"Look at me! Look at me! The monster inside me has grown this large."

Obluda, The Nameless Monster


May 18th, 2018

The camera shook as he adjusted it, screen blackening momentarily. "Gah... Stay still, will you? Damn thing..."

Chinen was alone in her office today. The boys—Numbers One, Two, and Three—had gone out to run errands. With her, she had her trusty notepad and pen, the end of the latter object ridden with teeth marks. She pressed the space button on her laptop, and the video paused. Her third time reviewing the footage gleaned from Goshiki Tsutomu's laptop—seized during Karasuda's raid of the dead boy's dormitory—and it never got easier. Her notepad had already been filled, from when she had picked out certain sections that would be useful during the upcoming trial.

Maybe it was time to view it not as an impersonal piece of evidence, but rather what it really was—the unearthing of a young man's feelings.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Chinen resumed the video.

"Oh, there we go." The hand retreated from the camera, and Goshiki—and the backdrop which was obviously a hospital bed—came into view as he leaned back. "Shit, uh... This is a little awkward. Mom said it might be good for me, but... I don't really know what to say. What am I supposed to say?" Goshiki blinked, lifting one arm up and examining it. The skin was blotchy. Bruises. "I'm alive."

Her fingers tapped on the paper.

"They said it was a hit-and-run. That I'm lucky to even be alive right now... But... I don't feel very lucky." He began to cry, face screwing up so tightly and terribly that Chinen started chewing on her pen again. "W-why? Why did it have to be me? Couldn't it happen to someone else, instead? I was supposed to... to... This wasn't supposed to happen. My leg's gone. It's just... It's fucking gone. Oh my god, my leg is gone. There's nothing there. But... I can still feel it sometimes. Is this all a dream, then? I'll check the video tomorrow. If it's still here... Then I'll know that this is my new reality."

There was an awkward cut as the next diary entry played. One of her boys had compiled all the separate recording files into one big one for easier access. Again, it started off with Goshiki trying to get his webcam to focus.

"It's real," was all he said, before it cut to the next entry. Evidently, some time had passed, as his cheeks had gotten more filled out and his eyes were not as sunken as the first two entries. "It's been a while. Coach came by to see me today. His wife cooked me some boiled flounder. I couldn't finish it, though. Weird, right? I asked him if I could play on the team again, but he didn't answer." Goshiki tried to smile, but it came out as more of a bland sneer instead. Something hideous and inhuman. "He says he'll come back tomorrow. I'll ask him again."

Cut.

"He said no. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Fuck! Why did he say no? Is it because of my leg? I can just get a prosthetic, right? Volleyball—it—it's my everything. I can't give up. I'll keep fighting! I'll keep fighting!"

Cut.

"Shirabu-senpai came by today. I like Shirabu-senpai, even though he doesn't like me. Because once I prove myself, I know he will. Ahaha... That look on his face, though... It kind of scared me..." Goshiki twirled a strand of his hair, which had grown long enough for him to do so. "He also said no... But... It doesn't matter, right...? I'll finish school, and I'll find..."

Cut.

"I don't know why I'm still doing this. It doesn't feel like it's helped at all. But that's all I know how to do now. Speak to someone who isn't there. Maybe things will get better once I go back to school. I'm getting my new leg fitted tomorrow. Mom and dad can't afford a very good one, but it's okay."

Cut.

"Walking hurts a lot... It's torture... A nurse comes in every day to massage my... What's left of my leg. What should I call it? The stump?" He shivered. "That sounds horrible. I don't think I'll call it anything at all, then."

Cut.

"First day of school today!" The background had changed—from the hospital to what had to be Goshiki's bedroom. From the pale sunlight hitting the side of his face, Chinen could tell that it was early morning. "Well, not really. I have a lot of catching up to do, but I'm sure I'll be able to do okay." In the video, Goshiki held up his phone, frowning at the contents of the screen. "Is it exam time already? None of my friends have been texting me back. Are they all studying? I'll ask them today. Until then!" More cheerful than Chinen had ever seen him, he saluted the camera before the screen went black.

Goshiki reappeared a split second later, staring at something that didn't exist. He said nothing, and that was the end of that entry.

Chinen bit down especially hard on her pen, dread coiling in her stomach.

The next time he appeared, there was a bruise forming on his cheek. "I don't understand," Goshiki said, hoarsely, eyes still faraway. "I tried asking Kawanishi-senpai, but only got mad. Not at me, but at the other kids. They... They said it was my fault we lost." Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he covered his eyes with his hands. "It's true, isn't it? Who else could have fucked it up but me? I'm the rookie. The first year. The weak link." He lifted his head, eyes still retaining that blank, distant quality—the one that sent shivers down Chinen's spine. "I wish they'd use a different pen. It's hard to scrub it off."

It cut away again. "Shirabu-senpai doesn't talk to me anymore. I've tried approaching him a few times, but I can never get close. I don't want to try too hard, in case he gets annoyed... That's one of my worst qualities, y'know? Being a 'try-hard'. That's what they said. Kawanishi-senpai says that it's not, but I don't know if I believe him. Tell me—would you believe a single voice or a dozen voices? I kind of miss Shirabu-senpai, actually. Although he was mean, he wasn't... mean-mean. Oh—he's the new captain of the volleyball team. Maybe that's why he's been so busy lately. Yeah. Yeah." There was a long pause, one that would have surprised Chinen had she not seen the entire thing before. She knew what he would say next—mouthed them as he spoke: "I went up to the roof today. I even took off my shoes. The ground seemed so far away. I thought I was gonna do it. I really, really thought I was gonna do it. But... I didn't. Because... I got scared."

In a few seconds, he would cry again. For someone who had gone through what he had, Goshiki didn't cry a lot. At least, not on screen.

Goshiki sobbed. It was loud and disgusting and grotesque. There was nothing to alleviate the reprehensible sight and sound of him sniffling and fighting back tears—no dramatic, melancholy music as there tended to be in films. Nothing but the whir of his fan in the background somewhere. He was alone.

"I'm a coward," he babbled, tearfully. "I'm a coward, I'm such a fucking coward and everyone hates me why do they hate me why Ididn'taskfor—"

Chinen sighed, fast-forwarding. There needed to be a certain amount of detachment involved, or else she would find herself trying to save a boy who had already died more than once.

"I wish they'd stop looking at me like that." Goshiki's voice was deeper, rougher, but the screen was dark. Then his hand moved from the camera, and a handsome young man greeted her. He was in his third year of high school now. "It's already been, what, two years? Haven't they gotten used to it by now?" There was something... monstrous about him. He'd certainly grown up fine in those two years, and there was even an adroit curl in his lip that implied a stifled smile, but...

Paper thin, thought Chinen. A false layer. This isn't Goshiki. This isn't who he really is. This is just what he's learned to be. What lay underneath was the question. If she peeled back that false layer, what would she find? And if it was more falsities and artificiality, when she got to the root of him, what would she find? A lost boy unable to find his place in the world, or something more sinister? Do not forget, she reminded herself, grimly. That this man was capable of holding and hurting innocents. What had been inflicted on him in the past will never, ever justify that.

"Ah," Goshiki continued, "I guess it can't be helped. I've taken up a new hobby since I last checked up on this... thing of mine. Whatever this is. 'Diary' sounds too girly, doesn't it? Haha. Did you know that cooking can be surprisingly relaxing? I'm trying out a few simple recipes for now. Mom's happy." The mask fractured—just a little, not enough for Chinen to glimpse who or what lurked beneath the porcelain. "I'm glad she is."

Another skip.

"There's a nosy bastard sharing my dorm with me. He knows my secret. Shit. I'll kill him... I'll kill him... No. No, I can't do that. But he doesn't know that. God, how could I have gotten so careless? People shouldn't know this about me. If they do... I'm not sure what part of me they'll find. I... I think I'm scared. But of what? Myself? I'm being ridiculous... I need to cut back on the alcohol... I shouldn't drink this much. Note: Drink in moderation, Tsutomu."

The coming section was where Chinen had penned the majority of her notes from. Her heart raced as she waited for it to come the way a storm-chaser would await an approaching tornado.

"I found him." Goshiki grinned widely into the camera, and Chinen thought this was the him that looked the most terrible of all. "God, what are the fucking odds? Hah..." He threw back his head and laughed. "Hahaha! Haha! Oh my god! It's him! It's him. I know it is. Even the car is the same. The same face, surrounded by the sun... How can I just sit here and let him go? Let him go like he hasn't ruined my fucking life?!" The monster came tearing out, clawing and screaming. "I'll kill him. I swear I will. I'll kill him, and then maybe I'll kill myself. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Am I that insignificant to him? I can't be, right? Right? You think I want to be here, fussing over majors and cooking? Cooking? Are you fucking kidding me? If my life is really so small—" and the monster so large "—then that means it doesn't matter what I do, right? But whatever happens... He needs to know. He needs to know what he's done to me."

The last and final clip was probably the most unique. It started off normal, with Goshiki holding papers in his hand. "So this is the extent of what Kindaichi's been up to," he was saying, a curious tilt to his mouth. "If I'd found this before, it might have been useful. But I'm almost done. I'm almost done. Maybe I'll—fuck." There was a wild scramble, then, as Goshiki—off-screen—hastily tried to put back everything the way it was. "Shit, I need to hide..." Goshiki blurred past the camera, and then the creak of a door sounded. He was hiding in the bathroom, probably.

"What the hell?" cried a disembodied voice that was not Goshiki's. Footfall, then Kindaichi appeared, briefly, before disappearing once more.

The bathroom door opened. Keeping his footsteps as silent as possible, Goshiki approached Kindaichi with a shotgun.

"You know, I've had it up to here with your bullshit," said Kindaichi, perhaps unaware of Goshiki sneaking up on him. "We've known each other since we were kids. But I'm not a child anymore. You don't have to keep walking around on eggshells with me. You hear me? Kunimi—"

A thud, followed by the sound of Sakusa's intern slumping to the ground.

"Sorry," Goshiki apologized. "Kindaichi."

Goshiki appeared on screen once more before everything cut to nothingness. The video was over.

Chinen sagged at her desk. This was too draining. She needed a spa. A manicure. Anything to take her mind off... this. Absently, she scrolled through all the files that had been copied onto her laptop from Goshiki's, pausing when she noticed a video file she hadn't clicked on before. Hm? What's this? Deciding it was worth checking out, she double-clicked on it. The MP4 player opened up and the video began to buffer.

It was only twenty seconds long, Chinen noted, intrigued, and dated back to many months before Goshiki's accident.

There was an explosion of noise before Goshiki's beaming, child-like face appeared in the screen. His phone, Chinen realized, he was recording on his phone. He must have liked this clip enough to download it on his phone.

"Welcome to my first video diary! I swear I'm gonna keep it up! I'll upload something every day!" Goshiki declared, blissfully unaware that he would break this promise. He huffed and puffed as he ran through the gates of his school. "Look—it's Shirabu-senpai! Shirabu-senpai!"

The phone was clumsily handled, but steady enough for Chinen to see a boy around Goshiki's age turn around. His expression was one of annoyance, at first, but it soon melted into something like fond exasperation.

Shirabu gave a small smile. "Hey, Goshiki."

"Shirabu-sen"

The video ended.

Chinen ended her work day with an odd, persisting weight in her heart.


May 23rd, 2018

Goshiki's funeral fell on a Wednesday, just as his accident, the kidnapping of Miwa, and the murder of Oikawa had. Kindaichi and Kunimi wore their best suits to the funeral hall, arms stiff and legs heavy. Silence hung between them—there was so much to say, yet nothing at all. The weather forecast declared rain, and gray clouds were rolling in. Only Kunimi carried a folded umbrella with him, ready to spring it up between him and Kindaichi the moment the rain started.

Kindaichi had been two three funerals in his life. The first one had been one for his paternal grandfather, who had died from a stroke. The clouds had been clear that day, and Kindaichi distinctly recalled being six years and old and running through long grass that tickled his legs while the adults mourned a man Kindaichi had never truly known. The second had been Oikawa's funeral. It'd been snowing. No, wait, not quite. The night before that had had snow fall, but the day of... The ground had been covered with ice, but there'd been no snowfall.

And now...

Will it rain? Kindaichi asked, glancing skyward as they approached the looming funeral hall. There was a certain finality to death that Kindaichi had pushed away the first time around. It had been better to try and disregard the fact that Oikawa was well and truly gone. It had been better not to think about it at all, and it had only gotten him back where everything had started. Now, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of rain on the wind, he stood outside the funeral hall, his hands shoved in his pockets. It hadn't really hit him yet. That Goshiki, someone who he had considered his friend, was someone who he would never be seeing again. Instead, there was just an urge to do something with his hands—maybe fiddle with a Rubik's cube.

Kunimi halted before he could step inside, hovering at the entrance. Kindaichi, who had no such qualms, turned back. "Kunimi?"

"Sorry." Kunimi squished the handle of the umbrella against his side as he wiped his hands down his slacks. "I'm coming."

"It's okay. I understand."

Breathing out slowly, Kunimi regathered his bearings. He nodded. "Okay. I'm ready."

Together, they entered. It was more crowded than Kindaichi had thought it would be, or maybe it was because the hall they had rented could hardly be called that—it was just a room.

"Wow," muttered Kunimi, pressing against Kindaichi's side. "This is..." Whatever Kunimi thought it was, Kindaichi never found out.

Because Goshiki's mother noticed them, then, the hem of her skirt brushing against the floor as she hurried over to them. Her eyes were wide, but empty. She was not without intellectual thought, but rather currently lacked the capacity to process any sort of it. "Y-you," she stammered, wringing her hands. "You must be his friends. Kindaichi-san and Kunimi-san."

Kindaichi swallowed the growing lump in his throat. "Yes. That's us. I... I'm so sorry for your loss, Goshiki-san."

The poor woman looked as if she wanted to disappear. "Oh, my poor son," she moaned, on the verge of tears. "But I'm so happy... That he had friends like you..." She rubbed at one eye, a lock of hair falling from her conservative bun and brushing against her cheek. "Thank you for being here. Thank you so much."

Her husband emerged from the crowd and wrapped one comforting arm around her shoulders. A man of few words, Goshiki's father merely nodded at them, stiffly, before excusing himself and guiding his wife away.

They reminded Kindaichi of his own parents. Pillars of strength that had been weathered, greatly, by the loss of a child. A chilling thought struck him—if he died, would his parents look like this, too? Stooped beneath the weight of their shared grief, faces gaunt and knuckles white? He didn't want to think about it any longer.

Throughout the service, Kunimi was mute. Not in the same way as the bereaved, but his silence haunted Kindaichi. The funeral wasn't open casket—a blessing to Kindaichi—so he could imagine Goshiki wearing a mask of tranquility to make it easier for himself.

He was to be buried.

That in itself was unusual, as people normally chose to cremate their loved ones, and Kindaichi didn't say that he didn't think that Goshiki would like that very much, being trapped under the earth.

The entire service, Kindaichi felt as if he were listening to their pretty words with his head dunked underwater. What is there to say, anyway? he thought. The priest described him as a "passionate young man" among other things. And yes, that was true, but it painted only a two-dimensional picture of who Goshiki was—who he had been. Kindaichi closed his eyes, thinking of the flourish in Goshiki's movements as he moved about in the kitchen, experimenting with all sorts of weird and wacky recipes. He thought of the way Goshiki had floundered in his choice of major, switching and switching until he had backed himself into a corner.

He thought of how Goshiki would have loved the May Festival. The food and the music and the games—Goshiki would have loved it all.

Finally, it came to lower Goshiki's casket into the ground. Male family members lifted the casket and carried it outside, frailer men and weeping women trailing behind. The soles of their shoes scuffed against the cracked concrete as they shuffled out of the hall.

"Ah." Kindaichi accidentally shouldered another man. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine," the man said, gruffly. He eyed Kindaichi, wearily, and it was then Kindaichi was able to match a name to the face. Semi Eita. "Hey, you're..."

At the same time, Kindaichi started, "You're the guy we..."

Awkwardly, they stared at each other.

"I didn't realize you knew him," Semi said, finding his words at last. He was struggling to speak, choked with grief.

"Yeah," was all Kindaichi could say in return, "I did." He glanced at Kunimi. "We did. Umm... Are all of Shiratorizawa here?" Kindaichi had been too wrapped up in his own misery to register anyone else besides himself, Kunimi, and Goshiki's parents.

"Not all," Semi replied. "Me, Ushijima, Tendou, Jin, Reon, and Hayato." All of the third years who had been on the regular rotation during Goshiki's first year. There was no mention of any of the first year or second year players, but Kindaichi wisely chose not to pry.

"Oh. Um..." Kindaichi didn't really know how to proceed. "I'm sorry."

Semi let out a low, mirthless chuckle. "Yeah. Me too." His eyes were wet. He looked a mess. Like he hadn't slept or showered in days.

An understanding silence fell over them, and the three men trudged after the procession. On the way to the burial ground, Semi cried. Not very loud, as his personality might have suggested, but every sniffle and sob made Kindaichi's heart twist to the point where he thought he was going to die. For his benefit, Kindaichi and Kunimi pretended that they were none the wiser of his sorrow.

At some point, Goshiki's mother had begun to cry, unrestrained. It was one hundred times worse than Semi's. She cried as if she had lost a limb, as if part of her had been taken away forever. She cried until she was barely able to stand, let alone walk, and had to be supported by her husband and brother.

Beside him, Kunimi's breathing quickened. "Shit," he cursed, rubbing his cheeks. "Shit."

"You can cry, you know," Kindaichi told him, seemingly blasé. "No one will think any less of you."

"Shut up, Kindaichi." Kunimi swallowed and did just that. Tears flowed from his eyes and down his cheeks. This was probably one of the worst days of his life. It was true for Kindaichi as well.

Only, Kindaichi could not summon the tears today. The tears that usually came so easily to him whenever he got upset or hurt did not come.

When they arrived at Goshiki's final resting place, a spot already dug out for him, Semi vanished from their side to join the rest of the Shiratorizawa boys. They welcomed him with murmurs that Kindaichi wasn't able to discern.

The casket was lowered.

Goodbye, Kindaichi said in silent farewell, hearing each pound of his heart between his ears. His eyes drooped, his eyelashes making the scene before him hazy. Goodbye, goodbye. He didn't want Goshiki to go. Goodbye.

Many relatives left before the grave was filled. One by one, the people dispersed until the only ones left were him and Kunimi, Goshiki's parents, and Goshiki's former teammates. None of them said a word. Goshiki's mother's wretched sobbing had quietened into the occasional sniffle as she and her husband knelt at their son's grave.

Their son.

Kindaichi couldn't possibly imagine their pain. The pain of losing a child—not for the first time today, Kindaichi pondered upon his own mortality. The skies were clearer than before, sunlight pouring from the clouds, but the smell of rain was still in the wind.

Then it started.

A light drizzle.

Kunimi didn't put up the umbrella.

Kindaichi didn't ask him to.

Eventually, just as Goshiki's parents were about to leave, Ushijima stepped forward. Their gazes flicked toward, wondering what he would say or do. Wordlessly, Ushijima got down on his knees, one hand dipping into the inside of his suit blazer to retrieve a folded cloth.

No, Kindaichi's eyes widened ever so slightly, not a cloth. It's—

The fabric unfurled into Shiratorizawa's volleyball jersey, a big and blocky 1 printed on the front and back.

Someone sobbed violently. Not Goshiki's mother, but Tendou, whose eyes were red and swollen.

Ushijima laid the jersey on the soil before Goshiki's headstone.

"Rest in peace," Kindaichi heard Ohira Reon utter, his voice thick with anguish. "Tsutomu."

The rain didn't let up, peacefully falling upon the earth in light showers, but it was time to leave. Goshiki's parents went first, followed by Shiratorizawa. Finally, Kindaichi and Kunimi turned around as well, walking down the hill.

Kindaichi peered over his shoulder, at the lone gravestone under the tree.

Goodbye, Goshiki.


He panted as he ran up the hill, rain sticking his fringe to his forehead. He didn't stop running until Goshiki's headstone came into view. Slowing to a stop, Shirabu Kenjirou took a deep breath and exhaled.

The grass crunched behind him, and Kawanishi Taichi appeared with an umbrella.

It hadn't been difficult, getting into contact with Kawanishi again. If only for this. If only ever for this.

Shirabu caught sight of the Shiratorizawa jersey—Ushijima's own jersey—laying on Goshiki's grave. His breath hitched in his throat, and something horrible welled up inside him. His own captain's jersey, untouched and in pristine condition back in his closet—

"Oh, Goshiki," Kawanishi whispered, walking forward and staring at the jersey—worn and torn in the hardships they had faced as a team—on the ground. "Goshiki, you fool... You damn fool..." He lifted a fist to his mouth, trying to hide his distress.

Shirabu said nothing. Just stared at the innocent article of clothing.

The only thing Shirabu left Goshiki were flowers of regret and pity.

"I hope you're happy," Kawanishi said, bitterly, as he got into the driver's seat of his car.

"I want to die," admitted Shirabu, buckling his seat belt.

"No. Live," growled Kawanishi, starting the engine and stepping on the gas. "Dying is easy, living is harder. Live with the fact that you could have done something to save him. Live with that fact for the rest of your miserable fucking life."

"Tai—Kawanishi—"

"I hope it haunts you every day. I hope every breath you take hurts because it's a breath Goshiki will never be able to take ever again." Kawanishi's knuckles were white from how hard he gripped the steering wheel. "I hate you, Shirabu. I hate you so, so much."

Shirabu didn't respond.

"And I hate the fact," Kawanishi's gritted his teeth, "That Goshiki couldn't hate you at all."

What?

The final nail in the coffin. The straw that broke the camel's back. There were surely more idioms that could have described him right now, but none came to mind as something in Shirabu crumpled. Goshiki... didn't hate me. Almost imperceptibly, Shirabu shook, every muscle in his body tightening. Shame washed over him like a tsunami. Kawanishi would not save him from it. Would never rest until Shirabu drowned in shame.

Kawanishi drove him all the way back to Sendai and told him to never call him again unless it was life or death. He dropped Shirabu off in front of his apartment. Having taken the day off today, all Shirabu could do was retreat back into his little home.

Had he always been this lonely? His apartment was barely furnished, most of the space taken up by nondescript shelves of textbooks on anatomy.

His clothes were wet, but Shirabu sat down on his bed anyway, the mattress sinking a little beneath his weight.

Is this what my life is?

No friends. Family that rarely bothered to check up on him. A dead underclassman whose memory would haunt him for the rest of his life. He would be hard-pressed to call it empty. 'Empty' was what teenage girls used to describe unfortunate love interests in fiction to drive home the tragedy of their dispositions. Pray tell, if you really are so empty of a person, I could cut you up and expect a space where your intestines should be, right?

But—empty. It was all that came to his mind right now.

His life was empty. Hollow. Dull. Colorless.

Hands numb from the cold, Shirabu pulled his phone out of his bag, impulsively opening up his private chat with Goshiki. A chat room that had been collecting dust for the last six years.

The last message ever sent had been from Goshiki, naturally. No words or anything, just a video Shirabu had only opened once before forgetting about.

He tapped on it.

"Welcome to my first video diary! I swear I'm gonna keep it up! I'll upload something every day! Look—it's Shirabu-senpai! Shirabu-senpai!"

He saw himself smile, and he found himself despising that peaceful expression on his face. "Hey, Goshiki."

"Shirabu-sen—"

It ended.

Shirabu was all alone.


A/N: The final funeral of the story. We've had a couple (Osamu's, Oikawa's, Miyazawa Meisa's), and Goshiki's one is the final one. This chapter, specifically the first section, was inspired by Naoki Urusawa's "Monster" and Osamu Dazai's "No Longer Human". Give 'em both a read in your spare time, if you want.

And a mini update on my life: I've been accepted into Pharmacy and I'm transferring universities. But because my degree is under the faculty of Medicine and Health, I have to get a whole lot of documents in order for clinical student placement, including a National Police Check. So I'll be visiting my local police station in the next few days. Bet that will be fun, I've always wanted to be inside one.