Hey Japan! Daijoubu desu ka?

“Ah! No!”

I had been focused on the spinning wheel of the kuji. My friend’s startled cry pulled my attention outward—from the center of the rotating wheel to its edge, and finally to her.

With a teary face, my friend handed her raffle ticket to the clerk. It seemed she would have to settle for a keychain.

“If you’d spun the lever two seconds later, you would’ve won an onsen trip,” I murmured.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

Don’t ask me how I know such things. I honestly don’t. I’m not even sure it would’ve really happened. But whenever I focus on something intently, I start to feel or see things—visions, flashes.

When I was little and hadn’t yet developed common sense, this caused a lot of trouble. Sometimes I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. My family took me to doctors more times than I can count, convinced I was ill, but every time they were told I was perfectly healthy.

My greatest vision came right before the earthquake that triggered the nuclear disaster. I was three years old, and to this day I still remember the terrifying images I saw on the day my parents rushed me to the hospital for what they thought was a high fever and a fit of crying.

For the past few days, I’ve had a strange feeling building inside me—something that both excites and frightens me. It keeps growing stronger. Today I went out with a friend to distract myself, but it didn’t help much. The raffle happened on our way back home.

A few minutes after we parted ways, I saw my house at the end of the street and stopped walking. I think there are strangers inside. Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly and kept walking—without quickening my pace.

***

Dear Ms. Takayama Chika,

In recent days, a chain of events has begun to endanger our nation. You have been appointed to serve in the Unidentified Threat Unit (UTU) to aid in combating this threat. Please prepare yourself and report to your assigned post as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Dayuma Aka

Director, Bureau of Supernatural Disaster Management (BSDM)

Attachments:

– Establishment and History of the BSDM

– BSDM Organizational Chart

– BSDM Personnel Appointment Regulations

– *Crystal Crisis* Case File

After reading the first document in the thick folder on my lap, I looked up at the three officers sitting across from me. Both the documents before me and the high-ranking types in front of me looked far too professional for a prank.

I snapped the folder shut and tossed it onto the coffee table with irritation. My first reaction was, “I’m not the Takayama Chika you’re looking for.” I love answering jokes with jokes.

One of them asked, “Kobayashi Tsuki—that’s your late mother’s maiden name, isn’t it?”

It was. The fact that they’d dragged my mother’s name into such a ridiculous joke made my blood boil, but I tried to stay calm as I explained:

“The Chika mentioned in your letter is written as ‘a thousand flowers’ (千花). My name is written as ‘wisdom and fragrance’ (智香). You’re a government institution, yet you can’t even confirm the correct person’s name.”

One of the air-headed men smiled. “When I first read it, I imagined it meant ‘a thousand flowers blooming in the high mountains.’ But ‘the wisdom of the high mountains’ has a nicer ring to it. Your parents chose well.”

I shut my eyes in frustration. Whoever came up with this joke, I commend their imagination. But if they’re going to make fun of official assignments, they should at least think twice before appointing a seventeen-year-old high school student to a national duty.”

My father, who had remained silent until then, rose from the wall he was leaning on and sat beside me. “Sweetheart, you should at least give them a chance to explain.

I laughed bitterly at my father—the man who taught mathematics, a profession that supposedly required logic. “You don’t actually believe this nonsense isn’t a joke, do you?”

He pursed his lips. “I only suggested you listen patiently,” he said.

The female officer, who had been quietly sipping the tea my father offered, finally spoke. “Believe me, Miss Takayama, this seems just as absurd to us as it does to you.” Her gaze pressed sincerity and gravity straight into my eyes.

“The file you’re holding contains detailed explanations, but I can summarize if you’d like: in a series of murder cases, all the victims were found to be jewel bearers. Someone is tracking these bearers, stealing their jewels, and killing them in the process.”

“By jewels, do you mean expensive pieces of jewelry?” my father asked. I couldn’t understand why he was taking these scammers seriously.

“Jewels are valuable phenomena, not human ornaments, Mr. Takayama. They are the ornaments of gods. For instance, you might recall the story where Susanoo bit into the jewels that Amaterasu wore in her hair during their battle.”

“I’m talking about immensely powerful relics said to have birthed many deities during creation. There’s a legend claiming the gods hid these relics inside the hearts of certain humans, and that the jewels are passed down through generations.”

My father’s pupils widened. “Are you saying my daughter is a jewel bearer?” he asked, his voice tight with fear.

“No. We know that not every human soul can contain a jewel. Ordinary people cannot identify who the bearers are. But those like your daughter—the Seers—can distinguish them. And we can protect them from the thieves.”

“What are Seers supposed to be?” I asked. I hadn’t planned on taking part in the conversation, but damn it—they had piqued my curiosity.

Before the officer could answer, my father muttered, “Seers… Tsuki mentioned that term once.” He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, as if struggling to recall something.

“This mission would have gone to Mrs. Takayama, had she lived. The number of Seers we know of is so small that our bureau requires the assistance of a high-school student.” The woman’s expression didn’t waver as she turned back to me. How could she say such a thing with such a straight face?

The officers set their teacups down and stood up simultaneously. “If you’ll excuse us,” they said.

“Your school will receive an official letter granting exemption from classes during your service. The procedures will take about two days—enough time for certain security checks and for you to pack your things. For safety reasons, Miss Takayama Chika will report alone.”

I shot to my feet. “Who said I accepted this assignment?” I shouted. Their condescending tone infuriated me.

The female officer replied calmly, “You don’t have the luxury of refusal. You’re now under the jurisdiction of this bureau. Since it’s a matter of national security, declining would classify you as a traitor, and deportation protocols would apply.”

As they left, I stood frozen—hand half-raised, mouth open. A traitor? I laughed hysterically. Then I turned to glare at my father, who had clearly been cooperating with them. But he looked so worried, so deeply troubled, that my anger instantly subsided.

After a few seconds of silence, he lifted his head and said quietly, “I think… there’s something I need to show you.”