your name.

  “What? What’s goin’ on?”

  “Huh? Was there some sort of trouble?”

  “What about the evacuation?”

  Oh no. A moment later, a voice booms from the wireless speakers again.

  “This is Itomori Town Hall.”

  It’s not Saya or her big sister. It’s the middle-aged guy in charge of Town Hall broadcasts, someone I hear every once in a while.

  “We are currently looking into the circumstances surrounding the accident. We request that all residents refrain from panicking. Please stay where you are and wait for further instructions.”

  I lurch forward again.

  They figured out where the broadcast was coming from, and the town hall contacted the school. Saya’s going to get grilled by the teachers. Tesshi will be in big trouble, too, if this keeps up.

  “I repeat: Do not panic. Stay where you are and wait for further instructions.”

  They can’t stay where they are! I have to make them stop this broadcast!

  I leave the prefectural road, plunging from the gap in the asphalt onto a slope that’s overgrown with brush. It’s a shortcut to the town hall. The thorns on the bushes scrape and sting my bare legs. A spiderweb clings to my face, and little winged bugs get into my mouth.

  Finally, I hit the bottom of the slope and run out onto asphalt again. I can’t see anyone around me. There’s only the voice from the wireless broadcast, issuing orders to stay put. As I run, I spit out the saliva that’s pooled in my mouth, wiping my sweaty, tear-streaked, cobweb-sticky face with my sleeve. My legs have gone watery, and I stagger. Even then, I keep running. I’m going downhill, and I’m not losing speed. I’m on a gentle curve, and it’s bringing me closer to the guardrail. Below it is the incline down to the lake.

  “…Huh?!”

  A feeling that something’s wrong makes me look in that direction. The lake shines faintly. I strain my eyes.

  No, it isn’t the water glowing. Its calm surface is reflecting the sky. Like a mirror, the lake reveals two shining tails… Two? I tilt my head to the sky.

  Oh, the comet— It’s finally…

  “…It split!”

  I was channel surfing. Every station jabbered excitedly about the unexpected astronomy show.

  “The comet has definitely split in two.”

  “This wasn’t predicted beforehand, correct?”

  “Still, what an extraordinarily fantastic sight…”

  “Is it safe to conclude that the nucleus of the comet has divided?”

  “The tidal forces don’t seem to have surpassed the Roche limit, so it’s possible that an abnormality of some kind occurred within the comet itself—”

  “As of yet, the National Astronomical Observatory has issued no statement…”

  “A similar case occurred in 1994, when Comet Shoemaker-Levy fell into Jupiter. On that occasion, it split into at least twenty-one fragments…”

  “Do you suppose it’s dangerous?”

  “Comets are masses of ice, so we believe it will melt before it reaches Earth’s surface. Even if it does become a meteorite, in terms of probability, the likelihood that it will fall on an inhabited area is extremely low…”

  “It’s difficult to predict the trajectories of the fragments in real time—”

  “The fact that we’re witnessing such a magnificent astronomical phenomenon, combined with the fact that it happens to be nighttime in Japan, may be the sort of good fortune that comes only once in a thousand years for those of us who are alive in this era—”

  “I’m gonna go look!” I told my dad.

  Without even thinking about it, I jumped up from my chair and rushed down the building’s stairs.

  From a hill in the neighborhood, I watched the night sky.

  It held innumerable sparkling lights, as if another Tokyo had been layered over the sky. It was like a scene from a dream, a view that was simply, utterly beautiful.

  The comet, split in two, brings my own solitude into stark relief as I race through the blacked-out town like a lost child.

  Who, who? Who is he?

  Without taking my eyes off the comet, running as if I’m perpetually falling, I desperately try to think.

  Someone important. Someone I can’t forget. Someone I didn’t want to forget.

  It’s not much farther to Town Hall. Not much longer until that comet becomes a meteorite.

  Who? Who? Who are you?

  I summon the very last of my strength and pick up speed.

  —What’s your name?

  “Aah!” I cry out automatically.

  My toe caught in a pit in the asphalt, and in the moment I realize I’m falling, the ground is already imminent. There’s a shock, a blow to the face. My body tumbles limply. Stabbing pain spreads through me. My field of vision spins, and my consciousness goes black.

  ………………………

  ………………

  ……But.

  Your voice reaches me.

  “So we don’t forget each other after we wake up.”

  That’s what you said then, and…

  “Let’s write down our names.”

  You wrote on my hand.

  On the ground, I open my eyes.

  My pain-blurred vision finds my clenched right hand. I open the fingers, or try to. They’re stiff and wooden. Even so, little by little, I uncurl them.

  There are letters there. I strain my eyes.

  I love you

  For a moment, I stop breathing. I try to stand. My muscles feel weak, and it takes a long time. Even so, I manage to get myself back on my feet, standing on the asphalt. Then I look at my palm one more time. All that’s written there, in nostalgic handwriting I’ve seen somewhere before, are the words I love you.

  …But this isn’t… Tears spill over, and my vision blurs again. Something like a warm wave spreads through me, like a spring that’s welled up with the tears. Still crying, I laugh, talking to you.

  This doesn’t tell me your name.

  Then one more time, I surge forward with all my might.

  I’m not afraid of anything now. I’m not scared of anyone. I’m not lonely anymore.

  I finally understand.

  I’m in love. We’re in love.

  That means we’ll meet again. I’m sure of it.

  And so I’ll live.

  I’ll survive this.

  No matter what happens, even if the stars fall, I will live.

  Right up until it happened, no one managed to predict that the comet’s nucleus would shatter near Earth, or that there was a huge rocky mass buried in its ice-covered core.

  The town happened to be holding its autumn festival that day. The strike occurred at 8:42 PM. The point of impact was near Miyamizu Shrine, where the festival was being held.

  The meteorite instantly destroyed a wide area, centered on the shrine. The crater formed by the impact was nearly half a mile across. Water from the lake beside it rushed in, swallowing the remains of the town. Itomori became the site of the worst meteorite disaster in human history.

  I remember these things as I look down over gourd-shaped New Itomori Lake. It reflects the sun in the midst of a faint morning haze, endlessly serene. It’s hard to imagine that three years ago it was the site of such a tragedy. I can’t quite believe that the comet I saw in the sky over Tokyo did this.

  I’m standing on a rock-littered mountain peak, all alone.

  I was here when I woke up.

  For no real reason, I look at my right hand. There’s a single, half-drawn line on my palm.

  “What is this…?” I mutter quietly.

  “What was I doing way out here?”

  Chapter Eight

  Your Name.

  I have a few habits I’ve unconsciously picked up.

  For example, when I’m feeling rushed and flustered, I touch the back of my neck. When I wash my face, I look into my eyes, reflected in the mirror. Even on mornings when I’m in a hurry, when I step out the front door, I
pause and take a long look at the scenery.

  I also gaze at my palm for no reason.

  “The next station is…Yoyogi…Yoyogi.”

  As the synthetic audio announces the station, I realize I’m doing it again. I look away from my right hand, gazing absently out the window instead. We’re slowing down, and beyond the glass, the crowd of people standing on the platform flows by.

  Abruptly, my whole body breaks out in goose bumps.

  A beat later, I think, It’s her.

  She was standing on the platform.

  The train stops. Even waiting for the doors to open seems to take too long, and I leave the train at a sprint. I turn in a circle, scanning the platform. Several passengers dart suspicious glances at me as they pass, and my head finally cools down.

  I’m not looking for anyone in particular. “She” isn’t anybody.

  This is yet another habit I’ve picked up unawares, and it’s probably a weird one.

  The next thing I know, still standing on the platform, I’m gazing at my palm again. Just a little more, I think.

  Just a little longer. Just a little more.

  I don’t know what wish accompanies those words, but somewhere along the way, I’ve started longing for it.

  “I applied to your company because I like buildings— Or, no…I mean cityscapes. The landscape of people living their lives in general.”

  The faces of the four interviewers in front of me cloud slightly. No, no, that’s just my imagination, I think. This is the first time I’ve managed to make it to the second round of interviews at a company. I can’t blow this chance, I think, psyching myself up again.

  “I always have. Even I don’t really understand why, but, um… Anyway, I like them. What I mean is, I like watching buildings and the people who live and work there. That’s why I often go to cafés and restaurants. I even worked at a few part-time—”

  “I see.” One of the interviewers cuts me off gently. “Then could you tell us why you chose to enter the construction field, rather than the restaurant industry?”

  She’s a middle-aged woman, the only one of the four who looked kind, and I finally realize I’ve been blabbing about an irrelevant reason for applying. I break out in a sweat in a suit I’m not yet used to wearing.

  “Well, I… Serving customers at my part-time job was fun, but I guess you could say I wanted to be involved in something bigger…”

  Something bigger? That’s a middle school answer. Even I can tell my face is flushing red.

  “I mean… The way I see it, there’s no telling when even Tokyo could disappear.”

  This time, the interviewers’ faces really do cloud over. Realizing I’ve been touching the back of my neck, I hastily put hands on my knees again.

  “So if it does— No, precisely because it will someday, I want to create the sort of town that warms people, even if it’s only a memory—”

  Agh, it’s no good. Even I can’t follow what I’m saying. I’ve failed this one, too. Thinking this, I glance at the gray skyscrapers that tower behind the interviewers, and I feel like crying.

  “So? How many companies have you interviewed at, including today?” Takagi asks me.

  “I’m not keeping track,” I tell him glumly.

  Looking awfully entertained, Tsukasa says, “I don’t think you’re going to make it.”

  “I don’t want to hear that from you,” I cut back crossly.

  “Sure it’s not because you just don’t look good in a suit?” Takagi grins.

  “You guys aren’t much different!” I bristle angrily.

  “I’ve got unofficial offers from two companies,” he counters cheerfully.

  “I have eight,” Tsukasa condescends.

  “Rrgh…!”

  I have no comeback. My coffee cup rattles in my fingers as they tremble with humiliation.

  Tweedle.

  My phone chirps from the table. I check the message, drain what’s left of my coffee in one gulp, and stand.

  Come to think of it, the three of us came to this café a lot when we were in high school. The memory strikes me after I’ve waved good-bye to Tsukasa and Takagi and started jogging toward the station. Life was so carefree back then. I didn’t have to think about the future or finding a job, and somehow, every day was ludicrously fun. Especially that one summer—I think it was during my second year of high school. It seems like that summer was especially thrilling. What happened that year? I think back and conclude there wasn’t anything in particular. I guess I must’ve just been at an age when absolutely anything was enough to trigger a giggling fit.

  …Wait, no, that’s something they say about girls… Absentmindedly, I hop down the stairs to the subway.

  “Ooh. Job hunting, hmm?”

  Okudera-senpai looks up from her phone, sees me in my suit, and smiles. It’s evening, and the area in front of Yotsuya Station is filled with the faintly languid hum of people released from their days at work or school.

  “Ha-ha. Well, it’s not going so great.”

  “Hmm…” Okudera-senpai murmurs, bringing her face closer to mine. She inspects me from head to toe with a frown. Then, gravely, she asks, “You don’t think it’s because suits don’t look good on you?”

  “I-is it really that bad?!” Involuntarily, I look down at myself.

  “Oh, come on, I’m joking!”

  Okudera-senpai beams, her expression changing easily.

  “Let’s walk a little,” Okudera-senpai says, and I follow her. We set off, going against the current of the university students on Shinjuku Street. We cut across Kioicho, then cross the Benkei Bridge. For the first time, I realize that the trees lining the roads are changing color. About half the people we pass have on lightweight coats. Okudera-senpai is wearing a loose ash-gray jacket, too.

  “What’s going on today? Your text came out of the blue.”

  Feeling as if I’m the only one who hasn’t kept up with the season, I turn to Okudera-senpai beside me.

  “What?” Her glossy lips pout. “I can’t get in touch with you without a reason?”

  “No, no, no!” I wave my hands hastily.

  “You’re happy to see me, aren’t you? It’s been a long time.”

  “Y-yes. I am.”

  She smiles in satisfaction at my answer, then continues. “I was in the area for work and thought I’d like to see your face, Taki.” She was hired by a major clothing chain and works at a branch store in Chiba now. “Life in the suburbs is fun, too, but Tokyo really is lively and one of a kind,” she tells me, gazing at her surroundings like she’s a little awestruck. “Look,” she says suddenly, and I raise my head.

  We’re crossing a pedestrian bridge, so we’re eye level with the giant outdoor display screen above an electronics store. It’s showing aerial footage of gourd-shaped Itomori Lake and the words The Comet Disaster—Eight Years Later in big letters.

  “We went to Itomori once, didn’t we?” Okudera-senpai narrows her eyes, as though she’s searching distant memories. “You were still in high school, Taki, so it must’ve been…”

  “Five years ago, maybe?” I finish the sentence for her.

  “That long…” She exhales a little, as if surprised. “I’m forgetting all sorts of things.”

  She’s right, I think. As we come down off the pedestrian bridge and walk up Sotobori Street where it runs along the edge of the Akasaka Estate lands, I try remembering that day.

  It was the summer of my second year in high school— No, it was just about this time of year, early autumn. Tsukasa, Okudera-senpai, and I went on a short trip. We transferred from the Shinkansen to an express train, went all the way to Gifu, and wandered aimlessly around the area along the local train line. Right, and we went into this ramen shop that was standing all by itself on the side of the national highway. And then… From that point on, my memories blur and grow distant, as if belonging to a past life. Maybe we fought? I have a vague recollection of leaving the other two and going off on my own. I climb
ed a mountain somewhere all alone, spent the night there, and then went back to Tokyo by myself the next day.

  That’s right… Back then, I was obsessed with the events surrounding that comet.

  In the sort of natural disaster that’s happened only a few times in human history, a fragment of the comet destroyed a town. And yet, in spite of that, almost all the town’s residents survived. It was a miraculous night. The day the comet fell, Itomori just happened to be holding a town-wide disaster drill, and most of the locals had already been evacuated from the area impacted.

  It was such a huge coincidence and such incredible luck, that there were all sorts of whispered rumors after the disaster. The unprecedented astronomical phenomenon and the townspeople’s stupendous luck were enough to stir up the media’s and public’s imagination. All sorts of irresponsible ideas flew around wildly for days on end, from folklore-type stories that linked the comet’s visit with Itomori’s dragon-god legend, to political statements that either praised or questioned the mayor of Itomori’s use of plenary power in forcing an evacuation, to occult rumors that the meteorite strike had actually been foretold. Other strange details, such as the fact that the town had been so isolated it was practically a landlocked desert island, and the fact that the power across the entire area had gone out about two hours before the meteorite strike, spurred public speculation. Society’s excitement lasted until the programs to resettle the victims in other areas had calmed down a bit, but as with most incidents, just about the time the seasons changed, the topic of Itomori slowly disappeared from public conversation.

  Still… Once again, it strikes me as strange. I’d even drawn sketches of Itomori, several of them. Not only that, but my feverish interest had materialized unexpectedly, a few years after the comet strike. Something had visited me suddenly, like a delayed comet itself, then vanished without a trace. What in the world had it been?

  Well, I guess it’s not important, I think, watching the streets of Yotsuya sink into the dusk from a hill beside Sotobori Street. It really doesn’t matter now. I write the thought on a wall in my mind. I need to be focusing on finding a job next year, not ancient history I don’t really remember.