“This…is totally different from around Koenji,” Haruyuki murmured unconsciously, and Utai nodded sharply.
UI> WHEN I WAS LITTLE, I USED TO BE AFRAID TO WALK AROUND HERE BY MYSELF AT NIGHT.
And now that Utai, who was currently around ten years old, had said this, Haruyuki, being four years older, couldn’t very well say, “It’s scary walking with even the two of us.” However, the way the ancient trees rustled in the warm breeze beyond the walls running along both sides of them—the noise of the treetops honestly made him nervous, like in a Graveyard stage.
Even though it was still only six, there wasn’t a soul on the road. If there hadn’t been the evenly spaced row of streetlights, which doubled as social camera pillars, he would have wondered if he hadn’t been sucked back fifty years in time. The pair walked silently along the road that wasn’t quite straight, and finally, right around the time when Haruyuki’s sense of direction was starting to get screwed up even with the navigation map, ancient-looking sukiya-style gates appeared on the right side of the road.
Made of dark, natural wood, the gates had traditional clay tiles on their roof. The doors were closed tightly, so that there was no way to peek inside. But as proof that this was no ordinary citizen’s home, a large sign hung on the pillar on the right side. Since Utai stopped in front of the gate, Haruyuki also came to a stop and looked up at the sign. The characters, in a magnificent black block style, read SUGINAMI NOH.
“Suginami…Noh?” he read aloud, and Utai nodded sharply.
UI> THIS IS MY HOUSE. PLEASE COME THIS WAY, she quickly typed out, before she walked over to a metal inset-door apparently for general use and waved her left hand. Naturally, she was operating her virtual desktop, but it looked almost like she gave an order using supernatural powers; the heavy sound of the door unlocking echoed in the air.
She pushed open the door and urged Haruyuki through it. Getting nervous at this late stage, he slipped through the door with a quick “Thanks for having me”—only to have his first glance at what lay on the other side make his jaw drop.
It was almost like the Castle inside the Unlimited Neutral Field. Well, of course, it wasn’t on the same scale, but the way the stately Japanese-style mansion spread out beyond massive trees that were who knew how many hundreds of years old seemed highly otherworldly. And there were even two buildings! On the right was a bungalow residence. And on the left, a great hall soared up, one that at first glance looked like a shrine. That was probably the Noh stage noted on the sign out front.
The door locked once more, and Utai came up beside him.
“Shinomiya—so, like, ‘Noh’…um…is that like Kabuki and stuff?” Haruyuki asked reverently. The question was exceedingly vague, but Utai smiled and nodded.
UI> IT IS INDEED SIMILARLY A TRADITIONAL ART LIKE KABUKI. I’M SURPRISED YOU KNOW IT.
“S-sorry, that’s about all I know,” he apologized, shrinking into himself, before timidly asking another question. “So what’s the difference between Noh and Kabuki?” Obviously, if he secretly searched online from his virtual desktop or something, he could have found a page explaining this, but pretending to know anything using this sort of stopgap information would have been deeply pathetic if he was found out. Or rather, he had no doubt he would have been found out by Utai, and right away at that. Better to simply confess his ignorance, he decided.
UI >THE BORING ONE IS NOH, AND THE SILLY ONE IS KABUKI, IS WHAT FU SAYS. Seeing Haruyuki’s dumbfounded expression, Utai exploded into soundless laughter like a gentle breeze and quickly continued typing.
UI> I’LL PROPERLY EXPLAIN THE DIFFERENCE ON THE STAGE. COME THIS WAY.
The “stage” she mentioned was indeed the wooden hall standing on the west side of the site. As they approached, he saw that it was actually a fairly strange structure. The two different-size buildings were connected by a passageway, but the larger building was open on three sides, and there was a magnificent painting of pine trees on a wooden wall directly to the back. Overall, it was quite old, and it gave the impression of not being used very often. A passageway with a roof stretched out about ten meters diagonally from the left inside the building and connected with the smaller building.
They passed through the garden, which was like a deep forest, and then went around to the back of the small building, where there was a sliding door entrance. Utai took an old-fashioned metal key out of the pocket of her uniform and unlocked it. She quietly pulled it open using both hands and nodded at Haruyuki.
“Th-thanks for having me,” he said for the second time, and slipped through the entryway. Utai followed him and firmly closed the old-fashioned sliding door before turning on a light switch on the wall.
The instant the white incandescent lights—also old style—on the ceiling came on, Haruyuki gasped. It was such a luxurious space. It couldn’t have been more than ten square meters, but the ceiling, walls, floor, and all the furnishings were polished natural wood. Perhaps this had been normal back when the building had been built, but if someone wanted to build the same room new now, it would have cost some real money.
Taking her shoes off at the step up into the room, Utai took two pairs of slippers out of the shoe caddy to the side and offered one pair to Haruyuki. He thanked her and stepped up into the room.
The furnishings included an old-fashioned bureau against the right wall and a backless seat on the floor; and directly in front of him, a large piece of furniture, the true nature of which was unknown to him. To the left, there was a stand of closed-up folding-screen panels, and it seemed that it alone was fairly new, when compared with the other objects.
As he whirled his head around the room, text flowed slowly across the chat window. UI> THIS IS THE STAGE’S KAGAMI NO MA, OR MIRROR ROOM.
After staring at this one sentence for a while, Haruyuki turned to face Utai and asked quietly, “Mirror…room?”
UI> YES. I’LL SHOW YOU NOW. PLEASE HAVE A SEAT ON THAT CHAIR.
He did as she urged and took a few steps to lower himself onto the round wooden stool. Immediately before him was the large mysterious furnishing. Utai walked toward this, undid the metal clasp on the side surface, and then pulled the panel immediately in front from the right to left, opening it. Next, she opened the panel beneath—from the left to the right—and stepped back behind Haruyuki.
So that’s not furniture; it’s a door, maybe? he wondered for a brief moment. He understood it wasn’t a door the instant he locked eyes with the junior high school boy with a round face sitting before him. Reflexively, he threw his head back, and the boy in front of him tilted his body in exactly the same way. Both of them simultaneously were supported from behind by an elementary school girl, thus narrowly avoiding falling off their chair.
There couldn’t have been more than one of these stupid, round-type junior high students. Which meant that what Haruyuki was looking at was also Haruyuki. The mysterious furnishing was an absurdly large, three-sided mirror.
Although normally he couldn’t stand to look at his own self in the mirror for more than a second, at that moment alone, Haruyuki was so surprised that he continued to stare intently. He had never before seen such a large, impressive mirror. The biggest mirror in the Arita household was the full-length mirror in his mother’s room, but this was easily more than ten times as large as that. It was almost like a small room where three of the walls were made of mirror.
“……”
After staring soundlessly for more than ten seconds, Haruyuki finally realized that its size wasn’t the three-sided mirror’s only distinct feature. Its quality as a mirror—the clarity of the surface glass, the reflectance of the silver layer substrate—was incredible. The quality was greater than even the high-precision mirror that Reina Izeki had lent him at school. In fact, rather than a mirror, it seemed like an entrance to another world, one where left and right were reversed.
UI> THERE ARE A VARIETY OF DIFFERENCES BETWEEN NOH AND KABUKI, BUT… The text appeared soundlessly in the holo
window, the only thing this mirror didn’t reflect. UI> ONE OF THE BIGGEST DIFFERENCES IS THAT WHILE KABUKI ACTORS PAINT THEIR OWN FACES TO PERFORM, IN NOH, THEY WEAR A MASK CALLED AN OMOTE.
After taking a few seconds to digest this text, Haruyuki murmured, “Oh, really? So then that’s the Noh mask you hear about, huh?”
UI> THAT’S EXACTLY RIGHT. THE NOH ACTOR WEARING THE OMOTE BLENDS HIS CONSCIOUSNESS WITH THE MASK TO BECOME SOMETHING NOT HUMAN AND DANCES AND SINGS. TO REACH THAT STATE OF MIND, THEY FOCUS THEIR MENTAL ENERGIES HERE IN THE MIRROR ROOM. THE LARGE MIRROR YOU’RE LOOKING AT IS THE BOUNDARY BETWEEN THIS WORLD AND THE OTHER WORLD.
“The boundary…” That sensation assaulted him again, the certainty and impatience that he was getting quite close to something important. Unconsciously, he stood up from the chair and took one step, then another toward the mirror.
The figure of himself approaching in tandem shimmered like the surface of water. Before he knew it, standing there was his other self, body wrapped in silver armor, face hidden by an opaque helmet: Silver Crow. Haruyuki raised his right hand, and Crow similarly moved his. The tips of their fingers gradually drew near each other, and just as they were on the verge of touching, his shirt was yanked from behind, and Haruyuki came back to himself with a gasp.
During the time it took him to blink once, the duel avatar in the mirror disappeared and the pudgy junior high boy returned. Turning around, he saw Utai smiling as she clutched his shirt. She deftly typed with just her right hand.
UI> YOU’VE LOOKED AT THIS ENOUGH. WE’LL CONTINUE THIS CONVERSATION IN MY ROOM.
Leaving the mirror room, the two of them slipped through the grove of trees once more and headed for the main building on the east side of the site. While they walked, the spacey feeling in his head faded, but in its place, he felt the sharp pain of tension in his stomach. If they ran into Utai’s family, how on earth should he introduce himself? A fourth grader and an eighth grader were separated enough in age that if they were understood in the worst possible way, he could be reported or even arrested.
As he ran various simulations in his head, Utai noted, as if seeing through him, UI> IT’S ALL RIGHT. GRANDFATHER AND FATHER ARE BOTH OUT. WHEN THEY HAVE A BIG PERFORMANCE, THEY DON’T COME HOME VERY OFTEN.
“P-performance? A Noh play?”
UI> YES.
At this response, he belatedly understood. Given the fact that she had a large Noh stage at her house and that her grandfather and father were both Noh performers, Utai Shinomiya wasn’t simply taking Noh lessons or anything; she was the child of a Noh house. And her late brother—Mirror Masker—was, too.
Haruyuki fell silent once more, and Utai didn’t attempt to say anything else, but rather silently opened the door to the main house.
The room she led him to didn’t actually have wooden walls and floors, but it was still a rarity, a Japanese-style room with tatami mats. The furnishings were basically a wooden Japanese-style writing desk, a bureau, and a bookshelf; there was no bed. Which probably meant that Utai spread a futon out and slept on the floor. For Haruyuki, it was a completely unknown sleep environment.
Utai set her backpack down on the shelf and offered him a floor cushion before saying—well, writing—PLEASE EXCUSE ME A MOMENT and leaving the room.
When he thought about it, he probably hadn’t used a proper floor cushion for the last few years. Although he tried to take on the challenge of sitting formally on his knees, he got the sense of serious damage in his legs after ten seconds. Distributing his weight to the left and right, he endured the pain, but fortunately, Utai returned in about three minutes with a tray.
The moment she saw Haruyuki’s posture, she appeared to stifle a laugh. She first set down the tray on the desk and then moved both hands. UI> PLEASE MAKE YOURSELF COMFORTABLE.
“R-right. Well, then I’ll gratefully accept your…kindness— Ow, ow…” His numb legs quickly crumpled into a cross-legged posture, and he let out a sigh of relief. Before him, Utai sat neatly in the formal kneeling position. Her movements were also neat and contained as she set out the cold tea poured into faceted glasses and the small plate of mizuyokan sweet bean jelly.
“Th-thanks.”
She urged him on with a gesture, so he brought the cold tea to his mouth. Apparently, it was green tea made with real tea leaves and then cooled; there was a faint sweetness to the drink even in the midst of its crisp bitterness. He enjoyed the flavor, so totally different from tea from a plastic bottle, for a while before he realized something.
The calm that this girl Utai Shinomiya possessed, very uncharacteristic of her ten years of age, was not something that was only cultivated by her being a Burst Linker. The fact that she had been born and raised in this large, traditionally Japanese house had given form to the girl now and to the duel avatar Ardor Maiden. Once he understood this, there was only a single thing this house had in common with his own home on the twenty-third floor of a skyscraper condo in northern Koenji: It was quiet. The lonely silence of no one to say “welcome home” when the child returned from school.
“Um…Shinomiya. What about the other people in your house?” he asked timidly.
After taking a sip of her own tea, Utai typed on the desk. UI> I MENTIONED THIS BEFORE, BUT MY GRANDFATHER, FATHER, AND OLDER BROTHER ARE CURRENTLY RESIDING IN KYOTO FOR A PERFORMANCE. MY MOTHER ALSO WORKS, SO SHE DOESN’T COME HOME UNTIL VERY LATE AT NIGHT.
“Huh…So then it’s just you right now?”
UI> THERE IS SOMEONE WHO TAKES CARE OF THE HOUSE, BUT THEY’LL BE GOING HOME SOON.
“Th-they will?” He had been totally swallowed up by the atmosphere until that point, but putting aside all the various special circumstances, this was basically nothing other than being alone in a house with a girl, wasn’t it? As he belatedly realized this, his breathing and heart rate started to accelerate, but he managed to summon his fighting spirit to maintain the status quo. The night before, not only had he been alone with her, but Niko had snored softly in the bed right next to him. And a few days before that, he had also stayed over at Kuroyukihime’s house. He should have accumulated enough experience points not to panic here and now. Probably.
Unaware of this turmoil within him—or if she was aware of it, she didn’t show it on her face—Utai brought some mizuyokan to her mouth with a bamboo teaspoon. When Haruyuki did the same, the chilled, smooth jellied dessert slipped down his throat and cooled his thoughts.
In her explanation before, Utai had typed older brother. Which meant… “Do—did you have two older brothers?” he asked quietly, and the ponytail swung lightly.
UI> YES. THE OLDEST IS NINE YEARS ABOVE ME, SO WE DIDN’T REALLY PLAY TOGETHER VERY MUCH. AND THE YOUNGER ONE…MY BROTHER KYOYA, WHO TAUGHT ME ABOUT THE ACCELERATED WORLD, HE WAS FOUR YEARS OLDER THAN ME. HE PASSED AWAY THREE YEARS AGO…I WAS SEVEN AND HE WAS ELEVEN.
A typing master far beyond Haruyuki, Utai still tapped her fingers at the desk, awkwardly this time. Her head was hanging, and he couldn’t see the look on her face. He tried to stop her with a “that’s enough,” but before he could, her slender fingers started moving again.
UI> IN THE WORLD OF NOH THEATER…AND IT’S THE SAME IN KABUKI AND KYOGEN AS WELL. CHILDREN BORN INTO FAMILIES WHO PERFORM ARE NOT GIVEN A CHOICE.
“Choice?”
UI> WHETHER TO GO INTO THE WORLD OF ENTERTAINMENT OR NOT. THE CHILD CANNOT CHOOSE THIS. FROM THE TIME YOU CAN REMEMBER, YOU ARE IN CONTACT WITH THE ART OF YOUR PARENTS AND SIBLINGS AND RELATIVES. IT’S CLOSE TO YOU, YOU STUDY IT, AND THEN AT A MERE FOUR OR FIVE YEARS OF AGE, YOU FIRST STEP ONTO THE STAGE AS A KOKATA CHILD ACTOR. EVERYTHING UP TO THIS POINT IS ALREADY DECIDED WHEN YOU ARE BORN INTO A NOH FAMILY.
“F-from the time you’re that little?” Haruyuki asked, dumbfounded. He tried to remember what he had been doing when he was four years old, but he only had a hazy memory of racing around the playground of his kindergarten.
Utai lifted her face for a mere instant and showed him a faint smile before continuing. UI> N
ATURALLY, NOT ALL CHILDREN PROCEED LIKE THIS DOWN THE PATH OF NOH PERFORMER. IN FACT, THE CHILDREN WHO CONTINUE ARE ACTUALLY IN THE MINORITY. YOU CAN PERFORM AS A KOKATA UNTIL AROUND THE TIME YOU START JUNIOR HIGH, BUT I THINK MORE THAN HALF THE CHILDREN LEAVE THE STAGE BEFORE THAT TIME. BUT MY OLDER BROTHER DID NOT STOP. AND KYOYA AND I ALSO HAD NO INTENTION OF STOPPING. ACTUALLY, MY BROTHER AND I LOVED THE WORLD OF NOH. THE TINY UNIVERSE OF THE STAGE….
Haruyuki continued to silently look at the cherry-pink characters spelled out haltingly. It wasn’t as though he had immediately understood the world of Noh. He hadn’t seen a play live, and he felt like he had glanced at a 2-D image in his social studies class, but maybe not. That was about it. And although it was quite belated at this point, he realized something:
When the shrine maiden of the conflagration, Ardor Maiden, activated her Incarnate technique, and therein danced and sang, that figure was itself Noh. Utai Shinomiya’s form and abilities in the Accelerated World were intimately linked to the Noh performances she had been learning since before she could remember.
Once his thoughts had proceeded to this point, Haruyuki ran straight into a huge question. The duel avatar was the manifestation of mental scars. In which case, the crimson-and-white shrine maiden that was Utai’s avatar had to have been generated from her own wounds. So that meant Utai’s wounds were linked to the world of Noh that she so loved.
UI> WHEN I WAS THREE YEARS OLD, I STEPPED ONTO THE STAGE AS A KOKATA FOR THE FIRST TIME. I WAS STILL AN AGE WHEN I WAS MORE A BABY THAN A CHILD, BUT EVEN SO, I CLEARLY REMEMBER THE TENSION AND EMOTION OF THAT DAY.
Utai resumed her typing, and Haruyuki chased the text wordlessly.
UI> FROM THEN ON, I BELIEVED THAT I WOULD BECOME A NOH PERFORMER LIKE MY GRANDFATHER AND MY FATHER, AND I WORKED HARD IN MY LESSONS EVERY DAY. HOWEVER, THE DAY I STARTED ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, MY FATHER TOLD ME THAT I COULD ONLY BE A KOKATA. That once I GREW UP I COULD NO LONGER ASCEND TO THE STAGE.