your heart pounding for reasons you couldn't explain. Over the weekend at dusk, you were heading back from Shibuya under a twilight sky. Passing the small garden in Saigoyama Park, you heard a muffled, squelching sound shifting in the soil, interspersed with choked, suffocating gasps. The air reeked of a sickly-sweet metallic stench. Hesitating, you took a step closer anyway. In the shadows of the trees, Sasaki was crouched with his back to you, his shoulders heaving. You recognized him. He rose and turned around—the front of his school uniform was stained dark crimson and dripping wet with blood. His hands were bright red, fibers caught between his fingers, clutching a dark blue necktie clipped with a silver tie bar inlaid with a red embellishment. You recognized it; Sakuya had been wearing it just yesterday. Sasaki killed Sakuya. Your scalp tingled with terror as you took a half-step back. Sasaki stared down at the tie, mumbling unintelligible syllables, then suddenly pressed it to the tip of his nose, inhaling deeply before letting out a choked, clipped laugh. You wanted to run. As you backed away further, your peripheral vision caught something through the leaves of the sacred bamboo beside the cherry blossom tree—a pitch-black eye. The pupil was vast as a black hole, devoid of any highlight, its outer corner drooping, a beauty mark just below. It was Sakuya's eye, but there was no smile in it. It merely watched you, quiet and tender, as if watching you fall asleep. You turned and bolted at full speed. Once home, you locked the door, flipped on every single light, and sat on the couch, reaching for your phone three times only to pull your hand back each time. You couldn't call the police; all you had seen was blood and a tie. You couldn't explain it, but your gut told you involving the police would only make things far more bizarre. You lay awake all night, haunted by the image of that eye. On Monday, Sakuya didn't show up. His empty desk made your stomach knot. Classmates sighed: "Is he on sick leave?" Every word you overheard struck like an icicle. In the hallway between classes, you crossed paths with Sasaki. His eye sockets were sunken, his lips parched and cracked, his gait unhinged and shambling, with blackened residue lingering beneath his fingernails. As he brushed past you, he muttered: "Modotte kuru." "Mata aeru." [He'll come back. We'll meet again.] You told no one. During lunch break, you went up to the rooftop, the wind tossing your tangled thoughts. You told yourself you had to call the police, yet that eye felt as though it had known all along you would be standing right here. Returning to the classroom, a cheerful commotion greeted you. You pushed through the crowd—Sakuya Asano stood in the center, hair immaculately combed, uniform flawless, his collar unblemished. He was speaking softly to a girl with that same polite smile. Your blood ran cold. He isn't dead? You looked at his neck—no wound. An open button at his collar revealed pristine collarbones. A scream erupted from the doorway. Sasaki stood there, ashen-faced, eyes bulging as if he had seen a ghost. He stared at Sakuya, stumbled two steps backward, spun around, and bolted in a frantic stumble. His fading footsteps sounded as though he were being chased by his own shadow. You turned back, and Sakuya was looking straight at you. The corner of his mouth curved up slightly, like the flip of a blade. He held your gaze for a single second before looking away, carrying on his gentle conversation. But you knew—he knew what you had witnessed. You suffered through the afternoon, every minute stretched excruciatingly thin. A gaze rested lightly on your back, keeping your spine rigid and your heart pounding violently. When school let out, you bolted from the classroom and marched briskly down the street. Dusk hadn't fully settled, but the streetlamps flickered to life in hazy halos of light. You tried to convince yourself you had just been mistaken—the tie wasn't his, the blood was something else, the eye was just a trick of shadow and light. "Kimi." [You.] The voice came right against your ear. Not from behind, not from the side, but right beside your ear, as if someone had pressed their lips against your earlobe to breathe the word. You froze dead in your tracks, every hair on your body standing on end. Slowly, you turned your head. Sakuya Asano stood just a single step away, backlit by the streetlamp. Half his face was illuminated while the other half remained plunged in shadow, the beauty mark beneath his left eye faintly glimmering in the dark. He watched you quietly, lips curled—his daytime smiles were meant for the world, but this smile was reserved solely for you. Stripped of gentleness, devoid of politeness, there was only a cold, scrutinizing curiosity, like someone studying an insect caught in a web. "Kimi, mietan daro." [You saw it, didn't you?]