"To be honest, anything would have been fine. I never invested dreams or a future in my job. After all, no matter how hard I try, what can I leave behind? I can't even influence a small village in Japan, let alone the world. The only thing left is to leave descendants, but even that isn't achievable for me."
I swallowed the question, "Aren't you going to get married?"
"In other words, I don't have any meaning to my life. That's looking at it objectively. Some people might argue that life is individual, but I don't like that notion. It's more valuable to be recognized by others than to recognize yourself. After all, humans live amongst other humans. ...Well, the conversation went off track, but based on such naive thoughts, I became the psychiatrist, Dr. Sakashita."
There was no "happily ever after."
• Is that okay? It's not over yet.
She gazed at her right hand, which had just slapped me, repeatedly opening and closing her fingers.
"Adding to that frivolous motivation, my hands... they acted out. I slapped a patient. And although I have no shame, I'm not so proud as to continue exposing my shame, so I quit."
She concluded and leaned back further on her chair, gazing at the ceiling.
I didn't ask for the audience's opinion. I had nothing to say either.
"Hey, what is 'treatment'?"
A voice devoid of strong emotion vibrated my eardrums.
"...Sorry, I had a déjà vu."
"I heard that before. I got a clichéd response worth 40 points from you."
Wait, my heart's diary notes that I received a full 100 points.
Placing both hands on the back of her head and stretching, she began speaking again.
"Physical treatment and mental treatment. I don't know which is more difficult, but it's clear which is more ambiguous. What is mental treatment? Normalizing emotions? What's the definition of 'normal'? Or is it returning the mind to its previous state? How do you distribute that? Helping with recovery and leaving the rest to the individual? Even if the person doesn't feel like it?"
She rapidly fired questions at the ceiling. I hoped she wasn't expecting answers from me, as I watched her in contemplation.
"Most of the inpatients here are normal. The majority are just average. Maybe a bit lethargic or obsessively seeking order—people you'd find anywhere in society. Yet, they're seen as outsiders. Some even self-admit because they're shunned... About ten percent, maybe, have completely malfunctioning transmitters, or their consciousness has shifted to a delusional world. Like Misono's Ma-chan, for example."
The mention of that name piqued my interest. I looked at her, but she was too busy staring intently at the ceiling.
"The happiness she feels is colored by unhappiness. But if you focus only on happiness, you'll feel content. No matter how content she seems, the backdrop is pure unhappiness. It's the difference between subjectivity and objectivity we talked about earlier. From my perspective, Misono Mayu is a bundle of unhappiness. But to her, as long as Mi-kun is by her side, she's happy. If having someone like that can make you happy, it's quite a bargain."
"...Indeed, it's cheap."
I responded without particularly disagreeing. Does she really favor that perspective? "If Misono were to be hospitalized again, and her altered memories and far-from-normal mental state were corrected, she would only be reclaiming her unfortunate past. Asking her to face that and find happiness once more is an arrogant request from someone looking down on her. There are people who try to commit suicide out of sheer desperation. Asking them not to turn away from the truth is just an imposition by arrogant people. I don't accept that."
Her sharpened voice conveyed her determination.
In my heart, supposed to be on the patient's side, there was no denial. I thought of Mayu.
The doctor slowly lowered her gaze, focusing on her own toes.
"We have people in our hospital who talk to their reflections in mirrors all day and those with delusions, claiming they have precognitive abilities. I don't know which of us is happier. I might not know concrete happiness, but they might, or at least, they might feel it. It's a happiness not recognized by others, but it's not easily stolen. Because even if they're cured, they might not become happy, and once someone reaches that state, society's evaluation of them drops anyway... I worried about this for a long time."
This agony is described in the past tense.
But it doesn't mean she found a perfect solution.
"I kept worrying endlessly, and if there's no answer, I'd run away. Because I'm a coward. Honestly, if I continued like this, I'm afraid my own mind would become sick. The truth that I've nurtured and guided my actions by seems to be getting overwritten, and it's terrifying. The excuse that I'm not cut out for it and that's why I'm quitting might just be the real reason."
Or rather, that's the reason.
She finally looked at me after saying this.
Her eyes, clear as a sunny day, were dazzling. They were filled with light, contrasting with Nagatsuki-san's. They resembled the eyes of the people I saw when I was previously hospitalized. They looked like the eyes of people with schizophrenia. Why are her eyes evaluated differently from theirs?
Her dry, chapped lips moved.
"Do you... when you're with Misono, feel happy?"
My vision blurred as a raspy voice emerged.
"Yes."
Did I lie?
The doctor said nothing. It wasn't a confirmation or a denial.
Ignoring me, she turned her face away.
This meant that even if I was truly happy, it wasn't something she would acknowledge.
"Well then, I think I should be going."
Sensing her imminent departure, she lifted her heel.
She then rolled forward, tucking her legs and tumbling onto the bed.
My brain was filled with question marks.
Before I could voice these doubts, the doctor's abrupt motion caused me to tumble off the bed. There was no gentle "thud" or "whoa" to describe it.
I couldn't tell if I was in pain from falling less than a meter from the bed or if it hurt more than when I jumped off the rooftop.
As I stood up, I picked up the doctor's glasses that had fallen to the floor during her tumble. The bed, meant for patients, was now fully occupied by the perfectly healthy former working professional.
"...You know..."
My energy to continue saying, "Please set your sights further," withered. The doctor, unapologetically, said, "It's fine."
"There's no need for a perfectly healthy person to sleep in a hospital bed."
Why don't the people of this town, including me, reflect upon themselves? Without the spirit to shout that out, I sighed, accepting her point, and sat on the chair the doctor had previously occupied. My aching behind protested. Absentmindedly putting on the glasses in my right hand, a dull pain shot through my eyeballs. "I mean, there's nothing to do even if I go home."
"Hello Work (Employment Service Center) is waiting for you."
"Wha...? Nematode slept for three years and then worked hard for six years, right? I've worked hard for six years, so I deserve twelve years off, no doubt."
"Both your analogy and your math are wrong."
The heavy atmosphere lightened. Pushing back the hair that fell on her forehead, she accepted the change in mood. She wanted to think about the doctor's words and her response, but she had to put those thoughts on hold.
Perhaps because the clown was breathing in an unfamiliar state, my shoulders felt stiff. As I rotated my shoulders to loosen them, I noticed the doctor was half-lying in the dream coffin. I feared she was becoming more like little Mayu.
Responding to my gaze, she rubbed her eyes and yawned.
"Anyway, your aunt and uncle were furious, so do your best."
"Ah... right, they would be. My head hurts."
"That's unfortunate. Should I prescribe half the usual kindness? Hahaha!"
Seeing the doctor laughing so heartily made my headache even worse.
"...Doctor, why are you here?"
"Don't you know what visiting means?"
She responded with an air of self-evidence. Her cold and casual words might have been touching, but I've never heard of a visit where the visitor lies on the patient's bed and yawns.