Five Minutes After the Seraphim

Stories

## Illustrations

## Prologue

Things like cathode-ray screens and videotape recorders have already vanished from the ten thousand shapes of the world.

With the spread of fuel-cell cars, highways that once roared with noise have become remarkably quiet spaces.

In the staff credits of anime, Asian names are written as a matter of course.

Among the United Nations peacekeeping forces dispatched to the front lines of conflict zones, eight out of ten are artificial angels.

This is a story that takes place in such a future—

the primitive memento

Those “five minutes” were the interval between “encounter” and “parting.”

In her memory, the world had always been gray. It was not that the world had lost its color, but that she herself had lost color.

Standing alone in a wilderness of black and white was a gray iron tower. Bundles of cable ran east and west, parallel to the ground, and even the wind they sheared apart was gray.

Perhaps it was hinting at a ruined ending. But in truth the world is not so considerate of the human heart, and it had never offered so much as a hint. Now, perhaps only because she was gone, things like hints were nothing more than settings forced on afterward. Like suddenly discovering you were out of memory and rushing off to a computer shop to patch it up.

The cause of this gray, though, was impossible to put into words. The only thing certain was the fact of what she was climbing toward—that iron tower eighty meters high, that recklessness, that witless provocation—

For a professional climber, the mere reason that “there is a tower there” is enough to climb it without regard for the trouble it brings the people around them. But…

## Chapter One

the 1st memento

A Performance in Silent Space

Every morning is a battlefield.

If even this can become habit, that is truly frightening; while cooking, she had begun to ignore those unreasonable things. Or rather, before she could ignore them, she did not even have the leisure to feel that they were unreasonable. The apron inherited from her father had, at some point she could not name, come to fit her body in close harmony.

Both her mother and her older sister were clumsy, and wholly without any will to work. If they were to live, within a limited budget, a diet a human being could actually eat, then she herself would inevitably have to take charge of the household. Perhaps her mother, once a young lady of a distinguished house, still firmly believed that “a kitchen knife is a weapon for stabbing people.”

Her father, Sōshirō, used to say:

—When we were newly married, Yoshie stood in the kitchen only once… But no matter how many extra fingers, even how many extra hands, it would never have been enough.

From then on, the man who addressed his wife, twelve years his junior, with the honorific “you”—Haruhata Sōshirō—took both the housework and the business entirely upon himself.

But a father like that was no longer beside her.

He was already in a far place beyond Chiro’s reach.

“—We now bring you the endlessly troubled situation in East Africa. Last night, ‘Pantheon’ dispatched a second contingent to the scene, and in response to this action, civic groups around Atsugi Base have begun protest marches. Although the introduction of the ‘Seraphim’ has greatly reduced the danger of human soldiers dying on the front lines, civic groups still maintain that…

## Chapter Two

the 2o

The Frozen Girl and the Calamity That Cannot Be Escaped

“Well then, Omamori’s seat is…”

Mishiro looked around the classroom.

“Teacher Mishiro, I think the seat over there would be fine!”

In that instant, Chiro was so startled she nearly couldn’t breathe. Tsuya’s gaze had not fallen on “the seat over there”; it had shot straight past and into Chiro.

The moment their eyes met—but Chiro quickly looked away from Tsuya’s eyes. It was a complicated feeling in which shock and shame were mingled.

Trembling, she raised her gaze once more… and they collided again.

Sure enough, Tsuya was staring at Chiro.

“Hm… all right. The seat beside Haruhata is empty, isn’t it… But was there originally a seat in that place?”

Though Mishiro was surprised by the unusual transfer student’s taking matters into her own hands, the desk next to Chiro was indeed empty. Mishiro, who had forgotten to arrange a seat for the transfer student in advance, nodded readily to cover her own lapse.

“Then, starting today, that will be your seat.”

“I am deeply grateful for your assistance.”

After answering in an exaggerated tone, Tsuya walked toward the very back of the classroom. Creak, creak, creak… like a metronome, precise, a rhythmic hardness in her footsteps.

Mishiro seemed to remember something, and spoke toward Tsuya’s back.

“Ah, Omamori. There’s something I’ve been meaning to say…”

Tsuya stopped at once and executed a beautiful right face.

“What can I do for you?”

“That doll—you’re a middle schooler now, so don’t bring it to school, all right?”

At once, Mishiro began her…

## Chapter Three

The 3rd memento

Moving-Day Soba and a Ten-Yen Coin

“Hey. Uncle, what kind of work do you do?”

“Well… I look after angels.”

“Do angels really exist?”

“Remember this: those are human…”

He snorted a private laugh, then, with a cigarette between his lips, said quietly:

“Things made for one’s own convenience—those are extraordinary creatures.”

This car really did stir up some bad memories. As a child she had described the body’s color as “silver,” and the owner had answered with fists and feet.

—I told you not to call it silver! Titanium-gray metallic! Remember it!

Chiro felt that the main reason Haruhata Seisuke was so hard to deal with might be that those fists and feet had taken root deep in her heart.

Seisuke was Sōshirō’s younger brother, the person Chiro called Uncle. He had originally been an employee of Makibishi Heavy Industries, working at the Takamiya plant until three years ago, and had now transferred to the Tokyo head office. The details were unclear, but he seemed to be in charge of work related to the <Seraphim>. If the Japanese government had not decided to procure American-made <Seraphim>, Seisuke might still be living in Takamiya Town.

“Ah… is Tsuya an old acquaintance of Uncle Seisuke? D-don’t tell me… an illegitimate child?”

Staring at the R-7’s fluid silhouette, Chiro asked, fearful and uneasy.

“Instructor Haruhata is my guardian.”

“…Guardian? And what is ‘Instructor Haruhata’? Does that old man do something like teaching?”

“Yes. Instructor Haruhata is the instructor of all of us.”

She did not understand. “All of us…

## Chapter Four

The 4th memento

A Specimen of the Seraph, the Unpublished Her

“Hey, Mana. Get up already, it’s morning!”

The quilt covering her was flung back roughly. Every morning of Manami’s life began, without fail, with Mama Mana’s (named in kindergarten days by Yuzuki) “Hey, Mana.”

“Mmm—good morning, Mom.”

She crawled up slowly, only to hear an unusual scolding all at once.

“Good morning, my ass! What time do you think it is!”

“Eh?… Eh????”

It was already past seven-thirty! In her shock she accidentally rolled off the bed.

“Ah… that hurt! Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”

Holding her lower back, Manami shouted irritably at her mother.

“How many times did I call you this morning? Did you stay up late again yesterday?”

“No… it wasn’t that late…”

“Enough, hurry up and get ready! And don’t forget your gym clothes! I already hung them out to dry for you.”

“Okaaay—”

Watching her mother leave, she quickly peeled off her pajamas and grabbed at the sleeves of her uniform any which way. Manami was, all things considered, a child who liked school, but this morning there was a gloomy feeling.

—Omamori Tsuya.

Suddenly she remembered that strange transfer student.

“…Why, Chiro, honestly…”

She muttered under her breath.

The problem was that Tsuya was a beauty even prettier than she was—at least, that was what Manami thought. That alone was enough to form a threat, and it had begun to shake Manami.

What kind of place was it, an environment where you were woken by a bugle? Chiro could not picture it.

With…

## Chapter Five

The 5th memento

Collecting “Death”

“Sena, I really don’t like this hair color!”

“Why? I like it a lot, that red hair. Isn’t it the symbol of the domestic <Seraphim>?”

“That’s why… it’s red like blood! That’s why I don’t like it! Sena should have black hair, like Onii-chan and Lady Yoshifu! Hey… can’t you go dye it? Sena knows! Humans dye their hair so they’ll look pretty!”

“No. I like Sena’s red hair just as it is. You’re not allowed to dye it.”

“Mmm… okay. Since Onii-chan says so, Sena will just stay like this. But… can we make a promise?”

“What?”

“It’s… will you marry Sena?”

“…I promise. The two of us will always be together!”

“Wow! I love Onii-chan the most!”

That day, Iba Ryōsuke took Sena by the hand and went out to view the night cherries.

An unstable life of part-time work. No matter how beautiful the cherry blossoms were, they were things with no value at all, the same as a drunk’s vomit. But he still went out to see the flowers, because Sena would not stop asking. Sena loved watching television most of all, especially the local stations and NHK Educational.

“Look! The cherry blossoms of Takamiya Town are all in full bloom today!”

The local announcer said it with a salesman’s smile spread across his face.

“Onii-chan! Sena wants to go see the cherry blossoms! Not on TV—the real cherry blossoms!”

Year after year, Sena said the same thing.

Sena had a severe memory impairment, and whenever spring arrived, cherry blossoms, for Sena, were…

## Afterword

☆Light novel☆ bunko ☆enku8.☆ Special note:

Ki no Utaei is the pen name used by Mizuchi Shiki before 2007. For ease of searching works by the same author, this bunko lists Mizuchi Shiki directly as the author’s name.

——————————

It’s been a long time. This is Ki no Utaei.

Since my debut, I truly have to thank all of you.

Teachers who were originally above the clouds have encouraged me with warm words as well. I am deeply grateful for the impressions readers have sent. Having a short story published in the special issue—a work I had only just finished—and having it accepted directly by the editor in charge, was a very happy thing. Even though the people around me find the pen name a bit ordinary…

Also, I suddenly noticed—the next work may not even be out before autumn arrives.

I received the award notice last September, and although I have already entered the mode of a professional writer, dragging a manuscript like this… ah, every day is a headache.

In this industry, it is customary for a newcomer to write a sequel to their debut work, but this work is not a sequel to *Resonance Blue*; it is a new series. Of course, whether it can become a series depends on the response of you readers. I will be waiting here for your opinions and impressions!

Those of you who have already read the previous work may know that I love science fiction. But hard science fiction is too difficult for me, so I generally just read domestic science fiction novels that don’t quite count as hard SF. Even so, my personal interests ran too far, and it is a fact that I was taken down from the mystery-bunko label page.