Tsukinami stood there smiling warmly, holding a parasol in one hand.
“Since the celebration party for passing the entrance exams, right? Even though we’re at the same university, it’s surprising how little we see each other when we’re in different departments. By the way, you don’t look so good. Is everything okay?”
It had been quite a while since I last spoke to Tsukinami. Even though we went to the same prep school, our interaction dwindled once we pursued different academic tracks. Still, I knew a bit about her personality.
Back in the first and second years of high school, when the foundational courses covered basic drawing, sculpture, and composition regardless of whether we aimed for oil painting or design, Tsukinami and I had painted in the same classroom. I remembered her vividly because she often chose to depict ghosts and monsters from various countries for her free assignments. Her work was remarkably skilled. To me, she was “the girl who was incredibly good at drawing and strangely knowledgeable about horror and the occult.”
Because of that, I decided to ask Tsukinami for advice. She also knew Hayama from our prep school, and I thought that, while she might not solve the issue outright, she could at least hear me out as a calm, nonjudgmental third party.
Although surprised by my sudden request, Tsukinami, sensing my desperation, readily agreed.
We went into a nearby café, and as soon as we sat down, I spilled everything: how it all started with Hayama, the group exhibition members, and the strange things that had been happening to me.
Tsukinami listened quietly and then asked without much delay, “Do you still have the unedited photo? If you could show it to me, that would help.”
I opened my laptop, which I always carried with me, and showed her the data. After looking at it, she blinked and asked, “This person resembles Hayama, but it’s not actually him, right?”
I hesitated to answer.
It was true—the man in the cap looked remarkably like Hayama, even though the brim obscured most of his face. From what Hayama had said, I assumed it wasn’t him. But when Tsukinami asked, I couldn’t confidently say it wasn’t him.
However, one thing was certain. The man in the cap who appeared in the photo Hayama had just taken wasn’t Hayama himself.
“No, I don’t think so. The same figure appeared in the photo Hayama took in front of me just now. From the angle, it couldn’t have been a selfie.”
Tsukinami crossed her arms thoughtfully. “Hmm… That’s unsettling, like something out of a doppelgänger story.”
Her unexpected remark caught me off guard, and I repeated the word. “Doppelgänger? Like when you meet your double and it means you’ll die?”
The idea of the cap-wearing man being Hayama’s doppelgänger strangely fit. But this didn’t align perfectly with traditional doppelgänger lore.
“Hayama doesn’t seem to realize that this figure resembles him. Besides, taking a photo of a doppelgänger doesn’t result in death, right?” As I said this, a troubling thought occurred to me. “Unless… encountering it through a lens doesn’t count as a meeting.”
“Who knows?” Tsukinami’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she watched me grapple with my thoughts. She seemed to be enjoying my distress.
“By the way, seeing a doppelgänger twice is said to mean the witness will die, too,” she added casually.
I froze. Once when editing the photo. Once again in the photo Hayama had just taken. I had already seen Hayama’s doppelgänger twice.
Seeing my stunned expression, Tsukinami chuckled. “If your theory about the lens is correct, then encounters through photos or screens don’t count. You seem fine to me—alive and well! Ahaha.”
At that moment, the waiter brought our orders: a cream soda and iced tea. While I quietly stirred in the sugar syrup, slightly irritated, Tsukinami, seemingly unaffected, scooped ice cream from her soda and resumed in a composed tone.
“For clarity, Hayama hasn’t noticed that the person in the photo looks like him, right?”
“Yeah, he’s never shown any sign of realizing it.”
Strangely, Hayama hadn’t connected the figure in the cap to himself. If anything, the rest of us—myself and the group members—were quicker to suspect it might be him. At first, when Hayama asked me to edit the photo, I even wondered if he was playing a cruel prank.
But seeing his terrified expression as he burst into the classroom, I reconsidered. This didn’t seem like a joke.
“In that case, I think it’s better if he doesn’t realize,” Tsukinami said.
Her casual affirmation of the possibility of doppelgängers—or supernatural phenomena—surprised me. But her next words flipped that impression on its head.
“And I’d recommend an exorcism. Or maybe a visit to a psychiatrist.”
I questioned if lumping those two solutions together made any sense.
“Would an exorcism or psychiatry help with a doppelgänger?”
“Doppelgängers might be a form of hallucination, so if treatment in that direction works, great. And exorcisms can have a therapeutic effect, like counseling.”
Tsukinami didn’t completely deny the possibility of a supernatural explanation, but she leaned more toward the hallucination theory.
Still, even if Hayama was mentally unwell, there were inconsistencies I couldn’t ignore.
“I saw Hayama’s doppelgänger too.”
“But not directly,” she countered without missing a beat.
I growled under my breath. “What are you implying?”
“You saw it on Hayama’s smartphone screen, right?”
I nodded, and Tsukinami, now with a sharper tone, continued, “In that case, it doesn’t count as seeing it. Photos can easily be fabricated.”
The implication of her words sent a chill down my spine.
“Are you saying Hayama staged this whole thing?”
“Based on what you’ve told me, that’s the most logical explanation.”
While her conclusion felt plausible, something about Hayama’s fear and actions made it hard for me to believe it was all a hoax. Tsukinami, sensing my hesitation, added, “If it turns out you’re truly stuck, I have a relative who specializes in these things—both exorcisms and counseling. Let me know if you need an introduction.”
I couldn’t help but feel both comforted and oddly disarmed by her offer.
