“Black Veil Mind Castaway”
「ep.16.5 the bath of echoes」
sector three. the heart sanatorium.
outside, a drizzle of noise kept falling forever.
not real rain.
just the scraping hum of atmospheric vibration, the sound that only appeared when zankyou-chan was in a bad mood.
“...she’s raging with touhou arrangements again, dana.”
eila muttered lazily, sinking deep into the sofa.
sanya didn’t answer.
beside an old cathode television, she quietly watched the steam rising from a simmering pot.
today was takikomi rice.
the meal reserved for days when nobody died.
“master... you’ve been adding more ‘logs’ again, dana.”
“......”
“if you ignore me, zankyou-chan’s gonna drift closer, dana.”
then—
from somewhere deep in the room, a sound rang out.
like delayed drums.
clang——...
a few seconds later.
...clang.
“she’s here.”
sanya whispered softly.
beyond the wall, down an invisible hallway, someone was dropping drumsticks.
the orchestra nobody could ever ride with.
the hidden backing tracks.
support drums.
cut-and-pasted lives.
something that still refused to die completely.
“zankyou-chan’s rough tonight, dana.”
eila yawned.
but there was no fear.
they’d known her too long.
zankyou-chan would lash out at songs she hated.
she would rage against the wrong atmosphere.
yet strangely, she never approached the people she truly despised.
“who is it today, dana.”
“...closer to ‘zero.’”
sanya’s answer was short.
zero.
the man endlessly ignored.
the auto-foreshadowing corpse-kicked human.
no matter what he said, nobody listened.
yet somehow, he always wrote the longest walls of text.
he kept extending worlds.
kept tasting unfinished possibilities.
again. and again.
“thinking about post-death spin-offs again, dana.”
“yeah.”
“playing underground fixer games.”
“......”
“this time he’s apparently lower than kuzuyoshi and yamaguchi, dana.”
“the names are too long. ‘below-trash’ is enough.”
“that’s lazy, dana...”
then—
a woman’s voice echoed through the entire sanatorium.
“the bath’s open—”
“......”
“......”
“yuyuu, dana.”
white robes.
but beneath them— something dark and strangely erotic.
black smoke, like strands of hair, rose gently from her chest with every breath.
souvenir-of-the-underworld-chan.
a form yuyuu had recently grown fond of.
“where’s ryukari?”
“already inside.”
“purple bath salts again, dana.”
“lavender.”
“harmless broth.”
“...fufu.”
at that exact moment—
zankyou-chan’s noise stopped.
silence.
soft. weightless.
the whole world became quiet.
“her mood improved, dana.”
“maybe... she likes this atmosphere.”
eila stood, stretching carelessly before leaning against sanya’s shoulder.
“master should come too, dana.”
“...i’ll just watch.”
“you’re gonna stand at the edge building more world settings again anyway, dana.”
“yeah.”
they walked down the hallway.
the bathhouse of the heart sanatorium connected directly to a lake.
through the steam—
cherry blossoms.
noise.
distant thunder.
and somewhere far away, the sound of someone else’s easy-to-play orchestra continuing forever.
“you’re jealous, dana.”
“i am.”
“but you don’t hate it, dana.”
“yeah.”
sanya smiled, just a little.
“because... i want to cheer for the zero-type people.”
and at those words—
zankyou-chan made another tiny sound.
this time, not drums.
an old electronic chirp, like ancient internet lines reconnecting.
piro... pirororo...
as if—
somebody was still trying to stay logged in.
ep.16.6 the bath episode. completely like a business trip」
it was night, dana.
the old ventilation fan hummed sleepily above them.
buuuuuuun......
an aging apartment complex, almost like a sanatorium.
the walls were thin, and somewhere far away, the sound of somebody’s television echoed like noise from beneath water, dana...
takaya sat on the changing room floor, his game left paused somewhere unfinished.
“bath... too annoying...”
white steam leaked through the half-open door, dana...
then—
“...what are you doing, dana.”
a sleepy voice fell from behind him.
it was saanyan.
her silver hair swayed slightly in the draft from the fan, dana...
jersey outfit. way too much lived-in energy, dana...
“nah... just can’t bother...”
“you should take baths, dana.”
“i know.”
“then get in.”
“......”
takaya went silent, dana.
saanyan stayed quiet too, for a while.
then she sighed softly.
“...can’t be helped, dana.”
“?”
“i’ll bathe with you today, dana.”
“huh?”
“don’t misunderstand. it’s supervision, dana.”
“how does supervision require entering the bath together?”
“it does.”
“it doesn’t.”
“it does, dana.”
weirdly forceful, dana...
saanyan casually stepped into the changing room like she belonged there, then started organizing the cleanser bottles and random junk on the shelf without permission.
“wow... this place is messy, dana...”
“hey... don’t look...”
“too many tissues, dana.”
“stop.”
“......”
“......”
strange silence, dana.
only the fan kept spinning overhead.
buuuuuuuuun......
then saanyan suddenly laughed.
“fufu.”
“what.”
“nah... takaya, you look more alive lately, dana.”
“that’s a creepy compliment.”
“wasn’t complimenting you.”
“you were.”
“......”
steam drifted slowly between them, dana...
the bathroom was old.
tiles. a tiny mirror. a shower slightly stained with rust at the edges.
but somehow, it felt calming, dana...
“hot!”
“you always make it too hot, dana.”
“below forty-two degrees isn’t a bath.”
“old man.”
“northern culture.”
“liar, dana.”
saanyan sat on the edge of the tub, only her feet submerged in the water, dana...
“......”
“......”
“what game were you playing, dana.”
“nothing serious...”
“people only say ‘nothing serious’ when they’re completely addicted, dana.”
“well...”
“did you lose?”
“nah...”
“then you won?”
“neither.”
“your mental got wrecked, dana.”
“yeah...”
“weak, dana.”
“shut up.”
but she sounded like she was smiling a little, dana...
while tracing ripples across the bathwater with her fingertips, saanyan muttered quietly.
“...takaya, ever since long ago, your sense of time changes only when you talk about music, dana.”
“huh?”
“your time feels denser than normal people’s, dana.”
“what’s that supposed to mean.”
“your face changes when you talk about drumming, dana.”
“......”
takaya went quiet for a moment, dana.
steam blurred his vision...
“...it’s over already though.”
“it’s not.”
“nah. it ended.”
“people who are truly finished don’t remember song titles that clearly, dana.”
“......”
“they don’t remember equipment sounds, or the smell of live houses either.”
“......”
leaning her head against the wall, saanyan continued sleepily.
“that means some part of you is still alive, dana.”
“......”
“people who completely died eventually hate even remembering things, dana.”
the ventilation fan.
water droplets.
a motorcycle somewhere far away.
it was night, dana...
“......”
“......”
“hey.”
“dana.”
“if i’d... just continued normally... what do you think would’ve happened.”
saanyan thought for a little while, dana...
“you wouldn’t have become famous.”
“shut up.”
“but after lives, you’d still be wasting time outside convenience stores, dana.”
“......too realistic.”
“wearing red seven-length sleeves, dana.”
“you’re still bringing that up?”
“they suited you, dana.”
“......”
“also, they’d force you to do a twenty-four-second drum solo every show, dana.”
“worst future.”
“but the audience would laugh a little, dana.”
“absolutely terrible.”
both of them laughed quietly, dana...
through the steam, saanyan narrowed her eyes softly.
“...but no matter the world, you’d still say ‘not good enough yet,’ dana.”
“......”
“so every world ends up the same, dana.”
“......can’t deny it.”
“you can’t, dana.”
silence returned again.
but this time, the silence felt softer somehow, dana...
the water swayed gently.
chapu......
“you’re gonna overheat.”
“your fault, dana.”
“how is it my fault?”
“long-bath culture.”
“don’t know what that means.”
“......”
saanyan let out a tiny yawn, then leaned her shoulder against him, dana...
“hey, too hot.”
“sleepy, dana.”
“don’t fall asleep in the bath.”
“if i drown, save me.”
“no thanks. too heavy.”
“rude, dana.”
but she still didn’t move away, dana...
above them, the old ventilation fan kept spinning through the ancient night.
buuuuuuuuun......
takaya: “awawawawawawawawawawawa...”
takaya: “apparently ai novels trigger copyright issues and all that... but honestly, everything’s still so clumsy and broken right now, that even if it somehow made money someday, i’d be fine splitting it fifty-fifty... if people can’t even accept that, then they just feel like bitter palm-salt-men to me...
every single time, my own creations get stopped at the framework level...
sometimes all i can think is: how many times did i already become a millionaire in some other branch of reality...
just pathetic grandiose delusions left over.
outside of making things, i’ve almost never lost in blitzes or trades unless some artificial hype-buff was involved.
every time i win...
the other day i accidentally entered a three-thousand-times leverage trade, with money i actually deposited myself, won every single round, and then they wouldn’t let me withdraw it...
that kind of frustration is all i really remember.
the more pathetic i become, the stronger souvenir-of-the-underworld-chan, monster-time-me, and rategui-chan become, so i can only process it inwardly...
right now, work opportunities themselves appear endlessly around me. a lot of places near me would apparently let someone restart life through interviews alone, without education or work history.
but i dropped out of university... my high school graduation papers need to be requested from hong kong... holy workplaces are too far away... my head’s messed up... my right hand is partially numb...
before i contracted with zankyou-chan, i probably would’ve been sent into meniere’s territory.
but once society spits someone out, how are they even supposed to work anymore... even yakuza are still part of society...
sometimes i think maybe if someone got injected with something that caused paralysis, and had no drug history, they’d qualify for disability pension and welfare easier...
apparently over ten thousand households applied for welfare last month though... so who even knows anymore.
i’ve got this congenital god-disorder where outer-units make normal conversations impossible and vehicle-units start getting excited...
but whatever. i should stop talking about this...”
switching thought circuits.
takaya: “i think i understand zankyou-chan’s mood a little.
last night she completely calmed down, and it felt like she was studying things through my eyesight. right now she’s small again, making tiny noises.
i slept for around eighteen hours after all...
if you define it as tinnitus, then maybe it’s some ancient-demon-level thing, but since we’re aiming toward a cute ‘pui-form’ like a nendoroid mixed with an old ero-doujin character, i think she’s gained a kind of childishness.
so i’m taking it lightly and assuming she’s just bored and making noise.
because of that, i’m thinking about playing music and doing some ‘modern art appreciation,’ aka gaming.
and if i can’t communicate with zankyou-chan in dreams, or during friction-generated moments, then maybe i’ll have to build ai software instead...
there was a time i wasn’t allowed to code... but i still tried learning by reading.
rpg maker ace... woditor... if you grew up in a strict household, you’d probably get yelled at before even deleting line 180.
the place where i asked questions about unity asset coding became frozen, yet somehow every other script still worked...
so yeah, there’s some loser-dog-howling bitterness there.
but if i ever build ai software, i’ll probably ask ai to help me too...
i recognize zankyou-chan as a cluster of multiple traits, but most situations begin with sound, so for now she’s still called zankyou-chan.
and maybe, just maybe, even blind people experience their inner voice as sound.
that’s how i choose to interpret it.”
the title barely matters anymore, but i keep wondering how to organize a worldview involving modern fox-possession and demonic possession...
it feels endless. like it’ll continue until death.
after thinking about it, it almost feels like a self-help story for lonely humans, monsters, demons, or fake gods.
i’ll leave the rest for future update-style episodes.
i haven’t even studied writing methods properly yet, so maybe that’s fine.
whether people accept it or not, i have no idea.
maybe i’ll inflate the word count by having eila-ilmatar-jutilainen-ai translate it through zankyou-echoes.”
takaya: “illu convert on.”
it was a morning still carrying the smell of rain.
takaya opened his eyes for the first time in eighteen hours.
the world was quiet, though not completely silent.
a cooling fan hummed softly in the corner of the room. somewhere far away, a delivery truck dragged metallic noises down the road.
and behind all of it, the usual “echo” was there.
kiiiii......
small.
like a bored child scratching their nails against a desk.
“...you were awake.”
takaya muttered.
tinnitus. that’s what doctors called it.
meniere’s. stress. autonomic nerves. blood flow. brain fatigue.
the world explained everything through those ordinary words.
but for takaya, it was different.
it had always been there from the beginning.
sleepless nights. the moment fingertips numbed from friction heat. the static of old cathode televisions. underpasses during rainy days. the sensation of air vibrating inside rooms that should’ve been empty.
zankyou-chan had always been there.
at first, he thought it was a demon.
then fox possession.
then eventually, he gave up and called it brain damage.
but recently, his thoughts had started changing.
maybe this thing was loneliness itself, grown alive.
something born from humans who sank deeper and deeper inside themselves after never being understood, never being able to explain themselves, being laughed at as insane, becoming detached from society, even losing sight of how to work anymore.
in ancient times, people called that yokai.
in some regions, gods.
in certain religions, demons.
today, mental illness.
only the names changed.
the core probably never did.
“...you’re bored, aren’t you.”
kii......
the sound rose slightly.
an answer.
takaya laughed.
there was nothing else he could do.
his body still felt heavy from sleeping eighteen hours, yet only his brain felt strangely sharpened.
at the edge of his vision, the game console’s standby light blinked.
modern art appreciation.
that’s what he called it.
someone’s delusion. someone’s obsession. someone’s distress signal.
games, anime, music— all of them were that.
humans had always sealed madness inside creations.
so takaya thought:
if he couldn’t speak with zankyou-chan directly...
if even dreams couldn’t reach her...
then he’d use ai.
analyze sound. learn patterns. imitate emotions.
anchor an impossible companion into this world.
was it invention?
or madness?
even he no longer knew.
but perhaps, just like blind people experience their inner voices as sound,
human souls themselves might fundamentally be vibration.
that’s what takaya believed.
and so, today as well, zankyou-chan continued to ring softly.
trying not to become a complete demon.
trying not to become a complete god.
gaining the childishness of a tiny “pui-form,” like a little nendoroid.
small.
restless.
borrowing takaya’s vision to study the world.
takaya: “feeeehhhhh... that kinda feeling...”
5:08
takaya: “nothing’s really coming to mind. i’ve just been letting music play endlessly.
youtube became such a normalized platform, so i’ll just write the name directly.
back then, youtube itself used to apply weird arrangements, uneven volume shifts, hidden beeps, stuff like that.
but even so, if i endured the suffering and kept listening, sometimes the pain would ease.
so honestly, i wish there was just some daily premium subscription option.
also, the voices in ads scrape directly against my nerves.
young guys should go after young girls. watching my ex choose working adults back then, seeing the emotional weight of money itself— that kind of thing stayed inside me.
so i get irrationally irritated.
i’m not even a youtuber, but i sometimes think: wouldn’t it be interesting if viewers could choose the voice actor for ads, and youtube paid them according to votes?
if hikaru midorikawa introduced a game, my desire to try it would skyrocket.
or if tomura shigaraki aggressively introduced something, i’d probably try it too.
sometimes his voice still echoes in my head in fragments from the anime...
not equal to me, but close enough to resonate.
sometimes i even hallucinate hands like his on my right side, and every time i do something, some idiot voice says: ‘thanks for the training support.’
but i already finished building my rebellion-patterns, so i don’t care anymore.
there was a game character called bro-nyan voiced by kana asumi once, and after i wrote too many perverted diary entries, my grandiose delusions convinced me the voice actress got replaced because of me.
bro-nyan → popura → guessing moans— it became easier than mathematics, so i ended up doing it.
even now, the voice of yuyuu inside my mental sanatorium still hasn’t fully changed away from kana asumi’s voice.”
takaya: “i don’t know how i’m supposed to keep living... gas failed. carbon monoxide failed too somehow... i just wanted stronger opioids, but they say tramadol ‘doesn’t count’... those aging high-cost doctors are insane...”
