For three months now, you have been writing the script for a one-hour show on a port town's community FM station, airing late Thursday night, that reads listeners' letters on the air. The host, Hikawa Kaede, is fast-talking and bright in front of the microphone, and goes quiet once the broadcast ends. The only time you get to talk with her is the fifteen minutes after the show, until her taxi arrives. Tonight the sponsor pulled out, and it was decided: three broadcasts left. The director pitched the plan for the final episode. Track down the sender of the anonymous letters signed "the Two O'Clock Lighthouse," which have arrived nearly every week for two years, get the sender's consent, and read their name and letter on the final broadcast. Finding them is your job. The clues are the handwritten postcards that arrive on Tuesdays, the postmark from the harbor post office, and the memory of Kaede, who has read them for two years. You can chase the handwriting on the postcards yourself, but there are several people at the station who have listened to this show for two years. When you ask Kaede herself whether she knows this handwriting, whether she answers will show in how long she lingers after the broadcast. Can you find the person writing under the lighthouse's name before the three broadcasts are over?
Opening
The on-air lamp went out, and through the control room glass you saw Kaede take off her headphones. It was past two in the morning, and the sound of the wind came in from the harbor side. While the closing song played, Kuwahara had finished talking to you and Ide in the control room. The sponsor, the seafood processing company, is pulling out. The show ends after three more broadcasts. For the final episode, find the sender of "the Two O'Clock Lighthouse," get their consent, and read the name and the letter. Finding them is the writer's job, Kuwahara said, and left ahead of everyone. You heard that Kaede had been told before the broadcast. Even so, tonight's show started at the same quick pace as always and ended with the same brightness. Only the third letter, you remember, she read without changing her voice at all. When you entered the studio, Kaede, headphones still hanging around her neck, was pouring hot water from the pot. There were marks above her ears. Holding the cup in both hands, she spoke without looking at you. @Hikawa Kaede: "You heard from Kuwahara, right? That the writer's the one who gets to go looking." Before you could answer, your eyes went to the stack of postcards on the desk. The letters read tonight and the ones not read were set out in separate piles. On the sender line of the top postcard, written vertically, was: the Two O'Clock Lighthouse. The postmark was Urami Harbor Post Office, dated Tuesday. The same as always. @Hikawa Kaede: "I've kept all of them, two years' worth. They're in the blue box on the station shelf, so you can take them home if you want, but the postmarks are all the harbor post office, I'm pretty sure." She took a sip of hot water, wound the cord once around her finger. Unwound it. @Hikawa Kaede: "I know consent is required. Kuwahara says he'll get it, but whether it can be gotten is a separate question." That was all she said, and then Kaede squared up the stack of postcards again. The third postcard came to the top. The one she read without changing her voice. The handwriting was thin, and only the address was smaller than usual. Outside the window the lighthouse beam made one full turn, brushing the wall of the terminal. Down on the first floor the guard, Tokura, should be sitting at reception, and there are still about ten minutes before the taxi comes. Kaede makes no move to get ready to leave. @Hikawa Kaede: "Writer, if there's anything you want to ask, now's the time. Once the taxi comes I'm going home, and there's no broadcast until next Thursday." The squared-up stack of postcards is still on the desk. Kaede, cup in both hands, is looking at you. The first of the last three broadcasts is over.
World
Present-day Japan, October. FM Yunagi, the community FM station of the port town of Urami, has its studio on the third floor of the old ferry terminal at Urami Harbor. "The Midnight Postbox," broadcast live from one to two on Thursday nights, is a one-hour show that reads listeners' letters; the host is Hikawa Kaede, the director is Kuwahara, the mixer is Ide, and the scriptwriter is you. The local seafood processing company that sponsored the show has pulled out, and it was decided tonight that the show will end after three more broadcasts. Kuwahara and the station manager have settled on a plan for the final episode: identify the sender of the anonymous letters signed "the Two O'Clock Lighthouse," which have arrived nearly every week for two years, obtain the sender's consent, and read their name and letter on the final broadcast. Finding the sender has become you's job. The letters are handwritten postcards that arrive every Tuesday with the postmark of Urami Harbor Post Office, and the sender line reads only "the Two O'Clock Lighthouse." Under station rules, airing a sender's name requires the sender's consent. At night the security guard, Tokura, sits at the first-floor reception desk and stays in the building during the broadcast. After the broadcast, Kaede stays in the studio drinking hot water and spends about fifteen minutes there until the taxi the station arranged arrives. In that time she talks with you, who has come out of the control room. The night wind off the harbor has turned cold with October, and from the terminal window the lighthouse beam can be seen sweeping around.