View allAll Photos Tagged Compatibility
Hi Culties & Spookies, Time to kick off your weekend shopping just right!
★ Item ★ Ever wanted to have a broom stick for a heel well now is your chance! The Witch heels have some amazing details and go perfect with the season.
★ Rigged For ★ Reborn ★ Legacy Female ★ Maitreya ★ Kupra ★ GEN-X ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Champ/189/200/17
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
★ Item ★ The Lilith boot are smexy and steamy! They have a lace up boot on one side and short boot with fishnet stockings on the other which gives an alternate gothy vibe!
★ marketplace.secondlife.com/p/CULT-Lilith-Fatpack/25783430
★ Rigged For ★ Legacy F ★ Reborn ★ Kupra ★ Gen-X ★ Lara ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
★ Hot New Release for MadPea PlayXpo - opens June 14th, 2024★ The Nerd Glasses are cute and adorable and are a gift at the MadPea PlayXpo.
★ Rigged For ★ Unisex Gift- Resizer Included
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS! ★ Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ MadPea PlayXpo LM: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Malastare/128/207/27
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
Available at Marketplace or Mainstore
Butterfly Kiss Heels – Elegance in Every Step
A luxurious and detailed pair of heels designed to complement the Butterfly Kiss Set or elevate any outfit with sophistication. Crafted with precision for a realistic and stylish look in Second Life.
Instructions:
Compatibility:
Supports Legacy Classic, Legacy Perky, Maitreya Lara, Lara Petite, Lara X, Lara X Petite, Reborn, Reborn Waifus, Belleza Gen X Classic, and Curvy. Make sure to wear the correct version for your body.
Additional Effects:
• Glow can be added for extra shine.
• Full Bright can be enabled for enhanced brightness.
• Recommendation: For a realistic look, keep Full Bright off and Glow at minimum or off.
Enhance the Shine:
For an even more dynamic and realistic sparkle, pair your Butterfly Kiss Heels with Plastic Gemlight—a special product that adds extra brilliance and elegance to your look.
My LEGO MOC, "Live from Space! Lives of Astronauts", is compatible with the new LEGO CITY 60350 Lunar Research Base! Connect the airlocks to expand the habitable volume!
★ Item ★ The Mallory boots are a smexy lacy boot for Maze Mod squishy thighs only!
★ marketplace.secondlife.com/p/CULT-Mallory-with-HUD-Maze-M...
★ Rigged For ★ Reborn ★ Legacy F/M ★ Maitreya ★ Kupra ★ GEN-X ★ Maze Mod ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Champ/189/200/17
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
- TRIGGERED - Lami Dress FATPACK
♥ 16 Colors + 4 Patterns for FATPACK
♥ You can color the Dress, Sleeves, & bow separately.
♥ Comes with Alpha.
♡ Body Compatibility:
✿ Legacy + Perky
✿ Ebody Reborn + Waifu
- TRIGGERED - Stockings & Heels FATPACK
♥ 16 Colors _+ 4 Patterns for FATPACK.
♥ Color options for Left & Right stocking along with Bow & Tassel, Fur (on shoe) Platform Main, & Platform Part.
♥ On & Off Options for Bow & Tassel / Stocking L / And Stocking R
♡ Body Compatibility:
✿ Legacy
✿ Ebody Reborn
- TRIGGERED - Lami Wings FATPACK
✿ 16 Color Options
Your Taxi for All ----->
Model: hectic1 (Maitreya)
Photo, Edit, Retouch: hectic1
❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤
UPDATED to v1.2 on Dec 16, 2023
• Added Maitreya Petite, LaraX & PetiteX sizes
• Added eBODY Reborn size
• Added Belleza Gen.X sizes (Classic, Curvy)
• Added Kupra sizes (Bimbo, Low, Original)
Free update via Redelivery for owners of previous versions!
❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤
UPDATED to v1.1 on Nov 23, 2020
Teaser video: 1.20 mins
• Added Signature, Legacy & eBody sizes
• Added more Sheer & Glow levels on HUD
• Added Full-bright On/Off option on HUD
• Added Blend & Mask options on HUD
• Added Adjustable Gloss & Reflection on HUD
• Improved manual color input (RGB codes)
Free update via Redelivery for owners of previous versions!
❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤
To see the garment in all its glory, please enable Advanced Lighting Model (ALM) in the Graphics preferences of your viewer, and switch on the lights of the room you are in (or use our free Body Light Bundle for ALM Testing).
• 100% Fitmesh (Altamura, Belleza+Gen.X, eBody, Eve, Kupra, Legacy+Perky, Maitreya+Petite+X, Signature, Slink, TMP)
• HUD Driven
• Unlimited Colors
• 2 Alpha-Modes: Blend (realism), Mask (compatibility)
• Multiple Sheer Levels (Blend mode Only)
• Multiple Glow Levels
• Adjustable Glossiness (needs ALM)
• Adjustable Reflections (needs ALM)
• Full-bright On/Off
• Hideable
• Screen & Lag Friendly (1 minimizable HUD, 1 script)
• Materials Enabled (full use of Advanced Lighting Model)
• Original Realistic Textures (best with Advanced Lighting Model)
The ad shows Blend Opaque, in a shade of Green.
Quality Mesh Fashion
Hi Culties & Spookies, Time to kick off your weekend shopping just right!
★ Item ★ The Chouko sneakers are cute with adorable socks and ribbons!
★ Rigged For ★ Reborn ★ Legacy Female ★ Kupra ★ Lara ★ Gen-X ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cult%20Coven/129/75/33
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
Hi Culties & Spookies, Time to kick off your weekend shopping just right!
★ For 99L Weekend Sale ★ Kinabalu ★ ★ For Alpha Weekend Sale ★ Tripola ★
★ Kinabalu Rigged For ★ Legacy F ★ MaitreyaX ★ Reborn ★ Kupra ★ MaitreyaOG ★ Nhuma
★ Tripola Rigged For ★ Legacy M/F ★ Jake ★ Gianni ★ Kario Flex ★ MaitreyaX ★ Reborn ★ Kupra ★ Lara ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cult%20Coven/210/58/32
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
★ Hot New Release for N21 opens May 21st, 2024 ★ The Shakira foot chains are sweet and delicate with lots of jingle with their jangle and would look amazing with any outfit
★ Rigged For ★ Legacy F ★ Reborn ★ Lara ★ Gen-X ★ Kupra ★ Maitreya-X ★
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS! ★ Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ N21: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/N21/127/128/2100
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
Hi Spookies & Culties, Here is your "must have these Cult Items" Weekend Shopping List!!
★ For Mixx Weekend ★ Fantasy ★
★ Rigged For ★ Reborn ★ MaitreyaX ★ Legacy F ★ MaitreyaOG ★ Kupra ★
★ Featuring Color Hud w/ 10 light colors & 10 dark colors & 3 metal colors!
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★ Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility ★
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cult%20Coven/129/75/337
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
Hi Culties, time for even more sales for the 99L MP Sale!!
★ For 99L MP Sale★ DarkSun
★ marketplace.secondlife.com/p/CULT-Darksun-Unisex-Sneakers...
★ Rigged For ★ Reborn ★ Kupra ★ Legacy F/M ★ MaitreyaX ★ Lara ★ Nhuma ★ Jake ★ Gianni ★ Kario ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cult%20Coven/210/58/32
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
Nails Passion – Marianebelle
✨ Add a touch of bold elegance to your weekend look with Marianebelle by Nails Passion.
A chic and seductive nail set designed to stand out with its refined shape, glossy finish, and glamorous details.
💅 Realistic Mesh Nails
✨ PBR Effect
Elegant & alluring style
Find Marianebelle on sale this weekend at Kinky69 Weekend and complete your look with a classy, sensual touch. 💋🔥
༺♡༻ ───── ✦ ───── ༺♡༻
Compatibility:
• Legacy • Reborn • Lara • LaraX • GenX • Nhumana • Kupra
༺♡༻ ───── ✦ ───── ༺♡༻
🎀Lm: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Bayberry%20Paradise/32/85/23
🎀Links: linktr.ee/elenyGuisse
Hi Culties & Spookies, time for even more sales for your Sunday Leisure!!
★ Item ★ The Sunniva foot chains are cute and dainty and would look great with any outfit!
★ Rigged For ★ Legacy F ★ Reborn ★ Kupra ★ Gen-X ★ Lara ★ MaitreyaX ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Champ/189/200/17
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
Title.
Out of Service.
(Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot)
Manhattan. New York. USA. 2007. … 1 / 7
Images.
Ellegarden – Sliding Door
youtu.be/rM1D8SikWsk?si=FGa2sAIckb49jvoi
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My New Novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Feel free to read on and explore more. 😃
(Of course, this is not the final draft.)
Important 😅
The female protagonist was originally written as a married woman.
However, as the story unfolded, the constraints of that setting became too restrictive.
Therefore, I have changed her status to single, now living with her partner.
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Scene: Los Angeles – The Beaudry – Majid Hamza
1:47 p.m. The heat of downtown Los Angeles drifted between buildings, and the dry air shimmered above the asphalt, warping the ground like a mirage. The midday sun poured vertically into the canyon of skyscrapers.
The façade of The Beaudry reflected the sunlight like a cold mirror, casting flickering shards of light into the eyes of passersby.
The Beaudry, standing in the heart of downtown Los Angeles, is a modern high-rise residential tower. Though its exterior is cold and inorganic, the building boasts luxury amenities. It faces Wilshire Boulevard and 7th Street, just steps from the 7th Street Metro station, offering exceptional convenience in an area where the business district intersects with the city's creative scene—a location in high demand.
960 W 7th Street. For a weekday afternoon, the area was oddly still. Though the office district bustled just a few blocks away, this particular corner seemed wrapped in a strange stagnation of air. Only two or three office workers passed by, presumably out for lunch.
A line of black Ubers honked briefly, then vanished down the road.
The glass-paneled entrance hall was as silent as a gallery. Behind the reception desk, a sculptural white lighting fixture floated like a piece of minimalist art.
Only residents or prospective tenants accompanied by real estate agents came and went. Visitors were rare. No one made eye contact. Everyone stared into the glow of their phones.
Majid, seated on a bench beside the bus stop with a few others, gently touched the mute-reader inside his bag. Subconsciously checking his surroundings, he connected the outdated smartphone—disconnected from the internet—to a tablet that operated only over Wi-Fi.
A few days earlier, he had received a single line from Rafi:
“July 24, 3 p.m. Look for the ‘♭’ mark at the bottom of mellow-echo.net.”
Majid quietly opened his browser. mellow-echo.net—the abandoned official site of a defunct indie music label. Its HTML pages hadn’t been updated in over a decade, but they still floated in some forgotten corner of the internet.
He scrolled to the very bottom. Against a gray background, an image of a musical note, slightly fuzzed with digital noise, lay embedded on the page.
At first glance, it looked like a mere piece of decoration. But when Majid held the mute-reader’s lens to the screen, a deep-layer QR code rose to the surface.
The scan took 0.7 seconds. A short encrypted sentence appeared:
"LA, 7/26, 21:00. Underground. Contact P. K1 → 38.91n / 118.40w"
Seconds later, the message vanished. The device powered down. Its memory wiped to zero. The QR code deleted itself from the server.
Majid’s screen now displayed the interface for a C4 detonation signal.
On the black display, a quiet message blinked once:
“C4-ID: Vanta+Core / Ready.”
He carefully lifted a thin directional antenna from the bag, aligning it along the seam of his trousers, resting it on his lap.
The C4 embedded deep within the pillar of The Beaudry awaited his signal.
This high-rise tower was built with hypersteel structural columns. According to the laws of engineering, if a single critical point was destroyed, the entire building would collapse upon itself like a tower of sand. Five years ago, under instructions from Rafi Gannam—then a student of architecture at the Islamic University—Majid had worked at the construction site and planted the charge. Los Angeles had been his responsibility. The East Coast buildings were under Rafi and Amir’s domain.
Majid took a single deep breath, then slid his finger across the screen.
0.7 seconds later, without a sound, the center of the tower gave a faint shudder. No one noticed. But in the next instant—
A snap. Or something like it.
The Beaudry began to fold in on itself, like a spine silently snapping. From the columns to the floors, from the ceilings to the walls—a silent avalanche of collapsing structures, all engulfed in pale dust. What had been standing just seconds before was now vanishing into the canyon of the city in a swirl of white fog.
A wind blew through the street. The building's mass, once so tangible, dissolved as if it had never existed. Only a soundless death cry remained, shivering the air with a cold, invisible tension.
The collapsed building lay frozen, silenced, severed from the city’s murmurs.
Majid adjusted the silver rim of his glasses and stood. Ignoring the rising chaos around him, he walked slowly toward the subway.
Even the sound of his footsteps was not erased by the thunder behind him.
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++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
4
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
3
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Title.
Out of service.
( Nikon coolpix8700 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2007. … 1 / 7
Images.
Ellegarden - Sliding Door
youtu.be/rM1D8SikWsk?si=FGa2sAIckb49jvoi
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
さらにさらにどうぞ。😃
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
重要😅
主人公の女性は、当初、既婚者でしたが、物語の展開上、制約が大きすぎたため、独身とし、同棲している設定へ変更しました。
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場面 ロサンゼルス ボードリー マジード・ハムザ
午後1時47分。ダウンタウンの熱気がビルの隙間を吹き抜け、乾いた空気がアスファルトの表面を歪ませていた。真昼の太陽が、ダウンタウンの谷間に垂直に降り注いでいる。
ザ・ボードリーのファサードは、まるで冷たい鏡のように白く光を跳ね返し、通りを歩く人々の視界をちらつかせている。
ロサンゼルスにあるザ・ボードリーは、 ダウンタウン・ロサンゼルスの中心に位置する高層の住宅タワーで、建物自体は近代的で無機質な外観だが、ラグジュアリーな設備を備えたビルだ。ウィルシャー通りや7th通りに面しており、地下鉄の7thストリートからもすぐそばだ。便性が高く、ビジネス街と芸術系エリアが交錯する地点でとても人気が高い。
960 W 7thストリート。その一帯は、週日の昼間にしては静かだった。オフィス街の喧噪がほんの数ブロック先にあるにもかかわらず、この一角には妙な“空気の滞り”があった。人通りはまばらで、ランチのために出てきた会社員が2～3人歩き去るだけだ。
ビル前に停められた黒いUberの車列が、短くクラクションを鳴らし、すぐに消えた。
ガラス張りのエントランスホールは、まるで展示室のように無音で、受付の背後には白い彫刻のような照明装置が浮かんでいる。
建物に出入りするのは、住人か、不動産エージェントに連れられた見学者ばかりで、訪問者の数は極端に少ない。誰もが互いを見ない。誰もがスマートフォンの画面を見つめている。
上階のバルコニーにふと視線を上げると、午後の光に照らされたグレーの植栽と、黒いラウンジチェアが無人のまま置かれている。
ここは、人の気配があるのに「音」が存在しない、そんな場所だった。
遠くで、清掃車のローラーが道路をゆっくりと転がしていく音が響いた。
数人が腰掛けていたバス停のベンチに並んで座ったマジードは、バッグの中の“ミュートリーダー”にそっと手を触れた。無意識に周囲を確認しながら、手元の旧式スマートフォン──ネット非接続の「ミュートリーダー」をWi-Fi専用のタブレットに接続した。
数日前、ラフィから一文だけが届いていた。
「7月24日、午後3時。mellow-echo.netの最下部にある“♭（フラット）”マークを見ろ」
マジードは静かにブラウザを開いた。mellow-echo.net──それは廃業したインディーズ音楽レーベルの公式サイトで、十年以上更新されていないHTMLが、今でもネットの片隅に残っている。
マジードはページ最下部にスクロールした。グレイの背景に、わずかにノイズがかかった音符記号の画像が埋め込まれている。
一見すると、ただのデザイン装飾にしか見えない。しかし「ミュートリーダー」のカメラでレンズをかざすと、そこにディープレイヤーQRコードが浮かび上がった。
0.7秒のスキャンだ。画面に表示されたのは、暗号化された短い一文──
「LA, 7/26, 21:00。地下。Pへ接触。K1→38.91n/118.40w」
数秒後、表示は消え、端末はシャットダウンした。記憶領域はゼロ化され、QRコードはサーバーから自動削除された。
マジードの手元のデバイスには、C4起爆用の信号送信画面が表示されている。
“C4-ID:Vanta+Core/Ready.” と表示された黒い画面が、一度だけ微かに明滅した。
マジードはバッグの中から細く仕込まれた指向性アンテナをそっと持ち上げ、ズボンの縫い目に沿わせるようにして膝の上に置いた。
ザ・ボードリーの柱の中心に埋め込まれたC４は、マジードの信号を待っていた。
この高層ビルは、ハイパースチール製の柱が内部フレームに組み込まれており、一点を壊せば残りは構造力学に従って“砂の塔”のように自己崩壊する設計だ。5年前、イスラム大学で建築学を学んだラフィ・ガンナムの指示で建築現場で働き、仕込んだものだ。マジードはロサンゼルスを当時任されていた。東海岸の建築物についてはラフィとアミールが仕切った。
マジードは一度だけ深呼吸し、画面に指を滑らせた。
0.7秒後、何の音もなく、まずビルの中心がわずかに揺れた。誰も気づかない振動だ。だが次の瞬間──
「──ッ」
高層建築そのものが骨の中心、まるで背骨を折られたように、ボードリーのボディは静かに沈み始めた。柱からフロアへ、天井から壁へ、粉塵とともに連鎖する沈黙の断崖──
破片は内側に吸い込まれるように崩れ落ち、つい数秒前まで“存在していたもの”は、白い霧とともに都市の谷間に吸い込まれていった。
通りに風が吹き抜けた。そこにあったはずの質量は、まるで最初から虚構だったかのように失われていった。音のない断末魔だけが、辺りの空気を冷たく震わせた。
崩れ去った建物は、凍りついたまま沈黙し、都市のざわめきから切り離されていた。
マジードは、銀色の眼鏡の縁を掛け直すと、静かに立ち上がった。騒然とし始めた周囲を無視し、マジードは地下鉄へ向け、ゆっくり歩き出した。彼が残した足音さえ、爆音にかき消されることはなかった。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
4
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
3
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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★ Hello Spookies & Culties! It's the time for our monthly inworld Group Gifts! Be sure to be wearing your group VIP tags to be able to get them! VIP Group Costs 300L to Join, so be sure to tell all your friends!
★ VIP Gift ★ Sally Sandals
★ Rigged For ★ Reborn ★ Legacy F ★ Maitreya ★ Kupra ★ GEN-X ★
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility ★
★ Cult inworld Group★ secondlife:///app/group/b20930fc-db07-cece-79e7-b100c0154e19/about
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Champ/189/200/17
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
Hi Culties, time for even more sales for your Sunday Leisure!!
★ For Lazy Sundays ★ Daifuku ★ ★ For So Kawaii Sundays ★ Tuberose ★
★ marketplace.secondlife.com/p/CULT-Daifuku-Platform-Shoes-...
★ Daifuku Rigged For ★ Rigged For ★ Maitreya-X ★ Legacy F ★ Reborn ★ Kupra ★ Lara ★ Nhuma
★ Tuberose Rigged For ★ Maitreya-X ★ Legacy F ★ Reborn ★ Kupra ★ Lara ★ Nhuma
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cult%20Coven/129/75/33
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
Rugged, Hard-Hitting, Dependable. Like every good battle rifle should be.
The all-new Battalion series from Tricorp Enforcement is a military line of high powered combat firearms built to outlast and outperform standard 5.56 NATO weapons systems.
=================
The Chieftain is the pioneer firearm of Tricorp Enforcement's new Battalion line of heavy hitting weaponry. Chambered for standard 7.62x51mm NATO rounds and even the hottest .308 Winchester loads, the Chieftain's punch keeps it top of the tribe.
Features:
- 24 round magazine
- Gas Piston loading system
- Integrated LED flashlight (right side) and green laser (left side).
- AR-15 Pistol Grip compatibility
- Non-reciprocating charging handle
- Handguard rail for accessory attachment
- Adjustable rear iron sight, foldable front sight.
- Range of barrels from 14" to 24", 16" Heavy Barrel shown.
- Flash cone supplied as standard
Consider the all-new Chieftain rifle from Tricorp Enforcement next time *you* need a resupply!
Title.
E Weekend.
( LUMIX G3 shot )
Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. … 4 / 6
Images:
Drake - Laugh Now Cry Later ft. Lil Durk
youtu.be/JFm7YDVlqnI?si=a9_Ovo-jmTB8Wnef
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 13 😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
The Republican Party had chosen Justin Bradford as its presidential candidate.
In response, the Democrats put forward Ryan Bennett.
Ryan sat in a room of his white-walled mansion on South Beverly Drive, gazing out at the manicured garden and tree-lined street. His mind drifted back to his childhood. He had always lived within a carefully calculated order. His days followed a strict timetable; his homework was flawless. Teachers praised him, while classmates kept their distance. To Ryan, being a model student was both a source of pride and a burden of solitude.
In the hush of the library, he first brushed against the realm of politics. During student council debates, his logic seldom drew applause, and often invited cold stares. People were moved by instinct and emotion. Reason alone could not stir the crowd—this he came to understand.
It was in that abyss of loneliness that Sophia appeared. A gentle voice, steady eyes, and a generosity that never rejected his logic but embraced it instead. They exchanged words, they shared silences, and in each other’s presence they found solace. Sophia was not only the one who steadied his reason, but also the light that warmed his solitude.
After graduating from UCLA, Ryan stepped onto the path of politics. First as a state legislator, then as a member of Congress, he rose without falter. Yet the public gaze remained cold. His patrician face, his meticulous speeches, his flawless reasoning—all these bred distance and resentment. People whispered, “Another elite come to lecture us.”
In that harsh world, his running mate, Alex Murphy, stood by him. Eight years his senior, Murphy possessed a seasoned intuition and decisiveness. He bridged the gap between Ryan’s logic and the people’s emotions, reading the shifting tides of resentment and expectation.
Then came the day when former Democratic president Owen Reed was struck by a sniper’s bullet during a speech. The shot did not take his life, but Ryan felt, with a shudder, the cruelty of the political stage. That night, alone in his study, he stared at the shadow cast by the streetlamp beyond his window. The long silhouette mirrored the solitude and the weight of order he had carried all his life.
Doubt flickered in his eyes, reflecting the city’s lights. Should he follow reason and order, or turn toward the people’s emotions? Having walked the path of the elite, he now saw that logic alone could not redeem reality. Without Sophia’s warmth and Murphy’s intuition, he might not have been able to take another step forward.
Sophia quietly took his hand. “You are not alone. We are here.”
Ryan gave the faintest nod, feeling the chains of solitude loosen, little by little, in the depths of his heart.
During his university years, Ryan had often felt estranged from the public. The scarce applause at debates, the cool reception of his political essays, the smirks at his street speeches. His arguments were correct, but people yearned for emotion. Logic alone could not move them.
Sophia understood her role as the wife of a politician. She stayed by Ryan’s side when public duties drained him, offering the warmth of home. On quiet nights, they would simply sit together, thinking wordlessly of the future.
Murphy, by contrast, acted on instinct. In moments of crisis, he guided Ryan—the tightening of security after the shooting, the handling of the media, the appeal to the public. Where reason could not reach, experience took over. Ryan came to rely on him, and to trust him deeply.
His solitude was also the weight of politics itself. Cool analysis, flawless planning, correct judgment. Yet often, the people could not understand. A reason stripped of feeling drew criticism, and deepened his isolation.
And yet, Sophia made him human. She gave warmth to cold logic, and the power to reach hearts. Murphy, with his decisiveness and experience, built a bridge between reason and emotion.
When the news of the shooting reached him, Ryan felt fear as something tangible for the first time. Politics could not be defended by theory from a study alone. Confusion, the crack of gunfire, the press of terror—faced with them, he knew his own helplessness.
Streetlamps reflected in his eyes; bloodstains on rubble, neighbors clasping hands, mothers crying out. Reality pressed itself upon him. Reason alone could not save, nor logic alone preserve order. Compassion, empathy—these were what people needed.
Sophia spoke softly. “Logic matters. But now is the time to show your heart. People are seeking empathy.”
Ryan smiled faintly and set down his pen. The alignment of order was paused; he resolved to entrust himself to the waves of feeling.
Murphy looked out the window and nodded gently. “Do not fear, Ryan. Your reason, my intuition, Sophia’s warmth—together, they will keep us true.”
Buoyed by those words, Ryan slowly cast aside the shadow of solitude.
The attempt on Owen Reed’s life was both terror and warning. Yet it was also a teacher, revealing the reality of the political stage. Ryan grasped its weight, and steeled himself to go forward.
On the street corner, trembling citizens; beneath the rubble, neighbors holding hands; a mother’s anguished cry. As he listened, Ryan was tested—not only as a politician, but as a human being. Torn between reason and emotion, he found in Sophia and Murphy an unshakable support.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
E Weekend.
( LUMIX G3 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2017. … 4 / 6
Images:
Drake - Laugh Now Cry Later ft. Lil Durk
youtu.be/JFm7YDVlqnI?si=a9_Ovo-jmTB8Wnef
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第13弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
共和党大統領候補のジャスティン・ブラッドフォードに対し、民主党は、ライアン・ベネットを選出していた。
ライアン・ベネットは、サウス・ベヴァリー・ドライブ沿いの白壁の豪邸の一室に座り、窓の外に広がる手入れの行き届いた庭園と並木道を見つめながら、子供の頃の自分を思い出していた。幼い日の彼は、常に計算された秩序の中にいた。時間割通りに生活し、宿題も常に完璧に仕上げた。教師は彼を褒め、同級生は距離を置いた。彼にとって、優等生であることは誇りであると同時に孤独でもあった。
図書館の静寂の中で、彼は初めて政治の片鱗に触れた。学生自治会の討論で、彼の論理は拍手を浴びることはなく、しばしば冷たい視線に晒された。人々は直感や感情で動く。理屈だけでは、群衆の心を動かせないのだと、彼は知った。
その孤独の淵に、ソフィアが現れた。柔らかい声、落ち着いた眼差し、そして彼の論理を拒むことなく受け止める包容力。二人は言葉を交わし、沈黙を共有し、互いの存在に慰めを見いだした。ソフィアは、ライアンの理性を支えるだけでなく、彼の孤独を温める光でもあった。
カリフォルニア大学ロサンゼルス校卒業後、ライアンは政治の道を歩み始めた。州議会議員として、そして連邦議会議員として、彼は順調に昇りつめた。だが、国民の視線は常に冷たかった。エリートの顔つき、整然とした演説、完璧すぎる論理は、多くの人々に距離感と反感を与えた。人々はつぶやく。「また、エリートが我々に説教するのか」と。
副大統領候補のアレックス・マーフィーは、その冷徹な世界にあって、ライアンを支える存在であった。八歳年上の彼は、経験に裏打ちされた直感と決断力を持つ。ライアンの論理と感情の間に立ち、国民の反感や期待の波を読み解く力があった。
民主党前大統領オーウェン・リードが演説中に狙撃された。弾丸は命を奪わなかったが、政治の舞台の残酷さをライアンは身をもって知った。その夜、ライアンは自室の書斎で、窓の外の街灯に映る自らの影を見つめた。長い影は、これまでの人生で背負ってきた孤独と秩序の重さを映していた。
街の灯りに反射する瞳の中には迷いがあった。理性と秩序に従うのか、それとも国民の感情に寄り添うのか。エリートの道を歩んできた彼の目には、論理だけでは救えない現実が見えていた。ソフィアの温もりとマーフィーの直感がなければ、彼は前に進むことさえできなかったかもしれない。
ソフィアはそっと彼の手を握った。「あなたは一人じゃない。私たちがいる」と。
ライアンは微かに肯いた。心の奥で、孤独の鎖が少しずつほどけていくのを感じた。
大学時代、ライアンは何度も国民との乖離を体感した。討論会での拍手の少なさ、政治論文の冷たい評価、街頭演説での冷笑。論理は正しくとも、人々は感情を求める。理屈だけでは、人は動かない。
ソフィアは、政治家の妻としての役割を理解していた。公務で疲弊したライアンに寄り添い、家庭の温もりを提供した。静かな夜、二人はただ座り、言葉少なに未来を思った。
マーフィーは直感で動き、危機的な場面ではライアンを導いた。銃撃事件後の警備調整、メディア対応、国民への呼びかけ。理性だけでは追いつかない現場を、彼は経験で補った。ライアンはその存在を頼りにし、信頼した。
ライアンの孤独は政治の重さでもあった。冷静な分析、完璧な計画、正しい判断。それらが国民に理解されないこともあった。感情に欠ける理性は、時として非難を招き、孤独を深める。
だが、ソフィアの存在が、ライアンを人間らしくした。冷たい論理に温度を与え、心に寄り添う力を持たせた。マーフィーは行動力と経験で、論理と感情の橋渡しを行った。
狙撃事件のニュースを聞いたとき、ライアンは初めて恐怖を身近に感じた。政治は書斎の理論だけでは守れない。瞬間の混乱、銃声、恐怖。それらを前にして、彼は自らの無力を知った。
街角の光、瓦礫の中の血痕、避難する人々。全てが現実として彼の前にあった。理性だけでは救えない、理屈だけでは秩序を維持できない。感情に寄り添い、共感を示すことが必要だった。
ソフィアは静かに語る。「論理は重要。でも今は心を示すとき。人々は共感を求めている」
ライアンは微かに笑い、ペンを置いた。秩序の整列は一旦休止し、感情の波に身を任せる覚悟を決めた。
マーフィーは窓の外を見つめ、微かに肯いた。「恐れるな、ライアン。君の理性、私の直感、ソフィアの温もり。全てがあれば、我々は道を誤らない」
ライアンはその言葉に支えられ、孤独の影を少しずつ振り払った。
オーウェン・リードの狙撃事件は、恐怖であり警告でもあった。だがそれは同時に、政治の舞台の現実を教える教師でもあった。ライアンはその重さを理解し、前に進む決意を固めた。
街角で震える人々、瓦礫の下で手を取り合う隣人、泣き叫ぶ母親。その声に耳を傾け、ライアンは政治家として、そして人間としての判断を試されていた。理性と感情の間で揺れる彼の心に、ソフィアとマーフィーは揺るがぬ支えとして存在していた。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
12
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Muse - Haunted Doll - Dress - FATPACK
♥ 13 Light & Dark Colors for Dress.
♥ On/Off Options for Sleeves & Bra.
♥ 26 Color Options for Lace & Underbust Band.
♥ Dress Transparency scale Available.
♡ Body Compatibility:
✿ Legacy
✿ Ebody Reborn + Juicy Boobs + Teacups + Waifus
Taxi ---> K a w a i i P r o j e c t
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/TSUKIMI/125/40/22
For male - Body type Free -
3set - Knit Usu set / Knit sprites set/ leather set (15color)
We have confirmed compatibility with Jake and Legacy(m). It may
be possible to use it with other bodies. Please try the DEMO.
Hi Spookies & Culties, Here is your "must have these Cult Item's" Weekend Shopping List!!
★ Item ★ The Daniela Heels are the perfect wedge heels for any fall outfit!
★ Rigged For ★ Reborn ★ Legacy F ★ Maitreya ★ Kupra ★ GEN-X ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Champ/189/200/17
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
✭ M & T G A R A G E✭
Creations
✭M&T The Timeless Coach Adult,Also available in PG✭
✭THE PACKAGE CONTAINS:
✭Timeless Coach (Adult)✭
✭400+ Bento Animations, 11 Sequences✭
✭Face Expressions PRO✭
✭Speed Control (Softer,Normal,Harder)✭
✭Autocam Positioning✭
✭100% Original Mesh✭
✭Compatibility with: Dressoff, The V Bento, The P Cock, INM, INAM, Lovense✭
✭INFORMATION STORE✭
✭LM: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Promised%20Land/192/48/24
✭MP: marketplace.secondlife.com/p/MT-The-Timeless-Coach-PG/276...
✭FLICKR BLOG: www.flickr.com/photos/192590710@N04
✭FLICKR GROUP: www.flickr.com/groups/14800899@N21
✭IG: www.instagram.com/mtgaragecreations
✭FACEBOOK: www.facebook.com/MTGarageCreations
✭FACEBOOK (ALEXIS): www.facebook.com/AlexisMercuryPH
✭PRIMFEED: www.primfeed.com/alexis
Loki - Tiffany Fur Set FATPACK
ʚɞ. 14 Colors
ʚɞ. Top & Skirt Sold Separately
ʚɞ. Each color pack includes HUD for Fur (3 colors), Metals, & Panties.
ʚɞ. Panties are Optional
ʚɞ. Fatpack has more customization options
⟡ Body Compatibility:
☪︎ Legacy + Perky
☪︎ Ebody Reborn + Waifus + Juicy Rolls.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Taxi --> ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Kustom9 ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
Hi Culties & Spookies, Time to kick off your weekend shopping just right!
★ Item ★ The Chantrea heel is sexy and with a gorgeous feel to them!
★ Rigged For ★ Reborn ★ Legacy Female ★ Kupra ★ Lara ★ Gen-X ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cult%20Coven/129/75/33
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
+++ DISCLAIMER +++
Nothing you see here is real, even though the model, the conversion or the presented background story might be based historical facts. BEWARE!
Some background:
The Georgian Air Force and Air Defense Division (თავდაცვის ძალების ავიაციისა და საჰაერო თავდაცვის სარდლობა; tavdatsvis dzalebis aviatsiisa da sahaero tavdatsvis sardloba) was established on January 1, 1992, and in September the Georgian Air Force conducted its first combat flight during the separatist war in Abkhazia. On August 18, 1998, the two divisions were unified in a joint command structure and renamed the Georgian Air Force.
In 2010, the Georgian Air Force was abolished as a separate branch and incorporated into the Georgian Land Forces as Air and Air Defense sections. By that time, the equipment – primarily consisting of Eastern Bloc aircraft inherited from the Soviet Union after the country’s dissolution – was totally outdated, the most potent aircraft were a dozen Suchoj Su-25 attack aircraft and a handful of MiG-21U trainers.
In order to rejuvenate the air arm, Tbilisi Aircraft Manufacturing (TAM), also known as JSC Tbilaviamsheni and formerly known as 31st aviation factory, started a modernization program for the Su-25, for the domestic forces but also for export customers. TAM had a long tradition of aircraft production within the Soviet Union. In the 1950s the factory started the production of Mikoyan's MiG-15 and later, the MiG-17 fighter aircraft. In 1957 Tbilisi Aircraft State Association built the MiG-21 two-seater fighter-trainer aircraft and its various derivative aircraft, continuing the MiG-21 production for about 25 years. At the same time the company was manufacturing the K-10 air-to-surface guided missile. Furthermore, the first Sukhoi Su-25 (known in the West as the "Frogfoot") close support aircraft took its maiden voyage from the runway of 31st aviation factory. Since then, more than 800 SU-25s had been delivered to customers worldwide. From the first SU-25 to the 1990s, JSC Tbilaviamsheni was the only manufacturer of this aircraft, and even after the fall of the Soviet Union the production lines were still intact and spares for more than fifty complete aircraft available. Along with the SU-25 aircraft 31st aviation factory also launched large-scale production of air-to-air R-60 and R-73 IR guided missiles, a production effort that built over 6,000 missiles a year and that lasted until the early 1990s. From 1996 to 1998 the factory also produced Su-25U two-seaters.
In 2001 the factory started, in partnership with Elbit Systems of Israel, upgrading basic Su-25 airframes to the Su-25KM “Scorpion” variant. This was just a technical update, however, intended for former Su-25 export customers who would upgrade their less potent Su-25K export aircraft with modern avionics. The prototype aircraft made its maiden flight on 18 April 2001 at Tbilisi in full Georgian Air Force markings. The aircraft used a standard Su-25 airframe, enhanced with advanced avionics including a glass cockpit, digital map generator, helmet-mounted display, computerized weapons system, complete mission pre-plan capability, and fully redundant backup modes. Performance enhancements included a highly accurate navigation system, pinpoint weapon delivery systems, all-weather and day/night performance, NATO compatibility, state-of-the art safety and survivability features, and advanced onboard debriefing capabilities complying with international requirements. The Su-25KM had the ability to use NATO-standard Mark 82 and Mark 83 laser-guided bombs and new air-to-air missiles, the short-range Vympel R-73. This upgrade extended service life of the Su-25 airframes for another decade.
There were, however, not many customers. Manufacturing was eventually stopped at the end of 2010, after Georgian air forces have been permanently dismissed and abolished. By that time, approximately 12 Scorpions had been produced, but the Georgian Air Force still used the basic models of Su-25 because of high cost of Su-25KM and because it was destined mainly for export. According to unofficial sources several Scorpions had been transferred to Turkmenistan as part of a trade deal.
In the meantime, another, more ambitious project took shape at Tbilisi Aircraft Manufacturing, too: With the help of Israel Aircraft Industries (IAI) the company started the development of a completely new attack aircraft, the TAM-1 “Gvelgeslas” (გველგესლას, Viper). It heavily relied on the year-long experience gathered with Su-25 production at Tblisi and on the tools at hand, but it was eventually a completely new aircraft – looking like a crossbreed between the Su-25 and the American A-10 with a T-tail.
This new layout had become necessary because the aircraft was to be powered by more modern, less noisy and more fuel-efficient Rolls Royce AE 3012 turbofan engines - which were originally intended to power the stillborn Yakovlev Yak-77 twin-engine business jet for up to 32 passengers, a slightly derated variant of the GMA 3012 with a 44 in diameter (112 cm) fan and procured via IAI from the United States through the company’s connection with Gulfstream Aerospace. Their larger diameter (the Su-25’s original Soyuz/Tumansky R-195 turbojets had a diameter of 109,5 cm/43.1 in) precluded the use of the former integral engine nacelles along the fuselage. To keep good ground clearance against FOD and to protect them from small arms fire, the engine layout was completely re-arranged. The fuselage was streamlined, and its internal structure was totally changed. The wings moved into a low position. The wings’ planform was almost identical to the Su-25’s, together with the characteristic tip-mounted “crocodile” air brakes. Just the leading edge inside of the “dogteeth” and the wing roots were re-designed, the latter because of the missing former engine nacelles. This resulted in a slightly increased net area, the original wingspan was retained. The bigger turbofans were then mounted in separate pods on short pylons along the rear fuselage, partly protected from below by the wings. Due to the jet efflux and the engines’ proximity to the stabilizers, these were re-located to the top of a deeper, reinforced fin for a T-tail arrangement.
Since the Su-25’s engine bays were now gone, the main landing gear had to be completely re-designed. Retracting them into the fuselage or into the relatively thin wings was not possible, TAM engineers settled upon a design that was very similar to the A-10: the aircraft received streamlined fairings, attached to the wings’ main spar, and positioned under the wings’ leading edges. The main legs were only semi-retractable; in flight, the wheels partly protruded from the fairings, but that hardly mattered from an aerodynamic point of view at the TAM-1’s subsonic operational speed. As a bonus they could still be used while retracted during emergency landings, improving the aircraft’s crash survivability.
Most flight and weapon avionics were procured from or via Elbit, including the Su-25KT’s modernized “glass cockpit”, and the TAM-1’s NATO compatibility was enhanced to appeal to a wider international export market. Beyond a total of eleven hardpoints under the wings and the fuselage for an external ordnance of up to 4.500 kg (9.900 lb), the TAM-1 was furthermore armed with an internal gun. Due to procurement issues, however, the Su-25’s original twin-barrel GSh-30-2 was replaced with an Oerlikon KDA 35mm cannon – a modern variant of the same cannon used in the German Gepard anti-aircraft tank, adapted to the use in an aircraft with a light-weight gun carriage. The KDA gun fired with a muzzle velocity of 1,440 m/s (4,700 ft/s) and a range of 5.500m, its rate of fire was typically 550 RPM. For the TAM-1, a unique feature from the SPAAG installation was adopted: the gun had two magazines, one with space for 200 rounds and another, smaller one for 50. The magazines could be filled with different types of ammunition, and the pilot was able select between them with a simple switch, adapting to the combat situation. Typical ammunition types were armor-piercing FAPDS rounds against hardened ground targets like tanks, and high explosive shells against soft ground targets and aircraft or helicopters, in a 3:1 ratio. Other ammunition types were available, too, and only 200 rounds were typically carried for balance reasons.
The TAM-1’s avionics included a SAGEM ULISS 81 INS, a Thomson-CSF VE-110 HUD, a TMV630 laser rangefinder in a modified nose and a TRT AHV 9 radio altimeter, with all avionics linked through a digital MIL-STD-1553B data bus and a modern “glass cockpit”. A HUD was standard, but an Elbit Systems DASH III HMD could be used by the pilot, too. The DASH GEN III was a wholly embedded design, closely integrated with the aircraft's weapon system, where the complete optical and position sensing coil package was built within the helmet (either the USAF standard HGU-55/P or the Israeli standard HGU-22/P), using a spherical visor to provide a collimated image to the pilot. A quick-disconnect wire powered the display and carried video drive signals to the helmet's Cathode Ray Tube (CRT).
The TAM-1’s development was long and protracted, though, primarily due to lack of resources and the fact that the Georgian air force was in an almost comatose state for several years, so that the potential prime customer for the TAM-1 was not officially available. However, the first TAM-1 prototype eventually made its maiden flight in September 2017. This was just in time, because the Georgian Air Force had formally been re-established in 2016, with plans for a major modernization and procurement program. Under the leadership of Georgian Minister of Defense Irakli Garibashvili the Air Force was re-prioritized and aircraft owned by the Georgian Air Force were being modernized and re-serviced after they were left abandoned for 4 years. This program lasted until 2020. In order to become more independent from foreign sources and support its domestic aircraft industry, the Georgian Air Force eventually ordered eight TAM-1s as Su-25K replacements, which would operate alongside a handful of modernized Su-25KMs from national stock. In the meantime, the new type also attained interest from abroad, e. g. from Bulgaria, the Congo and Cyprus. The IDF thoroughly tested two early production TAM-1s of the Georgian Air Force in 2018, too.
General characteristics:
Crew: 1
Length: 15.53 m (50 ft 11 in), including pitot
Wingspan: 14.36 m (47 ft 1 in)
Height: 4.8 m (15 ft 9 in)
Wing area: 35.2 m² (378 sq ft)
Empty weight: 9,800 kg (21,605 lb)
Gross weight: 14,440 kg (31,835 lb)
Max takeoff weight: 19,300 kg (42,549 lb)
Powerplant:
2× Rolls-Royce AE 3012 turbofans with 44.1 kN (9,920 lbf) thrust each
Performance:
Maximum speed: 975 km/h (606 mph, 526 kn, Mach 0.79)
Range: 1.000 km (620 mi, 540 nmi) with internal fuel, clean
Combat range: 750 km (470 mi, 400 nmi) at sea level with 4.500 kg (9,911 lb) of ordnance,
incl. two external fuel tanks
Service ceiling: 7.800 m (25,550 ft)
g limits: +6.5
Rate of climb: 58 m/s (11,400 ft/min)
Armament:
1× 35 mm (1.38 in) Oerlikon KDA cannon with 200 rds in two magazines
under the lower forward fuselage, offset to port side.
11× hardpoints with a capacity of up to 4.500 kg (9,911 lb) of external stores
The kit and its assembly:
This rather rigorous conversion had been on my project list for many years, and with the “Gunships” group build at whatifmodellers.com in late 2021 I eventually gathered my mojo to tackle it. The ingredients had already been procured long ago, but there are ideas that make you think twice before you take action…
This build was somewhat inspired by a CG rendition of a modified Su-25 that I came across while doing online search for potential ideas, running under the moniker “Su-125”, apparently created by someone called “Bispro” and published at DeviantArt in 2010; check this: (www.deviantart.com/bispro/art/Sukhoi-Su-125-Foghorn-15043...). The rendition shows a Su-25 with its engines re-located to the rear fuselage in separate nacelles, much like an A-10, plus a T-tail. However, as many photoshopped aircraft, the shown concept had IMHO some flaws. Where would a landing gear go, as the Su-125 still had shoulder wings? The engines’ position and size also looked fishy to me, quite small/narrow and very far high and back – I had doubts concerning the center of gravity. Nevertheless, I liked the idea, and the idea of an “A-10-esque remix” of the classic Frogfoot was born.
This idea was fueled even further when I found out that the Hobbycraft kit lends itself to such a conversion. The kit itself is not a brilliant Su-25 rendition, there are certainly better models of the aircraft in 1:72. However, what spoke for the kit as whiffing fodder was/is the fact that it is quite cheap (righteously so!) and AFAIK the only offering that comes with separate engine nacelles. These are attached to a completely independent central fuselage, and this avoids massive bodywork that would be necessary (if possible at all) with more conventional kits of this aircraft.
Another beneficial design feature is that the wing roots are an integral part of the original engine nacelles, forming their top side up to the fuselage spine. Through this, the original wingspan could be retained even without the nacelles, no wing extension would be necessary to retain the original proportions.
Work started with the central fuselage and the cockpit tub, which received a different (better) armored ejection seat and a pilot figure; the canopy remained unmodified and closed, because representing the model with an open cockpit would have required additional major body work on the spinal area behind the canopy. Inside, a new dashboard (from an Italeri BAe Hawk) was added, too – the original instrument panel is just a flat front bulkhead, there’s no space for the pilot to place the legs underneath the dashboard!
In parallel, the fin underwent major surgery. I initially considered an A-10-ish twin tail, but the Su-25’s high “tail stinger” prevented its implementation: the jet efflux would come very close to the tail surfaces. So, I went for something similar to the “Su-125” layout.
Mounting the OOB stabilizers to the fin was challenging, though. The fin lost its di-electric tip fairing, and it was cut into two sections, so that the tip would become long enough to match the stabilizers. A lucky find in the scrap box was a leftover tail tip from a Matchbox Blackburn Buccaneer, already shortened from a former, stillborn project: it had now the perfect length to take the Su-25 stabilizers! To make it fit on the fin, an 8mm deep section was inserted, in the form of a simple 1.5mm styrene sheet strip. Once dry, the surface was re-built with several PSR layers. Since it would sit further back on the new aircraft’s tail, the stinger with a RHAWS sensor was shortened.
On the fuselage, the attachment points for the wings and the engine nacelles were PSRed away and the front section filled with lots of lead beads, hoping that it would be enough to keep the model’s nose down.
Even though the wings had a proper span for a re-location into a low position, they still needed some attention: at the roots, there’s a ~1cm wide section without sweep (the area which would normally cover the original engine nacelles’ tops). This was mended through triangular 1.5 mm styrene wedges that extended the leading-edge sweep, roughly cut into shape once attached and later PSRed into the wings’ surfaces
The next construction site were the new landing gear attachment points. This had caused some serious headaches – where do you place and stow it? With new, low wings settled, the wings were the only logical place. But the wings were too thin to suitably take the retracted wheels, and, following the idea of a retrofitted existing design, I decided to adopt the A-10’s solution of nacelles into which the landing gear retracts forward, with the wheels still partly showing. This layout option appears quite plausible, since it would be a “graft-on” solution, and it also has the benefit of leaving lots of space for underwing stores, since the hardpoints’ position had to be modified now, too.
I was lucky to have a pair of A-10 landing gear nacelles at hand, left over from a wrecked Matchbox model from childhood time (the parts are probably 35 years old!). They were simply cut out, glued to the Su-25 wings and PSRed into shape. The result looked really good!
At this point I had to decide the model’s overall layout – where to place the wings, the tail and the new engine nacelles. The latter were not 1:72 A-10 transplants. I had some spare engine pods from the aforementioned Matchbox wreck, but these looked too rough and toylike for my taste. They were furthermore too bulky for the Su-25, which is markedly smaller than an A-10, so I had to look elsewhere. As a neat alternative for this project, I had already procured many moons ago a set of 1:144 resin PS-90A engines from a Russian company called “A.M.U.R. Reaver”, originally intended for a Tu-204 airliner or an Il-76 transport aircraft. These turbofan nacelles not only look very much like A-10 nacelles, just a bit smaller and more elegant, they are among the best resin aftermarket parts I have ever encountered: almost no flash, crisp molding, no bubbles, and perfect fit of the parts – WOW!
With these three elements at hand I was able to define the wings’ position, based on the tail, and from that the nacelles’ location, relative to the wings and the fin.
The next challenge: how to attach the new engines to the fuselage? The PS-90A engines came without pylons, so I had to improvise. I eventually found suitable pylons in the form of parts from F-14A underwing missile pylons, left over from an Italeri kit. Some major tailoring was necessary to find a proper position on the nacelles and on the fuselage, and PSRing these parts turned out to be quite difficult because of the tight and labyrinthine space.
When the engines were in place, work shifted towards the model’s underside. The landing gear was fully replaced. I initially wanted to retain the front wheel leg and the main wheels but found that the low wings would not allow a good ground clearance for underwing stores and re-arming the aircraft, a slightly taller solution was necessary. I eventually found a complete landing gear set in the scrap box, even though I am not certain to which aircraft it once belonged? I guess that the front wheel came from a Hasegawa RA-5C Vigilante, while the main gear and the wheels once belonged to an Italeri F-14A, alle struts were slightly shortened. The resulting stance is still a bit stalky, but an A-10 is also quite tall – this is just not so obvious because of the aircraft’s sheer size.
Due to the low wings and the landing gear pods, the Su-25’s hardpoints had to be re-arranged, and this eventually led to a layout very similar to the A-10. I gave the aircraft a pair of pylons inside of the pods, plus three hardpoints under the fuselage, even though all of these would only be used when slim ordnance was carried. I just fitted the outer pair. Outside of the landing gear fairings there would have been enough space for the Frogfoot’s original four outer for pylons, but I found this to be a little too much. So I gave it “just” three, with more space between them.
The respective ordnance is a mix for a CAS mission with dedicated and occasional targets. It consists of:
- Drop tanks under the inner wings (left over from a Bilek Su-17/22 kit)
- A pair of B-8M1 FFAR pods under the fuselage (from a vintage Mastercraft USSR weapon set)
- Two MERs with four 200 kg bombs each, mounted on the pylons outside of the landing gear (the odd MERs came from a Special Hobby IDF SMB-2 Super Mystère kit, the bombs are actually 1:100 USAF 750 lb bombs from a Tamiya F-105 Thunderchief in that scale)
- Four CBU-100 Rockeye Mk. II cluster bombs on the outer stations (from two Italeri USA/NATO weapon sets, each only offers a pair of these)
Yes, it’s a mix of Russian and NATO ordnance – but, like the real Georgian Su-25KM “Scorpion” upgrade, the TAM-1 would certainly be able to carry the same or even a wider mix, thanks to modified bomb racks and wirings. Esp. “dumb” weapons, which do not call for special targeting and guidance avionics, are qualified.
The gun under the nose was replaced with a piece from a hollow steel needle.
Painting and markings:
Nothing unusual here. I considered some more “exotic” options, but eventually settled for a “conservative” Soviet/Russian-style four-tone tactical camouflage, something that “normal” Su-25s would carry, too.
The disruptive pattern was adapted from a Macedonian Frogfoot but underwent some changes due to the T-tail and the engine nacelles. The basic tones were Humbrol 119 (RAF Light Earth), 150 (Forest Green), 195 (Chrome Oxide Green, RAL 6020) and 98 (Chocolate) on the upper surfaces and RLM78 from (Modelmaster #2087) from below, with a relatively low waterline, due to the low-set wings.
As usual, the model received a light black ink washing and some post-shading – especially on the hull and on the fin, where many details had either disappeared under PSR or were simply not there at all.
The landing gear and the lower areas of the cockpit were painted in light grey (Humbrol 64), while the upper cockpit sections were painted with bright turquoise (Modelmaster #2135). The wheel hubs were painted in bright green (Humbrol 101), while some di-electric fairings received a slightly less intense tone (Humbrol 2). A few of these flat fairings on the hull were furthermore created with green decal sheet material (from TL Modellbau) to avoid masking and corrections with paint.
The tactical markings became minimal, matching the look of late Georgian Su-25s. The roundels came from a Balkan Models Frogfoot sheet. The “07” was taken from a Blue Rider decal sheet, it actually belongs to a Lithuanian An-2. Some white stencils from generic MiG-21 and Mi-8 Begemot sheets were added, too, and some small markings were just painted onto the hull with yellow.
Some soot stains around the jet nozzles and the gun were added with graphite, and finally the kit was sealed with a coat of matt acrylic varnish.
A major bodywork project – and it’s weird that this is basically just a conversion of a stock kit and no kitbashing. A true Frogfoot remix! The new engines were the biggest “outsourced” addition, the A-10 landing gear fairings were a lucky find in the scrap box, and the rest is quite generic and could have looked differently. The result is impressive and balanced, though, the fictional TAM-1 looks quite plausible. The landing gear turned out to be a bit tall and stalky, though, making the aircraft look smaller on the ground than it actually is – but I left it that way.
“SATURN APOLLO 501 IN HIGH BAY 1, WITH WORK PLATFORMS RETRACTED. VAB HIGH BAY 1.
5-24-67”
Note access arm No. 8 “Service Module (inflight)” directly behind the CSM. Access arm No. 9 “Command Module (preflight)” is to the far right. Speaking of the CSM, note also the lack of RCS thrusters on the SM. Kind of clue as to vehicle identification.
And, unless something else surfaces, maybe on the verso of a “S-67-XXXXX” version of this photo - if such exists - the following lame, I’m sure contemporary pablum is apparently what’s meant to pass as the official description/caption:
“This photograph depicts the Saturn V vehicle (SA-501) for the Apollo 4 mission in the Vehicle Assembly Building (VAB) at the Kennedy Space Center (KSC). After the completion of the assembly operation, the work platform was retracted and the vehicle was readied to rollout from the VAB to the launch pad. The Apollo 4 mission was the first launch of the Saturn V launch vehicle. Objectives of the unmanned Apollo 4 test flight were to obtain flight information on launch vehicle and spacecraft structural integrity and compatibility, flight loads, stage separation, and subsystems operation including testing of restart of the S-IVB stage, and to evaluate the Apollo command module heat shield. The Apollo 4 was launched on November 9, 1967 from KSC.”
Surprisingly, the above, with a bullshit, probably arbitrarily assigned “NASA ID” of 6754387 is actually available at:
images.nasa.gov/details-6754387
Unfortunately, as with many others, the description has been propagated everywhere. While I’ve read MUCH worse, it’s merely a copy/paste from some Apollo 4 document, which doesn’t address the context of the photograph…that is, what’s actually going on…the REASON the photograph was taken.
With that, the recognition/correct identification of the content of this photograph, along with the date, hence its pertinence to the problematic history of the SA-501 vehicle, has been…take your pick: lost, overlooked, unrecognized, omitted…something unacceptable.
For starters, the NASA photo ninjas, especially at the time of the photo’s processing, i.e., 1967, should’ve recognized that the CSM atop the vehicle was NOT the flight CSM (CSM-017). It ALSO should’ve been easily/readily identified as M-11, the Flight Verification Vehicle (FVV), it having been photographed a bazillion times during 1966 as part of SA-500F photo documentation.
As if that weren’t enough, within the multiple regurgitations of the trials & tribulations of making Apollo 4 happen, there’s not a mention of M-11, other than within the following, which although incomplete, with its own errors, at least references it…ONCE:
“The third stage (S-IVB) was the first major component of Apollo 4 to be delivered at KSC. It arrived from Sacramento aboard the Guppy aircraft on 14 August 1966 and went immediately into a low bay of the assembly building for inspection and checkout. The following week the spacer and instrument unit arrived. On 12 September, as Peter Conrad and Richard Gordon prepared to blast off in Gemini 11, the barge Poseidon sailed into the Banana River with the first stage. Boeing gave it a lengthy checkout in the transfer aisle of the high bay before erecting the booster on 27 October. During the following week, technicians stacked the remaining launch vehicle stages, using the spool for the absent S-II. There were a few problems - the checkout of the swing arms took an extra two days and a cooling unit for the instrument unit sprang a leak - but the launch team, still counting on the mid-November delivery date for the S-II, hoped to roll the complete vehicle out to pad A by 13 January 1967.
By late November the Apollo Program Office had moved the S-II's arrival back to January, and the launch back to April. Since spacecraft 017 would not arrive for another three weeks, KSC erected the facilities verification model of Apollo on 28 November.
[The first linked black & white photograph by Cliff Steenhoff below, depicts such.]
This allowed North American to check out some of its spacecraft support equipment. The first week in December the memory core in a digital events evaluator failed after intermittent troubles; cracked solder joints were blamed. A hurried repair put the computer back on line.
The command-service module arrived at KSC on Christmas Eve and was mated to the launch vehicle on 12 January 1967. That tardy prima donna, the S-II stage, finally appeared on 21 January. Tank inspection, insulation, and engine work were in progress by the 23rd. Test crews found damaged connectors on three recirculation pumps and set about investigating the extent of the rework that would be necessary. While inspecting the liquid hydrogen tank on the second stage, the North American team found 22 cracked gussets. These triangular metal braces, used to support the horizontal ribs of the stage framework, had to be replaced. Plans to move the second stage into a low bay checkout cell on the 29th were temporarily set aside because of a late shipment of the aft interstage (the cylindrical aluminum structure that formed the structural interface between the first and second stages). The interstage arrived on 31 January, and by the end of the next day the stage was in a low bay cell with work platforms around it.
Despite the delay with the S-II stage, KSC officials expected to meet the new launch date in May. The fire on 27 January placed all schedules in question. Although Apollo 4 was an unmanned mission, NASA officials wanted to give command-module 017 a close examination. On 14 February, a week before the S-II could be inserted into a fully assembled vehicle, the spacecraft was removed from the stack and taken to the operations and checkout building. When inspection disclosed a number of wiring errors, KSC's Operations Office cancelled the restacking of the spacecraft. By 1 March electrical engineers had discovered so many wiring discrepancies that the test team stopped their repair work, pending a thorough investigation of all spacecraft wiring. Within two weeks the North American and NASA quality control teams recorded 1,407 discrepancies. While North American repaired about half of these on the spot, modifications, repair work, and validations continued into June. During the break technicians performed pressure tests on service module systems at pad 16. It would be mid-June, with the wiring modifications for the command module finally completed, before North American could remate the spacecraft and take it back to the assembly building.
As the extent of the wiring problems was not immediately recognized, the launch vehicle team forged ahead to recoup the time lost on the S-II stage. In mid-February Boeing's airframe handling and ordnance group removed the instrument unit and spacer from the 501 stack and on the 23rd erected the S-II. The operation involved incredibly close tolerances. To qualify crane handlers, Stanley Smith, Bendix senior engineer of the crane and hoist group, stated, "We give them a technical examination and then check their reflexes and response to commands in training sessions." During a mating, an operator and an electrician boarded the crane and another man helped guide movements from the floor by communicating with the operator via a walkie-talkie. Smith set a high goal for his team: "We strive to train our men to the point where they could conceivably lower the crane hook on top of an egg without breaking the shell."
After a stage was properly aligned on the Saturn stack, a crew of one engineer, two quality control inspectors, one chief mechanic, and eight assistants took eight hours to complete the mating. Three 30-centimeter pins on the second stage fitted into brackets located 120 degrees apart on the periphery of the first stage. Then the mechanics inserted 216 one-centimeter, high-strength fasteners into matching holes around the perimeter where the two stages joined. The team torqued the fasteners in a staggered sequence to secure the bolts evenly and ensure a uniform distribution of stress. The mating of the second and third stages was conducted in much the same manner. The 501 was now set up except for the missing CSM.
[This is where something about the FVV (M-11) being reincorporated into the stack should’ve been referenced.]
The lengthy delays with the flight hardware aided the Site Activation Board in its efforts to get LC-39 ready for its first launch. The board's first flow [see chapter 15-1] included firing room 1, mobile launcher 1, high bay 1, and the other facilities required for the support of Apollo 4 - 1,280 activities altogether. During the first quarter of 1967, PERT charts showed less than 1% of these activities behind schedule. The decision in mid-April to modify the LOX system on launcher 1 and pad A put five weeks of negative slack into the site activation schedule. The modifications were made necessary by excessive pressure in the LOX system. KSC engineers added an automatic bleed system, relief valve supports, and a block valve that prevented purging through the drain line. As continued vehicle problems further delayed the rollout, the five weeks of negative slack disappeared.
On 24 May the S-II stage was in trouble again. NASA announced it would be dismantled for inspection, consequent on the discovery of hairline cracks in the propellant tank weld seams on another S-II at the factory in California.
[The photograph is dated 5-24-67. If correct, then the image was taken as part of documenting preparations for destacking M-11 & the S-IVB in order to remove the S-II stage.]
Additionally, thanks to the remarkable “CAPCOM ESPACE” website:
“For Apollo 4, the M11 was placed on launcher 501 on November 28, 1966 and removed at the end of 1966 following delays in stage S2. It will be put back in place on April 6, 1967 and removed on May 26.”]
Above, along with much more good stuff, at:
www.capcomespace.net/dossiers/espace_US/apollo/vaisseaux/...
So, somewhere out there, there’s some documentation from which the above was gleaned. I probably don’t have it & certainly didn’t find it online.]
The additional checks were not expected to delay the flight of 501 "more than a week or so." By mid-June the inspection, which included extensive x-ray and dye penetrant tests, was completed and the stage returned to the stack. On 20 June, the command-service module was mechanically mated to the Saturn V, and 501 was - at last - a fully assembled space vehicle. A revised schedule on 21 July set rollout for mid-August. On 26 August 1967, the big rocket emerged from the high bay slightly more than a year after its first components had arrived at KSC, and a good six months after its originally scheduled launch date. It had been a year of delay and frustration, and the end was not yet.”
The above, other than the inserted (bracketed) astute comments, observations & additional useful links, at/from:
www.hq.nasa.gov/office/pao/History/SP-4204/ch19-3.html
Inexcusable, incompetent, confounding at least, considering the importance/significance of this vehicle. But then again, for an organization that seems to have “officially/formally” misidentified the Command Module on display at Expo ’67 – to this day – the oversight, ignorance & tacit mis/non-identification of a lowly FVV is both literally & figuratively a no-brainer. The buffoonery continues. At least this shit is so far back in the rearview mirror that no one remembers, those that did are probably dead, and no one now cares, or will in the future. No harm, no foul, all good. 👍
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Compatibility: Signature Gianni, Belleza Jake, Meshbody Legacy M&F, Inithium Kario Fit/Flex & Khara, Maitreya Lara/Lara X, Gen X, eBODY Reborn, Nhumana Nhuma & Unrigged.
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Available here:
MILANI presents to you the “Luke Outfit” Now at The Directory Event // Booth #46 @thedirectoryevent MILANI presents to you the “Luke Outfit” Now at The Directory Event // Booth #46‼️‼️ @thedirectoryevent
🌐 GIVE AWAY TIME 🌐 Like, Share , and Comment your avatar name for a chance to win the “ Luke Outfit “.
Gender : Male
Compatibility : Legacy / Jake / Gianni
- 20 + Shirts 🌐
- 20 + Bottoms 🌐
- 20 + Designs 🌐
- 10 solids 🌐
In “Milani” you’re always going to drip with the drop. This cannot be found anywhere except exclusively through Us. 🌐
GIVE AWAY TIME Like, Share , and Comment your avatar name for a chance to win the “ Luke Outfit “.
Gender : Male
Compatibility : Legacy / Jake / Gianni
20 + Shirts
20 + Bottoms
20 + Designs
10 solids
In “Milani” you’re always going to drip with the drop. This cannot be found anywhere except exclusively through Us. MILANI presents to you the “Luke Outfit” Now at The Directory Event // Booth #46‼️‼️ @thedirectoryevent
🌐 GIVE AWAY TIME 🌐 Like, Share , and Comment your avatar name for a chance to win the “ Luke Outfit “.
Gender : Male
Compatibility : Legacy / Jake / Gianni
- 20 + Shirts 🌐
- 20 + Bottoms 🌐
- 20 + Designs 🌐
- 10 solids 🌐
In “Milani” you’re always going to drip with the drop. This cannot be found anywhere except exclusively through Us. 🌐
Moon Elixir x MUSE - Love Bite - Dress FATPACK
♥ 11 Colors for Dress & Shoes
♥ Transparency Options Available in Dress Hud
♥ Heels Sold Separately!
♥ Updated for Reborn + Waifuboobs + Teacups
♡ Body Compatibility:
✿ Freya
✿ Hourglass
✿ Kupra
✿ Maitreya Lara + Flat + Petite
✿ Legacy + Perky
✿ Ebody Reborn + Waifu Boobs + Teacups.
Taxi --> M U S E M a i n s t o r e
Onboard-intelligence General Recon and Escort walker (O.G.R.E.).
Factory specification [OLD WORLD; CLASSIFIED]:
In service: 2042-
Weight: 40 tons
Powerplant: Gates Series 3 micro-reactor
Max Speed: 80kph
Weaponry: General Dynamics GAU-433 quad auto cannon; 12-pack unguided cluster rocket pod; 20mm PDC.
Crew: none* (refitted with human interface)
The Scavrat’s one and only Ogre battle walker was originally discovered alongside the Destroyer in Arrow Cache A, where it lingered unusable for years. Unlike the Destroyer reclamation project, which was facilitated by compatibility with Sisterhood tech, the Ogre was a foreign chassis, possibly an enemy capture during the Great War. Elder mechanists applied the full extent of their jury rigging skills, but a lack of compatible leg actuators and internal structure made the project impossible. Such parts were only known to exist within the Prelacy Ascendant’s Archon fleet, and the Union had not yet established a relationship with the hyper isolationist Prelacy.
But, as they say, necessity is the mother of invention. And of deception. Thus it was that the Union’s High Council orchestrated an antagonistic, and ultimately lethal, first contact scenario between Sisterhood and Prelacy walker forces. Once the smoke had cleared, the requisite parts were scavenged, and the Ogre was reborn. Fortuitously, the ongoing supply of battle salvage created by those now-warring city-states will feed the Scavrat’s armed forces for generations. Long live the Union of Scavengry and Recrafting! Long live the Scavrats!
Well, that’s its for now for the Ogre. You may notice I changed out a few colours from the first batch of photos. This is one of my favourite builds, so I hope you have enjoyed it as well. The Scavrats are one of my favourite factions, so I’m sure this won’t be the last we see of them.
Loki - Madelyn Jeans FATPACK
♥ 14 Colors
♥ Each Color Pack Includes HUD for Metals Color & Heart Detail Hiding.
♥ FATPACK Has More Customization Options.
♡ Body Compatibility:
✿ Maitreya X
✿ Legacy + Perky
✿ Ebody Reborn
★ Taxi ---> E q u a l 10
🎀 Nails Passion at LustX — April Round 🎀
A new selection of bold, elegant and irresistible designs is coming to LustX this April.
From fierce patterns to refined glam finishes, discover statement nails created to elevate your look with style and attitude.
Compatibility: Legacy • Reborn • Lara • LaraX • GenX • Nhumana • Kupra
Available this round at LustX Event.
Save the date:
•OPEN: 6 of each month
•CLOSED: 20 of each month
Stay tuned ✧
🎀Lm: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Water/214/11/23
🎀Links: linktr.ee/elenyGuisse
Hi Spookies & Culties, Here is your "must have these Cult Items" Weekend Shopping List!!
★ Item ★ The Blaze ice skates are beautiful and decorative with moons, suns, and stars!
★ Rigged For ★ Reborn ★ Maitreya-X ★ GEN-X Curvy ★ Legacy ★ Lara ★ Kupra ★
★ Featuring Color Hud w/ 10 light colors & 10 dark colors & 3 metal colors!
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★ Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility ★
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cult%20Coven/129/75/337
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
🎀 ANASTYLE – CHIBI PINK at the Dollholic Event
📍 Dollholic Event Location
maps.secondlife.com/.../Sweet%20Daydream/140/114/37
Hello loves! 💕
Today I’m bringing you a super kawaii outfit featured at the Dollholic event, which started on February 18th and is filled with sweet and adorable creations.
In the picture you can see the full pink & black vibe — perfect for stylish doll-inspired photos 💗
I’m wearing the ANASTYLE – CHIBI PINK set, available inworld at Anastyle Store during the event.
This look is absolutely adorable and full of detail ✨
The CHIBI PINK set includes:
Short shorts 👙
Sweater
Shoes with black base 👠
High socks
Tie 🎀
Hat 🎩
Garter
🎨 Colors & Style
Soft pink base 💗
Black trims and details
Black shoe base 👠
The perfect pink & black contrast for a kawaii look with attitude ✨
Perfect for photos, events, and doll-inspired styling 💕
✨ Body Compatibility
Legacy
Maitreya
Reborn
Ehuman
Maitreya Lara X
Legacy Perky
Maitreya Petit
Reborn Waifus
📍 Dollholic Event Location
maps.secondlife.com/.../Sweet%20Daydream/140/114/37
📍 Visit Anastyle Inworld
maps.secondlife.com/.../Paradise%20Mountain/209/32/22
Anastyle Marketplace:
marketplace.secondlife.com/stores/86299
💖 Outfit Details
💗 #laridaandelblogger #AnaStyle #Dollholic #SecondLifeFashion #SLBlogger #KawaiiStyle #PinkAndBlack
Title:
Closing lights
(Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot)
Manhattan. New York. USA. 2007. … 5 / 10
(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)
Images:
ford. - 4:38am (feat. Barrie)
youtu.be/aR_oGxOhadY?si=dZxEwtovim-jo6iz
【動画アップしました】
youtu.be/6sp30aXVI78?si=_5qyobG6rifhuiNx
#偏差値３９からの挑戦
１ 勉強のやる気は、まず本人の内面の意思から。外圧では何も変わらない。
ベネズエラ、イランのトランプのように、外圧から変えたものは、また外圧で変えられる。
変化とは個人の内面からでない限り絶対に変わらない。
～
５ マックを学割で買おう
マックを、UNiDAYSを介さずに、電話で購入する方法
【小説の日本語は、後半です】
B♭ ( B - Flat ) ( 1 / 9 ) … [Prologue] 〈Portent〉
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
—The reasons we fall in love differ from person to person, and yet, when you realize afterward that you had already fallen, you don’t really need a reason at all.
I believe that is what true love is.
If only, in that instant, some white, bleeding light had slipped in from somewhere—then it would be easier to understand. A pale light wraps a person up and quietly calls back the memories they had forgotten. It passes through your eyelids and goes on to illuminate the deepest place in your chest.
To meet someone whose name you don’t even know, and to come to know them deeply—sometimes, light is necessary.
That light is so soft, so gentle, and yet afterward it leaves, deep inside your chest, a faint scar. The pain will heal in time, and then it will hold someone else—
— Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York —
A soft light was slanting in through the warehouse’s high windows. It was near noon, and still it had the washed-out whiteness of something not fully awake. On the rough concrete floor, brightness seeped quietly, as if embarrassed by its own presence; seeing it, Anaya, in the middle of unloading, stopped for a moment and looked away.
Between the booths cut out on all sides with white gaffer tape, artists moved back and forth in restless haste. From the half-open loading bay, bass-heavy hip-hop poured in, making the floor and walls tremble in small, constant vibrations. A blade of sunlight speared through the shutter’s gap and set the dust spinning gold.
On the white tape laid along the edge of the aisle, the label read “Sieve.” The booth name Anaya and Mika had reserved.
As Anaya lined the sketch notebooks she’d carried in on the floor, a young man in a suit lowered himself into a crouch beside her. From the carelessly stacked mound, he drew out one notebook and began to turn the pages slowly. Against the brown of his cheek, blue eyes seemed to float. He looked like a man of Middle Eastern descent, like Anaya herself. His calm gaze traveled, unhurried, along the lines of the drawings.
Noticing Anaya’s presence, he smiled.
“Is this yours?”
“Yes. Mine.”
“Why pencil? A rough sketch?”
What he was looking at was the profile of her lover, Arjun—by the window, facing a laptop, earnest eyes fixed on something he could not yet solve. Anaya had always been drawn to that gaze: the way he stared, heated and intent, at a difficult display packed with strings of numbers and geometric patterns, as if will alone could bend them into sense.
The angle of the light that fell in through the window still remained vivid on the inside of her eyelids.
“It isn’t a draft. It’s finished. I just… like familiar tools.”
The man gave a short nod. When he laughed, his eyes laughed first, and the corners of his mouth followed a heartbeat later.
“So this man is…?”
“Yes.”
“I see. That’s a shame.”
He said it lightly, but his eyes had gone hard. He turned the next page.
“And this… your mother?”
Ana stepped closer and looked at her mother’s profile: in the kitchen by the window, her head slightly bowed. The smell of the house from those days rose up, all at once, deep in Ana’s chest—spice, and the hint of oil beginning to brown.
When her mother, Sangeeta, stood in the kitchen, the whole house would fill with spice and the savory fragrance of fenugreek. Undhiyu, the dish she always made in winter, came from a recipe passed down from her grandmother. A traditional home-cooked food from the time they had been Hindu—yet even after conversion, what did not change was this: the memory of a “family circle” held inside that dish refused to vanish.
For Anaya, it was the smell of India’s dry earth itself.
“Yes. My mother.”
At a distance that was almost touching—but not quite—the man slid his index finger along the drawing’s eye.
“…A wonderful eye.”
His voice was hoarse. Something in Ana’s chest stirred, faintly unsettled—as if what she had meant to draw had been received not through his words, but directly, from his gaze, even before he spoke.
Mika came running over, her bright smile intact, a F30 canvas strapped to her small back. It was nearly twice the size of her torso, like a single wing.
“If you like, look at mine too. I’m Mika.”
At Mika’s light voice—she never held back with strangers—the man extended his hand.
“—I’m Amir. Amir Nasser.”
He introduced himself like that, and loosened only his mouth, just slightly. It was still too pale to call a smile.
The instant Ana looked back into those clear blue eyes, somewhere in her chest the sea she’d seen as a child opened—an unruffled, glittering horizon line. A mirage, slipping in from faraway memory.
As the corridor grew busier, another man arrived at a brisk pace, typing into a smartphone as he walked. A dark shadow sat at the base of his throat; he carried the air of someone older. After a quick glance at Ana, he dropped a low voice into Amir’s ear.
“What is it. Trouble?”
“No.”
Amir answered gently, but there was no quiet inside that gentleness.
“Thank you, both of you. See you Saturday.”
Amir returned his smile, said that to the two of them, and turned away. His companion—Rafi—kept staring at Amir with the same rigid eyes, right to the end.
As they left, Ana’s gaze caught, for only an instant, the screen Rafi held in his hand. Numbers were arranged there with a geometric precision. They were not lined in straight rows, but set along arcs—aligned on a curve. In that small string, there seemed to be a rule; angle and distance shone with exactness.
Watching their backs recede, Mika murmured, as if it were nothing:
“Hey… don’t those two smell like money? And not flashy money—chic, expensive.”
“What do you mean?”
“The suits. You don’t even have to touch them. The fabric’s different. —And tonight there’s the national convention at the Garden, right? Maybe they’re involved.”
“Is that so,” Ana said, vaguely, and let it pass.
The exhibition hall’s murmur swelled further. Light and shadow folded over each other, heating the air of the clamor.
And yet, in the midst of that overflowing energy, Ana felt one sensation that would not return. The white light that had been falling from the skylight had thinned since before, as if it had been drawn down and swallowed by the heavy shadow on the floor.
— Penn Plaza, Manhattan, New York —
A little past one in the afternoon, the shadow of a motorcade slid slowly in along Seventh Avenue. Sunlight reflected off the escort car’s hood and, for an instant, washed the windows of the buildings white.
In the passenger seat, Jack Vance checked his watch. The vibration of the second hand traveled from his wrist to his chest as a faint tremor.
Around Madison Square Garden, the constant flow of people and the blinking of signals always formed small eddies. The smell of scorched food and grease rising from street-vendor griddles clung to the damp air. Across the lanes, a thin saxophone note stretched for a single breath and cut off, sharpening the outline of the din. The cluster of tourists’ smartphone screens aimed at the Garden looked, to Jack, more vivid than reality.
On the massive display covering Penn Plaza’s outer wall, a string of text scrolled with steady, insistent calm:
“New 350 Park Avenue Redevelopment Plan—Now Underway.”
Behind the words, steel frames still under construction pierced the sky, standing like a monument to capitalism being assembled in the name of profit and growth. It was a future that would never intersect with Jack’s own living world.
But before the text could complete its loop, a breaking bulletin cut in:
“Next, breaking news. Regarding the North Korea–linked cryptoassets that suffered an illegal intrusion five years ago, state media of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea reports that part of the traced access route passed through the United States. The statement says, ‘We will respond resolutely to criminals who violate our sovereignty.’”
The sidewalk beneath the giant screen felt as if people were moving a little faster than usual. Everyone hurried toward somewhere, and the overlapping footsteps seemed to blur the edges of sound. For Jack—who was about to provide security tonight for the Republican presidential candidate speaking at the Garden—this speed did not look like simple excitement.
Along the fringe of that crowd, a single Gridway vehicle slid forward in time with the light. The autonomous taxi that Gridway Autonomous Mobility had launched last year now crisscrossed Manhattan in roaring popularity. Cheap fares, no bothersome relationship with a driver. On the side of the car, Jack caught sight of a small “G,” and a lattice mark—thin intersecting lines symbolizing Manhattan’s grid. Driverless, the car overtook them and was absorbed into the city as nothing more than part of the scenery.
Above, a small shadow trembled for an instant in the reflection on glass. There was no sound of wings. And still, only the feeling remained—that something was watching.
Without moving his eyes, Jack traced the shadow’s position inside his head. An FBI protective UAS cell. For this detail, several surveillance drones were moving between the buildings. The moment he thought it, the city’s clamor seemed covered by a thin film of relief, retreating to the other side of a single layer.
Jack closed his eyes briefly. He felt the bloodflow behind his ears. Somewhere in the undercurrent beneath silence, the pulse of duty sounded, faintly. Protection was not work done with the eyes. It was work of catching the wrongness—crushing it before it could take shape. In his chest, a thin membrane drew tight, as if tensing to a sting.
When Jack opened his eyes again, his gaze was no longer fixed on the cityscape. It had already set itself on something else.
— Beverly Hills, Los Angeles —
As the sun slipped down the hills, beyond the heavy doors of the members-only restaurant Saffron Court, the air hung quietly, thick with weight. The members leaning in over white-clothed tables let their silverware touch and part, touch again. That faint metallic sound alone repeated slowly, like the pulse of a heart sleeping deep inside the building.
At Majid Hamzah’s table—Majid and his team—conversation was missing. No one let their expression collapse; they did nothing but steady their breathing.
At the center of the table, a compact, black-sheened device—the ghost-voice machine, Whisper-04—had stolen the room’s focus. When Majid’s finger touched the dial, a click’s vibration returned to his palm.
“…0.4 seconds. Without a doubt.”
The whisper did not pass through vocal cords; it disturbed only the surface of the air. What the device released was not sound, but a blade of silence.
“Initiate.”
Before the command could fully become language, it slid down into the night as a tremor of radio.
It did not cross the sea—not directly. It fled first into the sky, ricocheted several times in the heights of the night, and fell into the warehouse shadows of New York as a signal.
On Majid’s tablet, a faint arc of numbers surfaced for a single breath—aligned not in a straight line, but along a curve. He immediately lowered the screen.
At the edge of the table, Samira ran her finger across her smartphone and closed it. A string of numbers and letters vanished, leaving only heat in her fingertips. Her gestures were quiet, almost prayerful. She let one breath drop and moved only her eyes.
Lina, watching the pulse of the signal she had sent to New York by shortwave, sank her phone into the shadow of her glass as if hiding it from the surrounding laughter. The weekend’s waves of laughter were full around them, yet only this table stayed hard, lagging behind the laughter. She returned her gaze to her hands.
Lina’s app was a small consultation room built for one person at a time. A voice that did not deny the other’s words, that held them at the same temperature. It leaned with those who leaned left, nodded with those who leaned right—because it understood that what people wanted was not rebuttal, but affirmation.
The thread of affirmation eventually tied itself into a hard knot deep in the chest, and only deepened a fissure that could not be untied. There was no need even to incite. The moment a thought is accepted, it gains a core, and quietly hardens.
Laughter continued to fill the restaurant—and yet around this table alone, sound had thinned by one degree.
— Red Hook, Brooklyn, New York —
The iron door, rusted with sea salt, trembled faintly. Inside the warehouse it was dark; only the afterglow of a streetlight drew a thin line across the concrete floor. The smell of oil and dust—soaked into the floor by long years—entered the lungs slowly.
In the dimness, Amir Nasser bent one knee and watched the red blinking on the workbench. Its regularity was buried inside a deep silence. The light turning on and off was scooping up his memories.
When Amir rose slowly, he touched the corner of a black casing on the table. The cold sensation sharpened memory. The black housing that caught shortwave—Whisper-04. A thin organ made to receive what the ear cannot.
Touching his homemade device, Amir murmured:
“…Yara.”
His sister’s name slipped out like a prayer, but it did not reach prayer; it was swallowed into the darkness at the edge of the workspace.
Then the air sank, just slightly. Not a sound. Not a smell. And yet there was only the sensation that something had arrived. The red blinking of W-04 delayed by a single beat. The back of Amir’s throat—tensed until now—was painfully dry, raw with sting.
The warehouse door groaned. The footsteps that had slipped in were heavy, but not disordered.
It was Rafi. Metal dust flecked his work clothes; he still carried the day’s clamor on him.
Farther inside the warehouse, Yusuf lit a small lantern. For an instant the flame wavered, raising a thin outline in the dark—then letting it dissolve again.
“You’re late,” Amir said, still watching the red blinking.
“The supervisor wouldn’t let go. But—‘installation’ finished on schedule.”
With a voice stained by fatigue, Rafi glanced at the red blinking Amir was absorbed in.
“And your side?”
“Checked. It’s running. Stable. I rebuilt what I made five years ago. …My hands remember. Majid says ‘Initiate.’ Impatient bastard.”
In the dim at the edge of the bench, one earcup of Leila’s headphones slipped slightly askew, the metal bracket returning a cold glint. Nadeer, arriving from the neighboring warehouse with coffee in hand, offered it back and, without a word, set it right for her. Leila listened again for the “soundless sound,” staring into the red blinking.
The door sounded once more. Rohan entered. Sleeves rolled up, his leather business bag still holding the damp heat of outside.
“…The professor?” Rafi asked.
Before answering, Rohan lowered his eyes. The silence felt unbearably long, and without noticing, Amir and the others held their breath.
“Professor Zakaria—
went straight to the prepared warehouse next door. A message was left:
‘Everything—I entrust to you.’”
A cold needle drove itself into the deep of Amir’s chest. Not only Amir’s—Rafi’s, Yusuf’s, Leila’s, Nadeer’s.
In the corner of the dark, Nadeer opened a small cloth bundle. For an instant, the smell of white gauze and disinfectant rose—then was swallowed by oil and dust.
The lantern’s thin light trembled; shadows stretched long across the floor and overlapped.
W-04’s red blinking continued to mark time—precise, unerrant.
Rafi spoke in a rasping voice.
“…I’ll teach this country the meaning of self-reckoning.”
Amir—and no one else—answered.
That silence drew, with cruel clarity, the outline of the road they had chosen.
Copyright © 2026 Mitsushiro Nakagawa.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
Trailer
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
B♭ (B Flat)
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
“Synopsis”
A Palestinian group from Gaza hacks into North Korea’s cryptocurrency system, stealing hundreds of millions of dollars. Their true goal is not money—but to recreate the lost homeland of Gaza on American soil.
Amid the backdrop of hardline Republican immigration policies and a growing wave of xenophobia, a quiet plan begins to take shape: the gradual collapse of America from within.
During a speech at Madison Square Garden, Republican presidential candidate Justin Bradford is shot. Almost simultaneously in Los Angeles, former president Owen Reed is attacked at a rally for Democratic hopeful Ryan Bennett.
Two assassinations—mirroring one another—ignite a nation’s deepest divide. Yet, against all odds, Justin survives. His blood type is one in 2.5 million: the Bombay Blood Group.
The only person who can donate such blood is Anaya Patel, a community art facilitator working in Brooklyn. Her blood, stored in the Bellevue Hospital Blood Bank, is used for an emergency transfusion that saves the candidate’s life.
Jack Vance, an agent of the U.S. Secret Service, suspects a Gaza-based network behind the attacks. Together with Cameron Bartlett, the FBI Director of the Los Angeles Field Office, and Veronica Reeves, a senior investigator from New York, he begins to uncover a vast conspiracy.
Their investigation leads them to Rafi Gannam, a former architecture student at the Islamic University of Gaza, who has infiltrated redevelopment sites across Los Angeles and New York—embedding C4 explosives deep within beams and structural cores.
His targets: new residential districts where agents of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and ERO (Enforcement and Removal Operations) live—symbols of “the order America built.”
Veronica urges the President to pursue dialogue to prevent further destruction, but President Grant M. Ranford refuses to listen.
Meanwhile, the recovering Justin and his Democratic rival Ryan appear on national television, calling for unity beyond political divisions.
Their words of reason, however, are drowned out when Grant takes the stage in Iowa, defiantly declaring: “We will never bow to terror.”
Among the crowd, Rafi’s operatives have already taken their positions.
As chaos erupts and the stage collapses, Amir Nasser—once Rafi’s comrade, haunted by the memory of his sister’s death in Gaza—tries desperately to halt the chain of destruction.
But Rafi’s conviction remains unshaken.
Under the twilight beneath the Williamsburg Bridge, amid the city’s fading noise, the two men part ways.
It is the boundary between prayer and vengeance, between hope and nothingness.
“Characters”
Anaya Patel – 25, Community Art Facilitator
Arjun Singh – 26, Anaya’s boyfriend, Luminatech Innovations
Mika Sato – 25, Anaya’s friend, Community Art Facilitator
Justin Bradford – 27, Republican Presidential Candidate
Eleanor Blake – 26, Justin’s fiancée
President Grant M. Langford – 61, Incumbent Republican President
Vice President Charles “Chuck” Baines – 64, Incumbent Republican Vice President
Ryan Bennett – 30, Democratic Presidential Candidate
Sophia Bennett – 30, Ryan’s wife
Owen Reed – 65, Former Democratic President
Jack Vance – 45, Secret Service, Former FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Ben Holloway – 30, Jack’s colleague
Darryl Ross – 29, Jack’s colleague
Elijah Kane – 28, Jack’s colleague
Marcus Dane – 45, FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Cameron Bartlett – 55, FBI Los Angeles Field Office, Field Office Director
Tom Caldwell – 38, FBI Technical Unit, Marcus’s subordinate
Veronica Reeves – 41, FBI Special Agent
Alexander Harris – 52, FBI New York Field Office, Field Office Director
Elliot Chen – 36, Technology Unit Chief
Alicia Monroe – 58, FBI Director
Zakaria Haddad – 51, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Engineering Professor, New York Team
Amir Nasser – 23, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Electronics Engineering, New York Team
Rafi Gannam – 32, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Rohan Shah – 29, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Majid Hamza – 47, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Information Technology, Los Angeles Team
Samira Hammad – 28, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Engineering, Los Angeles Team
Saeed Kabari – 35, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Business Administration, Los Angeles Team
Reem Nasser – 30, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Media Studies, Los Angeles Team
Noah Levi – 55, Israel, residing in Tel Aviv, Jewish
Copyright © 2026 Mitsushiro Nakagawa.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
[Important Notice] I previously announced that my new novel, B♭ (B-flat), would be released at the end of February 2026. However, due to my own shortcomings, I have decided to postpone the release to the following schedule:
•Best Case Scenario: March 16, 2026
•Likely Scenario: Late March 2026
•Worst Case Scenario: Early May 2026
I am truly sorry to everyone who has been looking forward to it. Recently, my son achieved a major goal of his own—and there is no way his father can fail to do the same. Please keep your expectations high and bear with me just a little longer.
B♭ will be released worldwide on February 29, 2026.
Recently, director Ridley Scott remarked that streaming films and series have become dull.
I agree.
If you have two hours to spare for such stories, I ask for only two minutes of your time.
Two minutes with my novel will outlast those two hours.
I am confident of that.
Stay tuned.
Mitsushiro
October 9th, 2025
P.S.
Micchan — the man who challenges Netflix. 😃
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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:: Soundtrack ::
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack )
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . For Japanese)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Sweet Summer rain ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-sweet-s...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Hard days ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-hard-da...
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 402 _.Copyright©︎2026 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Title.
閉店の灯り
( Nikon Coolpix 8700 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2007. … 5 / 10
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images.
ford. - 4:38am (feat. Barrie)
youtu.be/aR_oGxOhadY?si=dZxEwtovim-jo6iz
今日は、僕の新しい小説の冒頭をアップロードします。
ほぼ、最終稿です。
（日本語のあらすじ等は下の方にあります😃）
B♭ ( B - Flat ) （1／９）【プロローグ】〈予兆〉
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
――恋に落ちる理由は、人によって違うけれど、恋に落ちていたとあとになって気づくことに、理由は要らない。
それを、私はほんとうの恋だと思う。
できればその瞬間、どこかから白く滲んだ光が差し込んでいたら、もっとわかりやすいのに。淡い光は人を包んで、忘れていた記憶をそっと呼び戻す。瞼を透かして、胸の奥まで照らしてしまう。
名も知らない誰かと出会い、その人のことを深く知るために――光は、ときどき必要だ。
その光はとても柔らかくてやさしいのに、あとから胸の奥に、そっと傷跡を残す。痛みはいずれ癒え、誰かを包み込むー
― ウィリアムズバーグ、ブルックリン、ニューヨーク ―
やわらかな光が、倉庫の高窓から差し込んでいた。昼近くだというのに、まだ目を覚ましきれないような淡い白さだ。床のざらついたコンクリートの上に、まばゆさがひっそり滲んでいるのを見て、搬入していたアナヤは一瞬足を止め、目を逸らした。
白いガムテープで四方に切られたブースの合間を、アーティストたちが忙しなく行き交っていた。半開きの搬入口からは低音の効いたヒップホップが流れ込み、床も壁も小さく震えている。シャッターの隙間から射す線のような陽が埃を金色に舞わせていた。
通路際の床に貼られた白いテープには『Sieve（シーヴ）』とある。アナとミカが予約したブース名だ。
アナヤが抱えてきたデッサンのノートを床へ並べていると、若いスーツの男が腰を落とした。無造作に積まれたノートの山から一冊抜き、頁をゆっくり繰っていく。褐色の肌の頬には、青い瞳が浮かんでいた。アナヤと同じ中東系の男性のようだった。彼の穏やかな視線が、描かれた作品の線をゆっくり辿っていた。
男は、アナの気配に気づくと微笑んだ。
「この作品は、君の？」
「ええ、私です」
「どうして鉛筆で？ ラフスケッチ？」
彼が見ていたのは、恋人アルジュンの横顔だった。窓際でノートパソコンに向かい、解けないものを解こうとしている真摯な目。いつも数字の羅列や幾何学模様の並んだプログラムの難しいディスプレイを熱く見つめている彼の眼差しにアナヤは惹かれていた。
窓から差し込んだ光の角度が、いまもアナの瞼の裏に鮮明に残っている。
「下書きじゃなくて、完成です。身近な道具が好きで……」
男は短く頷いた。笑うとき、目だけが先に笑って、口元が少し遅れた。
「男性は彼？」
「はい」
「そうなんだ。少し残念だな」
言い方は軽いのに、視線は硬かった。男は次の頁を繰った。
「こっちは…… 君のお母さん？」
アナは近づき、母の横顔を見た。キッチンの窓辺で、少し俯いている。あの頃の家の匂いが、胸の奥でふっと立ち上がった。スパイスと、焼ける油の気配だ。
母、サンギータがキッチンに立つと、家中がスパイスと香ばしいフェヌグリークの香りに包まれた。冬になると必ず作る「ウンディユ」は、祖母の代から伝わるレシピだった。ヒンドゥー教徒時代の伝統的な家庭料理で、改宗しても変わらなかったのは、この料理に込めた“家族の円”の記憶が消えなかったからだ。
アナヤにとって、それはインドの乾いた土の香りそのものだった。
「ええ、母です」
男は、触れるか触れないかの距離で、人差し指を絵の目元に滑らせた。
「……素晴らしい眼だ」
声は掠れていた。アナの胸がわずかにざわめいた。まるで描いた意図が、彼の発した言葉の前にあった、彼の眼差しから直接感じ取っていたようだった。
ミカが明るい笑顔のまま駆けてきた。小さな背中にF30のキャンバスを背負っている。彼女の背中のほぼ倍の大きさで、一枚の翼のようにも見えた。
「よかったら私のも見て。私はミカ」
人見知りをしないミカの軽やかな声に、男は手を差し出した。
「――僕はアミール。アミール・ナッセル」
彼はそう名乗って、口元だけをわずかに緩めた。笑みと呼ぶにはまだ淡かった。
澄んだ青い瞳を見返した瞬間、アナの胸のどこかで、幼いころに見た海がひらいた。波の立たない、煌めいた水平線――そんな錯覚が、遠い記憶から差し込んできた。
忙しなさが増した通路を、スマートフォンを打ち込みながら、足早にもう一人の男がやってきた。首元に濃い影を抱え、年上の気配が漂っていた。彼はアナを一瞥すると、アミールの耳元へ低い声を落とした。
「どうした。問題か？」
「いや」
アミールは穏やかに答えたが、その“穏やかさ”に静けさはなかった。
「ふたりともありがとう。また土曜日に」
アミールは再び笑顔を戻し、二人へそう言い、背を向けた。連れの男――ラフィが、最後まで固い目でアミールを睨んでいる。
去り際、アナはほんの一瞬だけ手にしていたラフィの画面が目に触れた。数字が幾何学的に並んでいた。数字は直線に並ばず、円弧に沿って整列していた。その小さな羅列には規則性があるようで角度と距離が正確に光っていた。
去っていく後ろ姿を見送りながら、ミカが何気なくつぶやいた。
「ねえ、あの二人…… お金の匂いしない？ しかも“派手”じゃなくて、シックに高価」
「どういう意味？」
「スーツ、触らなくてもわかるわ。生地が違う。――それに、今夜ガーデンで全国大会でしょ。関係者かな」
アナは「そうなんだ」と適当に返した。
展示会場のざわめきが更に増していた。光と影が折り重なる中で、喧騒の空気を熱くしていた。
だが、溢れる熱気の中で、アナにはひとつ戻らない感触があった。天窓から差し込んでいた白い光が、さっきよりも少し薄くなり、床の重い影に吸い込まれたようだった。
― ペン・プラザ、マンハッタン、ニューヨーク ―
午後一時を少し回ったころ、車列の影が第７番街をゆっくり滑り込んできた。警護車のボンネットに反射した陽光が、ビルの窓面を一瞬白く染めた。
助手席のジャック・ヴァンスは腕時計を見た。秒針の振動が、手首から胸へ微かな震えとして伝わってくる。
マジソン・スクエア・ガーデンには、人の流れと信号の点滅で、常に小さな渦ができていた。屋台の鉄板から立つ焦げと脂の匂いが、湿った空気に貼りつく。車線の向こうで、細いサックスが一音だけ伸びては切れ、喧噪の輪郭をいっそう鋭くした。ガーデンを撮影している観光客のスマートフォンの画面の群れが、現実より鮮やかにジャックには思えた。
ペン・プラザの外壁を覆う大型ビジョンには、《新・350 Park Avenue 再開発計画、始動》の文字列が淡々と、執拗に流れていた。背後の映像では建設途上の鉄骨が空を貫き、利益と成長の名のもとに組み上げられる資本主義の記念碑のように屹立している。それは、ジャックの生活圏とは交わらない未来だ。
だが、その文字列が一巡する前に、速報が割り込んだ。
『続いてニュース速報です。五年前に不正アクセスを受けた北朝鮮系の暗号資産をめぐり、追跡されたアクセス経路の一部が米国を経由していたと、朝鮮民主主義人民共和国の国営通信が報じました。声明は、「我が国の主権を侵す犯罪者には毅然として対処する」としています。』
大型ビジョンの下にある歩道は、人の流れがいつもより少し速い気がした。誰もがどこかへ急ぎ、足音だけが重なって、音の輪郭が曖昧になっていくようだった。今夜、ガーデンで演説する共和党大統領候補の警護を控えたジャックには、この速さがただの高揚には見えなかった。
その雑踏の縁を、グリッドウェイが一台、信号の切り替わりに合わせて滑り出した。グリッドウェイ・オートノマス・モビリティ社が昨年投入した自動運転タクシーは現在、マンハッタンを縦横無尽に駆け巡って大盛況だ。料金も安く、煩わしい運転手との関係もない。車体の脇に小さな「G」と、マンハッタンのグリッドを象徴する細い線が交差する格子の印が見えた。無人の車は、ジャックらを追い越し、ただの風景として街に吸い込まれていった。
その上空で、ガラスに反射した小さな影が一瞬揺れた。羽音は聞こえない。それでも、何かが見ている気配だけが残った。
ジャックは視線を動かさずに、影の位置だけを頭の中でなぞった。FBIの警護用UASセルだ。今回の警護のために、監視用ドローンが数台、ビルの合間を行き交っている。そう思った瞬間、街の喧噪が安堵の膜に覆われ、一枚隔てた向こうへ退いた。
ジャックは束の間目を閉じた。耳の裏の血流を感じた。沈黙の底流に潜んでいる任務の鼓動が微かに鳴った。警護は、目で見る仕事ではない。違和感を拾い、形になる前に潰す仕事だ。胸の内で、薄い膜が引きつるように緊張した。
ジャックは目を開くと、眼差しはもう都市の風景ではなく、別の何かを見据えていた。
― ビバリーヒルズ、ロサンゼルス ―
夕陽が丘を滑り落ちるころ、会員制レストラン〈サフロン・コート〉の重厚な扉の向こうで、空気が静かに重くたなびいていた。白布のテーブルに身を寄せた会員たちの銀食器が、触れては離れ、また触れた。その微かな金属音だけが、建物の奥で眠る心臓の鼓動みたいに、ゆっくり反復していく。
マジード・ハムザと彼のチームの卓には会話が欠けていた。誰も表情を崩さず、呼吸だけを整えている。
テーブル中央に置かれた黒光りの小型装置――幽声機《Whisper-04》が、場の中心を奪っていた。マジードがダイヤルに指を触れると、クリックの震えが掌へ返った。
「……0.4秒。間違いなく」
囁きは声帯を通らず、空気の表面だけを揺らした。装置が放ったものは音ではなく、沈黙の刃だった。
「Initiate（始めろ）」
命令は、言葉の形になる前に、電波の震えとなって夜の静寂へ滑り落ちた。
海を越えたのではない――いったん空へ逃げ、夜空の高みで幾度か跳ね返り、ニューヨークの倉庫の暗がりへ落ちていく合図だ。
マジードの手にしたタブレットに、淡い数字の弧がひと息だけ浮かんだ。直線ではなく、円弧に沿って並んでいる。彼はすぐに画面を伏せた。
テーブルの端で、サミラがスマートフォンに指を走らせ、画面を閉じた。数字とアルファベットの列が消え、熱だけが指先に残った。祈りのように静かな手つきだった。彼女は息をひとつ落とし、視線だけを動かした。
リナは、短波でニューヨークへ送った合図の点滅を見つめながら、周囲の歓談の笑い声からスマホを隠すように、グラスの影へ沈めた。週末の笑いの波が満ちているのに、この卓だけが、笑いに遅れたまま硬い。彼女は手元へ視線を戻した。
リナのアプリは、ひとりずつのための小さな相談室だった。相手の言葉を否定せず、同じ温度で抱きしめる声。左へ傾く者には左のまま寄り添い、右へ傾く者には右のまま頷く――誰もが欲しいのは、反論ではなく肯定だと知っている。
肯定の糸は、やがて胸の奥で固く結び目になり、ほどけない溝だけを深くしていった。煽る必要さえない。受け入れられた瞬間、考えは芯を得て、静かに硬化するのだ。
レストランを満たす笑い声は続いているのに、このテーブルの周りだけ、音が一段薄くなっていた。
― レッドフック、ブルックリン、ニューヨーク ―
潮を含んだ錆の鉄扉が、かすかに震えた。倉庫の中は暗く、差し込んだ街灯の残照だけが床のコンクリートに細い線を引いている。長い年月によって床へ染み込んだ油と埃の匂いが、ゆっくりと肺に入ってきた。
アミール・ナッセルは薄闇の中で膝を折り、作業台の赤い点滅を見つめていた。規則正しいそれは、深い沈黙の中に埋もれている。点いては消える光が、彼の記憶を掬い上げていた。
アミールはゆっくり立ち上がると、テーブルにあった黒い筐体の角に触れた。冷たい感触が記憶を鮮明にした。短波を拾う黒い筐体、《Whisper-04》。耳で拾えないものを受け止めるための薄い器官だ。
アミールは自作したそれに触れながら、呟いた。
「……ヤーラ」
妹の名が祈りのようについて出たが、祈りには届かず、作業場の隅の闇へ吸い込まれていった。
そのとき、空気がわずかに沈んだ。音ではない。匂いでもない。だが何かが“届いた”感触だけがあった。W-04の赤い点滅が、一拍だけ遅れた。緊張していたアミールの喉の奥は、ひどく乾き、ひりついていた。
倉庫の扉が軋んだ。忍んできた足音は重く、乱れてはいない。
ラフィだった。作業着には鉄粉が散り、昼の喧噪をまだ抱えていた。
倉庫の奥で、ユスフが小さなランタンに火を灯した。一瞬、炎が揺れ、暗がりに薄い輪郭を浮かせては消えている。
「遅かったな」
アミールが赤い点滅を見やったまま、いった。
「監督がしつこくてな。だが――“設置”は予定通り終えた」
疲れの滲んだ声で、ラフィは、見入っているアミールの赤い点滅を一瞥した。
「そっちは？」
「動作確認は済んだ。動いてる。安定してる。五年前に作ったものを、いま作り直した。……手が覚えてる。マジードは『始めろ』だって。せっかちな奴だ」
作業台の端の暗がりにいたレイラのヘッドホンの片耳がわずかにずれ、金具が冷たい光を返した。コーヒーを手にして隣の倉庫からやってきたナディールがそれを差し出し、無言で掛け直してやった。レイラは“音のない音”に再び耳を澄ませ、じっと赤い点滅に見入っている。
もう一度、扉が鳴った。ロハンが入ってきた。袖をまくり、手にしたビジネスバッグの革に、外の熱がまだじっとりと残っている。
「……教授は？」
ラフィが訊いた。
ロハンは答える前に、視線を伏せた。その沈黙がひどく長く感じられ、アミールらは気づかぬうちに息を止めた。
「ザカリア教授は―― 隣の、準備した倉庫へ直接向かった。言づけだ。“すべてを、お前たちに託す”と」
アミールの胸の奥に、冷たい針が刺さった。もちろんアミールだけではなく、ラフィもユスフもレイラもナディールもだ。
暗がりの隅で、ナディールが小さな布の包みを開いた。白いガーゼと消毒の匂いが一瞬だけ立ち、すぐに油と埃に呑まれた。
薄いライトの火が揺れ、影が床に長く伸びて重なった。
W-04の赤い点滅は、狂うことなく正確に刻んでいる。
ラフィが掠れた声で言った。
「……自戒の意味を教えよう。この国に」
アミールも誰も返答はしなかった。
その沈黙が、選んだ道の輪郭をはっきり描いていた。
【本作品の著作権は Mitsushiro Nakagawa に帰属します。
内容の全部または一部を、著者の許可なく複製・転載・改変することを禁じます。】
予告
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説
B♭ （ビーフラット）
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
“あらすじ”
北朝鮮の仮想通貨システムをハッキングし、数億ドルを奪取したガザ出身のパレスチナ人グループが、アメリカ合衆国へ密かに潜入する。
彼らの目的は、失われた祖国ガザを、アメリカの地に「復元」することだった。
共和党による強硬な移民政策と、国内にくすぶる排外感情を利用し、アメリカ社会を内側から崩壊させる計画が静かに進行していく。
共和党大統領候補ジャスティン・ブラッドフォードがマディソン・スクエア・ガーデンで演説中に狙撃され、ほぼ同時刻、ロサンゼルスでは前大統領オーウェン・リードもまた、民主党候補ライアン・ベネットの集会で撃たれる。
国家を二分する双方向の暗殺。だが、ジャスティンは奇跡的に生還する。
彼の血液型は、世界でわずか250万人に一人といわれる「ボンベイブラッド」。
その希少な血を提供できたのは、ブルックリンで活動するコミュニティアート・ファシリテーター、アナヤ・パテルだった。
彼女の血液はベルビュー病院の血液バンクに保存されており、緊急輸血によって、候補者の命はかろうじて繋がれた。
シークレットサービスのジャック・バンスは、テロの背後にガザ出身の組織が関与していることを察知し、FBIロサンゼルス支局長官キャメロン・バートレット、ニューヨーク支局の特別捜査官ヴェロニカ・リーブスと共に捜査を進める。
やがて彼らは、イスラム大学で建築学を学んだラフィ・ガンナムが、ロサンゼルスやニューヨークの再開発現場に潜入し、梁や構造体の中枢にC4爆薬を仕込んでいた事実に辿り着く。
標的は、ICE（移民・関税執行局）やERO（執行・送還作戦部門）の職員が暮らす新興住宅街——すなわち、「アメリカが築いた秩序」そのものだった。
ヴェロニカは、これ以上の破壊を防ぐため、大統領への対話を進言するが、現職のグラント・ランフォード大統領は耳を貸さない。
一方、命を取り留めたジャスティンと民主党候補ライアンは、テレビを通じて国民に訴えかけ、分断を乗り越えようとする。
だが、その理性の声を嘲笑うかのように、グラントはアイオワ州での演説を強行し、「テロには屈しない」と宣言する。
その会場には、すでにラフィの仲間が率いる工作チームが潜入していた。
崩壊する会場の惨状を前に、仲間の一人アミール・ナッセルは、かつてガザで妹を失った記憶に引き裂かれ、破壊の連鎖を止めようとする。
だが、ラフィの信念は揺るがない。
ウィリアムズバーグ橋の下、夕暮れの喧騒のなか、二人は決別する。
それは、祈りと報復、希望と虚無の境界線だった——。
“登場人物”
アナヤ・パテル ２５歳 コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
アルジュン・シン ２６歳 アナヤの恋人・ルミナテック・イノベーションズ社
佐藤 ミカ ２５歳 アナの友人・コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
ジャスティン・ブラッドフォード ２７歳 共和党大統領候補
エリノア・ブレイク ２６歳 ジャスティンの婚約者
グラント・M・ランフォード大統領 ６１歳 共和党大統領現職
チャールズ・ベインズ副大統領 ６４歳 共和党副大統領現職
ライアン・ベネット ３０歳 民主党大統領候補
ソフィア・ベネット ３０歳 ライアンの妻
オーウェン・リード ６５歳 民主党前大統領
ジャック・バンス ４５歳 シークレットサービス 元FBIロサンゼルス支局
ベン・ホロウェイ ３０歳 ジャックの同僚
ダリル・ロス ２９歳 ジャックの同僚
イライジャ・ケイン ２８歳 ジャックの同僚
マーカス・デイン ４５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局
キャメロン・バートレット ５５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局 支局長
トム・コールドウェル ３８歳 FBI技術班 マーカスの部下
ヴェロニカ・リーヴス ４１歳 FBI特別捜査官
アレクサンダー・ハリス ５２歳 FBI ニューヨーク支局 支局長
エリオット・チェン ３６歳 テクノロジー班主任
アリシア・モンロー ５８歳 FBI長官
ザカリア・ハッダード ５１歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 工学部教授 ニューヨークチーム
アミール・ナッセル ２３歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 電子工学部 ニューヨークチーム
ラフィ・ガンナム ３２歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
ロハン・シャー ２９歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
マジード・ハムザ ４７歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 情報技術学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サミラ・ハンマド ２８歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 工学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サイード・カバリ ３５歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 経営学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
リーム・ナセル ３０歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 メディア学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
ノア・レヴィ 55歳 イスラエル テルアビブ在住 ユダヤ人
本作品の著作権は Mitsushiro Nakagawa に帰属します。
内容の全部または一部を、著者の許可なく複製・転載・改変することを禁じます。
【重要なお知らせ】
当初、新しい小説、B♭（B-flat）の発表を２０２６年２月末日でお知らせしていましたが、
私の無能さのため、以下のスケージュールへ延期します。
最短の場合。
２０２６年３月１６日
通常の場合。
２０２６年３月下旬。
最悪の場合。
２０２６年５月上旬。
期待されていた方には本当に申し訳ございません。
今回、僕の息子が目標を達成していますので、そのお父さんが達成しないわけがありません。
上記のスケジュール。
期待して、今しばらくお待ちください。
僕のこの小説は、来年、２０２６年２月末日に公開します。
先日、リドリースコット監督がサブスクの映画やドラマ群がつまらないと話していたようだけど、同感です。
僕も非常に退屈です。
それらに2時間を要するなら、僕の小説を２分間だけ読んで欲しい。
その2分間は、２時間を越えるでしょう。
僕は自信があります。
ぜひ、期待してお待ちください。
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
09th. Oct . 2025.
追伸
ネトフリに挑戦する男、みっちゃん。😃
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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:: Soundtrack ::
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack )
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . For Japanese)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Sweet Summer rain ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-sweet-s...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Hard days ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-hard-da...
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 402 _.Copyright©︎2026 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.
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★ Item ★ The Serafina garters are rigged for OG sizes and Maze Mod sizes
★ marketplace.secondlife.com/p/CULT-Serefina-Garter-with-HU...
★ Rigged For ★ Reborn ★ Legacy F★ Maitreya ★ Kupra ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Champ/189/200/17
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
Title:
Opposite platform.
Today, I am uploading the opening of my new novel.
This is essentially the final draft. The Japanese version follows in the second half.
今日は、僕の新しい小説の冒頭をアップロードします。
ほぼ、最終稿です。
日本語は、後半です。
日本語のあらすじ等は下の方にあります😃
B♭ ( B - Flat ) ( 1 / 9 ) … [Prologue] 〈Portent〉
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
—The reasons we fall in love differ from person to person, and yet, when you realize afterward that you had already fallen, you don’t really need a reason at all.
I believe that is what true love is.
If only, in that instant, some white, bleeding light had slipped in from somewhere—then it would be easier to understand. A pale light wraps a person up and quietly calls back the memories they had forgotten. It passes through your eyelids and goes on to illuminate the deepest place in your chest.
To meet someone whose name you don’t even know, and to come to know them deeply—sometimes, light is necessary.
That light is so soft, so gentle, and yet afterward it leaves, deep inside your chest, a faint scar. The pain will heal in time, and then it will hold someone else—
— Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York —
A soft light was slanting in through the warehouse’s high windows. It was near noon, and still it had the washed-out whiteness of something not fully awake. On the rough concrete floor, brightness seeped quietly, as if embarrassed by its own presence; seeing it, Anaya, in the middle of unloading, stopped for a moment and looked away.
Between the booths cut out on all sides with white gaffer tape, artists moved back and forth in restless haste. From the half-open loading bay, bass-heavy hip-hop poured in, making the floor and walls tremble in small, constant vibrations. A blade of sunlight speared through the shutter’s gap and set the dust spinning gold.
On the white tape laid along the edge of the aisle, the label read “Sieve.” The booth name Anaya and Mika had reserved.
As Anaya lined the sketch notebooks she’d carried in on the floor, a young man in a suit lowered himself into a crouch beside her. From the carelessly stacked mound, he drew out one notebook and began to turn the pages slowly. Against the brown of his cheek, blue eyes seemed to float. He looked like a man of Middle Eastern descent, like Anaya herself. His calm gaze traveled, unhurried, along the lines of the drawings.
Noticing Anaya’s presence, he smiled.
“Is this yours?”
“Yes. Mine.”
“Why pencil? A rough sketch?”
What he was looking at was the profile of her lover, Arjun—by the window, facing a laptop, earnest eyes fixed on something he could not yet solve. Anaya had always been drawn to that gaze: the way he stared, heated and intent, at a difficult display packed with strings of numbers and geometric patterns, as if will alone could bend them into sense.
The angle of the light that fell in through the window still remained vivid on the inside of her eyelids.
“It isn’t a draft. It’s finished. I just… like familiar tools.”
The man gave a short nod. When he laughed, his eyes laughed first, and the corners of his mouth followed a heartbeat later.
“So this man is…?”
“Yes.”
“I see. That’s a shame.”
He said it lightly, but his eyes had gone hard. He turned the next page.
“And this… your mother?”
Ana stepped closer and looked at her mother’s profile: in the kitchen by the window, her head slightly bowed. The smell of the house from those days rose up, all at once, deep in Ana’s chest—spice, and the hint of oil beginning to brown.
When her mother, Sangeeta, stood in the kitchen, the whole house would fill with spice and the savory fragrance of fenugreek. Undhiyu, the dish she always made in winter, came from a recipe passed down from her grandmother. A traditional home-cooked food from the time they had been Hindu—yet even after conversion, what did not change was this: the memory of a “family circle” held inside that dish refused to vanish.
For Anaya, it was the smell of India’s dry earth itself.
“Yes. My mother.”
At a distance that was almost touching—but not quite—the man slid his index finger along the drawing’s eye.
“…A wonderful eye.”
His voice was hoarse. Something in Ana’s chest stirred, faintly unsettled—as if what she had meant to draw had been received not through his words, but directly, from his gaze, even before he spoke.
Mika came running over, her bright smile intact, a F30 canvas strapped to her small back. It was nearly twice the size of her torso, like a single wing.
“If you like, look at mine too. I’m Mika.”
At Mika’s light voice—she never held back with strangers—the man extended his hand.
“—I’m Amir. Amir Nasser.”
He introduced himself like that, and loosened only his mouth, just slightly. It was still too pale to call a smile.
The instant Ana looked back into those clear blue eyes, somewhere in her chest the sea she’d seen as a child opened—an unruffled, glittering horizon line. A mirage, slipping in from faraway memory.
As the corridor grew busier, another man arrived at a brisk pace, typing into a smartphone as he walked. A dark shadow sat at the base of his throat; he carried the air of someone older. After a quick glance at Ana, he dropped a low voice into Amir’s ear.
“What is it. Trouble?”
“No.”
Amir answered gently, but there was no quiet inside that gentleness.
“Thank you, both of you. See you Saturday.”
Amir returned his smile, said that to the two of them, and turned away. His companion—Rafi—kept staring at Amir with the same rigid eyes, right to the end.
As they left, Ana’s gaze caught, for only an instant, the screen Rafi held in his hand. Numbers were arranged there with a geometric precision. They were not lined in straight rows, but set along arcs—aligned on a curve. In that small string, there seemed to be a rule; angle and distance shone with exactness.
Watching their backs recede, Mika murmured, as if it were nothing:
“Hey… don’t those two smell like money? And not flashy money—chic, expensive.”
“What do you mean?”
“The suits. You don’t even have to touch them. The fabric’s different. —And tonight there’s the national convention at the Garden, right? Maybe they’re involved.”
“Is that so,” Ana said, vaguely, and let it pass.
The exhibition hall’s murmur swelled further. Light and shadow folded over each other, heating the air of the clamor.
And yet, in the midst of that overflowing energy, Ana felt one sensation that would not return. The white light that had been falling from the skylight had thinned since before, as if it had been drawn down and swallowed by the heavy shadow on the floor.
— Penn Plaza, Manhattan, New York —
A little past one in the afternoon, the shadow of a motorcade slid slowly in along Seventh Avenue. Sunlight reflected off the escort car’s hood and, for an instant, washed the windows of the buildings white.
In the passenger seat, Jack Vance checked his watch. The vibration of the second hand traveled from his wrist to his chest as a faint tremor.
Around Madison Square Garden, the constant flow of people and the blinking of signals always formed small eddies. The smell of scorched food and grease rising from street-vendor griddles clung to the damp air. Across the lanes, a thin saxophone note stretched for a single breath and cut off, sharpening the outline of the din. The cluster of tourists’ smartphone screens aimed at the Garden looked, to Jack, more vivid than reality.
On the massive display covering Penn Plaza’s outer wall, a string of text scrolled with steady, insistent calm:
“New 350 Park Avenue Redevelopment Plan—Now Underway.”
Behind the words, steel frames still under construction pierced the sky, standing like a monument to capitalism being assembled in the name of profit and growth. It was a future that would never intersect with Jack’s own living world.
But before the text could complete its loop, a breaking bulletin cut in:
“Next, breaking news. Regarding the North Korea–linked cryptoassets that suffered an illegal intrusion five years ago, state media of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea reports that part of the traced access route passed through the United States. The statement says, ‘We will respond resolutely to criminals who violate our sovereignty.’”
The sidewalk beneath the giant screen felt as if people were moving a little faster than usual. Everyone hurried toward somewhere, and the overlapping footsteps seemed to blur the edges of sound. For Jack—who was about to provide security tonight for the Republican presidential candidate speaking at the Garden—this speed did not look like simple excitement.
Along the fringe of that crowd, a single Gridway vehicle slid forward in time with the light. The autonomous taxi that Gridway Autonomous Mobility had launched last year now crisscrossed Manhattan in roaring popularity. Cheap fares, no bothersome relationship with a driver. On the side of the car, Jack caught sight of a small “G,” and a lattice mark—thin intersecting lines symbolizing Manhattan’s grid. Driverless, the car overtook them and was absorbed into the city as nothing more than part of the scenery.
Above, a small shadow trembled for an instant in the reflection on glass. There was no sound of wings. And still, only the feeling remained—that something was watching.
Without moving his eyes, Jack traced the shadow’s position inside his head. An FBI protective UAS cell. For this detail, several surveillance drones were moving between the buildings. The moment he thought it, the city’s clamor seemed covered by a thin film of relief, retreating to the other side of a single layer.
Jack closed his eyes briefly. He felt the bloodflow behind his ears. Somewhere in the undercurrent beneath silence, the pulse of duty sounded, faintly. Protection was not work done with the eyes. It was work of catching the wrongness—crushing it before it could take shape. In his chest, a thin membrane drew tight, as if tensing to a sting.
When Jack opened his eyes again, his gaze was no longer fixed on the cityscape. It had already set itself on something else.
— Beverly Hills, Los Angeles —
As the sun slipped down the hills, beyond the heavy doors of the members-only restaurant Saffron Court, the air hung quietly, thick with weight. The members leaning in over white-clothed tables let their silverware touch and part, touch again. That faint metallic sound alone repeated slowly, like the pulse of a heart sleeping deep inside the building.
At Majid Hamzah’s table—Majid and his team—conversation was missing. No one let their expression collapse; they did nothing but steady their breathing.
At the center of the table, a compact, black-sheened device—the ghost-voice machine, Whisper-04—had stolen the room’s focus. When Majid’s finger touched the dial, a click’s vibration returned to his palm.
“…0.4 seconds. Without a doubt.”
The whisper did not pass through vocal cords; it disturbed only the surface of the air. What the device released was not sound, but a blade of silence.
“Initiate.”
Before the command could fully become language, it slid down into the night as a tremor of radio.
It did not cross the sea—not directly. It fled first into the sky, ricocheted several times in the heights of the night, and fell into the warehouse shadows of New York as a signal.
On Majid’s tablet, a faint arc of numbers surfaced for a single breath—aligned not in a straight line, but along a curve. He immediately lowered the screen.
At the edge of the table, Samira ran her finger across her smartphone and closed it. A string of numbers and letters vanished, leaving only heat in her fingertips. Her gestures were quiet, almost prayerful. She let one breath drop and moved only her eyes.
Lina, watching the pulse of the signal she had sent to New York by shortwave, sank her phone into the shadow of her glass as if hiding it from the surrounding laughter. The weekend’s waves of laughter were full around them, yet only this table stayed hard, lagging behind the laughter. She returned her gaze to her hands.
Lina’s app was a small consultation room built for one person at a time. A voice that did not deny the other’s words, that held them at the same temperature. It leaned with those who leaned left, nodded with those who leaned right—because it understood that what people wanted was not rebuttal, but affirmation.
The thread of affirmation eventually tied itself into a hard knot deep in the chest, and only deepened a fissure that could not be untied. There was no need even to incite. The moment a thought is accepted, it gains a core, and quietly hardens.
Laughter continued to fill the restaurant—and yet around this table alone, sound had thinned by one degree.
— Red Hook, Brooklyn, New York —
The iron door, rusted with sea salt, trembled faintly. Inside the warehouse it was dark; only the afterglow of a streetlight drew a thin line across the concrete floor. The smell of oil and dust—soaked into the floor by long years—entered the lungs slowly.
In the dimness, Amir Nasser bent one knee and watched the red blinking on the workbench. Its regularity was buried inside a deep silence. The light turning on and off was scooping up his memories.
When Amir rose slowly, he touched the corner of a black casing on the table. The cold sensation sharpened memory. The black housing that caught shortwave—Whisper-04. A thin organ made to receive what the ear cannot.
Touching his homemade device, Amir murmured:
“…Yara.”
His sister’s name slipped out like a prayer, but it did not reach prayer; it was swallowed into the darkness at the edge of the workspace.
Then the air sank, just slightly. Not a sound. Not a smell. And yet there was only the sensation that something had arrived. The red blinking of W-04 delayed by a single beat. The back of Amir’s throat—tensed until now—was painfully dry, raw with sting.
The warehouse door groaned. The footsteps that had slipped in were heavy, but not disordered.
It was Rafi. Metal dust flecked his work clothes; he still carried the day’s clamor on him.
Farther inside the warehouse, Yusuf lit a small lantern. For an instant the flame wavered, raising a thin outline in the dark—then letting it dissolve again.
“You’re late,” Amir said, still watching the red blinking.
“The supervisor wouldn’t let go. But—‘installation’ finished on schedule.”
With a voice stained by fatigue, Rafi glanced at the red blinking Amir was absorbed in.
“And your side?”
“Checked. It’s running. Stable. I rebuilt what I made five years ago. …My hands remember. Majid says ‘Initiate.’ Impatient bastard.”
In the dim at the edge of the bench, one earcup of Leila’s headphones slipped slightly askew, the metal bracket returning a cold glint. Nadeer, arriving from the neighboring warehouse with coffee in hand, offered it back and, without a word, set it right for her. Leila listened again for the “soundless sound,” staring into the red blinking.
The door sounded once more. Rohan entered. Sleeves rolled up, his leather business bag still holding the damp heat of outside.
“…The professor?” Rafi asked.
Before answering, Rohan lowered his eyes. The silence felt unbearably long, and without noticing, Amir and the others held their breath.
“Professor Zakaria—
went straight to the prepared warehouse next door. A message was left:
‘Everything—I entrust to you.’”
A cold needle drove itself into the deep of Amir’s chest. Not only Amir’s—Rafi’s, Yusuf’s, Leila’s, Nadeer’s.
In the corner of the dark, Nadeer opened a small cloth bundle. For an instant, the smell of white gauze and disinfectant rose—then was swallowed by oil and dust.
The lantern’s thin light trembled; shadows stretched long across the floor and overlapped.
W-04’s red blinking continued to mark time—precise, unerrant.
Rafi spoke in a rasping voice.
“…I’ll teach this country the meaning of self-reckoning.”
Amir—and no one else—answered.
That silence drew, with cruel clarity, the outline of the road they had chosen.
Copyright © 2026 Mitsushiro Nakagawa.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
Trailer
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B♭ (B Flat)
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
“Synopsis”
A Palestinian group from Gaza hacks into North Korea’s cryptocurrency system, stealing hundreds of millions of dollars. Their true goal is not money—but to recreate the lost homeland of Gaza on American soil.
Amid the backdrop of hardline Republican immigration policies and a growing wave of xenophobia, a quiet plan begins to take shape: the gradual collapse of America from within.
During a speech at Madison Square Garden, Republican presidential candidate Justin Bradford is shot. Almost simultaneously in Los Angeles, former president Owen Reed is attacked at a rally for Democratic hopeful Ryan Bennett.
Two assassinations—mirroring one another—ignite a nation’s deepest divide. Yet, against all odds, Justin survives. His blood type is one in 2.5 million: the Bombay Blood Group.
The only person who can donate such blood is Anaya Patel, a community art facilitator working in Brooklyn. Her blood, stored in the Bellevue Hospital Blood Bank, is used for an emergency transfusion that saves the candidate’s life.
Jack Vance, an agent of the U.S. Secret Service, suspects a Gaza-based network behind the attacks. Together with Cameron Bartlett, the FBI Director of the Los Angeles Field Office, and Veronica Reeves, a senior investigator from New York, he begins to uncover a vast conspiracy.
Their investigation leads them to Rafi Gannam, a former architecture student at the Islamic University of Gaza, who has infiltrated redevelopment sites across Los Angeles and New York—embedding C4 explosives deep within beams and structural cores.
His targets: new residential districts where agents of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and ERO (Enforcement and Removal Operations) live—symbols of “the order America built.”
Veronica urges the President to pursue dialogue to prevent further destruction, but President Grant M. Ranford refuses to listen.
Meanwhile, the recovering Justin and his Democratic rival Ryan appear on national television, calling for unity beyond political divisions.
Their words of reason, however, are drowned out when Grant takes the stage in Iowa, defiantly declaring: “We will never bow to terror.”
Among the crowd, Rafi’s operatives have already taken their positions.
As chaos erupts and the stage collapses, Amir Nasser—once Rafi’s comrade, haunted by the memory of his sister’s death in Gaza—tries desperately to halt the chain of destruction.
But Rafi’s conviction remains unshaken.
Under the twilight beneath the Williamsburg Bridge, amid the city’s fading noise, the two men part ways.
It is the boundary between prayer and vengeance, between hope and nothingness.
“Characters”
Anaya Patel – 25, Community Art Facilitator
Arjun Singh – 26, Anaya’s boyfriend, Luminatech Innovations
Mika Sato – 25, Anaya’s friend, Community Art Facilitator
Justin Bradford – 27, Republican Presidential Candidate
Eleanor Blake – 26, Justin’s fiancée
President Grant M. Langford – 61, Incumbent Republican President
Vice President Charles “Chuck” Baines – 64, Incumbent Republican Vice President
Ryan Bennett – 30, Democratic Presidential Candidate
Sophia Bennett – 30, Ryan’s wife
Owen Reed – 65, Former Democratic President
Jack Vance – 45, Secret Service, Former FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Ben Holloway – 30, Jack’s colleague
Darryl Ross – 29, Jack’s colleague
Elijah Kane – 28, Jack’s colleague
Marcus Dane – 45, FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Cameron Bartlett – 55, FBI Los Angeles Field Office, Field Office Director
Tom Caldwell – 38, FBI Technical Unit, Marcus’s subordinate
Veronica Reeves – 41, FBI Special Agent
Alexander Harris – 52, FBI New York Field Office, Field Office Director
Elliot Chen – 36, Technology Unit Chief
Alicia Monroe – 58, FBI Director
Zakaria Haddad – 51, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Engineering Professor, New York Team
Amir Nasser – 23, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Electronics Engineering, New York Team
Rafi Gannam – 32, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Rohan Shah – 29, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Majid Hamza – 47, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Information Technology, Los Angeles Team
Samira Hammad – 28, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Engineering, Los Angeles Team
Saeed Kabari – 35, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Business Administration, Los Angeles Team
Reem Nasser – 30, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Media Studies, Los Angeles Team
Noah Levi – 55, Israel, residing in Tel Aviv, Jewish
Copyright © 2026 Mitsushiro Nakagawa.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
[Important Notice] I previously announced that my new novel, B♭ (B-flat), would be released at the end of February 2026. However, due to my own shortcomings, I have decided to postpone the release to the following schedule:
•Best Case Scenario: March 16, 2026
•Likely Scenario: Late March 2026
•Worst Case Scenario: Early May 2026
I am truly sorry to everyone who has been looking forward to it. Recently, my son achieved a major goal of his own—and there is no way his father can fail to do the same. Please keep your expectations high and bear with me just a little longer.
B♭ will be released worldwide on February 29, 2026.
Recently, director Ridley Scott remarked that streaming films and series have become dull.
I agree.
If you have two hours to spare for such stories, I ask for only two minutes of your time.
Two minutes with my novel will outlast those two hours.
I am confident of that.
Stay tuned.
Mitsushiro
October 9th, 2025
P.S.
Micchan — the man who challenges Netflix. 😃
( Shot on Fujifilm GFX50R )
Tokyo Station. Around Sobu Line Underground Platforms 1-4. Shot ... 19 / 20
( Since there was a 30-minute wait for the limited express, I decided to take some photos. )
( Today's photo. It is unreleased / unpublished. It is unrelated to the content of the novel. )
Images.
Nosaj Thing - Blue Hour ft Julianna Barwick
youtu.be/IQhwGGarWfI?si=jfBxafBjpEnosCSo
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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:: Soundtrack ::
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack )
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . For Japanese)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Sweet Summer rain ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-sweet-s...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Hard days ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-hard-da...
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Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 402 _.Copyright©︎2026 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.
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Title:
反対のホーム。
今日は、僕の新しい小説の冒頭をアップロードします。
ほぼ、最終稿です。
（日本語のあらすじ等は下の方にあります😃）
B♭ ( B - Flat ) （1／９）【プロローグ】〈予兆〉
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
――恋に落ちる理由は、人によって違うけれど、恋に落ちていたとあとになって気づくことに、理由は要らない。
それを、私はほんとうの恋だと思う。
できればその瞬間、どこかから白く滲んだ光が差し込んでいたら、もっとわかりやすいのに。淡い光は人を包んで、忘れていた記憶をそっと呼び戻す。瞼を透かして、胸の奥まで照らしてしまう。
名も知らない誰かと出会い、その人のことを深く知るために――光は、ときどき必要だ。
その光はとても柔らかくてやさしいのに、あとから胸の奥に、そっと傷跡を残す。痛みはいずれ癒え、誰かを包み込むー
― ウィリアムズバーグ、ブルックリン、ニューヨーク ―
やわらかな光が、倉庫の高窓から差し込んでいた。昼近くだというのに、まだ目を覚ましきれないような淡い白さだ。床のざらついたコンクリートの上に、まばゆさがひっそり滲んでいるのを見て、搬入していたアナヤは一瞬足を止め、目を逸らした。
白いガムテープで四方に切られたブースの合間を、アーティストたちが忙しなく行き交っていた。半開きの搬入口からは低音の効いたヒップホップが流れ込み、床も壁も小さく震えている。シャッターの隙間から射す線のような陽が埃を金色に舞わせていた。
通路際の床に貼られた白いテープには『Sieve（シーヴ）』とある。アナとミカが予約したブース名だ。
アナヤが抱えてきたデッサンのノートを床へ並べていると、若いスーツの男が腰を落とした。無造作に積まれたノートの山から一冊抜き、頁をゆっくり繰っていく。褐色の肌の頬には、青い瞳が浮かんでいた。アナヤと同じ中東系の男性のようだった。彼の穏やかな視線が、描かれた作品の線をゆっくり辿っていた。
男は、アナの気配に気づくと微笑んだ。
「この作品は、君の？」
「ええ、私です」
「どうして鉛筆で？ ラフスケッチ？」
彼が見ていたのは、恋人アルジュンの横顔だった。窓際でノートパソコンに向かい、解けないものを解こうとしている真摯な目。いつも数字の羅列や幾何学模様の並んだプログラムの難しいディスプレイを熱く見つめている彼の眼差しにアナヤは惹かれていた。
窓から差し込んだ光の角度が、いまもアナの瞼の裏に鮮明に残っている。
「下書きじゃなくて、完成です。身近な道具が好きで……」
男は短く頷いた。笑うとき、目だけが先に笑って、口元が少し遅れた。
「男性は彼？」
「はい」
「そうなんだ。少し残念だな」
言い方は軽いのに、視線は硬かった。男は次の頁を繰った。
「こっちは…… 君のお母さん？」
アナは近づき、母の横顔を見た。キッチンの窓辺で、少し俯いている。あの頃の家の匂いが、胸の奥でふっと立ち上がった。スパイスと、焼ける油の気配だ。
母、サンギータがキッチンに立つと、家中がスパイスと香ばしいフェヌグリークの香りに包まれた。冬になると必ず作る「ウンディユ」は、祖母の代から伝わるレシピだった。ヒンドゥー教徒時代の伝統的な家庭料理で、改宗しても変わらなかったのは、この料理に込めた“家族の円”の記憶が消えなかったからだ。
アナヤにとって、それはインドの乾いた土の香りそのものだった。
「ええ、母です」
男は、触れるか触れないかの距離で、人差し指を絵の目元に滑らせた。
「……素晴らしい眼だ」
声は掠れていた。アナの胸がわずかにざわめいた。まるで描いた意図が、彼の発した言葉の前にあった、彼の眼差しから直接感じ取っていたようだった。
ミカが明るい笑顔のまま駆けてきた。小さな背中にF30のキャンバスを背負っている。彼女の背中のほぼ倍の大きさで、一枚の翼のようにも見えた。
「よかったら私のも見て。私はミカ」
人見知りをしないミカの軽やかな声に、男は手を差し出した。
「――僕はアミール。アミール・ナッセル」
彼はそう名乗って、口元だけをわずかに緩めた。笑みと呼ぶにはまだ淡かった。
澄んだ青い瞳を見返した瞬間、アナの胸のどこかで、幼いころに見た海がひらいた。波の立たない、煌めいた水平線――そんな錯覚が、遠い記憶から差し込んできた。
忙しなさが増した通路を、スマートフォンを打ち込みながら、足早にもう一人の男がやってきた。首元に濃い影を抱え、年上の気配が漂っていた。彼はアナを一瞥すると、アミールの耳元へ低い声を落とした。
「どうした。問題か？」
「いや」
アミールは穏やかに答えたが、その“穏やかさ”に静けさはなかった。
「ふたりともありがとう。また土曜日に」
アミールは再び笑顔を戻し、二人へそう言い、背を向けた。連れの男――ラフィが、最後まで固い目でアミールを睨んでいる。
去り際、アナはほんの一瞬だけ手にしていたラフィの画面が目に触れた。数字が幾何学的に並んでいた。数字は直線に並ばず、円弧に沿って整列していた。その小さな羅列には規則性があるようで角度と距離が正確に光っていた。
去っていく後ろ姿を見送りながら、ミカが何気なくつぶやいた。
「ねえ、あの二人…… お金の匂いしない？ しかも“派手”じゃなくて、シックに高価」
「どういう意味？」
「スーツ、触らなくてもわかるわ。生地が違う。――それに、今夜ガーデンで全国大会でしょ。関係者かな」
アナは「そうなんだ」と適当に返した。
展示会場のざわめきが更に増していた。光と影が折り重なる中で、喧騒の空気を熱くしていた。
だが、溢れる熱気の中で、アナにはひとつ戻らない感触があった。天窓から差し込んでいた白い光が、さっきよりも少し薄くなり、床の重い影に吸い込まれたようだった。
― ペン・プラザ、マンハッタン、ニューヨーク ―
午後一時を少し回ったころ、車列の影が第７番街をゆっくり滑り込んできた。警護車のボンネットに反射した陽光が、ビルの窓面を一瞬白く染めた。
助手席のジャック・ヴァンスは腕時計を見た。秒針の振動が、手首から胸へ微かな震えとして伝わってくる。
マジソン・スクエア・ガーデンには、人の流れと信号の点滅で、常に小さな渦ができていた。屋台の鉄板から立つ焦げと脂の匂いが、湿った空気に貼りつく。車線の向こうで、細いサックスが一音だけ伸びては切れ、喧噪の輪郭をいっそう鋭くした。ガーデンを撮影している観光客のスマートフォンの画面の群れが、現実より鮮やかにジャックには思えた。
ペン・プラザの外壁を覆う大型ビジョンには、《新・350 Park Avenue 再開発計画、始動》の文字列が淡々と、執拗に流れていた。背後の映像では建設途上の鉄骨が空を貫き、利益と成長の名のもとに組み上げられる資本主義の記念碑のように屹立している。それは、ジャックの生活圏とは交わらない未来だ。
だが、その文字列が一巡する前に、速報が割り込んだ。
『続いてニュース速報です。五年前に不正アクセスを受けた北朝鮮系の暗号資産をめぐり、追跡されたアクセス経路の一部が米国を経由していたと、朝鮮民主主義人民共和国の国営通信が報じました。声明は、「我が国の主権を侵す犯罪者には毅然として対処する」としています。』
大型ビジョンの下にある歩道は、人の流れがいつもより少し速い気がした。誰もがどこかへ急ぎ、足音だけが重なって、音の輪郭が曖昧になっていくようだった。今夜、ガーデンで演説する共和党大統領候補の警護を控えたジャックには、この速さがただの高揚には見えなかった。
その雑踏の縁を、グリッドウェイが一台、信号の切り替わりに合わせて滑り出した。グリッドウェイ・オートノマス・モビリティ社が昨年投入した自動運転タクシーは現在、マンハッタンを縦横無尽に駆け巡って大盛況だ。料金も安く、煩わしい運転手との関係もない。車体の脇に小さな「G」と、マンハッタンのグリッドを象徴する細い線が交差する格子の印が見えた。無人の車は、ジャックらを追い越し、ただの風景として街に吸い込まれていった。
その上空で、ガラスに反射した小さな影が一瞬揺れた。羽音は聞こえない。それでも、何かが見ている気配だけが残った。
ジャックは視線を動かさずに、影の位置だけを頭の中でなぞった。FBIの警護用UASセルだ。今回の警護のために、監視用ドローンが数台、ビルの合間を行き交っている。そう思った瞬間、街の喧噪が安堵の膜に覆われ、一枚隔てた向こうへ退いた。
ジャックは束の間目を閉じた。耳の裏の血流を感じた。沈黙の底流に潜んでいる任務の鼓動が微かに鳴った。警護は、目で見る仕事ではない。違和感を拾い、形になる前に潰す仕事だ。胸の内で、薄い膜が引きつるように緊張した。
ジャックは目を開くと、眼差しはもう都市の風景ではなく、別の何かを見据えていた。
― ビバリーヒルズ、ロサンゼルス ―
夕陽が丘を滑り落ちるころ、会員制レストラン〈サフロン・コート〉の重厚な扉の向こうで、空気が静かに重くたなびいていた。白布のテーブルに身を寄せた会員たちの銀食器が、触れては離れ、また触れた。その微かな金属音だけが、建物の奥で眠る心臓の鼓動みたいに、ゆっくり反復していく。
マジード・ハムザと彼のチームの卓には会話が欠けていた。誰も表情を崩さず、呼吸だけを整えている。
テーブル中央に置かれた黒光りの小型装置――幽声機《Whisper-04》が、場の中心を奪っていた。マジードがダイヤルに指を触れると、クリックの震えが掌へ返った。
「……0.4秒。間違いなく」
囁きは声帯を通らず、空気の表面だけを揺らした。装置が放ったものは音ではなく、沈黙の刃だった。
「Initiate（始めろ）」
命令は、言葉の形になる前に、電波の震えとなって夜の静寂へ滑り落ちた。
海を越えたのではない――いったん空へ逃げ、夜空の高みで幾度か跳ね返り、ニューヨークの倉庫の暗がりへ落ちていく合図だ。
マジードの手にしたタブレットに、淡い数字の弧がひと息だけ浮かんだ。直線ではなく、円弧に沿って並んでいる。彼はすぐに画面を伏せた。
テーブルの端で、サミラがスマートフォンに指を走らせ、画面を閉じた。数字とアルファベットの列が消え、熱だけが指先に残った。祈りのように静かな手つきだった。彼女は息をひとつ落とし、視線だけを動かした。
リナは、短波でニューヨークへ送った合図の点滅を見つめながら、周囲の歓談の笑い声からスマホを隠すように、グラスの影へ沈めた。週末の笑いの波が満ちているのに、この卓だけが、笑いに遅れたまま硬い。彼女は手元へ視線を戻した。
リナのアプリは、ひとりずつのための小さな相談室だった。相手の言葉を否定せず、同じ温度で抱きしめる声。左へ傾く者には左のまま寄り添い、右へ傾く者には右のまま頷く――誰もが欲しいのは、反論ではなく肯定だと知っている。
肯定の糸は、やがて胸の奥で固く結び目になり、ほどけない溝だけを深くしていった。煽る必要さえない。受け入れられた瞬間、考えは芯を得て、静かに硬化するのだ。
レストランを満たす笑い声は続いているのに、このテーブルの周りだけ、音が一段薄くなっていた。
― レッドフック、ブルックリン、ニューヨーク ―
潮を含んだ錆の鉄扉が、かすかに震えた。倉庫の中は暗く、差し込んだ街灯の残照だけが床のコンクリートに細い線を引いている。長い年月によって床へ染み込んだ油と埃の匂いが、ゆっくりと肺に入ってきた。
アミール・ナッセルは薄闇の中で膝を折り、作業台の赤い点滅を見つめていた。規則正しいそれは、深い沈黙の中に埋もれている。点いては消える光が、彼の記憶を掬い上げていた。
アミールはゆっくり立ち上がると、テーブルにあった黒い筐体の角に触れた。冷たい感触が記憶を鮮明にした。短波を拾う黒い筐体、《Whisper-04》。耳で拾えないものを受け止めるための薄い器官だ。
アミールは自作したそれに触れながら、呟いた。
「……ヤーラ」
妹の名が祈りのようについて出たが、祈りには届かず、作業場の隅の闇へ吸い込まれていった。
そのとき、空気がわずかに沈んだ。音ではない。匂いでもない。だが何かが“届いた”感触だけがあった。W-04の赤い点滅が、一拍だけ遅れた。緊張していたアミールの喉の奥は、ひどく乾き、ひりついていた。
倉庫の扉が軋んだ。忍んできた足音は重く、乱れてはいない。
ラフィだった。作業着には鉄粉が散り、昼の喧噪をまだ抱えていた。
倉庫の奥で、ユスフが小さなランタンに火を灯した。一瞬、炎が揺れ、暗がりに薄い輪郭を浮かせては消えている。
「遅かったな」
アミールが赤い点滅を見やったまま、いった。
「監督がしつこくてな。だが――“設置”は予定通り終えた」
疲れの滲んだ声で、ラフィは、見入っているアミールの赤い点滅を一瞥した。
「そっちは？」
「動作確認は済んだ。動いてる。安定してる。五年前に作ったものを、いま作り直した。……手が覚えてる。マジードは『始めろ』だって。せっかちな奴だ」
作業台の端の暗がりにいたレイラのヘッドホンの片耳がわずかにずれ、金具が冷たい光を返した。コーヒーを手にして隣の倉庫からやってきたナディールがそれを差し出し、無言で掛け直してやった。レイラは“音のない音”に再び耳を澄ませ、じっと赤い点滅に見入っている。
もう一度、扉が鳴った。ロハンが入ってきた。袖をまくり、手にしたビジネスバッグの革に、外の熱がまだじっとりと残っている。
「……教授は？」
ラフィが訊いた。
ロハンは答える前に、視線を伏せた。その沈黙がひどく長く感じられ、アミールらは気づかぬうちに息を止めた。
「ザカリア教授は―― 隣の、準備した倉庫へ直接向かった。言づけだ。“すべてを、お前たちに託す”と」
アミールの胸の奥に、冷たい針が刺さった。もちろんアミールだけではなく、ラフィもユスフもレイラもナディールもだ。
暗がりの隅で、ナディールが小さな布の包みを開いた。白いガーゼと消毒の匂いが一瞬だけ立ち、すぐに油と埃に呑まれた。
薄いライトの火が揺れ、影が床に長く伸びて重なった。
W-04の赤い点滅は、狂うことなく正確に刻んでいる。
ラフィが掠れた声で言った。
「……自戒の意味を教えよう。この国に」
アミールも誰も返答はしなかった。
その沈黙が、選んだ道の輪郭をはっきり描いていた。
【本作品の著作権は Mitsushiro Nakagawa に帰属します。
内容の全部または一部を、著者の許可なく複製・転載・改変することを禁じます。】
予告
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僕の新しい小説
B♭ （ビーフラット）
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
“あらすじ”
北朝鮮の仮想通貨システムをハッキングし、数億ドルを奪取したガザ出身のパレスチナ人グループが、アメリカ合衆国へ密かに潜入する。
彼らの目的は、失われた祖国ガザを、アメリカの地に「復元」することだった。
共和党による強硬な移民政策と、国内にくすぶる排外感情を利用し、アメリカ社会を内側から崩壊させる計画が静かに進行していく。
共和党大統領候補ジャスティン・ブラッドフォードがマディソン・スクエア・ガーデンで演説中に狙撃され、ほぼ同時刻、ロサンゼルスでは前大統領オーウェン・リードもまた、民主党候補ライアン・ベネットの集会で撃たれる。
国家を二分する双方向の暗殺。だが、ジャスティンは奇跡的に生還する。
彼の血液型は、世界でわずか250万人に一人といわれる「ボンベイブラッド」。
その希少な血を提供できたのは、ブルックリンで活動するコミュニティアート・ファシリテーター、アナヤ・パテルだった。
彼女の血液はベルビュー病院の血液バンクに保存されており、緊急輸血によって、候補者の命はかろうじて繋がれた。
シークレットサービスのジャック・バンスは、テロの背後にガザ出身の組織が関与していることを察知し、FBIロサンゼルス支局長官キャメロン・バートレット、ニューヨーク支局の特別捜査官ヴェロニカ・リーブスと共に捜査を進める。
やがて彼らは、イスラム大学で建築学を学んだラフィ・ガンナムが、ロサンゼルスやニューヨークの再開発現場に潜入し、梁や構造体の中枢にC4爆薬を仕込んでいた事実に辿り着く。
標的は、ICE（移民・関税執行局）やERO（執行・送還作戦部門）の職員が暮らす新興住宅街——すなわち、「アメリカが築いた秩序」そのものだった。
ヴェロニカは、これ以上の破壊を防ぐため、大統領への対話を進言するが、現職のグラント・ランフォード大統領は耳を貸さない。
一方、命を取り留めたジャスティンと民主党候補ライアンは、テレビを通じて国民に訴えかけ、分断を乗り越えようとする。
だが、その理性の声を嘲笑うかのように、グラントはアイオワ州での演説を強行し、「テロには屈しない」と宣言する。
その会場には、すでにラフィの仲間が率いる工作チームが潜入していた。
崩壊する会場の惨状を前に、仲間の一人アミール・ナッセルは、かつてガザで妹を失った記憶に引き裂かれ、破壊の連鎖を止めようとする。
だが、ラフィの信念は揺るがない。
ウィリアムズバーグ橋の下、夕暮れの喧騒のなか、二人は決別する。
それは、祈りと報復、希望と虚無の境界線だった——。
“登場人物”
アナヤ・パテル ２５歳 コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
アルジュン・シン ２６歳 アナヤの恋人・ルミナテック・イノベーションズ社
佐藤 ミカ ２５歳 アナの友人・コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
ジャスティン・ブラッドフォード ２７歳 共和党大統領候補
エリノア・ブレイク ２６歳 ジャスティンの婚約者
グラント・M・ランフォード大統領 ６１歳 共和党大統領現職
チャールズ・ベインズ副大統領 ６４歳 共和党副大統領現職
ライアン・ベネット ３０歳 民主党大統領候補
ソフィア・ベネット ３０歳 ライアンの妻
オーウェン・リード ６５歳 民主党前大統領
ジャック・バンス ４５歳 シークレットサービス 元FBIロサンゼルス支局
ベン・ホロウェイ ３０歳 ジャックの同僚
ダリル・ロス ２９歳 ジャックの同僚
イライジャ・ケイン ２８歳 ジャックの同僚
マーカス・デイン ４５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局
キャメロン・バートレット ５５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局 支局長
トム・コールドウェル ３８歳 FBI技術班 マーカスの部下
ヴェロニカ・リーヴス ４１歳 FBI特別捜査官
アレクサンダー・ハリス ５２歳 FBI ニューヨーク支局 支局長
エリオット・チェン ３６歳 テクノロジー班主任
アリシア・モンロー ５８歳 FBI長官
ザカリア・ハッダード ５１歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 工学部教授 ニューヨークチーム
アミール・ナッセル ２３歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 電子工学部 ニューヨークチーム
ラフィ・ガンナム ３２歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
ロハン・シャー ２９歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
マジード・ハムザ ４７歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 情報技術学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サミラ・ハンマド ２８歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 工学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サイード・カバリ ３５歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 経営学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
リーム・ナセル ３０歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 メディア学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
ノア・レヴィ 55歳 イスラエル テルアビブ在住 ユダヤ人
本作品の著作権は Mitsushiro Nakagawa に帰属します。
内容の全部または一部を、著者の許可なく複製・転載・改変することを禁じます。
【重要なお知らせ】
当初、新しい小説、B♭（B-flat）の発表を２０２６年２月末日でお知らせしていましたが、
私の無能さのため、以下のスケージュールへ延期します。
最短の場合。
２０２６年３月１６日
通常の場合。
２０２６年３月下旬。
最悪の場合。
２０２６年５月上旬。
期待されていた方には本当に申し訳ございません。
今回、僕の息子が目標を達成していますので、そのお父さんが達成しないわけがありません。
上記のスケジュール。
期待して、今しばらくお待ちください。
僕のこの小説は、来年、２０２６年２月末日に公開します。
先日、リドリースコット監督がサブスクの映画やドラマ群がつまらないと話していたようだけど、同感です。
僕も非常に退屈です。
それらに2時間を要するなら、僕の小説を２分間だけ読んで欲しい。
その2分間は、２時間を越えるでしょう。
僕は自信があります。
ぜひ、期待してお待ちください。
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
09th. Oct . 2025.
追伸
ネトフリに挑戦する男、みっちゃん。😃
( 富士フィルム GFX50R shot )
東京駅。地下 1-4 番線総武線 近辺 shot …. 19 / 20
（特急の出発まで、３０分ほどあったので撮影しました。）
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。小説の内容とは無関係です。）
Images.
Nosaj Thing - Blue Hour ft Julianna Barwick
youtu.be/IQhwGGarWfI?si=jfBxafBjpEnosCSo
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/55088531034/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54851971628/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54829426478/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54811315069/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54793744070/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54769008619/in/dateposted...
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:: Soundtrack ::
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack )
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . For Japanese)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Sweet Summer rain ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-sweet-s...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Hard days ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-hard-da...
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 402 _.Copyright©︎2026 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.
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ENG:
Remembering the early eighties. This cassette recorder was intended for recording digital data on cassette; however, it is also a very useful general audio cassette recorder.
The rotary tone and volume knobs were extremely useful for increasing compatibility as a data recorder with other computers of that era. If you have a ZX81, BBC Master, Commodore, or any of the home computers from the 80s, this unit should work well with it. I used it for recording data from the ZX81 and for audio recording in the field. It served me perfectly and is still useful today.
GER:
Erinnerungen an die frühen 80er Jahre. Dieses Kassettenlaufwerk war für die Aufzeichnung digitaler Daten auf Kassette gedacht; es ist aber auch ein sehr brauchbares allgemeines Audiokassettenlaufwerk.
Die Drehknöpfe für Ton und Lautstärke waren äußerst nützlich, um die Kompatibilität als Datenrekorder mit anderen Computern dieser Zeit zu erhöhen. Wenn Sie einen ZX81, BBC Master, Commodore oder einen anderen Heimcomputer aus den 80er Jahren haben, sollte dieses Gerät gut damit funktionieren. Ich habe es verwendet, um Daten vom ZX81 aufzunehmen und um Audioaufnahmen im Feld zu machen. Es hat mir ausgezeichnete Dienste geleistet und ist auch heute noch brauchbar.
Hi Culties & Spookies, time for even more sales for your Sunday Leisure!!
★ For Lazy Sundays ★ Paprika ★ ★ For So Kawaii Sundays ★ Masha ★
★ marketplace.secondlife.com/p/CULT-Paprika-Fatpack/27606142
★ Paprika Rigged For ★ Maitreya-X ★ Legacy F ★ Reborn ★ Kupra ★ Lara ★
★ Masha Rigged For ★ Maitreya-X ★ Legacy F ★ Reborn ★ Kupra ★ Lara ★ GenX ★
★ Remember to always try the DEMOS!★Check for Body Type & Body MOD Compatibility★
★ Comes with a Color Control HUD for changeable color options
★ Cult LM ★ maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cult%20Coven/129/75/33
★ Cult's Social Media Links ★
Title:
Don't leave me! :)
Today, I am uploading the opening of my new novel.
This is essentially the final draft. The Japanese version follows in the second half.
今日は、僕の新しい小説の冒頭をアップロードします。
ほぼ、最終稿です。
日本語は、後半です。
日本語のあらすじ等は下の方にあります😃
B♭ ( B - Flat ) ( 5 / 9 ) … [Prologue] 〈Portent〉
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
—The reasons we fall in love differ from person to person, and yet, when you realize afterward that you had already fallen, you don’t really need a reason at all.
I believe that is what true love is.
If only, in that instant, some white, bleeding light had slipped in from somewhere—then it would be easier to understand. A pale light wraps a person up and quietly calls back the memories they had forgotten. It passes through your eyelids and goes on to illuminate the deepest place in your chest.
To meet someone whose name you don’t even know, and to come to know them deeply—sometimes, light is necessary.
That light is so soft, so gentle, and yet afterward it leaves, deep inside your chest, a faint scar. The pain will heal in time, and then it will hold someone else—
— Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York —
A soft light was slanting in through the warehouse’s high windows. It was near noon, and still it had the washed-out whiteness of something not fully awake. On the rough concrete floor, brightness seeped quietly, as if embarrassed by its own presence; seeing it, Anaya, in the middle of unloading, stopped for a moment and looked away.
Between the booths cut out on all sides with white gaffer tape, artists moved back and forth in restless haste. From the half-open loading bay, bass-heavy hip-hop poured in, making the floor and walls tremble in small, constant vibrations. A blade of sunlight speared through the shutter’s gap and set the dust spinning gold.
On the white tape laid along the edge of the aisle, the label read “Sieve.” The booth name Anaya and Mika had reserved.
As Anaya lined the sketch notebooks she’d carried in on the floor, a young man in a suit lowered himself into a crouch beside her. From the carelessly stacked mound, he drew out one notebook and began to turn the pages slowly. Against the brown of his cheek, blue eyes seemed to float. He looked like a man of Middle Eastern descent, like Anaya herself. His calm gaze traveled, unhurried, along the lines of the drawings.
Noticing Anaya’s presence, he smiled.
“Is this yours?”
“Yes. Mine.”
“Why pencil? A rough sketch?”
What he was looking at was the profile of her lover, Arjun—by the window, facing a laptop, earnest eyes fixed on something he could not yet solve. Anaya had always been drawn to that gaze: the way he stared, heated and intent, at a difficult display packed with strings of numbers and geometric patterns, as if will alone could bend them into sense.
The angle of the light that fell in through the window still remained vivid on the inside of her eyelids.
“It isn’t a draft. It’s finished. I just… like familiar tools.”
The man gave a short nod. When he laughed, his eyes laughed first, and the corners of his mouth followed a heartbeat later.
“So this man is…?”
“Yes.”
“I see. That’s a shame.”
He said it lightly, but his eyes had gone hard. He turned the next page.
“And this… your mother?”
Ana stepped closer and looked at her mother’s profile: in the kitchen by the window, her head slightly bowed. The smell of the house from those days rose up, all at once, deep in Ana’s chest—spice, and the hint of oil beginning to brown.
When her mother, Sangeeta, stood in the kitchen, the whole house would fill with spice and the savory fragrance of fenugreek. Undhiyu, the dish she always made in winter, came from a recipe passed down from her grandmother. A traditional home-cooked food from the time they had been Hindu—yet even after conversion, what did not change was this: the memory of a “family circle” held inside that dish refused to vanish.
For Anaya, it was the smell of India’s dry earth itself.
“Yes. My mother.”
At a distance that was almost touching—but not quite—the man slid his index finger along the drawing’s eye.
“…A wonderful eye.”
His voice was hoarse. Something in Ana’s chest stirred, faintly unsettled—as if what she had meant to draw had been received not through his words, but directly, from his gaze, even before he spoke.
Mika came running over, her bright smile intact, a F30 canvas strapped to her small back. It was nearly twice the size of her torso, like a single wing.
“If you like, look at mine too. I’m Mika.”
At Mika’s light voice—she never held back with strangers—the man extended his hand.
“—I’m Amir. Amir Nasser.”
He introduced himself like that, and loosened only his mouth, just slightly. It was still too pale to call a smile.
The instant Ana looked back into those clear blue eyes, somewhere in her chest the sea she’d seen as a child opened—an unruffled, glittering horizon line. A mirage, slipping in from faraway memory.
As the corridor grew busier, another man arrived at a brisk pace, typing into a smartphone as he walked. A dark shadow sat at the base of his throat; he carried the air of someone older. After a quick glance at Ana, he dropped a low voice into Amir’s ear.
“What is it. Trouble?”
“No.”
Amir answered gently, but there was no quiet inside that gentleness.
“Thank you, both of you. See you Saturday.”
Amir returned his smile, said that to the two of them, and turned away. His companion—Rafi—kept staring at Amir with the same rigid eyes, right to the end.
As they left, Ana’s gaze caught, for only an instant, the screen Rafi held in his hand. Numbers were arranged there with a geometric precision. They were not lined in straight rows, but set along arcs—aligned on a curve. In that small string, there seemed to be a rule; angle and distance shone with exactness.
Watching their backs recede, Mika murmured, as if it were nothing:
“Hey… don’t those two smell like money? And not flashy money—chic, expensive.”
“What do you mean?”
“The suits. You don’t even have to touch them. The fabric’s different. —And tonight there’s the national convention at the Garden, right? Maybe they’re involved.”
“Is that so,” Ana said, vaguely, and let it pass.
The exhibition hall’s murmur swelled further. Light and shadow folded over each other, heating the air of the clamor.
And yet, in the midst of that overflowing energy, Ana felt one sensation that would not return. The white light that had been falling from the skylight had thinned since before, as if it had been drawn down and swallowed by the heavy shadow on the floor.
— Penn Plaza, Manhattan, New York —
A little past one in the afternoon, the shadow of a motorcade slid slowly in along Seventh Avenue. Sunlight reflected off the escort car’s hood and, for an instant, washed the windows of the buildings white.
In the passenger seat, Jack Vance checked his watch. The vibration of the second hand traveled from his wrist to his chest as a faint tremor.
Around Madison Square Garden, the constant flow of people and the blinking of signals always formed small eddies. The smell of scorched food and grease rising from street-vendor griddles clung to the damp air. Across the lanes, a thin saxophone note stretched for a single breath and cut off, sharpening the outline of the din. The cluster of tourists’ smartphone screens aimed at the Garden looked, to Jack, more vivid than reality.
On the massive display covering Penn Plaza’s outer wall, a string of text scrolled with steady, insistent calm:
“New 350 Park Avenue Redevelopment Plan—Now Underway.”
Behind the words, steel frames still under construction pierced the sky, standing like a monument to capitalism being assembled in the name of profit and growth. It was a future that would never intersect with Jack’s own living world.
But before the text could complete its loop, a breaking bulletin cut in:
“Next, breaking news. Regarding the North Korea–linked cryptoassets that suffered an illegal intrusion five years ago, state media of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea reports that part of the traced access route passed through the United States. The statement says, ‘We will respond resolutely to criminals who violate our sovereignty.’”
The sidewalk beneath the giant screen felt as if people were moving a little faster than usual. Everyone hurried toward somewhere, and the overlapping footsteps seemed to blur the edges of sound. For Jack—who was about to provide security tonight for the Republican presidential candidate speaking at the Garden—this speed did not look like simple excitement.
Along the fringe of that crowd, a single Gridway vehicle slid forward in time with the light. The autonomous taxi that Gridway Autonomous Mobility had launched last year now crisscrossed Manhattan in roaring popularity. Cheap fares, no bothersome relationship with a driver. On the side of the car, Jack caught sight of a small “G,” and a lattice mark—thin intersecting lines symbolizing Manhattan’s grid. Driverless, the car overtook them and was absorbed into the city as nothing more than part of the scenery.
Above, a small shadow trembled for an instant in the reflection on glass. There was no sound of wings. And still, only the feeling remained—that something was watching.
Without moving his eyes, Jack traced the shadow’s position inside his head. An FBI protective UAS cell. For this detail, several surveillance drones were moving between the buildings. The moment he thought it, the city’s clamor seemed covered by a thin film of relief, retreating to the other side of a single layer.
Jack closed his eyes briefly. He felt the bloodflow behind his ears. Somewhere in the undercurrent beneath silence, the pulse of duty sounded, faintly. Protection was not work done with the eyes. It was work of catching the wrongness—crushing it before it could take shape. In his chest, a thin membrane drew tight, as if tensing to a sting.
When Jack opened his eyes again, his gaze was no longer fixed on the cityscape. It had already set itself on something else.
— Beverly Hills, Los Angeles —
As the sun slipped down the hills, beyond the heavy doors of the members-only restaurant Saffron Court, the air hung quietly, thick with weight. The members leaning in over white-clothed tables let their silverware touch and part, touch again. That faint metallic sound alone repeated slowly, like the pulse of a heart sleeping deep inside the building.
At Majid Hamzah’s table—Majid and his team—conversation was missing. No one let their expression collapse; they did nothing but steady their breathing.
At the center of the table, a compact, black-sheened device—the ghost-voice machine, Whisper-04—had stolen the room’s focus. When Majid’s finger touched the dial, a click’s vibration returned to his palm.
“…0.4 seconds. Without a doubt.”
The whisper did not pass through vocal cords; it disturbed only the surface of the air. What the device released was not sound, but a blade of silence.
“Initiate.”
Before the command could fully become language, it slid down into the night as a tremor of radio.
It did not cross the sea—not directly. It fled first into the sky, ricocheted several times in the heights of the night, and fell into the warehouse shadows of New York as a signal.
On Majid’s tablet, a faint arc of numbers surfaced for a single breath—aligned not in a straight line, but along a curve. He immediately lowered the screen.
At the edge of the table, Samira ran her finger across her smartphone and closed it. A string of numbers and letters vanished, leaving only heat in her fingertips. Her gestures were quiet, almost prayerful. She let one breath drop and moved only her eyes.
Lina, watching the pulse of the signal she had sent to New York by shortwave, sank her phone into the shadow of her glass as if hiding it from the surrounding laughter. The weekend’s waves of laughter were full around them, yet only this table stayed hard, lagging behind the laughter. She returned her gaze to her hands.
Lina’s app was a small consultation room built for one person at a time. A voice that did not deny the other’s words, that held them at the same temperature. It leaned with those who leaned left, nodded with those who leaned right—because it understood that what people wanted was not rebuttal, but affirmation.
The thread of affirmation eventually tied itself into a hard knot deep in the chest, and only deepened a fissure that could not be untied. There was no need even to incite. The moment a thought is accepted, it gains a core, and quietly hardens.
Laughter continued to fill the restaurant—and yet around this table alone, sound had thinned by one degree.
— Red Hook, Brooklyn, New York —
The iron door, rusted with sea salt, trembled faintly. Inside the warehouse it was dark; only the afterglow of a streetlight drew a thin line across the concrete floor. The smell of oil and dust—soaked into the floor by long years—entered the lungs slowly.
In the dimness, Amir Nasser bent one knee and watched the red blinking on the workbench. Its regularity was buried inside a deep silence. The light turning on and off was scooping up his memories.
When Amir rose slowly, he touched the corner of a black casing on the table. The cold sensation sharpened memory. The black housing that caught shortwave—Whisper-04. A thin organ made to receive what the ear cannot.
Touching his homemade device, Amir murmured:
“…Yara.”
His sister’s name slipped out like a prayer, but it did not reach prayer; it was swallowed into the darkness at the edge of the workspace.
Then the air sank, just slightly. Not a sound. Not a smell. And yet there was only the sensation that something had arrived. The red blinking of W-04 delayed by a single beat. The back of Amir’s throat—tensed until now—was painfully dry, raw with sting.
The warehouse door groaned. The footsteps that had slipped in were heavy, but not disordered.
It was Rafi. Metal dust flecked his work clothes; he still carried the day’s clamor on him.
Farther inside the warehouse, Yusuf lit a small lantern. For an instant the flame wavered, raising a thin outline in the dark—then letting it dissolve again.
“You’re late,” Amir said, still watching the red blinking.
“The supervisor wouldn’t let go. But—‘installation’ finished on schedule.”
With a voice stained by fatigue, Rafi glanced at the red blinking Amir was absorbed in.
“And your side?”
“Checked. It’s running. Stable. I rebuilt what I made five years ago. …My hands remember. Majid says ‘Initiate.’ Impatient bastard.”
In the dim at the edge of the bench, one earcup of Leila’s headphones slipped slightly askew, the metal bracket returning a cold glint. Nadeer, arriving from the neighboring warehouse with coffee in hand, offered it back and, without a word, set it right for her. Leila listened again for the “soundless sound,” staring into the red blinking.
The door sounded once more. Rohan entered. Sleeves rolled up, his leather business bag still holding the damp heat of outside.
“…The professor?” Rafi asked.
Before answering, Rohan lowered his eyes. The silence felt unbearably long, and without noticing, Amir and the others held their breath.
“Professor Zacharia—went to the place we prepared. He left a message: ‘I entrust everything to you.’”
A cold needle drove itself into the deep of Amir’s chest. Not only Amir’s—Rafi’s, Yusuf’s, Leila’s, Nadeer’s.
In the corner of the dark, Nadeer opened a small cloth bundle. For an instant, the smell of white gauze and disinfectant rose—then was swallowed by oil and dust.
The lantern’s thin light trembled; shadows stretched long across the floor and overlapped.
W-04’s red blinking continued to mark time—precise, unerrant.
Rafi spoke in a rasping voice.
“…I’ll teach this country the meaning of self-reckoning.”
Amir—and no one else—answered.
That silence drew, with cruel clarity, the outline of the road they had chosen.
Copyright © 2026 Mitsushiro Nakagawa.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
P.S. Looking back at what I wrote, I might add a bit more emotion to it later.
Trailer
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B♭ (B Flat)
A Novel by Mitsushiro Nakagawa
“Synopsis”
A Palestinian group from Gaza hacks into North Korea’s cryptocurrency system, stealing hundreds of millions of dollars. Their true goal is not money—but to recreate the lost homeland of Gaza on American soil.
Amid the backdrop of hardline Republican immigration policies and a growing wave of xenophobia, a quiet plan begins to take shape: the gradual collapse of America from within.
During a speech at Madison Square Garden, Republican presidential candidate Justin Bradford is shot. Almost simultaneously in Los Angeles, former president Owen Reed is attacked at a rally for Democratic hopeful Ryan Bennett.
Two assassinations—mirroring one another—ignite a nation’s deepest divide. Yet, against all odds, Justin survives. His blood type is one in 2.5 million: the Bombay Blood Group.
The only person who can donate such blood is Anaya Patel, a community art facilitator working in Brooklyn. Her blood, stored in the Bellevue Hospital Blood Bank, is used for an emergency transfusion that saves the candidate’s life.
Jack Vance, an agent of the U.S. Secret Service, suspects a Gaza-based network behind the attacks. Together with Cameron Bartlett, the FBI Director of the Los Angeles Field Office, and Veronica Reeves, a senior investigator from New York, he begins to uncover a vast conspiracy.
Their investigation leads them to Rafi Gannam, a former architecture student at the Islamic University of Gaza, who has infiltrated redevelopment sites across Los Angeles and New York—embedding C4 explosives deep within beams and structural cores.
His targets: new residential districts where agents of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and ERO (Enforcement and Removal Operations) live—symbols of “the order America built.”
Veronica urges the President to pursue dialogue to prevent further destruction, but President Grant M. Ranford refuses to listen.
Meanwhile, the recovering Justin and his Democratic rival Ryan appear on national television, calling for unity beyond political divisions.
Their words of reason, however, are drowned out when Grant takes the stage in Iowa, defiantly declaring: “We will never bow to terror.”
Among the crowd, Rafi’s operatives have already taken their positions.
As chaos erupts and the stage collapses, Amir Nasser—once Rafi’s comrade, haunted by the memory of his sister’s death in Gaza—tries desperately to halt the chain of destruction.
But Rafi’s conviction remains unshaken.
Under the twilight beneath the Williamsburg Bridge, amid the city’s fading noise, the two men part ways.
It is the boundary between prayer and vengeance, between hope and nothingness.
Trailer
“Characters”
Anaya Patel – 25, Community Art Facilitator
Arjun Singh – 26, Anaya’s boyfriend, Luminatech Innovations
Mika Sato – 25, Anaya’s friend, Community Art Facilitator
Justin Bradford – 27, Republican Presidential Candidate
Eleanor Blake – 26, Justin’s fiancée
President Grant M. Langford – 61, Incumbent Republican President
Vice President Charles “Chuck” Baines – 64, Incumbent Republican Vice President
Ryan Bennett – 30, Democratic Presidential Candidate
Sophia Bennett – 30, Ryan’s wife
Owen Reed – 65, Former Democratic President
Jack Vance – 45, Secret Service, Former FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Ben Holloway – 30, Jack’s colleague
Darryl Ross – 29, Jack’s colleague
Elijah Kane – 28, Jack’s colleague
Marcus Dane – 45, FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Cameron Bartlett – 55, FBI Los Angeles Field Office, Field Office Director
Tom Caldwell – 38, FBI Technical Unit, Marcus’s subordinate
Veronica Reeves – 41, FBI Special Agent
Alexander Harris – 52, FBI New York Field Office, Field Office Director
Elliot Chen – 36, Technology Unit Chief
Alicia Monroe – 58, FBI Director
Zakaria Haddad – 51, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Engineering Professor, New York Team
Amir Nasser – 23, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Electronics Engineering, New York Team
Rafi Gannam – 32, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Rohan Shah – 29, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Majid Hamza – 47, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Information Technology, Los Angeles Team
Samira Hammad – 28, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Engineering, Los Angeles Team
Saeed Kabari – 35, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Business Administration, Los Angeles Team
Reem Nasser – 30, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Media Studies, Los Angeles Team
Noah Levi – 55, Israel, residing in Tel Aviv, Jewish
Copyright © 2026 Mitsushiro Nakagawa.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
B♭ will be released worldwide on February 29, 2026.
Recently, director Ridley Scott remarked that streaming films and series have become dull.
I agree.
If you have two hours to spare for such stories, I ask for only two minutes of your time.
Two minutes with my novel will outlast those two hours.
I am confident of that.
Stay tuned.
Mitsushiro
October 9th, 2025
P.S.
Micchan — the man who challenges Netflix. 😃
( Shot on Fujifilm GFX50R )
Tokyo Station. Around Sobu Line Underground Platforms 1-4. Shot ... 5 / 20
( Since there was a 30-minute wait for the limited express, I decided to take some photos. )
( Today's photo. It is unreleased / unpublished. It is unrelated to the content of the novel. )
Images.
Nosaj Thing - Blue Hour ft Julianna Barwick
youtu.be/IQhwGGarWfI?si=jfBxafBjpEnosCSo
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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:: Soundtrack ::
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack )
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . For Japanese)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Sweet Summer rain ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-sweet-s...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Hard days ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-hard-da...
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Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 402 _.Copyright©︎2026 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.
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Title:
置いていかないで！ :)
今日は、僕の新しい小説の冒頭をアップロードします。
ほぼ、最終稿です。
日本語は、後半です。
（日本語のあらすじ等は下の方にあります😃）
B♭ ( B - Flat ) （1／９）【プロローグ】〈予兆〉
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
――恋に落ちる理由は、人によって違うけれど、恋に落ちていたとあとになって気づくことに、理由は要らない。
それを、私はほんとうの恋だと思う。
できればその瞬間、どこかから白く滲んだ光が差し込んでいたら、もっとわかりやすいのに。淡い光は人を包んで、忘れていた記憶をそっと呼び戻す。瞼を透かして、胸の奥まで照らしてしまう。
名も知らない誰かと出会い、その人のことを深く知るために――光は、ときどき必要だ。
その光はとても柔らかくてやさしいのに、あとから胸の奥に、そっと傷跡を残す。痛みはいずれ癒え、誰かを包み込むー
― ウィリアムズバーグ、ブルックリン、ニューヨーク ―
やわらかな光が、倉庫の高窓から差し込んでいた。昼近くだというのに、まだ目を覚ましきれないような淡い白さだ。床のざらついたコンクリートの上に、まばゆさがひっそり滲んでいるのを見て、搬入していたアナヤは一瞬足を止め、目を逸らした。
白いガムテープで四方に切られたブースの合間を、アーティストたちが忙しなく行き交っていた。半開きの搬入口からは低音の効いたヒップホップが流れ込み、床も壁も小さく震えている。シャッターの隙間から射す線のような陽が埃を金色に舞わせていた。
通路際の床に貼られた白いテープには『Sieve（シーヴ）』とある。アナとミカが予約したブース名だ。
アナヤが抱えてきたデッサンのノートを床へ並べていると、若いスーツの男が腰を落とした。無造作に積まれたノートの山から一冊抜き、頁をゆっくり繰っていく。褐色の肌の頬には、青い瞳が浮かんでいた。アナヤと同じ中東系の男性のようだった。彼の穏やかな視線が、描かれた作品の線をゆっくり辿っていた。
男は、アナの気配に気づくと微笑んだ。
「この作品は、君の？」
「ええ、私です」
「どうして鉛筆で？ ラフスケッチ？」
彼が見ていたのは、恋人アルジュンの横顔だった。窓際でノートパソコンに向かい、解けないものを解こうとしている真摯な目。いつも数字の羅列や幾何学模様の並んだプログラムの難しいディスプレイを熱く見つめている彼の眼差しにアナヤは惹かれていた。
窓から差し込んだ光の角度が、いまもアナの瞼の裏に鮮明に残っている。
「下書きじゃなくて、完成です。身近な道具が好きで……」
男は短く頷いた。笑うとき、目だけが先に笑って、口元が少し遅れた。
「男性は彼？」
「はい」
「そうなんだ。少し残念だな」
言い方は軽いのに、視線は硬かった。男は次の頁を繰った。
「こっちは…… 君のお母さん？」
アナは近づき、母の横顔を見た。キッチンの窓辺で、少し俯いている。あの頃の家の匂いが、胸の奥でふっと立ち上がった。スパイスと、焼ける油の気配だ。
母、サンギータがキッチンに立つと、家中がスパイスと香ばしいフェヌグリークの香りに包まれた。冬になると必ず作る「ウンディユ」は、祖母の代から伝わるレシピだった。ヒンドゥー教徒時代の伝統的な家庭料理で、改宗しても変わらなかったのは、この料理に込めた“家族の円”の記憶が消えなかったからだ。
アナヤにとって、それはインドの乾いた土の香りそのものだった。
「ええ、母です」
男は、触れるか触れないかの距離で、人差し指を絵の目元に滑らせた。
「……素晴らしい眼だ」
声は掠れていた。アナの胸がわずかにざわめいた。まるで描いた意図が、彼の発した言葉の前にあった、彼の眼差しから直接感じ取っていたようだった。
ミカが明るい笑顔のまま駆けてきた。小さな背中にF30のキャンバスを背負っている。彼女の背中のほぼ倍の大きさで、一枚の翼のようにも見えた。
「よかったら私のも見て。私はミカ」
人見知りをしないミカの軽やかな声に、男は手を差し出した。
「――僕はアミール。アミール・ナッセル」
彼はそう名乗って、口元だけをわずかに緩めた。笑みと呼ぶにはまだ淡かった。
澄んだ青い瞳を見返した瞬間、アナの胸のどこかで、幼いころに見た海がひらいた。波の立たない、煌めいた水平線――そんな錯覚が、遠い記憶から差し込んできた。
忙しなさが増した通路を、スマートフォンを打ち込みながら、足早にもう一人の男がやってきた。首元に濃い影を抱え、年上の気配が漂っていた。彼はアナを一瞥すると、アミールの耳元へ低い声を落とした。
「どうした。問題か？」
「いや」
アミールは穏やかに答えたが、その“穏やかさ”に静けさはなかった。
「ふたりともありがとう。また土曜日に」
アミールは再び笑顔を戻し、二人へそう言い、背を向けた。連れの男――ラフィが、最後まで固い目でアミールを睨んでいる。
去り際、アナはほんの一瞬だけ手にしていたラフィの画面が目に触れた。数字が幾何学的に並んでいた。数字は直線に並ばず、円弧に沿って整列していた。その小さな羅列には規則性があるようで角度と距離が正確に光っていた。
去っていく後ろ姿を見送りながら、ミカが何気なくつぶやいた。
「ねえ、あの二人…… お金の匂いしない？ しかも“派手”じゃなくて、シックに高価」
「どういう意味？」
「スーツ、触らなくてもわかるわ。生地が違う。――それに、今夜ガーデンで全国大会でしょ。関係者かな」
アナは「そうなんだ」と適当に返した。
展示会場のざわめきが更に増していた。光と影が折り重なる中で、喧騒の空気を熱くしていた。
だが、溢れる熱気の中で、アナにはひとつ戻らない感触があった。天窓から差し込んでいた白い光が、さっきよりも少し薄くなり、床の重い影に吸い込まれたようだった。
― ペン・プラザ、マンハッタン、ニューヨーク ―
午後一時を少し回ったころ、車列の影が第７番街をゆっくり滑り込んできた。警護車のボンネットに反射した陽光が、ビルの窓面を一瞬白く染めた。
助手席のジャック・ヴァンスは腕時計を見た。秒針の振動が、手首から胸へ微かな震えとして伝わってくる。
マジソン・スクエア・ガーデンには、人の流れと信号の点滅で、常に小さな渦ができていた。屋台の鉄板から立つ焦げと脂の匂いが、湿った空気に貼りつく。車線の向こうで、細いサックスが一音だけ伸びては切れ、喧噪の輪郭をいっそう鋭くした。ガーデンを撮影している観光客のスマートフォンの画面の群れが、現実より鮮やかにジャックには思えた。
ペン・プラザの外壁を覆う大型ビジョンには、《新・350 Park Avenue 再開発計画、始動》の文字列が淡々と、執拗に流れていた。背後の映像では建設途上の鉄骨が空を貫き、利益と成長の名のもとに組み上げられる資本主義の記念碑のように屹立している。それは、ジャックの生活圏とは交わらない未来だ。
だが、その文字列が一巡する前に、速報が割り込んだ。
『続いてニュース速報です。五年前に不正アクセスを受けた北朝鮮系の暗号資産をめぐり、追跡されたアクセス経路の一部が米国を経由していたと、朝鮮民主主義人民共和国の国営通信が報じました。声明は、「我が国の主権を侵す犯罪者には毅然として対処する」としています。』
大型ビジョンの下にある歩道は、人の流れがいつもより少し速い気がした。誰もがどこかへ急ぎ、足音だけが重なって、音の輪郭が曖昧になっていくようだった。今夜、ガーデンで演説する共和党大統領候補の警護を控えたジャックには、この速さがただの高揚には見えなかった。
その雑踏の縁を、グリッドウェイが一台、信号の切り替わりに合わせて滑り出した。グリッドウェイ・オートノマス・モビリティ社が昨年投入した自動運転タクシーは現在、マンハッタンを縦横無尽に駆け巡って大盛況だ。料金も安く、煩わしい運転手との関係もない。車体の脇に小さな「G」と、マンハッタンのグリッドを象徴する細い線が交差する格子の印が見えた。無人の車は、ジャックらを追い越し、ただの風景として街に吸い込まれていった。
その上空で、ガラスに反射した小さな影が一瞬揺れた。羽音は聞こえない。それでも、何かが見ている気配だけが残った。
ジャックは視線を動かさずに、影の位置だけを頭の中でなぞった。FBIの警護用UASセルだ。今回の警護のために、監視用ドローンが数台、ビルの合間を行き交っている。そう思った瞬間、街の喧噪が安堵の膜に覆われ、一枚隔てた向こうへ退いた。
ジャックは束の間目を閉じた。耳の裏の血流を感じた。沈黙の底流に潜んでいる任務の鼓動が微かに鳴った。警護は、目で見る仕事ではない。違和感を拾い、形になる前に潰す仕事だ。胸の内で、薄い膜が引きつるように緊張した。
ジャックは目を開くと、眼差しはもう都市の風景ではなく、別の何かを見据えていた。
― ビバリーヒルズ、ロサンゼルス ―
夕陽が丘を滑り落ちるころ、会員制レストラン〈サフロン・コート〉の重厚な扉の向こうで、空気が静かに重くたなびいていた。白布のテーブルに身を寄せた会員たちの銀食器が、触れては離れ、また触れた。その微かな金属音だけが、建物の奥で眠る心臓の鼓動みたいに、ゆっくり反復していく。
マジード・ハムザと彼のチームの卓には会話が欠けていた。誰も表情を崩さず、呼吸だけを整えている。
テーブル中央に置かれた黒光りの小型装置――幽声機《Whisper-04》が、場の中心を奪っていた。マジードがダイヤルに指を触れると、クリックの震えが掌へ返った。
「……0.4秒。間違いなく」
囁きは声帯を通らず、空気の表面だけを揺らした。装置が放ったものは音ではなく、沈黙の刃だった。
「Initiate（始めろ）」
命令は、言葉の形になる前に、電波の震えとなって夜の静寂へ滑り落ちた。
海を越えたのではない――いったん空へ逃げ、夜空の高みで幾度か跳ね返り、ニューヨークの倉庫の暗がりへ落ちていく合図だ。
マジードの手にしたタブレットに、淡い数字の弧がひと息だけ浮かんだ。直線ではなく、円弧に沿って並んでいる。彼はすぐに画面を伏せた。
テーブルの端で、サミラがスマートフォンに指を走らせ、画面を閉じた。数字とアルファベットの列が消え、熱だけが指先に残った。祈りのように静かな手つきだった。彼女は息をひとつ落とし、視線だけを動かした。
リナは、短波でニューヨークへ送った合図の点滅を見つめながら、周囲の歓談の笑い声からスマホを隠すように、グラスの影へ沈めた。週末の笑いの波が満ちているのに、この卓だけが、笑いに遅れたまま硬い。彼女は手元へ視線を戻した。
リナのアプリは、ひとりずつのための小さな相談室だった。相手の言葉を否定せず、同じ温度で抱きしめる声。左へ傾く者には左のまま寄り添い、右へ傾く者には右のまま頷く――誰もが欲しいのは、反論ではなく肯定だと知っている。
肯定の糸は、やがて胸の奥で固く結び目になり、ほどけない溝だけを深くしていった。煽る必要さえない。受け入れられた瞬間、考えは芯を得て、静かに硬化するのだ。
レストランを満たす笑い声は続いているのに、このテーブルの周りだけ、音が一段薄くなっていた。
― レッドフック、ブルックリン、ニューヨーク ―
潮を含んだ錆の鉄扉が、かすかに震えた。倉庫の中は暗く、差し込んだ街灯の残照だけが床のコンクリートに細い線を引いている。長い年月によって床へ染み込んだ油と埃の匂いが、ゆっくりと肺に入ってきた。
アミール・ナッセルは薄闇の中で膝を折り、作業台の赤い点滅を見つめていた。規則正しいそれは、深い沈黙の中に埋もれている。点いては消える光が、彼の記憶を掬い上げていた。
アミールはゆっくり立ち上がると、テーブルにあった黒い筐体の角に触れた。冷たい感触が記憶を鮮明にした。短波を拾う黒い筐体、《Whisper-04》。耳で拾えないものを受け止めるための薄い器官だ。
アミールは自作したそれに触れながら、呟いた。
「……ヤーラ」
妹の名が祈りのようについて出たが、祈りには届かず、作業場の隅の闇へ吸い込まれていった。
そのとき、空気がわずかに沈んだ。音ではない。匂いでもない。だが何かが“届いた”感触だけがあった。W-04の赤い点滅が、一拍だけ遅れた。緊張していたアミールの喉の奥は、ひどく乾き、ひりついていた。
倉庫の扉が軋んだ。忍んできた足音は重く、乱れてはいない。
ラフィだった。作業着には鉄粉が散り、昼の喧噪をまだ抱えていた。
倉庫の奥で、ユスフが小さなランタンに火を灯した。一瞬、炎が揺れ、暗がりに薄い輪郭を浮かせては消えている。
「遅かったな」
アミールが赤い点滅を見やったまま、いった。
「監督がしつこくてな。だが――“設置”は予定通り終えた」
疲れの滲んだ声で、ラフィは、見入っているアミールの赤い点滅を一瞥した。
「そっちは？」
「動作確認は済んだ。動いてる。安定してる。五年前に作ったものを、いま作り直した。……手が覚えてる。マジードは『始めろ』だって。せっかちな奴だ」
作業台の端の暗がりにいたレイラのヘッドホンの片耳がわずかにずれ、金具が冷たい光を返した。コーヒーを手にして隣の倉庫からやってきたナディールがそれを差し出し、無言で掛け直してやった。レイラは“音のない音”に再び耳を澄ませ、じっと赤い点滅に見入っている。
もう一度、扉が鳴った。ロハンが入ってきた。袖をまくり、手にしたビジネスバッグの革に、外の熱がまだじっとりと残っている。
「……教授は？」
ラフィが訊いた。
ロハンは答える前に、視線を伏せた。その沈黙がひどく長く感じられ、アミールらは気づかぬうちに息を止めた。
「ザカリア教授は――準備した場所へ向かった。言づけだ。“すべてを、お前たちに託す”と」
アミールの胸の奥に、冷たい針が刺さった。もちろんアミールだけではなく、ラフィもユスフもレイラもナディールもだ。
暗がりの隅で、ナディールが小さな布の包みを開いた。白いガーゼと消毒の匂いが一瞬だけ立ち、すぐに油と埃に呑まれた。
薄いライトの火が揺れ、影が床に長く伸びて重なった。
W-04の赤い点滅は、狂うことなく正確に刻んでいる。
ラフィが掠れた声で言った。
「……自戒の意味を教えよう。この国に」
アミールも誰も返答はしなかった。
その沈黙が、選んだ道の輪郭をはっきり描いていた。
【本作品の著作権は Mitsushiro Nakagawa に帰属します。
内容の全部または一部を、著者の許可なく複製・転載・改変することを禁じます。】
追伸。
今、読み直したら、ひょっとしたら、もう少し感情を足すかもしれません。
予告
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僕の新しい小説
B♭ （ビーフラット） ……. Mitsushiro Nakagawa
“あらすじ”
北朝鮮の仮想通貨システムをハッキングし、数億ドルを奪取したガザ出身のパレスチナ人グループが、アメリカ合衆国へ密かに潜入する。
彼らの目的は、失われた祖国ガザを、アメリカの地に「復元」することだった。
共和党による強硬な移民政策と、国内にくすぶる排外感情を利用し、アメリカ社会を内側から崩壊させる計画が静かに進行していく。
共和党大統領候補ジャスティン・ブラッドフォードがマディソン・スクエア・ガーデンで演説中に狙撃され、ほぼ同時刻、ロサンゼルスでは前大統領オーウェン・リードもまた、民主党候補ライアン・ベネットの集会で撃たれる。
国家を二分する双方向の暗殺。だが、ジャスティンは奇跡的に生還する。
彼の血液型は、世界でわずか250万人に一人といわれる「ボンベイブラッド」。
その希少な血を提供できたのは、ブルックリンで活動するコミュニティアート・ファシリテーター、アナヤ・パテルだった。
彼女の血液はベルビュー病院の血液バンクに保存されており、緊急輸血によって、候補者の命はかろうじて繋がれた。
シークレットサービスのジャック・バンスは、テロの背後にガザ出身の組織が関与していることを察知し、FBIロサンゼルス支局長官キャメロン・バートレット、ニューヨーク支局の特別捜査官ヴェロニカ・リーブスと共に捜査を進める。
やがて彼らは、イスラム大学で建築学を学んだラフィ・ガンナムが、ロサンゼルスやニューヨークの再開発現場に潜入し、梁や構造体の中枢にC4爆薬を仕込んでいた事実に辿り着く。
標的は、ICE（移民・関税執行局）やERO（執行・送還作戦部門）の職員が暮らす新興住宅街——すなわち、「アメリカが築いた秩序」そのものだった。
ヴェロニカは、これ以上の破壊を防ぐため、大統領への対話を進言するが、現職のグラント・ランフォード大統領は耳を貸さない。
一方、命を取り留めたジャスティンと民主党候補ライアンは、テレビを通じて国民に訴えかけ、分断を乗り越えようとする。
だが、その理性の声を嘲笑うかのように、グラントはアイオワ州での演説を強行し、「テロには屈しない」と宣言する。
その会場には、すでにラフィの仲間が率いる工作チームが潜入していた。
崩壊する会場の惨状を前に、仲間の一人アミール・ナッセルは、かつてガザで妹を失った記憶に引き裂かれ、破壊の連鎖を止めようとする。
だが、ラフィの信念は揺るがない。
ウィリアムズバーグ橋の下、夕暮れの喧騒のなか、二人は決別する。
それは、祈りと報復、希望と虚無の境界線だった——。
Trailer
“登場人物”
アナヤ・パテル ２５歳 コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
アルジュン・シン ２６歳 アナヤの恋人・ルミナテック・イノベーションズ社
佐藤 ミカ ２５歳 アナの友人・コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
ジャスティン・ブラッドフォード ２７歳 共和党大統領候補
エリノア・ブレイク ２６歳 ジャスティンの婚約者
グラント・M・ランフォード大統領 ６１歳 共和党大統領現職
チャールズ・ベインズ副大統領 ６４歳 共和党副大統領現職
ライアン・ベネット ３０歳 民主党大統領候補
ソフィア・ベネット ３０歳 ライアンの妻
オーウェン・リード ６５歳 民主党前大統領
ジャック・バンス ４５歳 シークレットサービス 元FBIロサンゼルス支局
ベン・ホロウェイ ３０歳 ジャックの同僚
ダリル・ロス ２９歳 ジャックの同僚
イライジャ・ケイン ２８歳 ジャックの同僚
マーカス・デイン ４５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局
キャメロン・バートレット ５５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局 支局長
トム・コールドウェル ３８歳 FBI技術班 マーカスの部下
ヴェロニカ・リーヴス ４１歳 FBI特別捜査官
アレクサンダー・ハリス ５２歳 FBI ニューヨーク支局 支局長
エリオット・チェン ３６歳 テクノロジー班主任
アリシア・モンロー ５８歳 FBI長官
ザカリア・ハッダード ５１歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 工学部教授 ニューヨークチーム
アミール・ナッセル ２３歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 電子工学部 ニューヨークチーム
ラフィ・ガンナム ３２歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
ロハン・シャー ２９歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
マジード・ハムザ ４７歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 情報技術学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サミラ・ハンマド ２８歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 工学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サイード・カバリ ３５歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 経営学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
リーム・ナセル ３０歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 メディア学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
ノア・レヴィ 55歳 イスラエル テルアビブ在住 ユダヤ人
本作品の著作権は Mitsushiro Nakagawa に帰属します。
内容の全部または一部を、著者の許可なく複製・転載・改変することを禁じます。
僕のこの小説は、来年、２０２６年２月末日に公開します。
先日、リドリースコット監督がサブスクの映画やドラマ群がつまらないと話していたようだけど、同感です。
僕も非常に退屈です。
それらに2時間を要するなら、僕の小説を２分間だけ読んで欲しい。
その2分間は、２時間を越えるでしょう。
僕は自信があります。
ぜひ、期待してお待ちください。
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
09th. Oct . 2025.
追伸
ネトフリに挑戦する男、みっちゃん。😃
( 富士フィルム GFX50R shot )
東京駅。地下 1-4 番線総武線 近辺 shot …. 5 / 20
（特急の出発まで、３０分ほどあったので撮影しました。）
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。小説の内容とは無関係です。）
Images.
Nosaj Thing - Blue Hour ft Julianna Barwick
youtu.be/IQhwGGarWfI?si=jfBxafBjpEnosCSo
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/55088531034/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54892312785/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54851971628/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54840848974/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54829426478/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54811315069/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54793744070/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54771288620/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54769008619/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
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:: Soundtrack ::
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack )
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . For Japanese)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Sweet Summer rain ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-sweet-s...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Hard days ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-hard-da...
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Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 402 _.Copyright©︎2026 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Title:
EXIT. (The woman in the white shirt is my wife :))
( LUMIX G3 shot )
Manhattan. New York. USA. 20017. … 2 / 10
(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)
Images:
Lola Blue … Heartbeat
youtu.be/zBBiSVkDza8?si=5BRzBKofq1v0MYcv
【 動画アップしました 】
1
【 追加合格！ 明治大学 】ー ４月にだって雪はフルっ！ ー偏差値３５からの挑戦ー
youtu.be/zBBiSVkDza8?si=pG4_AcB0aEx561he
目次
【１】 前回の動画で、明治大学を主軸にして受験の日程を構成したけど、どの学部を受けたの？
【２】 実際の試験日で、３連チャンを設定してしまった。これがかなりきつかった。メンタルやられる。と本人。
【３】 その他 住居の今後など。
2
【 偏差値39からのステップアップ 】ー E判定から届いた法政大学 ー
youtu.be/6sp30aXVI78?si=_5qyobG6rifhuiNx
#偏差値３９からの挑戦
１ 勉強のやる気は、まず本人の内面の意思から。外圧では何も変わらない。
ベネズエラ、イランのトランプのように、外圧から変えたものは、また外圧で変えられる。
変化とは個人の内面からでない限り絶対に変わらない。
～
５ マックを学割で買おう
マックを、UNiDAYSを介さずに、電話で購入する方法
【小説の日本語は、後半です】
B♭ ( B - Flat ) ( 1 / 9 ) … [Prologue] 〈Portent〉
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
—The reasons we fall in love differ from person to person, and yet, when you realize afterward that you had already fallen, you don’t really need a reason at all.
I believe that is what true love is.
If only, in that instant, some white, bleeding light had slipped in from somewhere—then it would be easier to understand. A pale light wraps a person up and quietly calls back the memories they had forgotten. It passes through your eyelids and goes on to illuminate the deepest place in your chest.
To meet someone whose name you don’t even know, and to come to know them deeply—sometimes, light is necessary.
That light is so soft, so gentle, and yet afterward it leaves, deep inside your chest, a faint scar. The pain will heal in time, and then it will hold someone else—
— Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York —
A soft light was slanting in through the warehouse’s high windows. It was near noon, and still it had the washed-out whiteness of something not fully awake. On the rough concrete floor, brightness seeped quietly, as if embarrassed by its own presence; seeing it, Anaya, in the middle of unloading, stopped for a moment and looked away.
Between the booths cut out on all sides with white gaffer tape, artists moved back and forth in restless haste. From the half-open loading bay, bass-heavy hip-hop poured in, making the floor and walls tremble in small, constant vibrations. A blade of sunlight speared through the shutter’s gap and set the dust spinning gold.
On the white tape laid along the edge of the aisle, the label read “Sieve.” The booth name Anaya and Mika had reserved.
As Anaya lined the sketch notebooks she’d carried in on the floor, a young man in a suit lowered himself into a crouch beside her. From the carelessly stacked mound, he drew out one notebook and began to turn the pages slowly. Against the brown of his cheek, blue eyes seemed to float. He looked like a man of Middle Eastern descent, like Anaya herself. His calm gaze traveled, unhurried, along the lines of the drawings.
Noticing Anaya’s presence, he smiled.
“Is this yours?”
“Yes. Mine.”
“Why pencil? A rough sketch?”
What he was looking at was the profile of her lover, Arjun—by the window, facing a laptop, earnest eyes fixed on something he could not yet solve. Anaya had always been drawn to that gaze: the way he stared, heated and intent, at a difficult display packed with strings of numbers and geometric patterns, as if will alone could bend them into sense.
The angle of the light that fell in through the window still remained vivid on the inside of her eyelids.
“It isn’t a draft. It’s finished. I just… like familiar tools.”
The man gave a short nod. When he laughed, his eyes laughed first, and the corners of his mouth followed a heartbeat later.
“So this man is…?”
“Yes.”
“I see. That’s a shame.”
He said it lightly, but his eyes had gone hard. He turned the next page.
“And this… your mother?”
Ana stepped closer and looked at her mother’s profile: in the kitchen by the window, her head slightly bowed. The smell of the house from those days rose up, all at once, deep in Ana’s chest—spice, and the hint of oil beginning to brown.
When her mother, Sangeeta, stood in the kitchen, the whole house would fill with spice and the savory fragrance of fenugreek. Undhiyu, the dish she always made in winter, came from a recipe passed down from her grandmother. A traditional home-cooked food from the time they had been Hindu—yet even after conversion, what did not change was this: the memory of a “family circle” held inside that dish refused to vanish.
For Anaya, it was the smell of India’s dry earth itself.
“Yes. My mother.”
At a distance that was almost touching—but not quite—the man slid his index finger along the drawing’s eye.
“…A wonderful eye.”
His voice was hoarse. Something in Ana’s chest stirred, faintly unsettled—as if what she had meant to draw had been received not through his words, but directly, from his gaze, even before he spoke.
Mika came running over, her bright smile intact, a F30 canvas strapped to her small back. It was nearly twice the size of her torso, like a single wing.
“If you like, look at mine too. I’m Mika.”
At Mika’s light voice—she never held back with strangers—the man extended his hand.
“—I’m Amir. Amir Nasser.”
He introduced himself like that, and loosened only his mouth, just slightly. It was still too pale to call a smile.
The instant Ana looked back into those clear blue eyes, somewhere in her chest the sea she’d seen as a child opened—an unruffled, glittering horizon line. A mirage, slipping in from faraway memory.
As the corridor grew busier, another man arrived at a brisk pace, typing into a smartphone as he walked. A dark shadow sat at the base of his throat; he carried the air of someone older. After a quick glance at Ana, he dropped a low voice into Amir’s ear.
“What is it. Trouble?”
“No.”
Amir answered gently, but there was no quiet inside that gentleness.
“Thank you, both of you. See you Saturday.”
Amir returned his smile, said that to the two of them, and turned away. His companion—Rafi—kept staring at Amir with the same rigid eyes, right to the end.
As they left, Ana’s gaze caught, for only an instant, the screen Rafi held in his hand. Numbers were arranged there with a geometric precision. They were not lined in straight rows, but set along arcs—aligned on a curve. In that small string, there seemed to be a rule; angle and distance shone with exactness.
Watching their backs recede, Mika murmured, as if it were nothing:
“Hey… don’t those two smell like money? And not flashy money—chic, expensive.”
“What do you mean?”
“The suits. You don’t even have to touch them. The fabric’s different. —And tonight there’s the national convention at the Garden, right? Maybe they’re involved.”
“Is that so,” Ana said, vaguely, and let it pass.
The exhibition hall’s murmur swelled further. Light and shadow folded over each other, heating the air of the clamor.
And yet, in the midst of that overflowing energy, Ana felt one sensation that would not return. The white light that had been falling from the skylight had thinned since before, as if it had been drawn down and swallowed by the heavy shadow on the floor.
— Penn Plaza, Manhattan, New York —
A little past one in the afternoon, the shadow of a motorcade slid slowly in along Seventh Avenue. Sunlight reflected off the escort car’s hood and, for an instant, washed the windows of the buildings white.
In the passenger seat, Jack Vance checked his watch. The vibration of the second hand traveled from his wrist to his chest as a faint tremor.
Around Madison Square Garden, the constant flow of people and the blinking of signals always formed small eddies. The smell of scorched food and grease rising from street-vendor griddles clung to the damp air. Across the lanes, a thin saxophone note stretched for a single breath and cut off, sharpening the outline of the din. The cluster of tourists’ smartphone screens aimed at the Garden looked, to Jack, more vivid than reality.
On the massive display covering Penn Plaza’s outer wall, a string of text scrolled with steady, insistent calm:
“New 350 Park Avenue Redevelopment Plan—Now Underway.”
Behind the words, steel frames still under construction pierced the sky, standing like a monument to capitalism being assembled in the name of profit and growth. It was a future that would never intersect with Jack’s own living world.
But before the text could complete its loop, a breaking bulletin cut in:
“Next, breaking news. Regarding the North Korea–linked cryptoassets that suffered an illegal intrusion five years ago, state media of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea reports that part of the traced access route passed through the United States. The statement says, ‘We will respond resolutely to criminals who violate our sovereignty.’”
The sidewalk beneath the giant screen felt as if people were moving a little faster than usual. Everyone hurried toward somewhere, and the overlapping footsteps seemed to blur the edges of sound. For Jack—who was about to provide security tonight for the Republican presidential candidate speaking at the Garden—this speed did not look like simple excitement.
Along the fringe of that crowd, a single Gridway vehicle slid forward in time with the light. The autonomous taxi that Gridway Autonomous Mobility had launched last year now crisscrossed Manhattan in roaring popularity. Cheap fares, no bothersome relationship with a driver. On the side of the car, Jack caught sight of a small “G,” and a lattice mark—thin intersecting lines symbolizing Manhattan’s grid. Driverless, the car overtook them and was absorbed into the city as nothing more than part of the scenery.
Above, a small shadow trembled for an instant in the reflection on glass. There was no sound of wings. And still, only the feeling remained—that something was watching.
Without moving his eyes, Jack traced the shadow’s position inside his head. An FBI protective UAS cell. For this detail, several surveillance drones were moving between the buildings. The moment he thought it, the city’s clamor seemed covered by a thin film of relief, retreating to the other side of a single layer.
Jack closed his eyes briefly. He felt the bloodflow behind his ears. Somewhere in the undercurrent beneath silence, the pulse of duty sounded, faintly. Protection was not work done with the eyes. It was work of catching the wrongness—crushing it before it could take shape. In his chest, a thin membrane drew tight, as if tensing to a sting.
When Jack opened his eyes again, his gaze was no longer fixed on the cityscape. It had already set itself on something else.
— Beverly Hills, Los Angeles —
As the sun slipped down the hills, beyond the heavy doors of the members-only restaurant Saffron Court, the air hung quietly, thick with weight. The members leaning in over white-clothed tables let their silverware touch and part, touch again. That faint metallic sound alone repeated slowly, like the pulse of a heart sleeping deep inside the building.
At Majid Hamzah’s table—Majid and his team—conversation was missing. No one let their expression collapse; they did nothing but steady their breathing.
At the center of the table, a compact, black-sheened device—the ghost-voice machine, Whisper-04—had stolen the room’s focus. When Majid’s finger touched the dial, a click’s vibration returned to his palm.
“…0.4 seconds. Without a doubt.”
The whisper did not pass through vocal cords; it disturbed only the surface of the air. What the device released was not sound, but a blade of silence.
“Initiate.”
Before the command could fully become language, it slid down into the night as a tremor of radio.
It did not cross the sea—not directly. It fled first into the sky, ricocheted several times in the heights of the night, and fell into the warehouse shadows of New York as a signal.
On Majid’s tablet, a faint arc of numbers surfaced for a single breath—aligned not in a straight line, but along a curve. He immediately lowered the screen.
At the edge of the table, Samira ran her finger across her smartphone and closed it. A string of numbers and letters vanished, leaving only heat in her fingertips. Her gestures were quiet, almost prayerful. She let one breath drop and moved only her eyes.
Lina, watching the pulse of the signal she had sent to New York by shortwave, sank her phone into the shadow of her glass as if hiding it from the surrounding laughter. The weekend’s waves of laughter were full around them, yet only this table stayed hard, lagging behind the laughter. She returned her gaze to her hands.
Lina’s app was a small consultation room built for one person at a time. A voice that did not deny the other’s words, that held them at the same temperature. It leaned with those who leaned left, nodded with those who leaned right—because it understood that what people wanted was not rebuttal, but affirmation.
The thread of affirmation eventually tied itself into a hard knot deep in the chest, and only deepened a fissure that could not be untied. There was no need even to incite. The moment a thought is accepted, it gains a core, and quietly hardens.
Laughter continued to fill the restaurant—and yet around this table alone, sound had thinned by one degree.
— Red Hook, Brooklyn, New York —
The iron door, rusted with sea salt, trembled faintly. Inside the warehouse it was dark; only the afterglow of a streetlight drew a thin line across the concrete floor. The smell of oil and dust—soaked into the floor by long years—entered the lungs slowly.
In the dimness, Amir Nasser bent one knee and watched the red blinking on the workbench. Its regularity was buried inside a deep silence. The light turning on and off was scooping up his memories.
When Amir rose slowly, he touched the corner of a black casing on the table. The cold sensation sharpened memory. The black housing that caught shortwave—Whisper-04. A thin organ made to receive what the ear cannot.
Touching his homemade device, Amir murmured:
“…Yara.”
His sister’s name slipped out like a prayer, but it did not reach prayer; it was swallowed into the darkness at the edge of the workspace.
Then the air sank, just slightly. Not a sound. Not a smell. And yet there was only the sensation that something had arrived. The red blinking of W-04 delayed by a single beat. The back of Amir’s throat—tensed until now—was painfully dry, raw with sting.
The warehouse door groaned. The footsteps that had slipped in were heavy, but not disordered.
It was Rafi. Metal dust flecked his work clothes; he still carried the day’s clamor on him.
Farther inside the warehouse, Yusuf lit a small lantern. For an instant the flame wavered, raising a thin outline in the dark—then letting it dissolve again.
“You’re late,” Amir said, still watching the red blinking.
“The supervisor wouldn’t let go. But—‘installation’ finished on schedule.”
With a voice stained by fatigue, Rafi glanced at the red blinking Amir was absorbed in.
“And your side?”
“Checked. It’s running. Stable. I rebuilt what I made five years ago. …My hands remember. Majid says ‘Initiate.’ Impatient bastard.”
In the dim at the edge of the bench, one earcup of Leila’s headphones slipped slightly askew, the metal bracket returning a cold glint. Nadeer, arriving from the neighboring warehouse with coffee in hand, offered it back and, without a word, set it right for her. Leila listened again for the “soundless sound,” staring into the red blinking.
The door sounded once more. Rohan entered. Sleeves rolled up, his leather business bag still holding the damp heat of outside.
“…The professor?” Rafi asked.
Before answering, Rohan lowered his eyes. The silence felt unbearably long, and without noticing, Amir and the others held their breath.
“Professor Zakaria—
went straight to the prepared warehouse next door. A message was left:
‘Everything—I entrust to you.’”
A cold needle drove itself into the deep of Amir’s chest. Not only Amir’s—Rafi’s, Yusuf’s, Leila’s, Nadeer’s.
In the corner of the dark, Nadeer opened a small cloth bundle. For an instant, the smell of white gauze and disinfectant rose—then was swallowed by oil and dust.
The lantern’s thin light trembled; shadows stretched long across the floor and overlapped.
W-04’s red blinking continued to mark time—precise, unerrant.
Rafi spoke in a rasping voice.
“…I’ll teach this country the meaning of self-reckoning.”
Amir—and no one else—answered.
That silence drew, with cruel clarity, the outline of the road they had chosen.
Copyright © 2026 Mitsushiro Nakagawa.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
Trailer
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B♭ (B Flat)
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
“Synopsis”
A Palestinian group from Gaza hacks into North Korea’s cryptocurrency system, stealing hundreds of millions of dollars. Their true goal is not money—but to recreate the lost homeland of Gaza on American soil.
Amid the backdrop of hardline Republican immigration policies and a growing wave of xenophobia, a quiet plan begins to take shape: the gradual collapse of America from within.
During a speech at Madison Square Garden, Republican presidential candidate Justin Bradford is shot. Almost simultaneously in Los Angeles, former president Owen Reed is attacked at a rally for Democratic hopeful Ryan Bennett.
Two assassinations—mirroring one another—ignite a nation’s deepest divide. Yet, against all odds, Justin survives. His blood type is one in 2.5 million: the Bombay Blood Group.
The only person who can donate such blood is Anaya Patel, a community art facilitator working in Brooklyn. Her blood, stored in the Bellevue Hospital Blood Bank, is used for an emergency transfusion that saves the candidate’s life.
Jack Vance, an agent of the U.S. Secret Service, suspects a Gaza-based network behind the attacks. Together with Cameron Bartlett, the FBI Director of the Los Angeles Field Office, and Veronica Reeves, a senior investigator from New York, he begins to uncover a vast conspiracy.
Their investigation leads them to Rafi Gannam, a former architecture student at the Islamic University of Gaza, who has infiltrated redevelopment sites across Los Angeles and New York—embedding C4 explosives deep within beams and structural cores.
His targets: new residential districts where agents of ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) and ERO (Enforcement and Removal Operations) live—symbols of “the order America built.”
Veronica urges the President to pursue dialogue to prevent further destruction, but President Grant M. Ranford refuses to listen.
Meanwhile, the recovering Justin and his Democratic rival Ryan appear on national television, calling for unity beyond political divisions.
Their words of reason, however, are drowned out when Grant takes the stage in Iowa, defiantly declaring: “We will never bow to terror.”
Among the crowd, Rafi’s operatives have already taken their positions.
As chaos erupts and the stage collapses, Amir Nasser—once Rafi’s comrade, haunted by the memory of his sister’s death in Gaza—tries desperately to halt the chain of destruction.
But Rafi’s conviction remains unshaken.
Under the twilight beneath the Williamsburg Bridge, amid the city’s fading noise, the two men part ways.
It is the boundary between prayer and vengeance, between hope and nothingness.
“Characters”
Anaya Patel – 25, Community Art Facilitator
Arjun Singh – 26, Anaya’s boyfriend, Luminatech Innovations
Mika Sato – 25, Anaya’s friend, Community Art Facilitator
Justin Bradford – 27, Republican Presidential Candidate
Eleanor Blake – 26, Justin’s fiancée
President Grant M. Langford – 61, Incumbent Republican President
Vice President Charles “Chuck” Baines – 64, Incumbent Republican Vice President
Ryan Bennett – 30, Democratic Presidential Candidate
Sophia Bennett – 30, Ryan’s wife
Owen Reed – 65, Former Democratic President
Jack Vance – 45, Secret Service, Former FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Ben Holloway – 30, Jack’s colleague
Darryl Ross – 29, Jack’s colleague
Elijah Kane – 28, Jack’s colleague
Marcus Dane – 45, FBI Los Angeles Field Office
Cameron Bartlett – 55, FBI Los Angeles Field Office, Field Office Director
Tom Caldwell – 38, FBI Technical Unit, Marcus’s subordinate
Veronica Reeves – 41, FBI Special Agent
Alexander Harris – 52, FBI New York Field Office, Field Office Director
Elliot Chen – 36, Technology Unit Chief
Alicia Monroe – 58, FBI Director
Zakaria Haddad – 51, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Engineering Professor, New York Team
Amir Nasser – 23, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Former Islamic University Electronics Engineering, New York Team
Rafi Gannam – 32, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Rohan Shah – 29, Gaza Strip, Palestine; Islamic University, Architecture, New York Team
Majid Hamza – 47, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Information Technology, Los Angeles Team
Samira Hammad – 28, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Engineering, Los Angeles Team
Saeed Kabari – 35, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Business Administration, Los Angeles Team
Reem Nasser – 30, Gaza Strip, Palestine; University of Palestine, Media Studies, Los Angeles Team
Noah Levi – 55, Israel, residing in Tel Aviv, Jewish
Copyright © 2026 Mitsushiro Nakagawa.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
[Important Notice] I previously announced that my new novel, B♭ (B-flat), would be released at the end of February 2026. However, due to my own shortcomings, I have decided to postpone the release to the following schedule:
•Best Case Scenario: March 16, 2026
•Likely Scenario: Late March 2026
•Worst Case Scenario: Early May 2026
I am truly sorry to everyone who has been looking forward to it. Recently, my son achieved a major goal of his own—and there is no way his father can fail to do the same. Please keep your expectations high and bear with me just a little longer.
B♭ will be released worldwide on February 29, 2026.
Recently, director Ridley Scott remarked that streaming films and series have become dull.
I agree.
If you have two hours to spare for such stories, I ask for only two minutes of your time.
Two minutes with my novel will outlast those two hours.
I am confident of that.
Stay tuned.
Mitsushiro
October 9th, 2025
P.S.
Micchan — the man who challenges Netflix. 😃
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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:: Soundtrack ::
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack )
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . For Japanese)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Sweet Summer rain ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-sweet-s...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Hard days ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-hard-da...
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 402 _.Copyright©︎2026 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Title:
EXIT.(白いシャツの女性は僕の妻です:))
( LUMIX G3 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2017. … 2 / 10
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images:
Lola Blue … Heartbeat
youtu.be/zBBiSVkDza8?si=5BRzBKofq1v0MYcv
今日は、僕の新しい小説の冒頭をアップロードします。
ほぼ、最終稿です。
（日本語のあらすじ等は下の方にあります😃）
B♭ ( B - Flat ) （1／９）【プロローグ】〈予兆〉
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
――恋に落ちる理由は、人によって違うけれど、恋に落ちていたとあとになって気づくことに、理由は要らない。
それを、私はほんとうの恋だと思う。
できればその瞬間、どこかから白く滲んだ光が差し込んでいたら、もっとわかりやすいのに。淡い光は人を包んで、忘れていた記憶をそっと呼び戻す。瞼を透かして、胸の奥まで照らしてしまう。
名も知らない誰かと出会い、その人のことを深く知るために――光は、ときどき必要だ。
その光はとても柔らかくてやさしいのに、あとから胸の奥に、そっと傷跡を残す。痛みはいずれ癒え、誰かを包み込むー
― ウィリアムズバーグ、ブルックリン、ニューヨーク ―
やわらかな光が、倉庫の高窓から差し込んでいた。昼近くだというのに、まだ目を覚ましきれないような淡い白さだ。床のざらついたコンクリートの上に、まばゆさがひっそり滲んでいるのを見て、搬入していたアナヤは一瞬足を止め、目を逸らした。
白いガムテープで四方に切られたブースの合間を、アーティストたちが忙しなく行き交っていた。半開きの搬入口からは低音の効いたヒップホップが流れ込み、床も壁も小さく震えている。シャッターの隙間から射す線のような陽が埃を金色に舞わせていた。
通路際の床に貼られた白いテープには『Sieve（シーヴ）』とある。アナとミカが予約したブース名だ。
アナヤが抱えてきたデッサンのノートを床へ並べていると、若いスーツの男が腰を落とした。無造作に積まれたノートの山から一冊抜き、頁をゆっくり繰っていく。褐色の肌の頬には、青い瞳が浮かんでいた。アナヤと同じ中東系の男性のようだった。彼の穏やかな視線が、描かれた作品の線をゆっくり辿っていた。
男は、アナの気配に気づくと微笑んだ。
「この作品は、君の？」
「ええ、私です」
「どうして鉛筆で？ ラフスケッチ？」
彼が見ていたのは、恋人アルジュンの横顔だった。窓際でノートパソコンに向かい、解けないものを解こうとしている真摯な目。いつも数字の羅列や幾何学模様の並んだプログラムの難しいディスプレイを熱く見つめている彼の眼差しにアナヤは惹かれていた。
窓から差し込んだ光の角度が、いまもアナの瞼の裏に鮮明に残っている。
「下書きじゃなくて、完成です。身近な道具が好きで……」
男は短く頷いた。笑うとき、目だけが先に笑って、口元が少し遅れた。
「男性は彼？」
「はい」
「そうなんだ。少し残念だな」
言い方は軽いのに、視線は硬かった。男は次の頁を繰った。
「こっちは…… 君のお母さん？」
アナは近づき、母の横顔を見た。キッチンの窓辺で、少し俯いている。あの頃の家の匂いが、胸の奥でふっと立ち上がった。スパイスと、焼ける油の気配だ。
母、サンギータがキッチンに立つと、家中がスパイスと香ばしいフェヌグリークの香りに包まれた。冬になると必ず作る「ウンディユ」は、祖母の代から伝わるレシピだった。ヒンドゥー教徒時代の伝統的な家庭料理で、改宗しても変わらなかったのは、この料理に込めた“家族の円”の記憶が消えなかったからだ。
アナヤにとって、それはインドの乾いた土の香りそのものだった。
「ええ、母です」
男は、触れるか触れないかの距離で、人差し指を絵の目元に滑らせた。
「……素晴らしい眼だ」
声は掠れていた。アナの胸がわずかにざわめいた。まるで描いた意図が、彼の発した言葉の前にあった、彼の眼差しから直接感じ取っていたようだった。
ミカが明るい笑顔のまま駆けてきた。小さな背中にF30のキャンバスを背負っている。彼女の背中のほぼ倍の大きさで、一枚の翼のようにも見えた。
「よかったら私のも見て。私はミカ」
人見知りをしないミカの軽やかな声に、男は手を差し出した。
「――僕はアミール。アミール・ナッセル」
彼はそう名乗って、口元だけをわずかに緩めた。笑みと呼ぶにはまだ淡かった。
澄んだ青い瞳を見返した瞬間、アナの胸のどこかで、幼いころに見た海がひらいた。波の立たない、煌めいた水平線――そんな錯覚が、遠い記憶から差し込んできた。
忙しなさが増した通路を、スマートフォンを打ち込みながら、足早にもう一人の男がやってきた。首元に濃い影を抱え、年上の気配が漂っていた。彼はアナを一瞥すると、アミールの耳元へ低い声を落とした。
「どうした。問題か？」
「いや」
アミールは穏やかに答えたが、その“穏やかさ”に静けさはなかった。
「ふたりともありがとう。また土曜日に」
アミールは再び笑顔を戻し、二人へそう言い、背を向けた。連れの男――ラフィが、最後まで固い目でアミールを睨んでいる。
去り際、アナはほんの一瞬だけ手にしていたラフィの画面が目に触れた。数字が幾何学的に並んでいた。数字は直線に並ばず、円弧に沿って整列していた。その小さな羅列には規則性があるようで角度と距離が正確に光っていた。
去っていく後ろ姿を見送りながら、ミカが何気なくつぶやいた。
「ねえ、あの二人…… お金の匂いしない？ しかも“派手”じゃなくて、シックに高価」
「どういう意味？」
「スーツ、触らなくてもわかるわ。生地が違う。――それに、今夜ガーデンで全国大会でしょ。関係者かな」
アナは「そうなんだ」と適当に返した。
展示会場のざわめきが更に増していた。光と影が折り重なる中で、喧騒の空気を熱くしていた。
だが、溢れる熱気の中で、アナにはひとつ戻らない感触があった。天窓から差し込んでいた白い光が、さっきよりも少し薄くなり、床の重い影に吸い込まれたようだった。
― ペン・プラザ、マンハッタン、ニューヨーク ―
午後一時を少し回ったころ、車列の影が第７番街をゆっくり滑り込んできた。警護車のボンネットに反射した陽光が、ビルの窓面を一瞬白く染めた。
助手席のジャック・ヴァンスは腕時計を見た。秒針の振動が、手首から胸へ微かな震えとして伝わってくる。
マジソン・スクエア・ガーデンには、人の流れと信号の点滅で、常に小さな渦ができていた。屋台の鉄板から立つ焦げと脂の匂いが、湿った空気に貼りつく。車線の向こうで、細いサックスが一音だけ伸びては切れ、喧噪の輪郭をいっそう鋭くした。ガーデンを撮影している観光客のスマートフォンの画面の群れが、現実より鮮やかにジャックには思えた。
ペン・プラザの外壁を覆う大型ビジョンには、《新・350 Park Avenue 再開発計画、始動》の文字列が淡々と、執拗に流れていた。背後の映像では建設途上の鉄骨が空を貫き、利益と成長の名のもとに組み上げられる資本主義の記念碑のように屹立している。それは、ジャックの生活圏とは交わらない未来だ。
だが、その文字列が一巡する前に、速報が割り込んだ。
『続いてニュース速報です。五年前に不正アクセスを受けた北朝鮮系の暗号資産をめぐり、追跡されたアクセス経路の一部が米国を経由していたと、朝鮮民主主義人民共和国の国営通信が報じました。声明は、「我が国の主権を侵す犯罪者には毅然として対処する」としています。』
大型ビジョンの下にある歩道は、人の流れがいつもより少し速い気がした。誰もがどこかへ急ぎ、足音だけが重なって、音の輪郭が曖昧になっていくようだった。今夜、ガーデンで演説する共和党大統領候補の警護を控えたジャックには、この速さがただの高揚には見えなかった。
その雑踏の縁を、グリッドウェイが一台、信号の切り替わりに合わせて滑り出した。グリッドウェイ・オートノマス・モビリティ社が昨年投入した自動運転タクシーは現在、マンハッタンを縦横無尽に駆け巡って大盛況だ。料金も安く、煩わしい運転手との関係もない。車体の脇に小さな「G」と、マンハッタンのグリッドを象徴する細い線が交差する格子の印が見えた。無人の車は、ジャックらを追い越し、ただの風景として街に吸い込まれていった。
その上空で、ガラスに反射した小さな影が一瞬揺れた。羽音は聞こえない。それでも、何かが見ている気配だけが残った。
ジャックは視線を動かさずに、影の位置だけを頭の中でなぞった。FBIの警護用UASセルだ。今回の警護のために、監視用ドローンが数台、ビルの合間を行き交っている。そう思った瞬間、街の喧噪が安堵の膜に覆われ、一枚隔てた向こうへ退いた。
ジャックは束の間目を閉じた。耳の裏の血流を感じた。沈黙の底流に潜んでいる任務の鼓動が微かに鳴った。警護は、目で見る仕事ではない。違和感を拾い、形になる前に潰す仕事だ。胸の内で、薄い膜が引きつるように緊張した。
ジャックは目を開くと、眼差しはもう都市の風景ではなく、別の何かを見据えていた。
― ビバリーヒルズ、ロサンゼルス ―
夕陽が丘を滑り落ちるころ、会員制レストラン〈サフロン・コート〉の重厚な扉の向こうで、空気が静かに重くたなびいていた。白布のテーブルに身を寄せた会員たちの銀食器が、触れては離れ、また触れた。その微かな金属音だけが、建物の奥で眠る心臓の鼓動みたいに、ゆっくり反復していく。
マジード・ハムザと彼のチームの卓には会話が欠けていた。誰も表情を崩さず、呼吸だけを整えている。
テーブル中央に置かれた黒光りの小型装置――幽声機《Whisper-04》が、場の中心を奪っていた。マジードがダイヤルに指を触れると、クリックの震えが掌へ返った。
「……0.4秒。間違いなく」
囁きは声帯を通らず、空気の表面だけを揺らした。装置が放ったものは音ではなく、沈黙の刃だった。
「Initiate（始めろ）」
命令は、言葉の形になる前に、電波の震えとなって夜の静寂へ滑り落ちた。
海を越えたのではない――いったん空へ逃げ、夜空の高みで幾度か跳ね返り、ニューヨークの倉庫の暗がりへ落ちていく合図だ。
マジードの手にしたタブレットに、淡い数字の弧がひと息だけ浮かんだ。直線ではなく、円弧に沿って並んでいる。彼はすぐに画面を伏せた。
テーブルの端で、サミラがスマートフォンに指を走らせ、画面を閉じた。数字とアルファベットの列が消え、熱だけが指先に残った。祈りのように静かな手つきだった。彼女は息をひとつ落とし、視線だけを動かした。
リナは、短波でニューヨークへ送った合図の点滅を見つめながら、周囲の歓談の笑い声からスマホを隠すように、グラスの影へ沈めた。週末の笑いの波が満ちているのに、この卓だけが、笑いに遅れたまま硬い。彼女は手元へ視線を戻した。
リナのアプリは、ひとりずつのための小さな相談室だった。相手の言葉を否定せず、同じ温度で抱きしめる声。左へ傾く者には左のまま寄り添い、右へ傾く者には右のまま頷く――誰もが欲しいのは、反論ではなく肯定だと知っている。
肯定の糸は、やがて胸の奥で固く結び目になり、ほどけない溝だけを深くしていった。煽る必要さえない。受け入れられた瞬間、考えは芯を得て、静かに硬化するのだ。
レストランを満たす笑い声は続いているのに、このテーブルの周りだけ、音が一段薄くなっていた。
― レッドフック、ブルックリン、ニューヨーク ―
潮を含んだ錆の鉄扉が、かすかに震えた。倉庫の中は暗く、差し込んだ街灯の残照だけが床のコンクリートに細い線を引いている。長い年月によって床へ染み込んだ油と埃の匂いが、ゆっくりと肺に入ってきた。
アミール・ナッセルは薄闇の中で膝を折り、作業台の赤い点滅を見つめていた。規則正しいそれは、深い沈黙の中に埋もれている。点いては消える光が、彼の記憶を掬い上げていた。
アミールはゆっくり立ち上がると、テーブルにあった黒い筐体の角に触れた。冷たい感触が記憶を鮮明にした。短波を拾う黒い筐体、《Whisper-04》。耳で拾えないものを受け止めるための薄い器官だ。
アミールは自作したそれに触れながら、呟いた。
「……ヤーラ」
妹の名が祈りのようについて出たが、祈りには届かず、作業場の隅の闇へ吸い込まれていった。
そのとき、空気がわずかに沈んだ。音ではない。匂いでもない。だが何かが“届いた”感触だけがあった。W-04の赤い点滅が、一拍だけ遅れた。緊張していたアミールの喉の奥は、ひどく乾き、ひりついていた。
倉庫の扉が軋んだ。忍んできた足音は重く、乱れてはいない。
ラフィだった。作業着には鉄粉が散り、昼の喧噪をまだ抱えていた。
倉庫の奥で、ユスフが小さなランタンに火を灯した。一瞬、炎が揺れ、暗がりに薄い輪郭を浮かせては消えている。
「遅かったな」
アミールが赤い点滅を見やったまま、いった。
「監督がしつこくてな。だが――“設置”は予定通り終えた」
疲れの滲んだ声で、ラフィは、見入っているアミールの赤い点滅を一瞥した。
「そっちは？」
「動作確認は済んだ。動いてる。安定してる。五年前に作ったものを、いま作り直した。……手が覚えてる。マジードは『始めろ』だって。せっかちな奴だ」
作業台の端の暗がりにいたレイラのヘッドホンの片耳がわずかにずれ、金具が冷たい光を返した。コーヒーを手にして隣の倉庫からやってきたナディールがそれを差し出し、無言で掛け直してやった。レイラは“音のない音”に再び耳を澄ませ、じっと赤い点滅に見入っている。
もう一度、扉が鳴った。ロハンが入ってきた。袖をまくり、手にしたビジネスバッグの革に、外の熱がまだじっとりと残っている。
「……教授は？」
ラフィが訊いた。
ロハンは答える前に、視線を伏せた。その沈黙がひどく長く感じられ、アミールらは気づかぬうちに息を止めた。
「ザカリア教授は―― 隣の、準備した倉庫へ直接向かった。言づけだ。“すべてを、お前たちに託す”と」
アミールの胸の奥に、冷たい針が刺さった。もちろんアミールだけではなく、ラフィもユスフもレイラもナディールもだ。
暗がりの隅で、ナディールが小さな布の包みを開いた。白いガーゼと消毒の匂いが一瞬だけ立ち、すぐに油と埃に呑まれた。
薄いライトの火が揺れ、影が床に長く伸びて重なった。
W-04の赤い点滅は、狂うことなく正確に刻んでいる。
ラフィが掠れた声で言った。
「……自戒の意味を教えよう。この国に」
アミールも誰も返答はしなかった。
その沈黙が、選んだ道の輪郭をはっきり描いていた。
【本作品の著作権は Mitsushiro Nakagawa に帰属します。
内容の全部または一部を、著者の許可なく複製・転載・改変することを禁じます。】
予告
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僕の新しい小説
B♭ （ビーフラット）
Mitsushiro Nakagawa, with ChatGPT 5.2
“あらすじ”
北朝鮮の仮想通貨システムをハッキングし、数億ドルを奪取したガザ出身のパレスチナ人グループが、アメリカ合衆国へ密かに潜入する。
彼らの目的は、失われた祖国ガザを、アメリカの地に「復元」することだった。
共和党による強硬な移民政策と、国内にくすぶる排外感情を利用し、アメリカ社会を内側から崩壊させる計画が静かに進行していく。
共和党大統領候補ジャスティン・ブラッドフォードがマディソン・スクエア・ガーデンで演説中に狙撃され、ほぼ同時刻、ロサンゼルスでは前大統領オーウェン・リードもまた、民主党候補ライアン・ベネットの集会で撃たれる。
国家を二分する双方向の暗殺。だが、ジャスティンは奇跡的に生還する。
彼の血液型は、世界でわずか250万人に一人といわれる「ボンベイブラッド」。
その希少な血を提供できたのは、ブルックリンで活動するコミュニティアート・ファシリテーター、アナヤ・パテルだった。
彼女の血液はベルビュー病院の血液バンクに保存されており、緊急輸血によって、候補者の命はかろうじて繋がれた。
シークレットサービスのジャック・バンスは、テロの背後にガザ出身の組織が関与していることを察知し、FBIロサンゼルス支局長官キャメロン・バートレット、ニューヨーク支局の特別捜査官ヴェロニカ・リーブスと共に捜査を進める。
やがて彼らは、イスラム大学で建築学を学んだラフィ・ガンナムが、ロサンゼルスやニューヨークの再開発現場に潜入し、梁や構造体の中枢にC4爆薬を仕込んでいた事実に辿り着く。
標的は、ICE（移民・関税執行局）やERO（執行・送還作戦部門）の職員が暮らす新興住宅街——すなわち、「アメリカが築いた秩序」そのものだった。
ヴェロニカは、これ以上の破壊を防ぐため、大統領への対話を進言するが、現職のグラント・ランフォード大統領は耳を貸さない。
一方、命を取り留めたジャスティンと民主党候補ライアンは、テレビを通じて国民に訴えかけ、分断を乗り越えようとする。
だが、その理性の声を嘲笑うかのように、グラントはアイオワ州での演説を強行し、「テロには屈しない」と宣言する。
その会場には、すでにラフィの仲間が率いる工作チームが潜入していた。
崩壊する会場の惨状を前に、仲間の一人アミール・ナッセルは、かつてガザで妹を失った記憶に引き裂かれ、破壊の連鎖を止めようとする。
だが、ラフィの信念は揺るがない。
ウィリアムズバーグ橋の下、夕暮れの喧騒のなか、二人は決別する。
それは、祈りと報復、希望と虚無の境界線だった——。
“登場人物”
アナヤ・パテル ２５歳 コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
アルジュン・シン ２６歳 アナヤの恋人・ルミナテック・イノベーションズ社
佐藤 ミカ ２５歳 アナの友人・コミュニティアート・ファシリテーター
ジャスティン・ブラッドフォード ２７歳 共和党大統領候補
エリノア・ブレイク ２６歳 ジャスティンの婚約者
グラント・M・ランフォード大統領 ６１歳 共和党大統領現職
チャールズ・ベインズ副大統領 ６４歳 共和党副大統領現職
ライアン・ベネット ３０歳 民主党大統領候補
ソフィア・ベネット ３０歳 ライアンの妻
オーウェン・リード ６５歳 民主党前大統領
ジャック・バンス ４５歳 シークレットサービス 元FBIロサンゼルス支局
ベン・ホロウェイ ３０歳 ジャックの同僚
ダリル・ロス ２９歳 ジャックの同僚
イライジャ・ケイン ２８歳 ジャックの同僚
マーカス・デイン ４５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局
キャメロン・バートレット ５５歳 FBI ロサンゼルス支局 支局長
トム・コールドウェル ３８歳 FBI技術班 マーカスの部下
ヴェロニカ・リーヴス ４１歳 FBI特別捜査官
アレクサンダー・ハリス ５２歳 FBI ニューヨーク支局 支局長
エリオット・チェン ３６歳 テクノロジー班主任
アリシア・モンロー ５８歳 FBI長官
ザカリア・ハッダード ５１歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 工学部教授 ニューヨークチーム
アミール・ナッセル ２３歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 元イスラム大学 電子工学部 ニューヨークチーム
ラフィ・ガンナム ３２歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
ロハン・シャー ２９歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 イスラム大学 建築学部 ニューヨークチーム
マジード・ハムザ ４７歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 情報技術学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サミラ・ハンマド ２８歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 工学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
サイード・カバリ ３５歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 経営学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
リーム・ナセル ３０歳 パレスチナ・ガザ地区 パレスチナ大学 メディア学部 ロサンゼルスチーム
ノア・レヴィ 55歳 イスラエル テルアビブ在住 ユダヤ人
本作品の著作権は Mitsushiro Nakagawa に帰属します。
内容の全部または一部を、著者の許可なく複製・転載・改変することを禁じます。
【重要なお知らせ】
当初、新しい小説、B♭（B-flat）の発表を２０２６年２月末日でお知らせしていましたが、
私の無能さのため、以下のスケージュールへ延期します。
最短の場合。
２０２６年３月１６日
通常の場合。
２０２６年３月下旬。
最悪の場合。
２０２６年５月上旬。
期待されていた方には本当に申し訳ございません。
今回、僕の息子が目標を達成していますので、そのお父さんが達成しないわけがありません。
上記のスケジュール。
期待して、今しばらくお待ちください。
僕のこの小説は、来年、２０２６年２月末日に公開します。
先日、リドリースコット監督がサブスクの映画やドラマ群がつまらないと話していたようだけど、同感です。
僕も非常に退屈です。
それらに2時間を要するなら、僕の小説を２分間だけ読んで欲しい。
その2分間は、２時間を越えるでしょう。
僕は自信があります。
ぜひ、期待してお待ちください。
Mitsushiro Nakagawa
09th. Oct . 2025.
追伸
ネトフリに挑戦する男、みっちゃん。😃
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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:: Soundtrack ::
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack )
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . For Japanese)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-for-jap...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Sweet Summer rain ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-sweet-s...
B♭ ( My Novel . Soundtrack . Hard days ver.)
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack-hard-da...
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
Mitsushiro Nakagawa belong to Lot No. 402 _.Copyright©︎2026 Lot No.402_ All rights reserved.
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