My Personal Recommendation for Natsuhiko Kyogoku, perhaps it's 'The Demon of Destruction,' or maybe 'The Stance of Demon Slayer,' maybe, just maybe ||| Shin-Novel No.013
In a dimly lit coffee shop, with a steaming cup of coffee in front of me, I was listening to a man's story.
The man's name was Akihiko Chuzenji. He seemed carefree, yet he carried something unfathomable within him.
"Do you know what a Matagi is, Sekiguchi?"
Chuzenji began with that.
Matagi—those who live in the mountains and stand between the mountains and the people. It is written as 'demon,' and also as 'mountain hunter.'
A demon is not merely a monster. It is the name of one who stands at the boundary, and the barrier itself.
He spoke.
In 2025, the number of bears culled reached a record high of 12,000.
But that was not because the mountains had become desolate. It was because people had abandoned the mountains.
The forestry industry declined, firewood was no longer needed, and people descended from the mountains.
Abandoned villages increased, and only rights remained in the mountains.
But that wall of law does not apply to bears.
That 'wall' was a line drawn on paper; by day, it was just a map symbol, but at night, it looked somehow distorted.
When illuminated by moonlight, it wavered as if rising from the ground, and when the wind blew, it stretched and shrank.
It was a line that people could see, but beasts could not—or rather, even if they could see it, it held no meaning.
Bears do not know boundaries.
Attracted by the scent of food, they settled in abandoned villages where human presence had faded.
The third-generation bears and monkeys, accustomed to humans, no longer 'descend' from the mountains; they live on the boundary.
Without me needing to ask, Chuzenji moved on to the topic of abandoned villages.
They were not just places where people had left. They were places where time itself had stagnated.
The tatami mats were damp, seeping cold air with every step, and the oblique light streaming through broken windows dyed the dust gold.
Vines tangled around rusted farm equipment, and doors that no one should have touched creaked in the wind.
On the blackboard of the abandoned school, a child's fading writing remained—lines that could be read neither as 'goodbye' nor 'see you later' floated silently.
Chuzenji had lived in that abandoned village for three years.
Occasionally he would descend to the city, breathe the air of human settlements, and return to the mountains.
What did the people do?
They shot bears in the city.
It was like a surgery to excise only the proliferated terminal cancer cells.
Taking risks, making a fuss, and eventually getting used to it—the news became a documentary, and eventually, it became an old log.
"Bear-mergency, huh? As long as they're trying to make it buzz, it's still not so bad."
Chuzenji said that with a bitter smile.
He brought up the subject of the hunters' association.
Their compensation is abnormally low.
Why?
Because hunting was originally a way of life, a culture, and a pastime.
If you caught it, you ate it; if you sold it, it became sustenance—that was the norm.
But now, the hunters have become 'benevolent volunteers.'
Asked to shoot bears that have come into the city, bearing the danger, and yet having only the responsibility pushed onto them.
I remembered the story of an old hunter.
His hands were gnarled, and they trembled slightly every time he gripped his gun. Yet, when called, he would go out.
"I don't want to be made to shoot in the city anymore"—that voice was closer to a prayer than a complaint.
In 2018, a hunter was asked to shoot a bear in the city. Despite that, he was sued by the residents and had his license revoked.
"It's like Ultraman coming to defeat a monster and getting sued because he trampled the residents," Chuzenji quipped.
Eventually, the Self-Defense Forces were dispatched.
But they said they would not help with the culling.
Perimeter security, resident protection—only the appearance of safety was arranged.
"They should train in the mountains. But abandoned villages are private property. They can't be used as SDF campsites."
The wall of law does not apply to bears.
Therefore, unless a 'demon' is placed in the mountains, no boundary is created.
But abandoned villages are someone's land, and living there without permission is illegal occupation. If you try to restore them to forest, it becomes illegal.
The only loophole—to incorporate land with ambiguous ownership into national forests or national parks. The state becomes the responsible entity and places people there.
If that cannot be done, the boundary will not return.
Chuzenji then began his own story.
In 2021, he broke.
His body was healthy, but his mind went mad.
He said that madness was convenient for becoming a demon.
Feeling that he had become a 'more dangerous existence' than a bear, he wandered through abandoned villages.
In his days wandering through abandoned villages, Chuzenji encountered bears many times. It was not a hunter's encounter, nor was it an observer's encounter.
It was a raw meeting between one who stands at the boundary and one who might cross it.
One evening, under the stone steps of a dilapidated shrine, I locked eyes with a bear.
The wind stopped, the birds' voices vanished, and only the scent of the mountain hung heavy.
Chuzenji did not retreat a single step. But he did not move forward either.
He did not hold a gun, did not pick up a stone, and did not raise his voice.
He just stared steadily into the bear's eyes.
The bear, too, did not move.
Without roaring, threatening, or swinging its claws, it just stared back as if measuring Chuzenji.
That silence was neither hostility nor submission—it was a silence like a scale.
Eventually, the bear slowly turned its body.
It did not run away. It was not defeated.
As if it had decided for itself, 'I will not cross here,' it quietly disappeared into the forest.
I caught my breath.
"It wasn't that I didn't kill it. There was no need to kill it."
Chuzenji said that.
To him, a demon was not one who strikes down beasts, but one who makes beasts understand, 'From here on, it is a different world.'
Drawing a line with one's very existence—that was the boundary he spoke of.
When the bear retreated on its own, an invisible barrier was born there.
The bear did not die, and he did not die.
An equilibrium established not by force or by logic, but only by 'standing where one should stand.'
Chuzenji called it the 'Demon of the Optimal Solution.'
That night, the darkness of the abandoned village was deeper than usual, yet somehow quiet.
The bear did not return.
The wind was gentle, and the shadows of the decaying houses just stood there.
As if wrapped in an invisible barrier.
One day, a turning point arrived.
Chuzenji's mother was dying.
Opportunities to descend from the mountain to care for her increased.
The white light of the hospital was in such contrast to the darkness of the mountain.
The smell of people, the smell of disinfectant, the rhythmic sound of machines—in that, Chuzenji realized he had something he 'must protect.'
He became afraid to return to the mountain.
And the decisive event—
A bear appeared next to the Hachioji City Office.
Perhaps it was not an intrusion, but a straying.
The bear was confused by its reflection in the glass, squinted at the car lights, and sniffed at the smell of concrete.
Standing in a place that was neither mountain nor city, it seemed to be just looking for its place.
The boundary was no longer deep in the mountains, but had reached the edge of the city.
The world finally began to move.
The courts leaned toward rulings favorable to hunters, and the administration upgraded the department from animal damage to environmental measures.
The 'Kanji of the Year' became 'Bear,' and media requests flooded Chuzenji.
But he was no longer a demon.
He had returned to being a human.
"Now is the time to make money. People, goods, and money are all here. But, Sekiguchi—how do you think I feel right now?"
He laughed.
It was not a dry laugh, nor a proud one.
And he continued.
"If a child had been killed by a bear in Hachioji, I might have truly become a demon."
"But now there are people, goods, and money."
"So—
I am no longer needed.
People will save themselves.
Good, good.
Truly.
Don't you think so?"
The coffee had long since gone cold.
Outside the window, the city was moving as if nothing had happened.
The mountain where the demon disappeared was neither noisy nor peaceful. It was just quiet, as if something had been lost.
It was closer to a void than order.
The news would eventually become a documentary and then the past, the past would become a record, and the record would slip from people's memories—.
I couldn't say anything.
I just stared at the quiet void drifting on the man's back.
At that moment, the coffee shop glass seemed to fog up slightly.
Even though no outside air had entered, it blurred thinly and roundly, as if someone had breathed on it from the inside.
I looked up.
On the sidewalk, there was the usual flow of people, the flow of cars, and the bustle of the city.
Even so—deep within that bustle, a single stillness like a foreign object was mixed in.
A shadow wavered.
It was too heavy to be a human shadow.
Did someone walk by?
Did something cross?
It was unclear.
The city through the glass sank deep, like a night in the deep mountains, for just a fleeting moment.
And then, I suddenly realized.
The boundary is no longer outside.
It is standing quietly inside my own eyes.
In an instant—
I felt as if I saw a bear walking through the city with a perfectly natural face.
👇️
To tell the truth, 'Chuzenji' is just something he is pretending to be on his own.
However, if you don't go along with this pretense, he stops talking.
He seems to have such an obsession that he is nicknamed 'The Pretender.'
It was a shame to end this quite interesting rambling story halfway through.
Forgive me, but for convenience's sake, let's call them Chuzenji and Sekiguchi.
nvn