Chapter 30
4. The Unknown God
Miwasaki and I descended the mountain drenched in sweat.
The sweat was cold like we'd been doused with icy water, and the dirt stuck to our shoe soles and suit pants weighed us down like lead.
"What the hell is with that mountain..."
"It might be a stretch, but..."
Miyaki muttered with a stiff smile. Whenever she made that face, it usually ant she was about to say sothing I didn't want to hear.
"The god of this village doesn't turn people who enter the mountain into trees or anything, right?"
"No..."
I denied it, then searched my mind for any reasoning to back it up—but found nothing.
Lost items scattered around the religious facility, and missing persons with no trace left behind.
If Miwasaki, driven mad, had seen people transform into trees up close, it would explain why his mind couldn't take it. Trying to push away the darkening thoughts, I recalled the list of missing persons.
"Most of the sightings of the missing stop around the abandoned rail line. I've never heard of anyone actually climbing the mountain. It's probably sothing else entirely..."
I said it like I was trying to convince myself, but I still wasn't confident.
Fortunately, Miyaki didn't press further and brushed the mud off her clothes.
With heavy steps, we began walking again along the endlessly stretching country road.
"I'd at least like to do sothing about our clothes. And wash our hands and faces too..."
"Yeah."
A two-story house with a traditional tiled roof ca into view, buried in the sea of green clouds.
The white plaster was peeling, and it looked abandoned, but a navy-blue flag hanging from the second-floor balcony jokingly read, "Lodging without als, day-use bathing allowed."
The adjacent wooden shed had a ventilation fan, a gas ter, and a faded fire extinguisher attached. Behind the frosted glass door was an old-fashioned washing machine.
"Is this an inn and a coin laundry?"
Just then, an elderly woman with short hair appeared from the inn, carrying a garbage bag. When she noticed us, she smiled and gave a polite bow.
"Excuse . We're not staying here, but would it be alright to just use the laundry?"
I figured they'd at least have a washbasin, so I asked. The woman, seemingly the innkeeper, nodded generously.
"Go right ahead. It's cold, so feel free to wait in the lobby."
We couldn't exactly wash our suits, so we wiped off the mud as best we could and threw the now pitch-black towels into the washing machine. I inserted so coins and pressed the switch. A piercing electronic beep sounded, and the machine began spinning with a noise that made worry it might break.
"While we're resting, maybe we should resu our questioning too."
"Yeah, especially since we still don't know anything about the local god or beliefs."
The space just inside the inn resembled a public bath's front desk more than a hotel lobby.
Sample towels for rent hung from the curved wooden counter, and in the liscale-stained display case, bottles of beer and orange juice were being chilled.
A massage chair with exposed urethane had a yellowed vinyl cover, and a mysterious object carved from a giant tree in the back was covered in dust—making the place feel all the more like a ruin.
As I rubbed my arms, chilled from evaporating sweat and the water we used to wipe our clothes, the innkeeper poked her head out from behind the counter.
"Are you here to investigate the local faith?"
I flinched and looked at the old woman. Even Miyaki hesitated to answer.
"Whenever soone in a suit shows up, it's usually for that. You're from Tokyo, right?"
The innkeeper calmly folded towels as if it were nothing.
I wondered if there had ever been records of investigations that reached this deep into the village. Just viewing a single report for this case had required a mountain of paperwork. Maybe there were still docunts we hadn't been allowed to see.
"This mountain here is called Mount Fudaraku."
As she shoved a rough-textured thin towel into the shelf, the innkeeper said, and Miyaki nodded.
"Mount Fudaraku... That's the sacred Buddhist peak said to lie south of India. There are temples in Japan with that na too."
"Ah, not that one. The younger generation probably doesn't know. I an Fudaraku Tokai."
"The self-sacrificing journey where trained monks sail off never to return, spreading the teachings to the people... Though there's no sea nearby."
When I joined the conversation, the innkeeper gave a dry smile.
"Yes, that's right. So, it sounds noble, but in reality, it's just an ubasute mountain."
Miyaki and I fell silent. We knew of the old custom in remote Japanese villages of abandoning the sick and elderly, but this was the first ti it felt real.
"But this isn't one of those places where the practice happened. This village, they say, was built by the abandoned elderly and sick themselves."
The innkeeper pressed both hands on the display case, not caring about the fingerprints.
"Long ago, a monk who lived here went into the mountain for training. There, he found old n and won who had been abandoned through ubasute, surviving by eating nuts and animals. Feeling sorry for them, the monk hid them in his temple. From then on, whenever soone was abandoned, he'd go save them. Eventually, it beca a whole settlent."
From the back of the front desk ca the sound of a kettle whistling atop a daruma stove.
"When the temple could no longer shelter them all, the monk and the abandoned people descended the mountain and settled here. Since it's surrounded on all sides by mountains, they probably thought no one would find them."
The innkeeper lifted the kettle, gave it a little shake, and set it back down.
"Everyone who fled to the village had nowhere else to go. So were sick, others were thought to be possessed by evil spirits—people were more superstitious back then. As the village grew, the monk perford a prayer. He didn't build a big temple or statue so it wouldn't draw attention. He just prayed, 'Please let this village remain unknown and continue forever.'"
"So that's why it's the Unknown God..."
I muttered without thinking.
A village dedicated to a god born from the wish to remain unknown—despite nurous investigations, it had never revealed itself, remaining a mystery. I felt like sothing imperceptible was at work here.
The innkeeper still wore a dry smile, but her pupils sharpened slightly.
"That's why everyone opposed the construction of that huge statue and building. It disrespected our god. And gathering emotionally fragile people from all over the country—it was like mocking our god."
At her strong tone, Miyaki gave a vague smile.
Maybe noticing our discomfort, the innkeeper quickly softened her expression.
"Will the laundry take a bit longer, I wonder?"
With stained hands, she rummaged behind the counter and pulled out a notebook.
It was a lined notebook like a student might use, but the edges were torn, the spine half-peeled, and the cover bleached nearly white by the sun.
"You've got ti to spare, right? Want to take a look? Guests sotis leave a little sothing in it as a nto."
I accepted the worn notebook. The cover read, "January 1st, Year 97–"
I flipped the pages while Miyaki peeked over my shoulder.
Nothing special. Just travel notes left as souvenirs.
So tried to sound like writers with elegant script, while others—probably students—drew surprisingly good sketches of unfamiliar manga characters.
The water was great.
I'll co again.
Discovered a hidden hot spring!
Let's co together next year and the year after, love you.
August 21st, Year 02, first visit.
Amid the trivial notes, one line stood out: just a date and visit count.
Noticing my gaze, Miyaki also squinted at the fading ballpoint pen strokes.
"A regular, maybe... Like a challenge to see how many tis they can co in a year..."
Sothing about the handwriting felt familiar.
"It says M.M.... Must be the writer's initials?"
Sure enough, next to the letters was a zigzag scrawl.
I turned the page. There were more entries in the sa handwriting.
October 13th, Year 02, second visit.
January 2nd, Year 03, third visit.
The sa zigzag initials were there too. The aningless dates and counts stuck with .
If they were recording visits, why write only this?
I carefully pinched the frayed, nearly torn page.
Even through the backlit paper, I could see the heavy pen pressure. I turned the page.
February 23rd, Year 03, fourth visit.
How many tis have you co?
That ssage took up the whole page, written in two large lines.
"Wow, that's so passion... But four visits? That's kind of an awkward number. Might as well go for five or ten..."
Miyaki gave a dry laugh. I couldn't respond. Not because I was overwheld by the writing—but because I rembered whose handwriting and initials they were.
Miwasaki Aiji.
My senior, who lost his mind in this village and is still undergoing treatnt.
His voice, long forgotten, echoed in my head.
How many tis have I co here?
I slamd the notebook down on the counter.
"Miyaki, wait here."
The image of the footbath ruins near the abandoned tracks flashed in my mind.
"No, on second thought, don't stay. Co with ."
As I turned on my heel toward the exit, Miyaki hurried after .
"Where are you going, Katagishi-san?"
"Back to the abandoned tracks."
I climbed the steep mountain path, but I didn't feel short of breath. That wasn't even on my mind.
With each step, the trees cast dark shadows in the sunset and rustled, while birds cried out as if tornting us.
I quickened my pace, making sure Miyaki was keeping up, panting behind .
The landslide scars on the abandoned tracks and the tip of the buried torii gate ca into view.
I saw a bench leaning against a rusty fence and ca to a stop.
"Katagishi-san, what is going on? Please, explain!"
No words ca out.
"This should be my second ti coming here, right...?"
There was a square wooden fra, overflowing with damp, darkened fallen leaves.
I stumbled forward toward it.
Half-buried in the swollen, uneven soil after the rain was a black ribbon barrette. I should've known who it belonged to long ago.
A headache pierced through my skull like an iron skewer.
Broken glasses lay on the ground near the leg of the bench.
"Izawa-senpai... Miwasaki-senpai..."
The headache worsened.
Miyaki supported my shoulder, and I realized I had nearly collapsed.
I felt like sothing was watching from above.
I clutched my head and stared desperately at the ground. If I looked up now, I'd see the god statue gazing down at from between the mountains.
And that wrinkled, black mist-like face clinging to its head.
"The Unseen God..."
The true nature of the god in this village isn't that no one knows it.
It's that it erases anyone who learns the truth, leaving no trace behind, to preserve its secrecy.
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