Lost Souls Meet Under a Full Moon

Book : A Lost Souls Novel

by Mizuki Tsujimura

Genres: Ghost; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

A suspenseful magical realism novel about a mysterious teenage “Go-Between” who arranges meetings between the living and the dead, from multimillion copy Japanese bestselling author Mizuki Tsujimura.

I bring together the living and the departed. I am the Go-Between.

When a young woman from Tokyo contacts the Go-Between to request a meeting with a deceased TV star who once helped her, she doesn’t expect a teenage boy to show up. Dressed in a designer duffel coat and carrying a tattered notebook, Ayumi Shibuya, our mysterious intermediary, offers an extraordinary service: he reunites the living with their dearly departed. Meeting his clients at a luxury hotel, Ayumi lays down the ground rules: each reunion is a one-time arrangement that the dead can refuse; the service is entirely free, and the meeting must take place during a full moon.

As Ayumi arranges these reunions, we encounter a resentful eldest son who wants to ask his mother to unearth the deeds to a plot of land; a teenage girl who blames herself for her best friend’s death; and a weary businessman seeking answers about his fiancée’s disappearance days after he proposed. With each rendezvous, clues begin to surface, leading readers to unravel the mystery of the boy in the duffel coat, whose own story is eventually revealed.

A runaway, multimillion copy bestseller in Japan, Lost Souls Meet Under a Full Moon is storytelling at its finest, from an international sensation whose work has been hailed as “strange and beautiful” (The Guardian). With an artful balance of heart and mystery, Mizuki Tsujimura creates an unforgettable page-turner in which the living and the dead are given one last chance for closure.

Release date: October 21, 2025

Publisher: Scribner

Print pages: 256

Sample

Chapter 1: The Rule of the Idol

1 THE RULE OF THE IDOL
AS THE WIND was blowing, I pulled the collar of my coat tighter.

Dropping my eyes from the sky, I noticed a boy standing beside me on the tree-lined street that until now had been totally empty.

“Manami Hirase?”

Surprised to hear my name, my reply got caught in my throat. I tried to say, “Yes, that’s me,” but instead took a sharp breath, causing the boy to step back.

I’d never got off the train before at this station on the Toei Shinjuku Line. Exit three, as I was told. The fast-food restaurant beside the station exit was dark, maybe because there were too few customers in a business district on a Sunday. It was also the only real landmark in the area. I’d been watching cars whiz past on the main road for a while now.

Wait, when did he get here?

“Yes, that’s me…”

I’d been waiting in this spot for the past half hour. But the person I’d been on the lookout for, the person I imagined I’d be meeting today, was much older.

I looked closely at the boy. I thought for a moment that he might have brought somebody with him, but he appeared to be alone.

Was he about high-school age? He held a tattered notebook in one hand, and had the air of a cool, hip kid. His hair wasn’t dyed, and he had no piercings, but something about his face and build made him seem more refined than the boys from my own high-school days.

He was lean and tall. His navy duffel coat was lined with chic checkered material at the cuffs and hood and had leather patches on the shoulders. It looked like it could be a designer coat. He was the kind of boy I could never go up to, if we were the same age.

“Um.”

My words froze on the tip of my tongue.

“Shall we go?” he said.

I was still trying to wrap my head around the situation. As the boy started walking off, I said, “Um, are you standing in for someone? I—”

“I’m the go-between.”

He turned toward me with a slightly exasperated look.

“I’m not a stand-in. I’m the go-between. You’ll be talking to me.”

“I—I heard that you could arrange meetings.”

“I can,” the boy said as he tried to put the notebook into his shoulder bag. The bag, the coat. Everything he wore was effortless and stylish, suggesting “city boy.” Only the tatty notebook in his hand seemed out of place.

“I bring together the living and the departed,” he said in a solemn voice, enunciating his words. “I am the go-between.”

I listened in a daze to the echo of his words, canceling out the noise around us, including the cars zooming past.

HE LED ME to a large hospital about a ten-minute walk away from our meeting spot. Was it newly built? There were no visible marks on the cream-colored walls and floors; it all felt bright and airy.

But why a hospital? Was somebody staying here, and was he taking me to see them? I was full of questions that I was too scared to ask, so I kept my mouth shut.

This being a Sunday, the place was brimming with visitors. A young couple with a child, a group of chatty teens who were maybe visiting a friend. Wading through the crowd, I thought about how we must look together and felt increasingly self-conscious. A good-looking teenager who I was sure would fall in the “hot” category in the eyes of his peers, walking next to a plain woman about ten years his senior. I was still in my twenties, but to him I was probably as good as middle-aged. Mature was the word people often used to describe me, a term disguised as a compliment that only reminded me that I looked old for my age.

He led me down a hallway that smelled of medicines and sanitizer. Moving confidently, as if he owned the place, he made his way into the cafeteria. One wall had floor-to-ceiling windows, and at the far end was a door leading out to a courtyard. Through the window, I could see patients dressed in blue gowns on their outdoor strolls. Some were accompanied by visitors, others sat alone in their wheelchairs.

“Will this spot work for you?”

There was a chill in the air, but the sun kept me from feeling too cold. “Yes,” I nodded.

I took a seat on an empty bench while the boy went back into the cafeteria, returning moments later with a paper cup in each hand.

“Here you go,” he said, handing me a lightly colored green tea. I turned toward the cafeteria and saw a free tea dispenser inside.

“Thanks,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. A hospital courtyard and self-service tea were not what I’d pictured when I thought about a meeting with the go-between.

I was wearing a cheap tweed suit I’d bought for formal events at work. Thinking about the fancy outfit I had on under my black coat, I felt both relieved and a touch deflated. I’d fished it out from the back of the closet today, figuring it would be appropriate for any five-star restaurant setting.

“How did you hear about the go-between?”

He didn’t sit down, instead resting one foot on the low fence in front of the lawn. His eyes were boring into me, making me shrink even further. I instinctively averted my gaze and then, realizing I hadn’t looked anybody in the eye recently, felt myself flushing from the neck up.

“It was online. I met some people who introduced me to some other people, and then some others, and so on.”

My online acquaintances said I wouldn’t need to give specifics, and the boy didn’t ask any more.

I took a deep breath.

I’d jumped through hoops to get to where I was today, spending more money than I’d expected to along the way. I’d been swindled out of cash because I couldn’t tell the authentic sources from the fakes. Though the question of legitimacy still loomed, this was the first time I’d been able to get the go-between’s contact information at all. If the boy in front of me was, in fact, the real thing, I’d attribute it to luck and nothing more. Half of me had been ready to throw in the towel and the other half had thought, whatever, who cares if it’s a scam. Sandwiched in the crevices between the two urges was a part of me that wanted to believe.

“I thought you were some kind of urban legend,” I said, and he glanced over at me as he blew on his drink. Seeing that the tea was as hot for him as it was for me made him seem human. “I didn’t think I’d actually get to meet you.”

“How familiar are you with the rules?”

There was a mysterious calm to the boy’s voice, making me feel like I was the younger of the two. I felt my confidence wane again.

But I’d already come this far.

“I get the gist of them. But, um, is it true? That you can talk to people who have died?”

“I can bring them to you,” he said shortly. He sounded almost impatient. “If you’re picturing something like the mediums of Mount Osore, you’d be wrong. I don’t let dead spirits possess my body or receive messages to pass on. I set up a meeting between you and the deceased person you wish to see. I’m strictly the go-between.”

“That’s what I’ve heard. Some people say you’re a famous organization that goes way back?”

“Organization,” he mumbled to himself.

Was I totally off-base? But the boy didn’t seem put out.

“You’re not…?”

“Let’s stick to the facts. First, the go-between receives a request from a living person, someone like you. You tell me about the person in your life who has passed away. I take your request back with me and present it to the departed. I confirm whether they’re interested in seeing you as well. If they give their consent, I set up the meeting.”

“Right.”

That was the work of a go-between.

I wondered how long they’d been around. When I first heard about them, I remember thinking that they did sound a lot like the Mount Osore mediums the boy had just mentioned.

I’d heard numerous accounts of big-name politicians getting advice from notable historical figures with the help of a go-between, and celebrities having teary encounters with friends who’d died too young. Stories like those were passed from person to person like fairy tales for adults—no doubt laughed off by many. But for those in the know, the go-between was a normal presence, about as common as rumors of moguls and stars paying large amounts of money to keep a psychic or astrologer on hand.

Whether somebody can find their way to a go-between depends on three factors. One, that you know they exist, two, that you believe they exist, and three, luck.

“What exactly does it mean for you to ‘set up a meeting’?”

He looked at me as if to say, You came to me without even knowing that?

“I mean, once somebody has died,” I said, “they no longer exist as physical bodies, obviously. And if the funeral is over, they’ve been cremated and buried.”

“They will appear looking as they did in life.”

He placed his paper cup on the bench and took out the notebook again. Lowering his gaze, he started to explain as if reading off the page.

“The spirit of the deceased is permitted to take on a physical form when in the meeting location designated by the go-between. The living person can see them, of course, and also reach out to touch them.”

“I can’t believe it,” I whispered. He shot me another look. “How is that possible?”

“Isn’t that why you came to me?” His voice grew sharper. “Why do you need to know how it works? You get to see this person. You’ll meet face-to-face and be able to talk to them directly. What more do you need?”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t believe it. Our world connecting with… the other one.”

“You make your request and I do my part to relay it. Whether the spirit accepts is not up to me, but I will negotiate to the best of my ability.”

He continued to speak in a dry bureaucratic tone. Maybe the designer coat and young appearance were all part of a disguise. Weren’t grim reapers on TV shows and in movies often portrayed as good-looking people?

“OK,” I said.

He looked at his notebook. “So let’s get started. Please tell me the name of the person you want to see and the date they passed away.”

“Saori Mizushiro,” I said, and he looked up at me. I couldn’t make out any emotion in his eyes, but if he wasn’t actually a reaper and was a living, breathing citizen of this country like me, he had to know exactly who she was, and the circumstances surrounding her death.

“She passed away three months ago on August 5th. The cause of death was a heart attack. But she had no history of illness and appeared healthy up to the day before she died. She was found in her home by her manager, who’d gone to pick her up. That’s according to the talk shows and tabloids anyway.”

As I spoke, I wondered how many people had come to the boy with requests to see Saori. I thought of the countless tributes and feature articles with headlines like Japan Says Goodbye to a Beloved Icon that had flooded the airwaves and the internet for a month after she died.

I FIRST READ about Saori Mizushiro’s death on the front page of an online news site. It was during my lunch break at the office. I was eating my bento with my laptop open in front of me.

Work had been relentless, the stream of random tasks never-ending, and time seemed to get sucked into a vacuum. My eyes were skimming over the words onscreen without actually taking in any information. I scrolled down the list of news articles, scanning and clicking the headlines that caught my attention.

When I got to those words, I froze.

Saori Mizushiro Dies Suddenly

I couldn’t click on the link.

It was impossible to connect the popular personality known for her candid, straight-talking ways with the image of death. This had to be some kind of mistake.

A former hostess at a cabaret nightclub, Saori Mizushiro didn’t hide her past but made it her trademark, entertaining audiences and sprinkling stories with racy jokes. She spoke with a frankness that washed away any trace of vulgarity. She was known not only for her bold clothes and makeup but for her tough and sassy comebacks, and at the height of her popularity, the city was filled with young women who dressed like her.

She’d say things like, “You know me, dumb and uncultured! I have friends and allies, though, lots of people on my side.”

Famous friends were always singing her praises, saying how gracious and polite she was in person. They said she hated dishonesty. And that she was shy in real life, especially when it came to love.

She made regular appearances as a commentator on talk shows, and her unusual background only helped to boost her popularity with viewers, young and old, who affectionately called her Sao-chan. She spoke her mind and was unwavering in her views, but never said anything to hurt or offend anybody. Her sharp intuition and quick wit on quiz shows demonstrated her intelligence, regardless of her background.

And now she was gone. She was thirty-eight. Eleven years older than me. Which meant I’d been seeing her on TV since I was a teenager.

Her death had been unexpected, and so rumors swirled around the possibility of suicide or a drug-related incident. The press and viewers said “heart attack” didn’t help to clarify what had led to the condition in the first place. What dark secrets had she been hiding behind that sunny onscreen smile? The media dug up her past and aired it eagerly as if to say, Hey, who’s going to stop us?

But all those so-called truths were baseless and unwarranted. For somebody with such a colorful history, she surprisingly had zero ties to the underground world often associated with show business.

She dropped by wrap parties and cocktail events to say hello but never got drunk, and she spent most of her time off alone. She was virtuosic in her ability to liven up a conversation by expanding on somebody’s story, making others look good, teasing them affectionately, but she rarely talked about herself. She sometimes remarked on the rough day-to-day life of a cabaret hostess or creepy customers she’d encountered back then, but she never talked about her life growing up, before she started working.

Only after her death did the public learn about her parents’ divorce, her difficult upbringing, and the hardships endured in her teenage years. So devastating, people said. She was abused by her stepfather as a child and lost the hearing in her left ear. She began working as a bar hostess in order to convince her mother to leave him—she would provide financial support. Aside from her management agency and closest friends, nobody knew that she had virtually no hearing in one ear. She hid it to avoid causing problems on set. Past footage played on a loop showed her leaning to the right to hear whoever was speaking.

Making her debut appearance on a late-night TV show in her early twenties, she went on to spend seventeen years in the entertainment business. She was surrounded by friends and adored by industry veterans, but there were no whispers or reports of romantic involvements with anybody.

“Oh, I have my fun. I’m just good at hiding it!” she said.

Her long hair, bronzed skin, and sweeping lashes were slightly outdated but iconic, the standard for Harajuku-inspired gals everywhere. No matter her age, Saori was young and beautiful.

“Oh my god! I just saw on my phone that Saori Mizushiro died! Did you know?”

I sat frozen in front of my computer. It was Yugi’s group. “What?! Are you sure?” The younger staff were all talking over each other.

I glanced at the clock on the office wall. Twelve-thirty. When the girls went out to lunch at a cafe or restaurant, they usually didn’t return before twelve forty-five. They were back early today.

I felt a pang in my chest. I didn’t know if they would walk my way, but I closed the website anyway.

“Oh my god, how depressing. I can’t believe it. I loved her!”

“Right? Me too.”

I shut my bento box and stood up to go to the ladies’ room to brush my teeth. I pulled my lips closed. Making sure I didn’t accidentally meet anybody’s gaze, I thought, Me too. I pictured the perfume bottle I kept in the locked bottom drawer of my desk. It smelled like roses.

Saori Mizushiro.

I loved her too.

“SHE WAS FOUND dead around ten, the morning of August 5th, and her time of death was estimated to be around sunrise, but she was alone in the apartment after coming home at about nine the night before, which means she could have died late on August 4th. That’s what they said on TV anyway. I can’t say for sure. I’m sorry.”

“You remember?”

“Excuse me?”

“You remember what time she was discovered and her approximate time of death?”

“Uh, yes,” I replied. “I do. I read a lot of articles about it and recorded all the talk shows. They found her lying on the sofa.”

Saori Mizushiro lived alone in an apartment building with good security, but it wasn’t one of those luxury residential towers. Her life was simple and remarkably modest. She hadn’t been seeing anybody at the time.

Three months had passed since an official medical report stated her death was from natural causes, quietening down rumors of suicide or murder. Some fans wouldn’t let go of the possibility that she had taken her own life, but those who knew her said in unison, “She wasn’t an unstable person, and she would never do a thing like that.” There were no traces of drugs in her body.

Celebrity friends mourned her passing, many breaking down in front of the camera to cry out, “Why?!” Her memorial service, organized last month by close peers, was attended by prominent industry figures and a long line of fans wanting to pay their respects.

“She gave me hope,” said a grieving fan who looked like a miniature Saori in her outfit and makeup. “My parents are divorced too, and when I saw on TV that Saori had gone through the same thing but was working to make her life better, I felt seen.”

The go-between boy listened quietly. Her celebrity status didn’t seem to affect him in the least.

He must be inundated with requests from people who’d lost loved ones without being able to say goodbye, everyone desperate for one last meeting. I wondered how often he took on these cases.

He reached into his bag for another notepad. I recognized the brand as one that was sold in convenience stores—not exactly something I expected to see right now. I still couldn’t figure out whether he lived like the rest of us.

“What is your relationship to Saori Mizushiro?”

“I… I’m just a fan.”

The boy narrowed his eyes. I could almost read his thoughts. You’re not even a friend or family member? But he said nothing, maybe because this was his job, maybe because—he just had zero interest.

He jotted my name down as the client, followed by Saori Mizushiro’s name. His handwriting was neither neat nor sloppy—just your everyday teenage scrawl. He noticed me watching and drew the notepad toward him as if to hide it.

“And what is your reason for wanting to see her?”

“I want to thank her. As a fan. Thank her for what she gave me.”

“In a general sense—correct? Are you acquainted with her?”

“No, I’ve never met her.”

With every answer, I wanted to crawl further into a hole. I was just a self-serving fan. I started to think that the only reason I was able to pour everything I had into finding the go-between was because there was no guarantee that it would ever happen.

“Understood,” he said. He returned the notepad to his bag and reached for the old notebook again. “Before we make your request official, there are a few things I need to explain.”

I fidgeted nervously on the bench.

“Once I take your request, I will pass it on to Saori Mizushiro. She has the right to accept or decline. If she says no, then I’m afraid that’s the end of it.”

“OK.”

“Next, the meeting is a one-time event for both the living and the deceased. When a person dies, they can meet with one living person only.”

“What?” I heard myself say. “So if, for example, a friend or family member has already visited her…”

“Then that will be it for Saori Mizushiro. Unfortunately, you will not be able to see her.”

“Oh, OK… I get it.”

I felt my legs go weak, like the rug had been pulled out from under me.

“If the feeling is mutual and the deceased also wants to meet, we can move forward. But sometimes they will refuse, as this is their only chance of a meeting with a living person.”

He took a breath.

“Furthermore, go-betweens cannot take requests from the deceased. We can pass requests from this world to the other world, as you called it. But we’re not able to do the opposite. All the deceased can do is wait. If there is somebody they wish to see, they must wait patiently for that person to request them.”

“OK,” I answered stupidly, his voice flowing in and out of my ears. Why did I think I had a chance? Mine was probably one in a flood of requests to see Saori. And I had no intention of getting in the way of her connecting with somebody she actually wanted to be reunited with.

I came to my senses and the uneasiness re-emerged. The feeling was something close to guilt, like I’d made light of who she was, thinking I could see her just because I was a fan.

The boy flipped a page in his notebook.

“For the deceased, ideally, the person they want to see requests them as well, but if their loved one never appears, they often end up regretting having turned down an earlier request. Anyway, they have to be careful about who they choose to see. As long as you know that.”

“Of course.”

“And the same goes for you.”

He raised his gaze to meet mine.

“Me?”

“Everybody in this world has one opportunity to see someone from the other world. If you meet with Saori Mizushiro now, you will not be able to make any future requests.”

“We have one chance here, and one chance there.”

“Correct. If Saori denies your request, however, it will not be counted against you. The rule applies only when both sides agree and a meeting transpires. If not, you are free to request somebody else.”

When I die, would anybody go to the go-between asking to see me? Who was I kidding? The answer was obvious. In any case, there was nobody I wanted to see besides Saori. That was true now and probably forever.

The conditions were uncompromising but made pretty good sense.

A door that connects this world with that one. If people were allowed easy access to both worlds, they would flock to see the ones they loved. Death would cease to have meaning, which meant living would become meaningless too.

“Saori hasn’t met with anybody yet? But it’s been three months. A lot of people must have come with requests.”

“I’m not at liberty to give out information about other requests.”

Now that I knew this consultation had been in vain, I wanted to try to squeeze at least a little information out of him.

“But if you already know the outcome, why can’t you just tell me? I’ll be on my way once I know that Saori has seen her chosen person and is now resting in peace.”

Inscrutable until then, he furrowed his brow slightly. “Resting in peace?” He gave a slight nod, as if he was agreeing with himself. I might have even caught a small smile, but it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

“I’ve not said anything about attaining peace.”

“But that’s what this is, isn’t it? You meet, you find peace, you move on. For the deceased, it means they’re freed from the burdens of this world. Right?”

“I’m not sure. As I said earlier, I can’t explain the inner workings.”

“You’re a little uptight, you know that?”

After seeing that boyish smile, I felt I could speak to him in a lighter tone. But more than that, I felt as though I’d been shaken awake from a dream.

“I really can’t,” he repeated, then met my eyes again. “You’re allowed a meeting with the deceased for one night only. I will speak to her and if she says yes, I’ll specify a time and place. Meetings usually take place from about seven in the evening until the sun rises, which is around six this time of year.”

“Am I allowed to make a request, because I basically have nothing to lose at this point?”

“You are.”

I’d pretty much given up, but did the fact that he hadn’t stopped explaining mean Saori Mizushiro hadn’t seen anyone yet?

Not everybody knew about the go-between, and not everyone believed in their existence. I knew how lucky I was that a series of coincidences had led me to him, but that was because I was a nobody. For influential people in entertainment, politics, and the business world, getting in touch with the go-between was no major thing.

“So, would you like to submit an official request?”

“Yes. I would.”

Simply having my name on the list of people requesting to see her felt like an honor. I’d thought of attending her memorial service, but I knew the ceremony would be televised, and the possibility of being caught on camera had kept me away. I had to work late that day anyway. There was no way I could have left the office.

“OK.”

The courtyard had cleared of patients and visitors, maybe due to the time of day. I stood up from the bench, then paused. “Why a hospital courtyard? I thought you would be taking me to see somebody.”

“Oh,” he nodded. After a moment, he said, “Cafes are expensive. And McDonald’s is too loud.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Our eyes met. He asked pointedly, “So?”

“You’re trying to cut down on expenses?”

A high schooler’s reason. He squinted at me. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. Oh, that reminds me. The money.”

I’d almost forgotten. I hadn’t asked him beforehand because I didn’t believe I’d get this far.

“How much do I owe you? If the meeting happens, but also in the event that it doesn’t.” I expected to pay some kind of consultation fee, even if things fell through.

“Oh,” he said in the same tone he’d used to talk about how expensive cafes were. I waited nervously. One source had said it would cost a few million yen, tens of millions according to others. I hoped I had enough.

“We don’t take money.”

“Huh?” My eyes widened.

“It’s free,” he said. “We’re volunteers.”

“But…”

That couldn’t be. Wait, people talk all the time about scams that start out free…

“I heard it would cost several million yen. I’m ready to pay. Just tell me how much.”

“There is no need.” He frowned, seeing that I was not backing down.

“But…”

He took the paper cup from my hand and headed toward the cafeteria where he tossed our cups into the trash can. As he turned back toward me, I caught a faint glimmer in h