Epilogue: The Winter of University Entrance Exams is Short
Among all the hectic seasons of my three years of high school life, the winter of university entrance exams was particularly short, I think. It was already March.
There were probably things I should be doing, but I couldn’t focus on anything until the acceptance announcements. In the early afternoon, I visited Iwama’s house as summoned. The front door opened as soon as I pressed the doorbell.
“Good to see you! Come in!”
It was a neat, single-family home. I’d been here a few times before, but the number of shoes lined up at the entrance was the smallest I’d ever seen. Actually, there were only the shoes Iwama had put on to open the door and mine.
Apparently noticing what I was thinking from my gaze, Iwama scratched her head.
“Today, I only invited Del-chan……the other two are still studying.”
So it’s just the two of us then. I couldn’t even count how many times I’d fallen into this pattern over the three years. I suppose it was my fault for going out without confirming who else would be there.
“Your parents?”
“Work. Mom’s also out at a meeting.”
“I see…………”
While wondering why she’d invite me in under these circumstances, I followed her up to her room on the second floor.
Iwama’s room didn’t have much of a lived-in feel. It was like a model room. Aside from the terrifying amount of books and reference materials crammed into her desk and bookshelves, there was only the bare minimum of necessities.
We chatted for a while over the Earl Grey she’d made me.
“Today, there’s something I want to show you.”
She brought that up, and we left her room together. Iwama stopped in front of a door across the hallway.
“A storage room?”
“Nope, a secret room.”
She said that with a mischievous look and took out a key. She showed it to me before unlocking the door.
“You lock it even though it’s your own house?”
“Yeah. Even my parents can’t enter—it’s my hobby room, just for me.”
Being an only child, she probably had a room to spare, but her parents were quite something to give their daughter such a private space. All I had was my own room that my little sister could sneak into at any time.
As Iwama started to open the door, I confirmed:
“Are you sure I should see something like that?”
“I called you here today because I wanted you to see it.”
I was left speechless at what lay beyond the door Iwama pushed open.
The lived-in feel that had been removed from her own room seemed to be compressed and crammed into this small room. No, at this level, you couldn’t really call it “lived-in” anymore.
It was, rather, a workshop.
Against the walls, large metal racks were assembled, and baskets neatly packed with various items were lined up in rows. Tools, materials like wooden boards and acrylic sheets, items for electronics work like enamel wire and soldering irons, bottles of chemicals of questionable legality, an assembling telescope, and so on. Sheet materials like polarizing plates and Fresnel lenses were stacked together at the end, and things too large to fit on the racks were leaned against the corners of the room. On the floor were clothing storage cases stuffed full of pressed plant specimen files. At the very back was a simple desk and chair, but judging from the unfinished craft projects still spread out on the floor, the desk seemed to be mainly for using the PC placed on it.
If the police saw this room, they’d surely want to investigate it.
I was an idiot for even momentarily entertaining improper thoughts about a girl’s room that even her parents didn’t know about. Of course there wouldn’t be flowers or dolls on display. If it reflected Iwama’s inner world, this was exactly what it should be.
“……Amazing.”
Taking my stunned one-liner as a straightforward compliment,
“Right?!”
She happily invited me in.
To make maximum use of the given space, posters of world maps, periodic tables, phylogenetic trees, and such were plastered densely on the walls. While picking up and examining various remarkable items and talking, I noticed there was one large space left open on the wall beside the rack.
Only one picture frame hung there. I’d have to revise my assumption that there was no way there’d be flowers in this room.
A plant affixed to white Kent paper—a pressed plant specimen.
Among the many in storage cases, only one was displayed like a work of art.
“This is the one Del-chan gave me. Do you remember?”
Having noticed my gaze, Iwama said with slight embarrassment.
The collection date was April 9, 2024. No matter how you looked at it, this was what I, in my excitement, had given Iwama on that spring day when we’d just entered school.
“You’ve been treating it so specially.”
“It’s a memorable flower……this way I can see it every day.”
There was no mistaking it. It was katakuri.
From last year—I’d received a pressed katakuri flower from Iwama at the end of summer in our third year, and it had been about half a year. I hadn’t not thought about what it meant. Iwama had said it was a return gift back then. There was quite a time gap between before the club activities started and after they ended, but well, it was certainly a return gift.
“Enduring loneliness”
I said, almost in a murmur. The flower language of katakuri that Iwama had taught me.
“……You remembered.”
“Of course.”
That’s what it meant, right? I asked the pressed specimen on the wall.
“Katakuri, which blooms after storing nutrients for eight years, was for Iwama a symbol of finally being able to demonstrate your own abilities. You gave it to me after club activities ended because……um……”
I couldn’t find the right words. But Iwama was looking at me with a smile.
“I can take it as a message that you were glad you joined the biology club, right?”
After a period of silence as she thought about something, Iwama nodded.
“Yeah……well, something like that.”
Iwama’s fingers played with her hair. She seemed to be searching for words too.
“Joining the biology club, I…I became happy.”
“I see……I’m glad.”
“Happy” was quite a grand expression.
I wanted to believe it had nothing at all to do with the words I’d said to that certain director back in spring.
“It went by so fast. I didn’t think club activities would be this fulfilling either.”
“Yeah. If I could go back, I’d want to return. It was short, but I’m really glad I could do club activities with everyone.”
The katakuri from three years ago blooms on the wall, wrapped in memories of that day. Iwama said she’d been looking at this almost daily. During breaks from exam studying, I’d often gazed at the pressed flower Iwama gave me too.
The youth that began on that spring day was quietly coming to an end like this.
Whenever I see katakuri flowers, I think about how short spring really is.
“……So that’s why you went to the trouble of giving me a pressed flower, to tell me that.”
“Sorry, it was hard to understand.”
“Not a very scientific way to communicate.”
Iwama laughed at my words.
“Even if there was a scientific component……flower language really isn’t suited for sending messages to people, is it? It can be taken to mean different things.”
“Yeah. In the first place, flower language isn’t compiled in academic papers or anything, so what literature should we even consider the primary source?”
“Ah, about that……!”
I gently stopped Iwama, who was actually about to start searching for literature.
Though I swear nothing happened, it would be awkward if Iwama’s parents came home, so I made an early exit. The days were getting gradually longer, but it was already after sunset.
Under the white streetlights, I walked through the residential area of Ebiwakagawa. I soon entered the shopping arcade.
I think I stopped unusually in front of a flower shop because Iwama and I had chatted a bit about flower language. There were blue lupine flowers that looked like wisteria flowers turned upside down.
Lupines in stock! The flower language is “always happy,” “you are my peace,” “imagination,” “greed,” and so on♪
A handwritten pop sign in felt pen was stuck there.
I’d heard that lupines are highly capable of absorbing nutrients from soil. Well then, I thought “greed” made sense, but on the other hand, what exactly did “always happy” mean, for example? Did flower language even have this many meanings to begin with?
I thought for a moment.
Was “enduring loneliness” really the flower language Iwama wanted to convey?
Honestly, I’d been thinking the story didn’t quite sit right.
Ideally, I should consult literature close to primary sources, preferably check some book, but right now my desire to know won out. I took out my smartphone and quickly typed into the search box.
Katakuri (Erythronium japonicum) flower language
The results appeared as soon as I searched. I scrolled through and checked multiple entries.
“…………”
I hurriedly put away my smartphone and rushed back.
READ THE ORIGINAL TRANSLATION AT LOCALIZERMEERKAT.GITHUB.IO
Afterword
When I started writing stories as an elementary school student, becoming a novelist was a dream within a dream. I loved both reading and writing, but for some reason, I didn’t think I could make it my profession. Perhaps it was in the same category as astronauts and baseball players (YouTubers these days, I suppose).
So I vaguely thought I wanted to become a researcher.
I loved playing in nature. I loved reading illustrated encyclopedias and going to museums. To a child’s mind, it was fascinating that the trees, insects, and pebbles around us had types and principles, that smart adults investigated and compiled them, and maybe even put them to use somehow.
Most of my specific memories from back then have been lost, but for some reason I remember going to the science room during lunch breaks in elementary school. An old teacher with glasses—I can vaguely remember his face but can no longer remember his name—was in charge of science. During lunch breaks, he had students who gathered voluntarily read textbooks in turns, and when that was done, he distributed modest rewards like litmus paper or medaka eggs. I wasn’t interested in the reading sessions; I think I went purely for those rewards. I used the litmus paper I received to check the pH of liquids all around me, and I hatched the medaka eggs and raised them for several generations. Looking back, it feels like something questionable in terms of compliance, but if not for that teacher, I might not be who I am today.
In middle school, I joined the science club. The name was science club, but it was actually a biology club. Since it was a combined middle and high school, we did activities together with the high school biology club. I was also in the judo club, so I couldn’t participate very frequently, but on days off, I learned the joy of fieldwork from teachers and upperclassmen—investigating aquatic insects in the Tama River, observing Japanese giant flying squirrels on Mt. Takao at night.
From that flow, naturally, I chose biology in high school and entered the biology department of the science faculty in university. I wanted to study living things purely, not trendy biotechnology, so I chose a plant ecology research lab where I could realize that. I went to Ishigaki Island with a cannon-like lens to photograph wild birds, and I also stayed at a botanical garden for about two months investigating Japanese deer. I loved living things, I loved science, and those were times I was completely absorbed.
Science is puzzle-solving with the real world as its stage. It’s the endeavor of explaining and conveying the truths you’ve unraveled in a form everyone can accept. There’s hardly anything more fun than this.
Now, I’m sorry for going on at such length about the past, but actually, I didn’t choose the path of becoming a researcher. The academic world is a thorny road. I thought it would be difficult for me to make a living with my abilities. I still loved writing stories, and I thought that rather than that, maybe I could do better after graduating university by engaging in work that conveys the significance and fascination of science to people. So I got a job in mass media where I could be involved with nature and science, and yet I won the Gold Prize at the Dengeki Novel Awards for a novel I submitted during university, became a novelist, and here I am now.
What I wanted to convey by devoting pages to this (sorry for the long story) is, in short, that this book is what I most wanted to put out into the world right now.
Even inside me, there’s a small flame divided from a great giant.
The elementary school teacher who diverted supplies to me, the middle and high school mentor who for some reason served as advisor for both the science club and judo club and whom I was constantly indebted to, the university professors who showed me the scenery at the forefront of biology, and after getting a job, the researchers in Aomori who kindly cooperated with interviews—the flame nurtured by many teachers continues to burn inside me, and I don’t want to let it go out.
I still haven’t repaid them. I’ve been constantly thinking about whether there’s a chance to convey the charm of science, biology, and ecology in my own way. Now that I’m making a living as a novelist, I feel like I’ve finally been able to attempt putting that heat into my own book.
Of course, this novel isn’t stuffy or anything (rather the opposite), so there’s no need to prepare candles. I’d be happy if you simply enjoyed it as a story. But if I may hope, I wish that the fascination of science I’ve depicted in my own way might help nurture someone’s flame.
Finally, let me express my gratitude once more.
First and foremost, to everyone who picked up this book. Some of you may have been reading since my previous series [Heat the Pig Liver]. (Long time no see!) It’s thanks to all of you that I can continue writing books. Thank you so much.
To Anan-san and Motoyama-san, my editors who’ve continued from Pig Liver. My pen tends to run wild especially when writing about things I love, so all your advice was a great help.
To Toosaka Asagi-sensei, also continuing from Pig Liver to handle the illustrations. I’m so happy to receive your wonderfully drawn illustrations even in a setting about 180 degrees different from a world of swords and magic.
To Aozaki Yuugo-sensei, Kouno Yutaka-sensei, and Konno Tenryuu-sensei who provided recommendation comments. This work is a light novel, but receiving warm words from all of you who are active in mystery and literary fiction was very encouraging.
And tremendous gratitude to the many people involved in publishing, distributing, and selling this book.
Now, since I’ve titled it “1,” I intend to continue this story as a series. If “The Science Note by δ and γ” is too long, please feel free to call it something like “the Science Note Series.” I’ll work hard to ego-search, so if you’d like, I’d be grateful if you could post your impressions somewhere. Of course, I’ll also gratefully read any letters!
Volume 2 will mainly be about the biology club members’ Golden Week. Their first investigation as club activities will involve an overnight stay. They’ll work together to approach the mystery of the tengu legend passed down at a shrine. (Scientifically!)
Well then, let’s meet again in Volume 2!
October 2024, Sakasai Takuma
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