And Then No One Was Raised Episode 9: Letter Quarantine

That afternoon, the old bulletin board in the Seventh East District became covered in letters.

To Marina-san.
I heard you say you want to go home.

To Chikage-san.
I remembered your name.

To Hayato-san.
When it hurts, please say it hurts.

To everyone at the center.
We have a pot.

You are not just a number.
The place you return to remains, even if it doesn't appear on a map.

Papers written by unknown authors were posted one after another.

Elementary schooler's handwriting.
Bold letters from the shopping district.
The back of a pharmacy receipt.
Bakery wrapping paper.
An old price tag from a greengrocer.
The margins of a school handout.
And, a paper listing ingredients for a hot pot.

Napa cabbage.
Daikon radish.
Scraps of meat.
Tofu.
Bread.
Mandarin orange peels.
Be more careful with the probiotic drinks next time.

Below that, someone had added a note.

Aya Jingu's Mystery Pot, room for improvement.

Ayuta saw that and smiled a little.

He didn't know if it was something that should be improved.
But the adults in town acted as if it were only natural.
For some reason, everyone knows about Aya Jingu's Mystery Pot.
Even those who don't are treated as if they do.
Such words hold power in the town.

The support staff tried to peel the papers off the bulletin board.

When they peeled them off, other papers were posted.

Paper is weak.

It gets wet in the rain.
It tears.
It gets blown away by the wind.
If you light it, it burns.

But because it is weak, it multiplies.

Even if you peel off one, there is another.
Even if you burn one, someone remembers.
Even if you quarantine one, the hands do not stop.
Even if you put away the pot, the smell remains.

The next morning, the Children and Families Point Agency announced new measures.

[Letter Quarantine]

[Regarding Restrictions on Paper Media Use During Regional Safety Re-certification]

[Unregistered handwritten documents, notices, letters, scraps of paper, ledgers, memos, compositions, graffiti, menus, ingredient lists, unofficial cooking records, etc., will be subject to inspection as necessary]

Scraps of paper.
Ledgers.
Memos.
Compositions.
Graffiti.
Menus.
Ingredient lists.
Unofficial cooking records.

Finally, paper itself had become a dangerous object.

That was not all.

[{Regarding the Aya Jingu-style dark hot pot incident confirmed yesterday it will be subject to continued observation as it involves non-certified value circulation, unapplied-for assembly, emotional connection, and unclassifiable resident laughter reactions]

Ayuta laughed when he saw the notice.

The fact that it was prohibited meant that it was working.

The greengrocer also laughed.

"Paper is a dangerous object? My old ledger storage area is basically an ammunition depot now."

Takuma said.

"Anti-vocabulary books are the most dangerous items."

Yui said with a serious face.

"They are actually dangerous, so we should change where we hide them."

Mabeko asked.

"What is ammunition?"

Ayuta thought for a moment.

"Strong paper."

"Then, are my 'I don't like it' cards also ammunition?"

Maybe so.

Mibako pressed her chest pocket proudly.

Inside that pocket was a small piece of paper.

I hate it.

That was all that was written on it.

But for Sibyl Gennai, it was dangerous enough.

That night, an emergency briefing was being held at the Adult Independence Support Center.

The support staff member stood at the front as usual, though there was a hint of fatigue in their voice.

Today, in the Seventh East District, numerous unverified notices and scraps of paper addressed to those in transition were confirmed. These may affect your independence support plans. If you have received any, you must submit them.

It was displayed on the screen.

Peace of Mind Submission Period

Now, you will receive a bonus to your support cooperation rating.

In other words, it was a snitching point system.

Marina looked around.

Chikage. Hayato. Miu. Takumi. Sara.

No one looked at Marina.

No one talked about the paper. No one mentioned the words on the bulletin board they saw today. No one said anything about the smell of the pot.

Silence.

If it were Sibyl Gennai, they would process this silence as calm acceptance.

But it was different.

This was a silence kept to protect.

A silence of not informing.
A silence of protecting names.
A silence of hiding letters.
A silence of not handing over to anyone the memory of having inhaled only the steam.

Marina gripped her own hands under the desk.

Silence is not consent.

Words that came from the town were useful inside the center.

That night, Marina hid a piece of paper under her bed.

It was a paper on which she had transcribed from memory alone the words of the notice she had seen from the town.

The town is gray.
But there are roads.
Names remain as well.
There are pots too.
If you want to go home, please say you want to go home.
Wanting to go home is wanting to go home.

Marina wrote underneath that.

I said it.
I want to go home.

And then, she wrote one more line.

Next time, I will go home.

That was not a plan.

There is no method.
I do not know the vehicle times.
I do not know the gate codes.
I cannot predict the support staff patrols.
Even if I get to town, I do not know where I should go.

However, sometimes words go ahead.

I will go home.

The moment she wrote that, something changed inside Marina.

I want to go home was a wish.
I will go home was a direction.

Three days later, the center vehicle headed toward the Seventh East District again.

This was to conduct guidance assistance by the transferees and dialogue with residents as a final confirmation for regional safety re-certification.

Sibyl Gennai thought they were testing the town.

Could the Seventh East District regain positive expression?
Could it reduce unverified postings?
Could it maintain an appropriate distance from migrants?
Could it prevent a recurrence of the Aya Jingu-style hotpot incident?

However, the town was making other preparations.

From the park to the shopping street.
From the shopping street to the elementary school.
From the elementary school to Mitsuru's house.

Small pieces of paper were posted along the edge of the road.

This is the way home.

Every time you turn a corner, there is another paper.

This is also the way home.

In front of the bakery, too.

This is also the way home.

In front of the pharmacy, too.

This is also the way home.

In front of the greengrocer, it was written in large letters.

Even if it doesn't appear on the map, the road exists.

Next to it, another small piece of paper was posted.

Hotpot is something you eat on the way home.

I don't know who wrote it.

Perhaps it is better not to know.

On Sibyl Gennai's map, the Seventh East District was still gray.

But at the feet of the people, there was a path of white paper.

The center vehicle arrived at the park.

Marina and the others were let off.

The support staff immediately noticed the abundance of paper.

"Please remove the posted materials!"

But it was too late.

Mibako pointed to one of the papers and read it.

"This is the way home."

The voices of the lower-grade students carried well.

Another child continued.

"This is also the way home."

The lady from the shopping district read.

"Even if it doesn't appear on the map, the road exists."

Mr. Tachibana said quietly.

"This is a reading aloud class."

Support staff member Sakakibara's face changed color.

"These are unverified posted materials."

"They are teaching materials."

"They have not been applied for."

"The children are reading them."

"They are outside the lesson plan."

Then, I will plan it now.

Instead of a blackboard, Mr. Tachibana pointed to the ground in the park.

Today's goal: Reading the path.

The children read the paper in unison.

This is the way home.
This is also the way home.
We call each other by name.
If someone says it hurts, we stop.
If someone says they don't want to, we listen.
I want to go home means I want to go home.
I am going home becomes a path.

Sibyl Gennai issued a warning.

[Simultaneous utterance of home-return vocabulary by multiple children and residents detected]

[Significant impact on regional safety re-certification]

[Possibility of non-certified community formation following the Jingu Aya-style dark pot incident]

A significant impact.

In other words, it is working.

Marina took a step forward.

The support worker reached out an arm.

SBG-18704, please return.

Marina did not look back.

I am Marina Kanno.

Chikage followed.

I am Chikage.

Yuto said.

When it hurts, I will say it hurts.

Miu said.

"I want to go home."

Takumi said.

"I am going home."

The support worker operated the terminal.

"Unauthorized departure by a transferee. Initiate immediate stop."

The screen froze.

[District 7 East is currently undergoing regional safety re-authentication]

[Map information is temporarily unavailable]

It was ironic.

Because they had turned the town gray, Sibyl Gen-nai itself could no longer immediately determine the way home.

The greengrocer placed a hand on Ayuta's shoulder.

"It's a loophole in the old system. You can't read a map you've deleted yourself."

Ayuta nodded.

Marina walked along the paper path.

The children read.
The townspeople line up.
No one runs.
No one screams.

They simply create a path.

Marina stopped in front of Mitsuru's house.

The front door was open.

Her mother was standing there.
Her father was there too.

Both of them had expressions different from the ones they wore during the gratitude transmission event.

These were not faces for smile authentication.

They were faces that looked like they were about to cry, were angry, were afraid, and yet were still waiting.

Mitsuru called his sister's name.

Marina.

Marina replied.

I'm home.

At those words, the terminal chimed.

[Homecoming vocabulary detected]

[Unauthenticated homecoming behavior detected]

[Regional reconnection status unclassifiable]

[Unclassifiable]

Seeing that display, Ayuta laughed.

He never thought being unclassifiable could make him this happy.

By the time Support Officer Sakakibara caught up, a crowd had formed in front of the entrance.

Someone brought a pot. Someone brought out bowls. Someone offered a handkerchief.

There was the smell of a pot.

It was a slightly more decent smell than yesterday's.

This is a violation.

Sakakibara said.

The greengrocer replied.

“Of what?”

Sakakibara choked on his words.

There are regulations.
There are notifications.
There are restrictions.

But there is no name for what is right in front of me.

Returning home.
Reunion.
Meal.
Tears.
Neighborhood.
Hot pot.

To put them into the boxes of the system, they were all too old and too raw.

That night, the Regional Safety Re-certification for the Seventh East District was put on hold.

The treatment of Marina and the others was also put on hold.

Some were sent back to the center.
Some were treated as temporary home returns.
Some were provisionally recorded as demonstration cases of intra-regional family reconnection.

It was not a complete victory.

Nothing has ended.

The points will not return.
The map is still gray.
The letter quarantine will not disappear.
Sibyl Gennai will learn even more.
The next mystery hot pot might be classified even faster.

Even so, it was different from before.

The children have names.
The town has a bulletin board.
In the back of the greengrocer's, there is an anti-vocabulary book.
In the park, there are traces of a hot pot.
In the center, there is a silence to protect.
Marina has the words to say, 'I'm going home.'

None of those are displayed on Sibyl Gennai's map.

That is why they remain.

Ayuta created a new page in the anti-vocabulary book.

The title is, Path.

Sabeko wrote in it first.

A road is a place to walk.

Mitsuru wrote.

A road is a place where my sister comes home.

Yui wrote.

A road is not a command from a map.

Takuma wrote.

A road increases when it is erased.

The greengrocer wrote.

A road is an old technology. It moves if you have feet.

Mr. Tachibana wrote.

A road is a language that cannot be fully taught in class.

Marina wrote at the end.

A road is something you start walking on when you want to go home.

Ayuta added one line below that.

Even if the map erases it, the road remains.

Next to that, Mibeko wrote in small letters.

If you have a pot, you can get home a little faster.

Ayuta did not erase it.

It was a phrase that would someday lead to another story.

And Then No One Was Raised: To be continued in the final chapter...