I was drawn to this contradiction, perhaps because it reminded me of Shiki's past self.
Obviously, the creator of this doll was unknown.
Even the exhibition booklet did not mention any names.
I did a thorough investigation and desperately searched for the person who could make such a beautiful doll.
As it turned out, this person was not completely related to the doll-making business, and he did not have any real intention of becoming famous.
A mysterious hermit named Aizaki Tetsuko. Obviously, her main occupation was doll making, but she was also an architect.
She seemed to only participate in the general " creation " of things. No matter what these things were, she never accepted requests.
The mystery was that she only knew who needed to do what, go to them, announce her intentions, and continue to do whatever they wanted after receiving a generous advance.
She must be the greatest freelance craftsman in the world, or the strangest person in the world.
From then on, I became more interested in finding her, even though I really felt that I should have resigned at that time.
Something seemed to be pulling my effort, as if she didn't want to be discovered.
In the end, after a long search and record search, I found that she lived somewhere far away from the city, not in the suburbs or industrial areas.
It wasn't even a house.
This was an abandoned building.
To be more precise, this was a building that was stopped halfway through construction, probably because the person who funded it ran out of money.
From a distance, it had the shape of a building, but it was bare inside the floor and walls.
It was abandoned, abandoned by time and weather.
If it had been completed, it would have six floors, but no more than four floors.
It would be more efficient to build from the top now, but I guess they were still using the old method.
The fifth floor had been decorated into a roof. Although there was a high concrete wall around it, anyone who wanted to go in could easily go in because the door was always open.
It was a miracle that the local children weren't messing around inside.
They probably just saw it as some suspicious, dangerous building that they should stay away from.
It was very convenient. I don't know if Miss Gao has really bought this building, but it seems so. So now, she lives here.
The lab and cafe I'm in now is on the fourth floor. The second and third floors are Ms. TKO's various offices, storage rooms, and studios, so we usually talk about work on the fourth floor.
After finding Miss Gao, I got to know her and found a job just to satisfy my interest in this female master craftsman.
I dropped out of college and started working for her.
Surprisingly, I really got paid.
She once told me that humans can be divided into two types. One has two attributes: one is to create and search, and the other is to use and destroy.
She made it very clear to me that I was not a person who was " carefully designed ", but a " search " or something similar, and that was why she hired me.
"You're a little late, Corkut," said a reproachful voice from the next room.
So it was Miss Gao. She was clearly out of patience.
Alright, the coffee machine was almost ready. The black liquid was sitting there, waiting to be drunk.
" Yesterday was the eighth day," Miss Gao said as she put out the cigarette.
"Soon people will notice the connection between them.”
Of course, she was referring to the recent incident of a high school girl falling to her death from a building.
Anyway, there's nothing to talk about, so I think this is a good topic.
But wait, eight?
"What? Aren't there only six people?"
"A few of them popped out when you still had sand in your eyes.
All of this had started in June and had been happening three times a month.
Maybe it will happen again in the next three days, right?”
Miss Gao's words always carry an ominous omen, so I'm already used to it.
I quickly scanned the calendar and found that there were only three days left in August.
For a moment, a hint of worry entered my mind for some reason, but I quickly dispelled it.
"But they said the suicide had nothing to do with it,"
I said.
"Different schools, no third-class friends.
It could still be proven that the police kept the information from the media in order to get a better chance when they interviewed the criminal.
If there was still a chance for this case.”
"What, Kirkut, you don't trust the police on this? That kind of sleep must have had a huge effect on you, making you suddenly suspect someone like that.”
She grinned. As usual, when she took off her glasses, her resentment was boundless.
"Because they didn't leave a will, did they?”
I explained. "Suicide victims usually leave a note or some kind of last words for the living.
I mean, there are six of them now...
Uh, eight people?
At least one of them should do so.
This could only mean one of two things: the police did not release the note as a bargaining chip against the suspect, or it could mean that it was a statistical impossibility.”
"That in itself is the only connection between these events,"
Miss TKO said.
"These girls are not infected with the virus, nor are they members of the Anomaly Gang.
It was said that their lives were very ordinary. Their families and friends didn't know why they jumped off the building.
Therefore, it could be inferred that they might have committed suicide because of some kind of emotional or psychological pain, or perhaps to prove something.
This was why they did not leave behind any last words.”
"So you don't mean the police are hiding something, but they really don't have any will?”
I asked. "Well, most people don't leave a suicide note when they commit suicide, according to statistics.
But, yes."
Miss Tko leaned back in her chair, sipping her coffee while looking at me comically.
I put a cup to my lips, tilted it, and tasted the bitter coffee inside.
I thought back to what she had said, and something swirled in my mind. How could there be no will?
It was not suitable. As far as we know, these girls are very happy, very satisfied, and very attached to the world they live in.
In a situation where a person was forced to die, the last sentence was something you left behind to solidify that connection.
Not doing so means that you have nothing left for the world, and you can decide to face the great unknown of death bravely.
A suicide without any last words, parting words, or even a chance to find out about it would be a perfect suicide.
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