Around that time, in a hospital in a distant foreign land, Takanori was facing an official from the embassy.
The scent of disinfectant filled the hospital room. Setting sunlight filtered through a gap in the curtains, casting a ribbon of orange across the floor. Beside the wall, medical equipment emitted electronic beeps at steady, rhythmic intervals. Proping himself up on the bed, Takanori stared straight at the two men standing before him, all while enduring the throbbing pain in his plaster-cast left arm.
The embassy official, a middle-aged man in a suit, spoke in a calm tone. Behind him stood another, younger staff member holding a laptop, occasionally tapping at the keys—evidently taking notes. Takanori followed their movements with his eyes, trying to imagine what he was about to be told. Yet, nothing his imagination conjured could match the reality.
“…Could you please say that once more?”
Takanori’s voice was still weak. Merely vibrating his vocal cords seemed to drain every ounce of strength from his body. Even so, his eyes remained fixed firmly on the embassy official. He wanted to understand his situation with complete clarity. He needed to confirm as absolute truth what he had heard while his consciousness was still hazy. In the few days since he woke up, the nurses had treated him with kindness, yet they had avoided giving him any concrete details. They, too, had likely been at a loss for how to break the news to this foreign patient. And now, the answer was finally being delivered.
Choosing his words with extreme care, the embassy official began to explain. His expression betrayed his struggle over how best to convey such a difficult reality. Glancing back and forth at the documents in his hand, he spoke slowly. His voice was low, yet distinct and clear.
“Mr. Takanori Aizawa… In Japan, you have already been declared legally deceased.”
Hearing those words, Takanori held his breath for a brief moment. Declared dead. I’m right here alive, yet I’m dead. His mind seemed to actively reject the meaning behind those words.
“Following the fire, the local police conducted a search, but your body was never recovered. However, your personal belongings—your bag, wallet, identification, and smartphone—were retrieved from the scene. Based on these items and the surrounding circumstances, the local police presumed you dead and issued a Presumed Death Certificate.”
Takanori slowly closed his eyes. Every single word pierced deeply into his heart. His belongings had been found. The things he had been carrying that day. The bag Akina had given him for Christmas must have been among them. What had she thought when she saw it? With his eyes closed, he pictured the scene: Akina standing frozen in a reception room at the police station, staring at the charred bag. Her hands trembling, tears spilling over. The mere image made his chest tighten painfully.
“…Did Akina confirm them herself?”
Takanori’s voice trembled slightly. Opening his eyes, he looked straight at the embassy official.
“Yes. Your wife personally viewed the belongings recovered by the local police station, and at that time, she was also issued the Presumed Death Certificate. Afterward, she returned to Japan and used those documents to file for a ‘Certified Death’ at her local municipal office. In accordance with Article 89 of the Family Register Act, your death was officially confirmed. At present, your family register has been expunged.”
My family register is gone. Takanori chewed on the sheer weight of those words. In this country, despite his severe injuries, he was undeniably alive. He was breathing, and his heart was beating. Yet, under Japanese law, he no longer existed. His name had been erased from the government records. The official record of “Takanori Aizawa”—an identity he had carried since birth—had been wiped away by nothing more than a few sheets of paper and an official seal.
An image of the municipal office’s service counter flashed through his mind. Akina had likely sat there, signing documents in front of an impersonal clerk. Had she been crying, or had she been desperately holding back her tears? Either way, she had truly made the decision to let him go.
The embassy official paused for a moment. He waited quietly, as if giving Takanori time to process. The clock in the room ticked away in steady rhythm, the sound of the second hand echoing unnaturally loud in his ears. Hesitating over whether he should continue, the official slowly opened his mouth once more.
“Furthermore, the divorce proceedings have also been finalized. Under the presumption of your death, Mrs. Akina Aizawa is now legally your ‘former wife.’ To restore your family register, you will need to undergo an adjudication by the Family Court to have a new register compiled.”
The words struck Takanori’s heart quietly, but with absolute certainty. He gasped for air. A sharp pang spread through his chest—a pain entirely separate from his fractured ribs. It was a heavy, dull ache, as if his internal organs were being crushed.
“…A divorce.”
He repeated the word over and over in his mind. On the day they were married, they had sworn eternal love. They had exchanged rings, submitted their marriage registration to the city hall, and created a new family register together. The two of them had become one. And now, it had all ended in a divorce without her ever knowing that he was still alive.
Takanori looked out the window. The cityscape of this unfamiliar land was beginning to bathe in the hues of the setting sun. Orange light cast long shadows across the floor of his hospital room. In the distance, the outlines of buildings gradually melted into the gathering darkness. How many times had he watched this sunset since arriving in this country? Yet today’s sunset felt immeasurably heavier, sinking deep into his soul.
—Akina never saw a body. She saw only my belongings, relied only on documents, and believed I was dead.
That fact stirred a chaotic whirlwind of emotions inside him. If she had seen a body, or if fingerprints had yielded a complete match, he might have given up right here and then. But she hadn’t. There had been no definitive proof. He had been erased purely on paper.
She’s trying to move forward. Without knowing I’m alive.
He couldn’t judge whether that was right or wrong. But one thing was certain: if he were to step forward right now and claim to be alive, it would deeply shatter her decision and irrevocably upend the future she was trying to build. She was taking her first steps toward a new life. If he reappeared now, her world would break all over again.
Takanori spoke softly.
“…I understand.”
He said nothing more. Though his mind overflowed with a surge of emotions, he lacked the strength to put them into words. Anger, grief, confusion, and above all, his earnest desire for her happiness. They all tangled together, swirling endlessly within his chest.
The embassy official seemed somewhat taken aback by Takanori’s calm acceptance. He started to say something, but stopped himself. Perhaps he simply couldn’t fathom what kind of life lay ahead for this man. Instead, he began explaining the necessary paperwork and legal procedures: the adjudication process in the Family Court, the steps to re-establish his family register, and the deadlines for submitting various documents. Those words washed over Takanori’s ears, vanishing into thin air almost immediately.
Outside the window, the sun had set completely, and darkness began to envelop the city. Distant streetlights flickered to life one by one. Staring at those lights, Takanori pondered where he currently stood. Legally, he was dead. He had no family register. His wife had become his ex-wife. In this foreign land, he was treated merely as an injured patient, but if he returned to Japan, he would be a person who did not exist.
Even so, I am alive. My heart is beating. With these hands, I might still be able to hold onto something one day. He quietly tucked that single sliver of hope deep into his heart.
Having finished his explanation, the embassy official stood up. He offered Takanori a polite bow and left the room with a look of quiet reluctance, the younger staff member following closely behind. As the door clicked shut, silence returned to the hospital room once more.
Left alone on his bed, Takanori continued to gaze out the window. High in the distant sky, a single star began to shine. Looking up at that lone star, he whispered softly to himself:
“…I’m alive. I’m still alive.”
His voice reached no one. Yet, he felt that was for the best. For now, remaining unknown to the world was the choice he had made.
Deep and silent, the night descended.