#ikusamonogatari

There was something odd about the name Araragi Hitagi. No matter how I try, it just doesn’t sit right with me. If I count from our freshman year at Naoetsu Private High School, where we became classmates, I’ve known her for almost a decade. Yet every time I see this name, it feels as unfamiliar as if we've only just met. And if I’m asked whose fault that unshakable strangeness was, I can say with absolute confidence that it was none other than mine. but still it felt as though trying to force together two jigsaw pieces that don’t fit.

Look at the joints; they're practically crumbling.

It was at the hallowed grounds of North Shirahebi Shrine, in presence of its god herself, that I swore with my life on the line that I would make her happy. She’s irreplaceable. Despite that, after getting married as we did, I had the hideous feeling that I was smearing the most precious aspect of the person I should hold most dear in my life, the one and only Senjougahara Hitagi, with cheap paints. It was an indescribably disgusting, queasy feeling.

I know, at least as general knowledge, that wedding dresses and white bridal kimono carry the symbolism of something pure, “dyeing yourself in your partner’s colors”. But that knowledge feels outdated, quaint at best. The fact is that I’ve robbed my spouse of something precious, something fundamental— her name. It’s a wound that stings, one I’ll carry for the rest of my life. Frankly, it makes me doubt whether I can even build a happy home.

How unfair, how unjust.

How utterly tragic.

It’s impossible not to feel guilty over this, like I’ve caused someone harm.

"It's fine, Koyomi. I really don't mind. In fact, I think it flows better than before. Hitagi Araragi. It has a nice rhythm, rolls right off the tongue. Almost like it was always meant to be this way."

That’s what she tells me. But the weight of imposing this burden unilaterally on someone who should be my equal isn’t so easily brushed aside. If anything, her reassurance only deepens my guilt. I know she means it, but it’s still burdensome. There’s the practical side of things, updating her driver’s license, passport, My Number card. And beyond that, there’s the undeniable violence of it: using the law as a cudgel to rip away the name she’s lived with for a quarter of a century.

Isn't that, by any measure, an unforgivable act of barbarism?

It feels like domestic abuse right out the gate.

The life of Araragi Koyomi had always been one of ceaseless battles against all kinds of unreasonable circumstances. So even now, he should continue to fight for the sake of his family name. But this time, his opponent was not a monster, nor was it a mystery or tale of supernatural transformation, regrettably— it was the country of Japan itself.

Well, it could be argued that there wasn’t much difference between the country of Japan and its world of supernatural creatures, but I can't simply let that claim go unchallenged. As an experienced public servant, someone who had truly sworn loyalty to both the nation of Japan and its people, it was hard to advocate for the immediate abolition of the antiquated custom of married couples sharing the same surname. After being transferred to the FBI for advanced training and subsequently being headhunted for employment, and after buying my own home there, I found myself questioning my own patriotism.

Naturally, if we were to go by logic alone, rather than Hitagi legally becoming Araragi Hitagi, I would have become Senjougahara Koyomi. In fact, I had secretly been working on this plan behind the scenes. At first, everything was going smoothly, but the surreptitiously obtained written documentation was soon discovered by her. Hitagi, that is.

Impresive.

"You've always been 'Araragi' to me, ever since we met. And—don't take this the wrong way— but I don't want you carrying my father's name. The name 'Senjougahara.'"

Okay.

The latter half aside, I feel exactly the same about the first part. No matter how I rationalize it, I can't shake the feeling that we've been steamrolled by societal norms. Sure, the law technically allows either spouse to take the other's name. But in practice, it's almost always the man's surname that's chosen.

Logically, I understand. But the thing is— I wasn't defeated by logic.

As I recall, the family of Hachikuji— the god worshiped within the grounds of North Shirahebi Shrine, where I pledged myself in marriage— all bore the mother's surname, Tsunade. But alas, as the twin-tailed lost god once confessed to me:

"We took my mother's name, Tsunade. But in the end, it didn't work out. 'Family' became 'former family.' They divorced when I was in third grade, and I had to change my name, too. What was even the point?"

She said it breezily, and back then—young and trying to act cool—I brushed it off with a casual "Yeah, that happens." But now that I'm the one facing these legal procedures, I can't help but dwell on it.

Even setting aside my role in law enforcement (and it's not exactly fitting for a public servant to say this) the whole thing reeks of bureaucratic nonsense. I inherited my job as a police officer from my parents, albeit reluctantly, but I never wanted to force my name on anyone.

If this had been the Hitagi of our high school days, especially during her most volatile years, she would've stapled my mouth shut before letting me keep Araragi. She wouldn't have surrendered her father's name.

Has time softened her? Then again, maybe it's not just her. Maybe I've grown up, too. If this were me back in high school, I'd have said:

"Then screw marriage. If we're protecting our identities, we don't need some scrap of paper binding us. We'll live together without sharing a name. Hell, let's move in with Oikura too while we're at it."

Though in the end, as usual, it would most likely have led to a not-so-happy but rather bad ending. But inside the mind of twenty-four-year-old Araragi Koyomi, countless unbearable adult rationalizations came rushing in like a storm, saying, “Well, but things don't usually work out that way, do they? When you are a member of society, you must take reputation and position into account, and in the long run, Hitagi might also find it hard to live such a stubborn life. Besides, it's self-evident that various procedures would become troublesome if we don't enter the marriage registry, so, on the contrary, if it's just a matter of a single piece of paper, it would be best not to fuss about it and get it over with.”

But wait, what’s this? Has Araragi-kun suddenly become so enlightened that he begins to admonish all those ordinary families who have married uncomplainingly and blandly, keeping their own surnames? The times have changed. Nowadays, you can even go by your maiden name at work. Don't be so annoying and nitpicky about it. People like that aren’t popular, you know?

In all honesty, the idea of living with Oikura is tolerable, but the notion of taking Hitagi as a common-law wife is rather unsavory. As a career officer of the Japanese police force and an unofficial member of the FBI, it wouldn’t be surprising if I suddenly died in the line of duty, at least to the same extent as that hellish Spring Break. With the chances of an unforeseen accident being about fifty-fifty, I would rather avoid a situation where Hitagi might be kept from witnessing my final moments due to a bureaucratic technicality like a discrepancy in our last names. I'm sure everyone is well aware of how prone I am to life-threatening situations. No insurance company would ever enroll me in a life insurance policy.

On the other hand, the reverse was also a possibility.

Hitagi worked in the Japanese branch of a foreign financial firm, and you might think her life wouldn't be in any real danger. But she once confided that because she deals with massive amounts of money within the company daily, when she’s seriously out and about, she needs the accompaniment of bodyguards who cling to her like stalkers. I’m not sure if she was pulling my leg, but every time she leaves her home, she carries the latest version of her will with her.

“How strange, I was once swindled out of all my possessions, and now my job is akin to that of a swindler, treating strangers' money as my own and making it multiply incessantly—through stocks, foreign exchange, and cryptocurrencies that I'm not even sure really exist. It's all an enigmatic, ethereal mystery.”

Though her words carried a hint of self-mockery, it was because she had been both a pampered heiress in a mansion and a penniless tenant in a wooden box that she had managed to acquire certain skills. Good or bad, she believed that money was but an illusory thing.

Of course, that's not to say that she could approve of the person she was when she lost her weight and her mother… no, that too was a cherished memory, and a cherished trauma.

It could never be forgotten.

Right.

These were the life experiences of Senjougahara Hitagi. Could they really be covered up with just my surname? As if erasing her individuality.

“I think the name change is fun, like a game. But why do you care so much, Koyomi? Is it because you're thinking of another person?”

“Another person?”

It's hard to ignore the seemingly lighthearted remark that it's like a fun game, it feels all the more like an attempt to escape reality. But for now, let’s let it slide. So, who could this other person be?

“Shinobu. Although I’m not sure if I can call her a human person. Come to think of it, Koyokoyo, wasn't it during that Spring Break that you cruelly stole her name?”

Koyokoyo.

The endearing nickname I miss so much…

I also used to call her by the nickname “Gahara-san,” but after she changed her surname, I could no longer address her in this way. It’s embarrassing for adults like us to use such nicknames, but hearing that I could never use it again made me feel as if I had been deprived of a basic human right, leaving me in a state of distress.

It was true, no matter how you put it: the King of Aberrations, the iron-blooded, hot-blooded, cold-blooded Kiss-Shot Acerola-Orion Heart-Under-Blade— the name of the vampire who has lived for six hundred years.

But it was taken from her, just like life itself.

After losing her prestigious title, the oddity specialist Oshino Meme gave her a new name— Oshino Shinobu.

The man in a Hawaiian shirt said, employing his specialist's surname as a constraint, he would seal her away, deeply and securely.

Which, to be honest, was contradictory and riddled with double standards. Yet, for me, calling her Oshino Shinobu resonated truer and felt more befitting for her as I have known her by that name for longer.

Of course, nobody refers to her as Kiss-Shot Acerola-Orion Heart-Under-Blade nowadays, but there seems to be a faction of specialists who still call her the “Old Heart-Under-Blade.”

Old Heart-Under-Blade.

What an antiquated name.

“When you think about it, it's a strange and wonderful thing to have the word 'old' added to your name. Don’t you think so, Old Gahara-san?”

“Indeed, if you are going to keep calling me that, I don't want to continue this conversation.”

“I have already experienced the guilt of taking away someone's name… What's going on with this marriage, it's like I'm making the same mistakes over again.”

“It's almost like a de facto remarriage.”

“No, it's a first marriage, actually.”

Although this example exposed the depths of my subconscious, it didn’t entirely resolve the issue which had already taken deep root. It seemed that because I had done it once before, I no longer cared about doing it again now, as if to say that killing one person was the same as killing two. This frightening thought was something that neither Japan nor America would endorse.

Rather, should we not learn from our mistakes?

That had been an emergency measure taken out of necessity for Shinobu, so it couldn’t be said that it was entirely wrong… In this day and age, I can't help but think there might have been another way to do it. It's hard not to question whether my decision to barely keep alive by turning the vampire— the King of Aberrations— that otherwise faced certain death, into my slave, was an immature one, driven by a child's desire for simplicity.

Even as the former Heart-Under-Blade happily gobbles on Mister Donuts in my shadow… And since it's acceptable to use your original family name in the workplace, why then must we discriminate and not apply the same rule to other situations?

With this in mind, I might as well create a business card featuring my Senjougahara pseudonym while at work. I wonder if it's possible to mark your former name on the police officer's guidebook. I'd have to ask Chief Kouga about that next time.

“A seemingly insignificant battle, huh? Ah, yes, an infinitesimally small skirmish indeed.”

“Sounds like you're saying ‘overmorrow's tomorrow.’”

“Even if you were to take the name Senjougahara, it wouldn't make any difference. It won't even make you feel better. It's like we share the same hardships, but it's not the same at all, it's not. The constant labeling of hardships might be painful as well.”

“Do we have no choice but to fight against the state?”

“That’d be quite the unexpected turn of events. Just imagine your high school supporters, they'd be flabbergasted as they watch Araragi Koyomi take on the world of politics in a sequel.”

“But I can't overlook those die-hard fans' support. So should I run for office under the name Senjougahara Koyomi?”

“In that case, to ease the voter process, it might be best to simplify the complex kanji in 'Senjougahara,’ like, using hiragana instead.”

“Must I change my name even if I run for office? Just because it's hard to write. What a troublesome thing, follows me everywhere. But revolutionaries didn't use their real names either.”

“Are we talking about starting a revolution now, like Hanekawa-san?”

“I can't use my real name to run a campaign and cause trouble for my parents. I'm not that unfilial.”

“I wonder about that. It may not be limited to revolutionaries. Nowadays, it seems that a pseudonym one can choose themselves is more valued.”

The conversation had delved into the complicated topic of real names versus pseudonyms… In such an era when anonymity is held in high regard, aren't real names becoming more important than ever? Apparently, in the past, one could not reveal their real name to anyone other than their parents.

“I'm not sure if I can let such a thing be erased on a whim.”

“Was marrying me also on a whim, Koyomi?”

“I retract my previous statement and apologize under the name of Senjougahara Koyomi.”

“You are apologizing under a pseudonym.”

“I apologize under the name of Sen jou ga ha ra Koyomi.”

“Please stop apologizing like a politician. I don't want such a person to be the future chief of the National Police Agency.”

“Your demands are too high for a husband.”

“Philosophy and thought do warrant contemplation, but let's think more about the pressing needs of life, Koyomi. Weren't we supposed to be excitedly discussing our honeymoon destination?”

Right, we were.

Having completed the wedding ceremony, with a god as our witness, and the tedious paperwork, we had finally settled down and arranged a meeting, albeit belatedly, to discuss our long-awaited honeymoon plans.

Although the novel coronavirus could be said to have been eradicated from the earth, given that I currently have a foothold in the FBI and Hitagi is a young leader at the Japanese branch of a foreign firm, we were communicating remotely more often than not. Nevertheless, we both understand the importance of a meaningful face-to-face conversation. After all, it would be impolite not to attend to such a significant matter in person.

Our wedding had narrowly avoided taking place entirely remotely, but fortunately, it was held with only family members present, regardless of any infectious disease-related concerns. It was charming and intimate.

“The only thing I regret is not getting to drag empty cans behind the car; I wanted to try it.”¹

“Back in the old days, you would've tied me to the car and dragged me around the city as a public execution. But a honeymoon, huh?”

To begin with, neither Hitagi nor I were particularly fond of traveling; in fact, we both frequently shuttled across the Pacific Ocean. So, the word “travel” doesn't strike a deep chord in me. It's merely a transfer through different places, and it's difficult to attribute more significance to it.

I'd much prefer leisurely chats at home like this—without having to specifically go somewhere.

“I agree. Why not take a short trip then? How about the supermarket?”

“That’s too close.”

“But it sounds so super.”

“Well, you have a point. Supermarket is a pretty bold name.”

“But then, if the honeymoon has no significance, we’d better have not had a wedding at all, since it wouldn't be significant anyway.”

This statement sounds like something the old Hitagi would say—not Araragi Hitagi, but Senjougahara Hitagi.

In fact, many people these days consider weddings to be a grand waste of money, and couples often quarrel during their honeymoon, that’s why “Narita Divorce” gets thrown around as a phrase.²

Nowadays, you might also hear “Haneda Divorce” or “Kanku Divorce.”³

“Traveling has a way of revealing a couple's true nature, for better or worse. That's why I think it's a necessary ceremony.”

“A ceremony, huh?”

Surprisingly, Oshino was a man who valued such customs.

We can't take this lightly, then… considering our relationship.

“Speaking of which, that plan to go to Hokkaido to eat crab still hasn't come to fruition.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to go?”

“It’s tempting to tie up loose ends like a completed achievement, but it might not be the best season for that. I'd rather enjoy the best crab in wintertime anyway, that's what I really want.”

It's a tough one. Hokkaido, seemingly near but further than Washington D.C., has gradually taken on the nuance of being saved for our enjoyment during our twilight years. However, since we have refrained from indulging up until this point, it is only natural to savor the finest crab in the ideal setting of Hokkaido.

Yet as we speak, the warming of Hokkaido progresses at a steady pace. By the time we reached our retirement years, would it still be a snowy landscape?

“If we were to travel overseas, I think we should consider Europe or Africa. Including South America, both of us travel to the Americans for work often. Or what do you think about crossing the Atlantic Ocean?”

“There's also Oceania. Why not eat crab in Australia? I think you can't climb Ayers Rock anymore… Maybe New Zealand?”

“Apparently the stars there are beautiful. It's famed as a World Heritage of starry skies, they're even working to register it as an actual World Heritage site or something.”

A bit vague, but hmm.

Come to think of it, ever since high school—no, even before that during her sheltered upbringing, Hitagi has had a profound love for the starry skies. An unapologetic adoration.

If I recall, our first date was also at an observatory.

“In that case, what about revisiting that observatory nearby? It's only a few hours' drive.”

“Might take a bit longer if we dragged a heap of cans behind.”

“We probably shouldn't try that on Japanese roads, you know.”

As a cop, I couldn't pardon this.

The idea of revisiting a dating spot from our youth was not a bad one, but Hitagi didn't seem too keen on it, and she exaggeratedly tilted her head—a gesture straight out of the anime.

"What's up. If there are no lodging facilities, we could rent a camper van or something. The state should…"

"There's no need to bring up the state for that. You should be able to rent a car by yourself, right? Anyway, over there, I go pretty often, usually with my dad and Kanbaru."

"Really?"

While I was training as an FBI investigator, Senjougahara and Kanbaru rekindled their relationship… It's good that she's getting along with her family, which was delicate for a time, but still.

Whether that's how she truly feels or not, at least Hitagi says it's fine with her, but what does her father—and my in-law—think about it?

To have the surname he gave his daughter smeared by some random guy's…

Whoops, gotta stop thinking about it. If I'm not careful, my thoughts get pulled in that direction. The gravity of the issue is too strong.

I'm sure the meaning is just as precious either way, but the name Senjougahara is quite rare, so I can't help but contemplate the loss…

"Rather than somewhere you always go, like the supermarket, it should be somewhere special for the ceremony. If it's too familiar, the memories don't stick as strongly. Shouldn't you make memories of going somewhere you've wanted to, like an observatory? Or New Zealand is good, but wasn't there an amazing one in Hawaii or something?"

“Hmm. Electronic telescopes on that scale exceed my realm of expertise. But in the end, it seems we come back to America. Another idea is to go all the way to the Arctic Circle to see the auroras.”

“The Arctic. Mm, I wonder if Kagenui-san is doing all right.”

She doesn't live at the North Pole year-round of course, but when I hear “Arctic” she’s the first thing I think of—her and her shikigami. With that shikigami we could go anywhere in an instant... But the days of merrily living with a corpse doll under the same roof ended quite some time ago. Fraternizing with corpses is strictly forbidden nowadays.

The auroras. Not an uninteresting prospect.

I believe they can be observed either in Canada or the Nordic countries. If given a choice between the two, I would lean towards the latter in this case.

How about Finland, often said to be the closest to Europe? Who wouldn't want to taste the cinnamon rolls straight from their birthplace? The progress of women's social advancement in the Nordic countries is also noteworthy, and I assume, with a vague image in mind, that there wouldn't be any stipulation requiring spouses to share the same surname.

“Aha!”

And then it struck me.

It struck me like a shooting star.

As I've grown older, my brain has lost its freshness, and such instant inspirations have become all too rare these days. But at this moment, I felt that I had truly been hit by inspiration.

Not merely a shooting star, it could be likened to the brilliance of the Aurora itself.

Too bad about the Finnish licorice, but there was no need to cross the ocean for one. Couldn't there be an equally fantastic location in our very own country for our honeymoon? Although we wouldn’t be able to see any auroras for sure, the destination would more than compensate for it. We could call it a return to our roots.

Nay, there's no other way to describe it other than our roots.

“Senjougahara.”

“What? Do you still intend to rebel against our nation?”

“No, no, it's my love for our country! And our honeymoon destination.”

“……”

“Let's go to Senjougahara. According to our class president who knows everything, it's one of Japan's most beautiful marshlands for stargazing.”

Next Chapter

Dragging empty cans behind a car is a couple activity, the loud clatter they produce being a symbol of auspiciousness.

Tokyo Narita Airport is the largest international airport in Japan, and a necessary stop for many newlywed couples traveling abroad. However, because some shortcomings or habits of each person are exposed during the trip, many couples choose to divorce after leaving Narita Airport when their honeymoon comes to an end.