Credits
INCLUDE THIS SECTION UNALTERED IF YOU TRANSLATE THIS TO OTHER LANGUAGES
Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou—Mite, Aruki, Yorokobumono by Teriha Katsuki.
Illustrations by Hitoshi Ashinano
Originally published by Kodansha on October 23, 2008.
Based on Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou by Hitoshi Ashinano, published in Monthly Afternoon (1994-2006)
Raws provided by /u/horu_hosu
English translation by H. Berry (aitch99berry@gmail.com)
Cleaned color illustrations by Arturo Songor (@artson593)
Prologue
The grass swayed in the wind like a sea of green flames as a lone boy walked through it.
Thin arms extended from an oversized
jacket, pushing the sturdy stalks aside. A head topped with cobalt-blue hair squeezed
through, with eyes peeking out from behind unkempt bangs—indigo blue, shining
under the midsummer sky.
The grass was so tall it nearly
engulfed the boy’s delicate body. The narrow path that once cut through the
grassland had vanished without a trace.
He pressed forward, guided by
intuition alone, moving as if something were chasing him. There was no way to
turn back. Even if he could retrace his steps, there was nothing to return to.
The sharp blades of grass mercilessly
cut his exposed skin, leaving tiny scars in their wake. Without bothering to
shield his soft cheeks, he pushed onward. Pain was familiar to him. It didn’t
matter—any small cut on his special skin would heal in an instant.
The strong scent of grass and the
oppressive heat blurred his vision. How long had he been walking through this
seemingly endless sea of green? How much longer could he keep going?
When his focus faltered for just an
instant, his foot snagged on the tangled grass. He stumbled, his vision
flashing white as he fell.
Slowly, he got to his feet and took
a long look ahead. He reached the edge of the grass field. Before him lay a
cliff, and below it, a garden of white flowers swayed in the strong wind, their
petals unfurling. A sweet, gentle fragrance filled the air.
Coffee flowers.
He sat down at the cliff’s edge and
sighed in relief. The wind whipped past, swelling his oversized clothes. His
whole body felt light, as if he might drift away.
He was lost, wandering abandoned roads
for months without a map. Though there were hardly any roads left.
As his eyelids grew heavy, his
stomach growled loudly. He hadn’t eaten in two days.
He cast an envious glance at the
coffee fields, wishing he’d arrived later—after the flowers had bloomed and the
fruit ripened. Then he could have feasted on the sweet, juicy berries.
“I wonder if any impatient ones have
already borne fruit.”
Scanning the vast field carefully,
he noticed something in the distance. Amid the undulating sea of flowers, a
small roof peeked out, like an island in the waves.
“A building?”
Panic welled up as he slid down the
cliff, landing hard on his backside. Ignoring the pain, he scrambled to his
feet and ran toward the building, his excitement overriding his caution.
“Calm down. Don’t get your hopes
up,” he murmured, but he couldn’t contain his frantic energy as he raced
through the coffee flowers.
“It seems there’s a robot waiting
for travelers near a beach in a place called Kanagawa, east of here,” Ubumi
said, eating berries around a campfire in an abandoned factory near Hamamatsu.
Of course, there was nobody else for him to talk to.
The berries were bright red, nearly
the size of the boy’s fist. Their chewy pulp was delicious but troublesome to
eat, as the seeds scattered easily.
Ubumi spat out the seeds skillfully
as he continued, “That robot uses coffee seeds in a special way to make a
drink, which it serves to travelers.”
The boy glanced at the seeds
littering the floor. It was hard to imagine making a drink out of them.
“…How?” he asked timidly.
Ubumi is moody. Speak to him the
wrong way, and he’d scold you. Say nothing, and he’d get upset.
“I don’t know. But I bet that robot
does—if it’s still alive.”
“Robots can die?”
“You’re the only one who can’t die,
Omega. You’re my greatest masterpiece, after all,” Ubumi said with a grin,
raising his head.
“You’re the ultimate, immortal
biorobot: Phoenix.” He said it every time he got drunk on ethanol. It had been
five years since Ubumi, once a talented engineer, created Omega.
“That robot is supposedly very old…
much older than any human. Its creators probably didn’t even know how long it
would last.”
Omega couldn’t help but hope the
robot is still alive. What would it look like? He imagined it vividly: its hair
color, its eye color. Was it an adult like Ubumi, or did it have a childlike
appearance, like himself?
Omega tilted his head, wondering why
someone would go to the trouble of making such a time-consuming drink for
travelers. Was it comforting to them? His
eyes lit up at the thought. Maybe that coffee drink would make Ubumi smile and
be kinder. Just imagining it soothed Omega’s heart.
“…I wish you knew how to make that
drink…” he murmured.
A bottle of alcohol flew toward him,
smashing at his feet.
“I just told you—I don’t know!”
Whenever Ubumi gets angry, he tosses
bottles at Omega, especially when he doesn’t know the answer to something.
“I’m sorry,” Omega muttered,
shrinking back. He moved closer to the wall, unbuttoning a pocket on his arm.
From it, he carefully retrieved a rolled-up piece of cloth and gently unfolded
it in his palm.
Inside was a tiny glass ball, no
bigger than the tip of his thumb.
The green ball had been in Omega’s
pocket for as long as he could remember. He didn’t know where it came from, he
just knew it was precious.
When Ubumi gets, Omega takes out the glass ball. The cool green color
always soothes his mind.
He lay down and curled up on the concrete while Ubumi kept talking to
himself. The rhythmic sound of the waves echoed around them, slowly lulling
Omega to sleep.
The next morning.
Ubumi was lying on his back on the
concrete, still fast asleep, an empty bottle beside him.
If Omega tried to wake him, he’d get
yelled at. So, he sat quietly nearby, waiting for him to stir. But as the sun
climbed high into the sky and then began its slow descent, Ubumi still didn’t
move.
Growing impatient, Omega reached out
and touched his face, just as Ubumi often woke him up.
His skin was cold and stiff.
Omega jerked his hand away, a shiver
running through his body. “What do I do…?”
Fearing a scolding, he desperately
shook Ubumi’s body. He tried stroking his hands, but they felt hard as plaster,
the half-bent fingers unmoving under Omega’s touch.
“If I fall asleep and he wakes up…”
Omega trembled as a memory surfaced in his mind—something Ubumi had once told
him.
“If I stop moving and breathing, and
my body gets stiff, that means I’m dead.”
The word “dead” flashed through
Omega’s thoughts like a lightning bolt. A terrible shock welled up from the
depths of his chest.
He didn’t fully understand the
feeling, but he knew it was dangerous.
His trembling hands instinctively
reached for the glass ball in his pocket. Struggling to stay calm, he tried to
recall what else Ubumi said, forcing himself not to think about anything
unnecessary.
“After I die, immediately bury my
body on a hill overlooking the sea. That’s very important. After that, do
whatever you want. Go wherever you want.”
“I have to do as he said,” Omega
whispered to himself.
Using all his strength, he dragged
Ubumi’s heavy body. There was a slope leading to a hill just outside the
abandoned factory. Omega’s small feet left shallow prints in the dry sand as he
pulled Ubumi along.
By the time he reached the top of
the hill, the clouds in the western sky had turned a deep, fiery red. With the
shovel Ubumi had left behind for this moment, Omega shakily and awkwardly dug a
long, narrow hole, just large enough to fit Ubumi’s body.
Night had fallen by the time he
finished covering the grave with dirt. Exhausted, Omega collapsed onto his
back, breathing heavily.
The sky was filled with stars, and
the soothing sound of the waves echoed from below. The heat radiating from his
body was absorbed by the cool earth beneath him, and he began to feel a
pleasant chill.
The stress that built up inside him
began to fade—until suddenly:
“There’s no one left,” a strange
voice rang out.
Omega bolted upright, looking
around. For no apparent reason, his heart began pounding in his chest. The
voice was familiar.
“There’s no one. Not anymore,” the
voice repeated.
He shook his head violently and
covered his ears. It wasn’t someone else’s voice—it was his own.
“No one, no one, no one, no one…”
It echoed in his mind. No matter how
hard he clamped his hands over his mouth and ears, the voice wouldn’t stop. It
was coming from within, and he couldn’t silence it.
His chest felt heavy, like he’d
swallowed a lump of lead. His throat was tight, his mouth refusing to open. He
couldn’t breathe, the blood drained from his cheeks.
“There’s no one left. No one on this
entire earth except for you. No one…”
His chest thudded painfully as his
fingertips found the glass ball. Gripping it tightly, as if clinging to it for
dear life, he felt warmth slowly returning to his body.
Summoning all his strength, Omega
shouted, “No!” He drew a deep breath and yelled again, “There’s a robot in the
east! A robot waiting!”
The voice didn’t reply. Only the
sound of crashing waves filled the silence.
Before long, his trembling ceased.
Omega wished with all his heart to
meet that robot. If he could find it, maybe the voice would never return.
Not waiting for dawn, Omega left Hamamatsu with hope as fragile as a
spider’s web.
He followed the pale glow of
streetlamps on the remnants of an old road, heading east. He didn’t know where
Kanagawa was. Whenever he passed the ruins of a city, he scoured each building,
but there were no signs of life.
Each time he found another barren, empty room, his chest tightened, and
he felt as if the voice were drawing closer. In those moments, he would take
out the glass ball and stare at it until his heart calmed. The distorted
reflection of his face in the ball brought him some comfort.
He pictured what the robot might look like, and that gave him strength.
He passed Mount Fuji, then Lake
Shonan, following roads southward along the coast. Months passed since he left
Hamamatsu. Unease gnawed at him—had he gone the wrong way?
Then, one day, he saw it: a building hidden in a field of coffee
flowers.
Five minutes later, he arrived at the edge of a moat surrounding the
structure. Its moss-covered walls were cracked and weathered.
Slowly, Omega circled the building, his palms clammy.
At the far end, he spotted a glass door. And behind it—
“A person!?”
Omega stumbled forward and placed his hand on the knob. The glass door,
thick with dust, slid open with a faint creak. A counter stretched before him,
cluttered with several round tools. Beyond it, he spotted a woman asleep, her
chin resting on her right hand, a serene smile gracing her lips. Her slightly
glossy, deep green hair shimmered faintly in the dim light. A pair of red
earrings adorned her ears—distinct markers of her identity as a robot.
He found her. The robot from the east.
The realization hit him like a tidal
wave, and his knees nearly gave out. His heart began pounding furiously. This
was the first time he had seen someone other than Ubumi. He didn’t know what to
say.
Tentatively, he reached out to wake her, his trembling fingers brushing
against her cheek—just as he used to with Ubumi.
But the touch made him flinch. Her skin was cold.
Refusing to believe it, he reached out again, pressing his palm against
her face, desperate for any sign of warmth.
There was none.
“I didn’t make it in time,” he murmured, his legs buckling beneath him.
He sank onto the cold concrete floor, staring blankly at the sandy ground. “I
really thought we’d meet…”
He didn’t have the strength to get
up. He stayed there, his shoulders slumped, the weight of disappointment
crushing him.
His breathing grew shallow, and his
chest tightened. His heart pounded harder as cold sweat trickled down his face.
The voice was returning—he could feel it creeping closer. This time, he wasn’t
sure he could fight it off.
Like a drowning man grasping for the edge of a lifeboat, Omega clung to
the counter for support.
The green-haired robot sat motionless on a chair behind it, her gentle
smile untouched by the decay of time. She seemed as though she were merely
taking a nap beneath the warm afternoon sun.
Omega stared at her for a long
while, and gradually, his panic subsided. Her presence was soothing, almost
like the calming effect of the glass ball in his pocket.
“Why does she look so happy?”
The thought echoed in his mind. In such a lonely, forgotten place,
abandoned and left to die quietly, why would she smile like that?
It didn’t make sense to him.
He had so many questions—questions about coffee seeds, about waiting,
and about why she stayed here for so long.
But now, those questions would never have answers.
As Omega gazed at the soft sunlight
streaming through the dusty glass, a memory surfaced.
Ubumi once told him that robots
possess an interface allowing them to share their memories and feelings. All it
required was holding hands and touching tongues.
“If her memory is still intact…”
Omega hesitated but then timidly
reached out, taking her cold, lifeless hands in his own. His breath hitched as
he leaned closer. Pressing his lips to hers, he gently touched her tongue.
His eyes widened in surprise—her
memory is still functional!
A flicker of hope sparked within
him, growing into a steady flame. Maybe, just maybe, he could glimpse the life
she lived—a world from fifty, or even a hundred years ago.
Suddenly, Omega flinched as an
indescribable sensation overcame him. It felt as though his body was being
drawn into a vast, bottomless ocean, his consciousness unraveling and leaving
him behind.
He descended into an endless, thick
mist, sinking deeper and deeper into the robot’s dormant memories.
Then, as if breaking through a dense
fog, his vision sharpened. Before him stretched an expansive blue—the sea, vast
and luminous.
“I’ve never seen such vivid colors…”
The sight left him speechless. The
sea near Hamamatsu was heavy and murky, dull and lifeless compared to this vibrant
expanse. Was this the sea she had seen with her own eyes? Or did it appear so
brilliant because he was experiencing it through her memories?
His gaze traveled to a cape
extending out into the water. White roofs gleamed brightly under the sun,
standing out against the lush green expanse.
He instinctively knew—these were her
memories, fragments of a world she once inhabited.
Omega’s consciousness thinned,
becoming a faint stream of light, as he was drawn toward the roof. Slowly, he
was pulled into its depths.
Contents
Prologue
The Colors of Evening Calm
An Azure Shadow
Warm Hands
A Robot Dancing in the Light
Stars at the Bottom of the Cove
Time Spiral
The One Who Travels Through the Skies
Heron Cross
Flying Eyes
Epilogue
Afterword, Interview and Download links
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