Ichiban Ushiro no Daimaou Vol 13.pdf

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Prologue
I finally felt like writing it.
“It” being this story, of course. However, I must first talk about “stories”.
We read stories. It can be in movies, in serial dramas, in manga, or in novels. We
of course read them for enjoyment, but that sense of enjoyment is often backed
by the expectation of wondering what will happen next.
In other words, it is assumed there will be some form of ending.
Needless to say, there are some stories that seem about to end yet one does not
want to end, but the fact remains that it is assumed that a story has an ending.
To view it in a rational light, a story is something in which the characters die or
are saved.
That is why stories that move people – myself included – truly begin with their
ending. It can be a tragedy or a comedy. Complex causal relationships gather
toward a single conclusion and the power brought about by various coincidences
and human fates burst open a single final point! The story exists for that final
point. Whether it takes the form of the grim reaper’s scythe or the bond of the red
string of fate, destiny exists for the ending.
And as everyone who has read this far knows, stories are fictional and yet we are
still controlled by them in our real lives.
In other words…yes, we think of things from the perspective of the ending.
When a boy and girl meet, we ask whether they will end up together or part ways.
When a crime is committed, we ask if the criminal will escape or be captured.
When we live, we ask if we will be fortunate or fall into ruin.
Our minds are thoroughly infected by the virus that we call stories. There is no
free will there.
Humans cannot perceive time as a sensation. We instead perceive it as a story.
In the early 2000’s, I received a phone call from an old friend in front of my
apartment in Yamato, Kanagawa. I assumed they were inviting me to hang out,
but they instead informed me the ex girlfriend I had broken up with about half a
year prior had died. I had not contacted her even once since we broke up, but my
friend had been receiving news about her from someone else.
“Eh? Really?”
<Really. I’ll call you again once I know more.>
“Oh, man. So you’re serious.”
<Yeah. It seems that’s how it is.>
“Hm, I see. Thanks for telling me.”
I remember that meaningless conversation.
At the time, I felt no confusion or sadness. That’s just how it is.
But when the same friend called me the following day and told me the cause of
death, I felt somehow urged forward. I couldn’t sit still and a strange impatience
sent cold sweat dripping down my cheeks. It was not that her death finally felt
real. It had never felt real. I was never going to meet her again regardless. What
difference did it make if that was now an eternal thing?
Her cause of death was truly stupid. She had horrible headaches and took a bit
more of her medicine than usual. This was not a suicide with sleeping pills or
anything like that. Sometimes your body grows accustomed to a drug and you
have to take more of it. The direct cause of death was what they call Economy
Class Syndrome. In other words, it was a blood clot in an artery. Lying in the
same position for a long period of time without drinking any water had led to her
death.

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