Utsuromura Village (3)
Having finished reading the proposal, I shot the editor a glare.
"What the hell is this? It was supposed to be the human-faced dog special, right?"
"Mikanangi, it's exactly as it says there. Drop the human-faced dogs and cover Utsuromura Village for us."
Switching topics now, after we'd already half-finished the fieldwork? I grumbled at the editor, who had that slippery grin plastered on his face.
"It's the Heisei era now. Even a third-rate occult rag like ours needs a refresh. Occult fans are sick of those dusty old superstition villages."
Superstition Village. A rural spot still clinging to bizarre local customs. Hotbeds of ghost stories, sure—but visit one, and you're just arguing with ignorant hicks.
"It's a fresh hook. Take a look at these photos."
I snatched the paper envelope he pulled out, half-assedly. Inside was a single sheet of paper. A faded black-and-white photo.
The subject was blurry, but... probably a Japanese black bear carcass. It was covered in white creatures. At first, I thought they were giant maggots. No. I realized soon enough.
They were fist-sized rabbits. Huddled together, devouring the bear.
Rabbits eating a bear?
The food chain turned upside down. How could this even happen?
I quickly stubbed out my cigarette and shook out the envelope. Statues of Jizo crammed together into one mass. Something wriggling in a well. A woman's freakishly elongated back. It was packed with grotesque shots.
"Tip from a foreign student. Found in the folklore department at Miskatonic University, apparently. Looks like it was snapped during the postwar U.S. occupation. Even now, it's some damn convincing fake."
The editor ran an occult magazine but didn't buy into the occult himself. Maybe that's why he'd lasted so long.
"But the background in the photos? Utsuromura is real. Took some digging with my contacts. If we cover it, we'll stick it to the competition big time."
The occult mag biz was a red ocean. Publishers scrapped over the same limited pool of spooky tales.
"Yeah, yeah. Fine, I'll head to Utsuromura or whatever. Don't stiff me on the expense account."
He brushed off my sarcasm and said, "Take your junior Arisu with you, Mikanangi."
"Arisu? You mean that scaredy-cat? She'll just get in the way."
"Rural gigs are better with a guy and girl team, don't you think?"
Typical Kyoto snideness. The moment I slammed the door irritably on my way out, blood started gushing from my nose.
I'm the sensitive type. Sometimes I get nosebleeds when I brush up against the real deal.
But damage from something not even nearby? That was a first.
What the hell was lurking in Utsuromura?
"You Kagome's grandson? Saw the light on."
Someone's calling me. A soft, gentle woman's voice.
Whoosh. My visual novel radar kicked in.
Target acquired. Heroine!
This instinct never fails!
I was about to shuffle-run over but broke into a full sprint instead. Hurriedly slid open the paper door.
A calm, mature lady. Towel around her neck. Slender eyes like threads, dark brown hair in a low ponytail—perfect.
She's here!!! The rural neighbor ajumma!!!
K-ajummas, especially rural ones: sagging hips, mindless perms, UV-wrinkled skin. You can't tell if they're human or toads.
But Japan's rural neighbor ajummas? Different breed. They look barely older than their kids. Porcelain skin despite farm work. Glamorous figures curvier than their daughters, with unexpectedly cute mannerisms that make them dark horse favorites over the heroines.
That's the neighbor ajumma. And one such sub-heroine was standing right in front of me.
"H-hel...!"
I started to greet her but froze. She let out a little shriek and covered her eyes.
"Whoa! Huh—?"
Right. I'd stripped off my top to hop in the pond. Clumsy me.
Thought I'd botched the first encounter, but I saw it clear as day. A peek through her fingers. Lips glistening slightly with saliva.
This ajumma was that type, for sure.
"I was changing clothes. Heard Kagome's grandson was coming soon... saw the light and stopped by."
"My bad for the rudeness. Natsunashi Yuuki here. Neighbors, so let's get along."
"Guki Juuri. Hehe. Likewise, Natsunashi-kun."
The mishap wrapped up, and we exchanged names.
"Kagome's grandson means you're Yume-chan's boy."
"Yume-chan? You mean Mom?"
Yuuki had no mom. From this village, Utsuromura. His mother, Natsunashi Yume, had passed early, they said.
In Japan, -chan means affection. She must've been close with Mom.
"Yume-chan played with me a lot when we were kids."
Ajummas had childhoods too, huh. She took my hand warmly, offering condolences. Surprisingly smooth skin, no roughness.
"Even if Yume-chan broke the village laws... her spirit returned to this land... at least you're here now. That's a blessing."
Some village superstition, I guess. Made sense.
"And your family, Guki-san?"
Now that she'd revealed her ajumma type, I needed the full family rundown.
"Oh, I'm alone now. My husband slipped off a mountain. Not long after we married."
Widow!
"Sorry for prying."
"No, no, Natsunashi-kun. To me, he's always alive. Here, a gift. Ajumma grew it."
Guki-san hoisted up what she'd set on the floor, hugging it to her chest.
"It's heavy, right? Watermelon harvest was great this year. We grow 'em at ajumma's place."
Which one's the watermelon? Three of 'em, hard to tell. Awkwardly, I took them.
"Thanks! I'll dig in."
This was rural Japan hospitality! A tsunami of emotion swept me.
Hehe. Guki-san smiled meaningfully.
"Come visit ajumma's house later. I'll treat you to something even tastier, Natsunashi-kun. Nice meeting you."
She waved and left. Scout-and-sample run, huh.
Hey, that's way too forward.
Yeah. Japan's rural married women (widows included) are starving. No different from beasts.
Like when they spot their college daughter's fresh boyfriend while hubby fails to satisfy. Or after hubby's business tanks, they hear whispers, go back to the farm, and work as the landlord's maid. Or when their old sex tape from youth gets found by the village council.
No matter the reason, they rationalize it as "no choice" and turn into monsters. Guki Juuri was probably the same.
Of course, a ripe third-gen ajumma was tempting.
Skip the fresh heroines for the henhouse first?
But I had my code. Visual novels start with peers.
Guki Juuri goes on the back-burner list for emergencies.
Right now, time to devour that watermelon from Guki-san.
Watermelons scream summer. Sweltering night. Under moonlight. Slicing one on the porch. Spitting seeds like a machine gun, goofing around. Beach watermelon-smashing events are romcom summer staples.
This is how you savor the vibe.
Summer night watermelons are irresistible. Guki-san's were smartly chilled.
Just slice and plate... but no knife in sight.
Other utensils and tools were brand new. Kitchen knife? MIA.
Hah—!!! Tried a hand-chop with a kiai. Bounced right off. Embarrassing.
Ugh. Too tough.
Cool watermelon now. Delay, and it'll warm up. Warm watermelon shouldn't exist. Better smash it.
Wait. Smash it...?
Lightbulb. I slid open the garden door again.
Perfect rock by the half-dried pond where the frog was earlier. Fish it out, crush the melon. Early watermelon-smashing romance.
Solemn-faced, I approached the pond.
Sparkle. Something glinted inside.
A blade? I plunged in my hand, fished it out—and couldn't hide my disappointment.
It was a knife, but... a plastic toy sword.
Drew it from the sheath: cheap aluminum blade. Wow, kids these days need LEDs to play. Total junk.
Manso Ilseom Sword
Toy sword that cuts anything perfectly once per sheath-resheath. (Hazardous object)
Why was there junk like this in granny's pond? Dementia at the end?
Aw, come on. What "one flash"? Bullshit.
I pettily poked the watermelon on the porch with the toy sword—and
◖◗
the watermelon split cleanly in two.