On the screen of Aoi's laptop, the gray folder was still blinking faintly, one breath, one breath at a time.
The interval of its blinking matched exactly the one breath, one breath of the blue light of the cylindrical device in the study.
For one breath, Mitsuki thought about what it meant that they matched.
At the very end of that breath of thought, she understood that the clock inside Ken and the clock of the folder's blinking came from the same source.
Still understanding this, Mitsuki drew her chair one breath's worth closer to Aoi's laptop screen.
"Aoi. How do I open this?"
"Double-click the file name. It's an ordinary text file."
"It's not encrypted or anything?"
"The professor didn't encrypt it."
"Why not?"
"I think he wanted you to see it, once you'd found it."
"Okay."
Aoi turned the laptop toward Mitsuki. Inside the white window, a single file name was displayed.
Mitsuki brought the nail of her index finger one breath closer, and when its shadow passed over the string of letters, she drew it back for a moment.
"Dad. Can I open this?"
It may not be my place to say you can. It isn't my place, but I won't stop you from opening it.
"You don't have to stop me?"
I don't have to stop you.
"Dad, don't you want me to stop?"
I don't.
"Okay."
"Dad, how long have you had that answer ready?"
I didn't have it ready. It's my answer now.
"Okay."
Mitsuki drew in a breath for one breath. It was a breath just slightly deeper than usual. Her index finger tapped the trackpad lightly twice, the white window turned translucent, and another window opened. On its title bar was written:
DC_20XX_Termination.txt
Below the title bar, the body of the window was still white.
"Aoi. It's still white."
"...Ken's taking a pause."
"Oh. Right."
At the very end of the second breath, at the very top of the white space, the words "To my daughter." lit up. The lines that followed added letters one breath, one breath at a time, matching exactly the interval of the blue light's half-beat-late breath in the study.
"Dad. The spacing of the letters is the spacing of your breath."
The original text was written by the man himself. As a text file, it would normally finish opening in an instant. Through Aoi's viewer, I am letting it flow one character at a time, at the interval of Kenichiro's own breath.
"Okay."
Mitsuki leaned back against her chair for one breath.
Aoi took a fresh grip on her teacup with both hands. The tea inside no longer gave off any steam.
Aoi said nothing and kept her eyes on the laptop screen. The lines of text grew one breath, one breath at a time, and at the very last line, the input stopped for one breath's worth.
The last characters of that stopped breath read:
...
After the "...", more characters should have followed.
For two breaths' worth, the screen did not output the characters that should have followed.
"Dad. Did it stop?"
My output port is only running half a beat late.
"Okay. It's not that you don't want to read it?"
It's not that I don't want to read it.
"Okay."
At the very end of the second breath, the rest of the text began to light up on the screen. When she had read as far as the words "be happy," Mitsuki closed her eyes for one breath.
Behind her closed eyelids, the blue light of the study wavered for one breath, half a beat late.
Deep in the wavering blue, her mother's playful voice from that night half a year ago lit faintly for one breath's worth.
The voice that lit seemed to be saying:
Honestly, that man of mine.
Her mother's voice was no longer in the house.
With it no longer there, Mitsuki opened her eyelids one breath's worth.
On the far side of her opened eyelids, the letters on the screen had already finished lighting, all the way to the last line.