The exit was blocked. I could see no hope. There was nothing I could do. And because of some stupid daydream about the N.H.K. as the evil organization that controls the world, I had lost even the means to divert myself.

It was a spring of unending, depressive anxiety for me—the kind of spring that made me want to imitate Vincent Gallo in Buffalo 66. Entering the bathroom, I grasped my head and moaned, “I just can’t go on living”.

I need to die.

Today was already different from every other day, though. Something surprising had happened earlier.

After waking up at one in the afternoon, I found an unfamiliar slip of paper in the mail slot. Picking it up, I examined it.

It was the resume that I had written several days earlier for the part-time job at the manga cafe. I had written it for that particular job application, a memory that I now wanted to forget completely. Why? Why was it in my mail slot? I hurried next door to Yamazaki’s apartment. Yamazaki was taking the day off from school again. Seated at his computer, he was playing some sort of game.

I asked, “Did a religious solicitor come by today?” “Hm… they came about two hours ago. I got some of those pamphlets. I just love the word-for-word translation. Why? Didn’t they go to your apartment, too, Satou?”

I suddenly saw the frightening truth behind Yamazaki’s testimony. Apparently, I had left my resume behind in the manga cafe. I could no longer remember if it had fallen from my pocket or if I automatically had handed it to Misaki. Because of the massive shock, my memories of that moment were muddled.

Only one thing was certain: While making her religious rounds, Misaki had gone out of her way to bring me the resume. In other words, when I had asked, “Do you like bikes?” in a clumsy effort to conceal that I had, indeed, come to apply for a part-time job, I had failed utterly. Realizing this, nothing at all seemed to matter anymore. When humans run into an extremely embarrassing circumstance, it seems their emotions go numb.

“Who cares?” I whispered, heading to the trashcan to throw away the paper. As I did, the back of the resume caught my eye. A message was written there in black ballpoint pen: “You have been selected for my project. Please, come to the Mita Fourth District Park tonight at nine o’clock.”

Eh? My mouth had fallen open as I squatted in front of the trash can.

Now, objectively considering it, I saw that this was an earth-shattering situation. I had received a mysterious letter from a girl I had met twice. Really, it was so incredibly incomprehensible that I had no idea at all what was going on. So, I obediently went along with it.