Love is found in dying (恋蛍 English vr)

Chapter Fourteen

Nao, who had been visiting the hospital every day, did not appear the next day, nor the day after.

Is there any occurrence that shakes the human heart more strangely than the absence of one who was meant to come? Nao had abruptly severed the string of her previously diligent visits.

In the formulation of his plan, her innocence had begun to undermine its clarity.

It was clear she bore no fault, and yet, the very consciousness of devoting himself wholly to the plan invited a sudden intrusion of reality.

It was as if some subtle force were at work, quietly prompting a betrayal of his noble ideals.

Unconsciously, he feared the derailment of the plan, feared that it might drive him back into cowardice.

Still, he was ashamed of his fear in the face of a lofty ideal.

He had to suppress his slothful self—rooted in the real world—and discipline both mind and body so that he might dissolve into the light of that ideal.

That was a state filled with unblemished purity. It was something one could rightfully call happiness.

The pilots of the special attack squadrons, who took off with bombs strapped to their bodies, had been absolved of the agonies of life.

Love, poverty, loneliness, illness—these were no longer within the realm of their suffering.

From the vulgar and brutally truthful burden of daily struggle, they had been cleanly and eternally set free.

There was only one thing they had to do: to crash, beautifully and with certainty, into an enemy ship.

That alone was their tomorrow.

It was not sorrow.

It was a lucid, penetrating bliss.

To exchange the "life" of decades yet to come for "death"—it was worth the price.

Here and now, he too was being pressed by a need to dedicate himself to that same kind of searing, blistering spirit.

On the Fourth Day, Nao Reappeared Suddenly.

She quietly pushed open the door and let her eyes wander through the narrow slit, as if sniffing the air of the room.

Without so much as a glance, she entered wordlessly, her gaze still averted. Like a shadow of guilt, she slipped in, setting foot on the hospital floor with such care that not even the sound of her steps could be heard.

She bore with her the weight of daily life.

Folded neatly in her arms were underwear and a change of clothes—items that were nothing less than the unavoidable presence of the everyday.

Silently, she placed them on the shelf. Then, taking a seat, she opened a paperback book and began to read.

She looked as though she were simply carrying out her duties, solemnly and without complaint.

An awkward atmosphere filled the room.

He regretted the words he had spoken that day.

He should have apologized, but the words caught in his throat.

Each opened a book, and in silence, they passed the time.

Crime and Punishment—he had already finished reading it.

Now he was going back over the parts that still lingered in his mind.

The sound of the ventilation fan in the distance resembled the faint buzzing of an insect’s wings.

The room was so deeply quiet that he would not have been surprised to hear each breath Nao took.

Their silence gradually blended with the air around them, becoming a nameless feeling that slowly wrapped itself around them both.

________________________________________

Summer had passed, and the season of red spider lilies had arrived.

With the new school term, Nao began to visit in the afternoons after class. Since that incident, her naturally quiet nature had grown even quieter. Still, they exchanged the necessary words—“Water,” or “Do you want some water?”

Without realizing it, time had gently begun to soften their emotions.

One day, Nao brought with her a single, vivid red spider lily. Fresh flowers were not allowed in the room, but she had smuggled it in, saying, “It was just so beautiful, I couldn’t help it.”

Placing the flower on the nightstand, she said:

“It’s your favorite flower, right, Yu-chan?”

The manjusyage—the spider lily famed for its enchanting fragrance—carried the fullness of its bloom, scenting the air with a delicate sweetness. It could neither produce seeds nor pollinate—yet it still bloomed, and still drew insects. Why such a flower would go on blooming was a quiet mystery.

“Let’s write a song,” he said.

Crimson light, the unseen flower— red spider lily, burning in scarlet at life’s end.

I wrote the tanka on a memo pad and showed it to Nao.

“What do you think?”

“The last poem was good, but this one is too. Both talk about flowers. The first was evening primrose, and this one is the red spider lily.”

“Which is better?”

“They’re both well written.”

“Which one do you like?”

“I don’t like either.”

“Neither?”

Nao’s eyes took on a troubled, resigned look.

“They both make me sad. It feels like my big brother is going away.”

She held out the memo where both poems were written.

I tore it into tiny pieces over a metal tray and set them on fire.

The two tanka burst into flames, flickering on the tray. We silently watched as they burned, with no way to stop it. Somehow, the sight resembled the red spider lilies themselves. For a moment, I hesitated, thinking it was a waste to destroy them. But soon, the fire consumed them entirely.

The tanka had met a fleeting end, and the red spider lilies blazed with an ephemeral brilliance, feeding on their ashes.

Nao opened the window to let the smoke escape, sprayed deodorizer all over the room, and carried the ashes away.

Those ashes were the remnants of the two lost poems.

Just after that, the attending doctor arrived at the hospital room accompanied by Haruka.

The doctor looked over the medical chart and said cheerfully,

“Your numbers have improved quite a lot.”

He handed the chart to Haruka, then examined the patient by palpation and listened to the chest with a stethoscope. The cold touch of the stethoscope pressed against the chest.

“It seems like the fever won’t come back anymore.”

The body was apparently on the mend. However, that carried a different meaning. Getting better meant advancing step by step toward the plan. Even if the body perished from illness, it held no meaning. It would be just dying of disease.

The doctor was filling out something in the chart in a businesslike manner.

As the two were leaving the room, Haruka’s hand gently brushed the doctor’s.

The moment I saw that movement, something inside me slipped away. The turmoil that had so deeply disturbed my heart suddenly unraveled.

The ceiling of the hospital room was just an ordinary ceiling. There was no altar or decoration. Only the whiteness of the ceiling stood out.

Like a fever breaking, the heat cooled down. Haruka was not a saint, just a woman.

The world had completely transformed.

It was so bright. The heavy, dark, gloomy things seemed to peel away one by one. If that heaviness had weight, my body must have surely grown lighter. The world was so light.

I sat up on the bed, dazed.

Nao approached me worriedly and looked into my face.

Meaning had fallen away from the world. I was dazed by that emptiness, yet strangely, I thought I wanted to live.

I slipped out of bed, knelt before Nao, and clung to her feet as if begging for atonement.

The new year had begun, and my discharge date was scheduled soon.

At the parting of our final lesson, the instructor looked at me, let out a deep sigh, and began to speak.

“She once, just for a moment, almost stepped into the other world.”

The instructor spoke of that day without treating it as anything special.

I felt those words catch in my throat, but I asked nothing.

I felt as if questioning it was forbidden. Perhaps it was her deepest secret.

According to the instructor, this is what happened:

When he had business with me and came to the hospital, he saw Nao walking toward the shore. Her behavior was unusual, so, feeling suspicious, he followed her. She came to the water’s edge and stared at the sea for a while. Then she took off her shoes, went barefoot, and began walking into the sea.

At that moment, the instructor ran along the shore and shouted her name.

Noticing his voice, she started walking toward the sea. The instructor entered the water and stopped her.

Perhaps…