The Spike at the Crossroads

Chapter 1: Modern Hesitation and the Rain-Drenched Night Visitor

"...It's no use. No matter which reviews I look at, both have their pros and cons. I just can't decide without gathering more information..."

Kyoto at dusk, a hospital room bathed in the setting sun.

Chihiro (25) stared intently at her smartphone, looking as if her very soul was being sucked away.

On the screen was a review site for two companies she was considering for her career move.

Her finger scrolled endlessly, and a deep crease was etched between her brows.

"Chihiro."

Suddenly, from the sea of sheets on the bed, came a rustling but clear voice.

"Y-Yes!"

Chihiro jumped. From the white blanket, a tiny head peeked out.

Haru, 90 years old. She was Chihiro's grandmother, celebrating her 90th birthday this year.

Though her petite body was almost buried in the bed, her eyes peeking from behind her white hair occasionally flashed with a mischievous glint.

"You've been stroking that square board for a while now. It looks as if you're offering prayers to a cold tile. It's making your grandma a little jealous."

"S-Sorry, Grandma. But this isn't a tile, it's a smartphone... I have to make a major life decision right now. I'm trying to find out which company is the 'right' choice—how to make a decision without absolutely failing."

Chihiro hugged her phone to her chest and looked at Haru with pleading eyes.

"Which one do you think I should choose so I won't regret it? I absolutely do not want to fail. I feel like one wrong step and my life is over. I'm too scared to move."

Haru tapped the bed rail rhythmically with her small, withered hand, letting out a soft, amused chuckle.

"Not wanting to fail, is it? Well, of course. No one wants to fall into a ditch. ...But, Chihiro."

Haru slowly raised her upper body. Her small back seemed to absorb the unfathomable years, quiet and still.

"Whichever company you go to, you're bound to cry at least once, wishing you'd chosen the other. That's just how humans are."

"Eh..."

"There's no such convenient thing in this world as a '100% perfect path whichever you choose.' So what you're doing right now is just asking your smartphone which of the two hells has a slightly more comfortable temperature."

"That's harsh, Grandma!"

Chihiro protested, but surprisingly, she felt the heavy tension that had been gripping her chest ease just a little.

Haru's words were always extreme, but they carried a strange weight of truth.

"Listen, Chihiro."

Haru gently placed her dry, warm hand over Chihiro's hand resting on her denim jeans.

"You say that one wrong step means your life is over. But a decision that truly decides your life..."

Haru's gaze turned for a moment to the window—the Kyoto sky transitioning from madder red to the deep blue of night.

In the depths of her eyes, the damp darkness of that rainy night at "Rokudo Crossing," where she once lived, flickered.

"There's no time to look things up on a smartphone. It's when a ghost train is charging straight at you, rumbling and shaking the earth, that you have to make a choice, covered in mud."

"...A ghost train?"

Chihiro gasped, and Haru smiled mischievously like a young girl, squeezing Chihiro's hand tightly.

"Yes. When I was twenty-three. On that terrifying, rainy night in the 34th year of Showa. ...Will you listen to your grandma's long monologue for a bit?"

A night of torrential rain in Showa 34 (1959).

In a corner of Kyoto, near the place called "Rokudo Crossing," the boundary between this world and the next.

There, twenty-three-year-old Haru and her young husband, Genzo, ran a small antique shop.

Genzo was twenty-five, two years older than Haru.

He was a clumsy but honest man. Having survived the postwar black market by scraping by through the mud, he was prouder than anyone to finally have this shop.

Wearing his soot-stained hanten coat, Genzo's daily routine was to carefully polish the junk-like old tools in the shop as if they were treasures.

"Heavy rain, isn't it, Haru? Shall we take down the sign?"

Genzo smiled gently as he lovingly wiped an old brass candlestick with a cotton cloth.

"With rain like this, even ghosts would slip and fail to cross Rokudo Crossing. Go brew some warm bancha tea in the back. Catching a cold is bad for your health."

Genzo's calm gaze spoke of a future they would build together, step by step, hand in hand, with this small shop.

Just as Haru nodded "You're right" and started toward the cupboard—

RATTLE-CLATTER!

Tearing through the torrential rain, the sliding door was slammed open.

Along with the cold night air and rain, a mud-covered man slid into the shop.

His coat was torn, his chest heaved violently, and he repeatedly looked behind him in terror.

"Take this! Keep it for me... I'm being chased!"

At this bizarre sight, Haru gasped in fear.

But in that instant, Genzo dropped the candlestick to the floor and quickly stood in front of her to protect her.

Spreading his slender, trained arms to completely shield Haru behind his back, Genzo glared at the man, raising his trembling voice.

"W-Who are you! What do you think you're doing to my wife! I'll call the police!"

But the man didn't seem to hear. He slammed a heavy furoshiki-wrapped bundle onto the counter with all his might.

And just like that, he ran out and vanished into the darkness of Rokudo Crossing, shrouded in night mist and pouring rain.

"W-What was that about..."

Even after the man left, Genzo stood shielding Haru, staring into the dark street.

Eventually, relaxing his stiff shoulders slightly, he turned to check on Haru.

"Haru, are you hurt? That was scary, but you're safe now."

He held Haru's shoulder protectively. But his own fingertips were trembling.

Genzo swallowed hard and looked down at the bundle.

He tentatively reached for the mud-soaked, strangely heavy package.

"What... what is in this?"

Untying the knot, out came a deeply rusted, dark-red "dog nail" (railway spike), a screw, and a notebook filled with detailed train schedules.

"Darling... this..."

Haru stared at the rusted chunk of iron, feeling the blood drain from her body.

At the time, the largest postwar mystery that shook Japan—the National Railways derailment incident known as the "Matsukawa Incident"—was a major news.

Behind the trials of the defendants pleading innocence, rumors of the real culprit buried in the dark and a state-level conspiracy were whispered.

"Could this be... the actual railway spike removed from the scene of that accident...?"

Haru's trembling voice was swallowed by the rain.

Genzo stared at the spike, lost for words. The scar on his soot-stained wrist turned white under the tension.

Just then, a low, ominous rumble began to echo from the back of the antique shop.

📖  Next Chapter:https://note.com/ttukumoo/n/n71da79fc0903　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　🌐 Original Japanesehere:https://note.com/juicy_laelia8513/n/n194fc5c77d7c

"Thank you so much for reading to the very end!"💗