[Short Story] 04:59

The 'momijidori' (maple bird) is another name for a deer. It originates from the fact that the cry of a stag in autumn sounds as sorrowful as that of a bird.
I have never heard a deer cry, nor do I have the sentimentality to find a bird's cry sorrowful. The reason this piece of trivia remains stored in my brain without fading is that it is knowledge I received from none other than my teacher.

Looking at the autumn leaves reflected through the sun-scorched window glass at the end of the hallway, I recall those days. My teacher, opening an academic book as if reading a picture book to me when I was still a child.

'Words have what we call kotodama, you see.'

A sepia-toned voice that slowly seeps into my heart. Shaking off the nostalgia drifting from it, I move my gaze from the window to the front. I knocked on the door of a room at the very back of the top floor of an old building, located in the furthest corner of the university campus.

'Yes. Come in.'

I enter. Behind the messily piled books, even while covered in dust, sat my teacher at his desk, with his back to a window that framed another magnificent view of autumn leaves.

'Ah, it's you.'

The teacher recognizes me and gives a slight nod.

'It has been a long time.'

I bow. I do not ask if he has been well. I can tell just by looking.

'Sorry, but I have my hands full. If you want coffee, make it yourself.'
'No. I'm fine for today.'

I just drank some terrible coffee elsewhere the other day, and besides, I don't think the coffee maker here even works.

Relying on the light from the window, the teacher is running his eyes over the books on his desk. Although he should be unable to even turn the pages properly, perhaps due to the spirit of a scholar, he reads on with powerful movements, just like in those youthful days.

'Is your research going well?'
'What kind of state is
'Are you making progress?'
'I don't even know which way is forward. That is why I am researching.'

He is the same as ever. A smile escapes me. I felt the heavy feelings I had been harboring soften just a little.

I look at the clock. The time the hands point to is four fifty-nine.

'This laboratory has become quite old, hasn't it?' I started, noticing the spiderwebs in the corner of the ceiling. 'Well, it already had an antique look from the time I started coming here.'
'How many years has it been now?'
'It's been nearly twenty years. I wasn't even in elementary school yet.'
'That was also the era when I was called the eternal assistant.'

The time when he was an assistant was the best, the teacher mutters. 'When you get promoted, there is too much trivial work. That was when I was most devoted to research.' Then he raised his eyes and looked at me. 'Your family also cooperated with me quite a lot.'

Linguistics. Specifically, the verification of the existence of 'kotodama,' which has been believed in Japan since ancient times, is the teacher's research theme. While there are many scholars who set up similar academic tents, the fact that he turned his eyes to applications in fields like mine—exorcism and sorcery—can be said to be a manifestation of the teacher's uniqueness.

'Words have kotodama. It can be the first foothold for humans to step into the realm of the gods.' I recite. 'You spoke eloquently to me when I was still barely able to read or write.'
'Indeed. Even now, there is not a single cloud over that philosophy.' The teacher declares. 'At the time, as a phenomenon that showed affinity with that realm of the gods, I focused on the power of the regular hexagon possessed by your family and the incantation that accompanies its activation. In particular, the one who participated in the research as an important test subject was...'
'The young me, who had not yet blossomed into my abilities.'

The teacher nods deeply. His gaze is low, and while it appears to be capturing me, I felt as if he were looking at the young me he interacted with back then.

The first is for my mother.
The second is for my father.
The third is for my ancestors.
The fourth is for my descendants.
The fifth is for myself.
The sixth is for the gods.

The 'exorcism' ability that my family, especially those of pure blood, harbors in their bodies is activated by chanting that incantation (which our family called 'norito') and striking six points in the air.
While most people awaken to that power by the age of five, I, who should have been of pure blood, was still unable to complete the hexagon in the air even after reaching that same age.

Over the course of several hundred years, there were concerns that this power, passed down through generations, was weakening with each passing age. In such a climate, the fact that the power did not manifest in me—the youngest at the time—greatly fueled the family's sense of crisis.
It was in the midst of that chaos that the professor's research team offered to collaborate.

“The professor's hypothesis was that the power of the 'incantations' might be weakening.”
“That's right. Your family's act of touching the boundary between humans and things that are not human. If that is accomplished through a formal address, it was thought that it must be the power of 'kotodama' (the spirit of words). Based on that premise, if we consider that the power of kotodama no longer functions sufficiently in the modern age, where the reality of the sixth element, 'God,' has become thin, then the series of phenomena can be explained.” The professor laughed, his shoulders shaking. “When I learned of your existence, my heart leaped. To have a sample so perfectly suited for this, I could only call it a divine revelation.”

I suppose so. I nod, holding a slight sediment of doubt in my heart.

Let's try to find a word to replace the sixth element, 'God'.
From the moment I took the professor's hand as he offered it, our partnership began. I visited this laboratory almost every week, trying every word from all times and places, working hard to strike that sixth point. Most of them were kanji with many strokes that were beyond my understanding as a child. Before chanting them, the professor would lecture me on the meaning of the words. In that process, I accumulated a great deal of knowledge.

The experiments were difficult. No matter how profound or meaningful the words were, they did not lead to the completion of my hexagon. After repeated trial and error, I gave up, saying I wanted to quit. What was the point of doing this? What good was such a power? Perhaps there was also the resentment of being treated coldly by my family for not being able to use my ability. I became desperate and lashed out at the professor.

Words have kotodama. That is the first clue for humans to step into the realm of God.

“'And your family, who wields it, is very noble and beautiful.' That is what you told me, Professor.”

At my words, the professor raised an eyebrow and turned toward the autumn leaves outside the window, looking uninterested as he said, “Was that so?”
He asks while remaining in that position.

“What is it today? Did you come all this way just to talk about old memories?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I came to report two things.”
“Let's hear them.”

The professor turns back to face me once more. I open my mouth.

“Your hypothesis, Professor, is likely wrong.”

What is the basis? He immediately asks back with a sharp gaze. Even past his prime, this speed of switching and mental agility. I can only say it is impressive.

“The sixth element was for 'you.' At the time, my ability was activated by chanting that incantation. While it took time, far from weakening, my power was the most potent in the family. Since then, I have used the same phrase to exorcise many spirits from this world.”
“I am aware. Go on.”
“Yes,” I nod. “To put it simply, my ability was activated even with phrases other than 'you.'”

A moment of silence.

“That is the power of the kotodama of those substitute phrases.”
“That doesn't seem to be the case. Even with words that are just spur-of-the-moment thoughts and don't have much ritualistic meaning, I can draw the hexagon. For example, it would likely be possible with the scenery outside the window behind you, Professor, such as the 'autumn leaves.'”

The professor puts his hand to his chin and furrows his brow. “Paper and pen, here.” I hesitated for a moment, but I took a dust-covered set that was nearby and placed it on the desk. However, the professor did not touch it and continued to sink into deep thought.

“...Since when?”
“About ten years ago, already.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“It was just when you were battling illness, Professor. You had other things to worry about.”
“Even after returning to this room, you would have had time.” He sighs, his anger seeping through. “Were you being considerate of me? Don't underestimate me; I am still a scholar. If I cling to a theory I once established, I will never reach the truth.”

I am very sorry. I bow my head.

“Well, never mind. Let's hear your opinion.”
“The utility and necessity of incantations are still unknown. However, once the ability is awakened, the content is not that important. I am not capable enough to do it, but I feel it is not strange for there to be an exorcist who can do it without incantations.”
“Impressions have no meaning. Is there anyone who can prove that?”
“Not at this moment. If I continue to train, perhaps.”
“Then let us wait for that.”
“That, too, is impossible.”

The professor's fingers leave his chin. His expression changes as if he has realized something in an instant.
I exhale once and continue.

"It has been decided that this research building will be demolished."
"…So that is the second report."
"Yes. The university was aware that you were still here, sir."
"I see. So that is why you were called and why you have come all this way." The professor nods and laughs pleasantly. "How ironic. My research helped blossom your abilities, and now those very abilities are being used to shut down my research."
"Professor…"
"Say no more. I understand."

I understand. Is that really true?
The professor, who mercilessly calls me a 'sample.' The light and pride of being an exorcist that he bestowed upon me. I wonder if he truly understands the conflict and resolve I feel today, as I carry out this task while harboring a one-sided devotion to him.

I look at the clock once more.
Four fifty-nine.

Time in this room, which has lost its master, remains frozen even now.
The professor, who finished a long life of illness but remained bound here due to his insatiable thirst for knowledge. Along with his soul, time has stopped, not advancing even a single second.

"It was a stroke of luck that I could continue my studies even after death. If I were to be greedy, I would want to conduct further experiments after hearing your report today, but it cannot be helped."

The professor closes the book he was holding and looks at me. "Do it."
I slowly take out my prayer beads with my right hand.

"May I make one request?"
"…Yes?"
"For the sixth, use the 'Autumn Leaves' you mentioned earlier. I would like to see an actual example."

Ah, this man.
Feeling something surging from my chest like a raging wave, I cannot help but raise my prayer beads. Before my resolve can falter, I let the words spill out, carried by the momentum.

"The first is for my mother.
The second is for my father.
The third is for my ancestors.
The fourth is for my descendants.
The fifth is for myself."

Just as in the days when we repeated experiments, I chant the sixth as the professor requested.
Before the glowing regular hexagon that has formed in the air, the professor wears an expression of ecstasy.

"Indeed. Truly."

The hexagon, brimming with radiance, slowly approaches the professor. He pays it no mind, instead placing a hand to his chin and beginning to think.

"If that is the case, the premise is overturned. Should it instead be positioned as an act of bestowing spirit words, or perhaps… you."He looks at me. "Why did you choose 'you' for the sixth one that day in the first place?"

Feeling something unraveling inside my chest, I answer.

"Because that is what you call me, Professor."

As the professor's eyes widen, the hexagon touches his spirit body. Enveloped in light, his expression becomes difficult to read.

"I see. A little progress."

Leaving only those words behind, the light dissipated effortlessly.
I stand alone in the dim, deserted laboratory.
Before me lies the crimson window view I had been looking at through the professor until just a moment ago.

Along with tears, a voice leaks from my throat.

I am not sure if it sounds like the cry of a bird.

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