---

---

"It was Mother who suggested, 'Well then, let's set off fireworks inside.' 'Ah, yes, that sounds nice~. I *do* love launch fireworks~' that was Natane, and 'What are we supposed to do if it starts a fire?!' that was Father. Two bold, airheaded fools and one timid straight man. They made quite the trio. Kiyoshi, the husband yet left out of the loop, awkwardly stammered, 'Um, about that playing with fire, you know, Touka, Milady.' Well, she *was* his actual daughter, after all.
Takahiro hadn't been ordered to show interest, so he remained indifferent, getting into his futon at nine o'clock sharp as Mother instructed. He had no hobbies; twenty-four hours must have dragged on for him, I imagine.
After she kicked up a fuss, they tried to persuade her this way and that (Father barely got a word in), and eventually, she gave up.

Since stray fireworks occasionally visited my window, we'd press our heads together and peer out.
And since it seemed we could somehow slip out of the mansion through Mother's window, we promised to sneak out someday and go look up at the fireworks. Yes, I certainly made that promise.

I seem to have failed in my memory's sorting process.
I must have forgotten all about it. Even though she was so excited.

Death is simply what the process of life leads to.
Conversely, Akane, who was half-asleep next to me, might still vaguely remember that exchange even now.
.........Sweet girl. But it's hot right now, so she doesn't need to snuggle up when we sleep.
If I let her go alone, I feel like I'd end up separated not just from my parents, but from my sister while we're both still alive. I'm less accustomed to that than separation by death, so it might be easier to shatter my heart, you know. Yes, truly.

"Well, whatever. I was thinking it's about time I started rehab for my legs anyway."

His vacant eyes, like those of a cow mid-processing, wander with eerie precision as he decides on his course of action.
Is this what it feels like to encounter a live zombie for the first time, I wonder?
The pale-faced man struggles.
He crawls around the bed—*shuff, shuff, shuff*—and ends up tumbling off.
He takes the impact full-on with the side of his face and head, letting out a more destructive groan than usual, and grabs the edge of the bed. The moment he tries to use it for support to walk on his own feet, his legs and hips, which haven't even begun rehab, promptly crumble like the bones of someone who died in *Makai Mura*, and he collapses to the floor. He can't even manage to land on his knees.
With the same helpless expression as someone struck by the intense pain of both legs cramping at once during sleep—a pain that saps even the will to whimper—he attempts to reboot. This time, the blue veins on his hands standing out against his skin like fishnet tights, he forces the bed legs and sideboard to provide further support, finally managing to get to his feet.
He peels off the sheet he'd dragged down with him when he fell and pads across the floor barefoot.
Clenching his back teeth as if biting down hard, he closes his eyes, lets his toes grip the floor, and keeps exhaling deeply, deeply, like touching snow and melting every last flake.

By this point, his whole body is drenched in sweat, his flushed skin only serving to emphasize his unhealthy pallor. Like a freshly molted cicada, perhaps, or a newborn lizard.
Watching this, I get an itch—ah, ah, aaaah... I *really* want to land a flying side kick on him.
Inner turmoil and conflict. But surely, the world would recoil at that. If I ended up with an epithet like 'Yuna the Rotten Scoundrel,' what would I do about my nameplate? And if 'Akane of the Reversed World' were written underneath, I think I'd just die of indignation.

Setting that aside. But by just letting it go like that, can I really be satisfied? Ah, ah... *Ahem, cough cough*.
However, in a sense, what's perhaps most admirable about him... is how, despite looking utterly wretched, he shows no hesitation in getting up.
And how he shows absolutely no uncertainty about walking out to escape this room.
Is his intellect still alive? Or is this a ploy where he'll whisper, 'I'm just acting automatically'?

"You're really trying hard in that half-dead body. As expected of a masochist." My concise impression after watching the whole thing.
"Most of the folks back home were bullies, so it was a measure to maintain domestic harmony."
"..." "..."
"...Yes, truly." Perfectly synchronized, right down to the pause.
There's the suspicion we're being manipulated by the same puppet strings, isn't there? But right now, maybe it's just our mouths and tongues.
His movements seem artificial, as if his body is forcibly dragging along a heart that has become a mere lump of dead flesh.
I don't think I could imitate that. Because, well, it's summer now. I can't just shiver from a chill.
"Shall I play a song by Mr. Monkey to celebrate the start of your resurrection?"
"No thank you, sadist girl. Well then, I'll pray you don't get launched at the fireworks display."
"Just kidding!" "Just kidding!" A defiant, forceful duet.
As we passed each other, we slapped our raised hands together.
I stood there dazed and frail, while he recoiled, fragile.

And with that, my part is over, for now.
Let's entrust the steering of this narrative vessel to the one whose proper job is Acting Assistant Protagonist Extraordinaire.
""Now, let's set out to find ourselves.""

***

**Chapter 4: rememberlI**

*Someone else's supporting character = The protagonist of* some *story, resurrected.*

***

And so, I awakened from my long slumber...... No particular ritual for the resurrection of the Great Demon Lord was involved.
However, it *is* a fact that I was bedridden in the hospital for nearly two months. For about a month of that, my consciousness took a long trip, leaving the garage of my mind shut tight. I was *this* close to having the neighborhood doctor report me to the afterlife. Just kidding! At most, they'd call the undertaker first, right?

It'll probably take nearly ten times longer than usual to reach my destination, so in the meantime, how about I talk about my dreams?
After *that* dangerous person showed up at the gym, and I ended up hospitalized with serious injuries... This is about the several dreams I had while my consciousness was muddled. First off, I reunited with the Sennin.

......No, wait, men and women of all ages! Please pause your hands that are about to stuff this into the garbage bag labeled 'Tall Tales' with an 'Oh, really? Huh.' and have a seat. I really *have* had an audience with a Sennin.
Self-proclaimed, though. When I was in elementary school, on an autumn field trip, I encountered a woman with a relatively large head who puffed herself up saying things like 'I be the Sennin of the mountain, y'see!' She was someone who lived in a mountain hut. Age-wise, she should be the same generation as Ms. Koibi, whose mid-thirties befuddlement is concerning. It's odd for me to say, but a genuinely harmless, wholesome eccentric was rare, so she stuck in my memory.
I haven't met that Sennin directly since the field trip, but she sometimes intervenes in my dreams. She was unique in a good way, that woman. She's stuck fast, unable to be washed away from the past by water or blood.
"'I'm lonely!! Sooo! Lonely!' she yelled while chasing our group of elementary schoolers near the mountaintop castle during the field trip; it was practically reportable-offense level. She mentioned eating nothing but nuts and wild vegetables for the past few years, so maybe her brain's business was downsizing due to malnutrition.

So, this Sennin lectured me. It's been over eight years since I met her, but she harshly criticized me, saying that if she judged my progress up till now, I'd score around negative three points. First, she deducted about thirty million points because 'I don't like that you're eating better food than me.' Then, she griped about my half-assed ways of dealing with danger—not flattering, not retreating, not reflecting—and subtracted another forty million points. It was a disaster.
However, she did praise me, saying it was better than having done nothing and remaining that listless little shit.

In the middle period, when my consciousness started returning for about half a day at a time, it was all fireworks. A hundred flowers of shame and dreams blooming riotously. Covered in kaleidoscopic, diverse shadows, I cried constantly. It had been a while since my face ached from it.

What appeared in my half-dreaming state were pairs of the dead and living I'd been involved with. Hallucinations of the living appeared reflected in the hospital window, while the dead lurked in the shadows cast by visitors. In particular, the shadows woven by the yukata of Yuna, who came periodically to report on Mayu's movements, invited crowds of the dead from the road to Yomi.
Nagase and the kidnapper, Fushimi and his sister's mother, Ms. Hi and Mayu's mother. After that, Toue and Yamana-san also came to tease me. Maybe they were coming to collect me. No, Toue is alive, but Akaike-kun is probably alive too, and Biwajima and Sugawara aren't dead either.
It wasn't like *all* my acquaintances were dead.

After realizing that, I started hearing cicadas outside. And then, whether it was reality or not is still uncertain—please let it be a dream, I beg you—I committed the utterly humiliating act of clinging to the nearby Yuna, having my head patted and being coddled. No, it must have been a fleeting dream, because for a woman, she felt awfully firm, mainly in the chest area.

Then, in the later period, once I could sit up for a few minutes, came the dialogue with reality. I talked with various people sitting on folding chairs. Without restrictions, for the first time in a while. *That girl* who gets grumpy the moment she opens a door remained distant from me.
Most of the people who came to visit me cried for me, but frustratingly, I've forgotten how to be genuinely happy about it. When I touch something beautiful belonging to someone, I hesitate, afraid my fingerprints and someone's blood will get on it. Whether I admire it or isolate it, if I don't hold onto it, it disperses into the air, never becoming sustenance for me.

The visitors included my uncle and aunt, Fushimi, Nagase, the Ikeda siblings and Itsuki, Jeronimo-san, Kaneko, uh, and mumbledy-mumble. Ms. Koibi, it seems, hasn't even been informed about the incident itself. She's probably peacefully peeling the skin on her thumb today or something. That's my wish, too. Also, for some reason, Inazawa (apparently her real surname is Inagawa? Not that it matters). She probably just came to check if Mayu had visited, the nerve. And there's no particular hidden meaning in the order. Contains slight falsehoods. Feel free to interpret it like official circulation numbers.

And after that... Ah, of course, Mayu didn't come to see me. Mayu, who was less injured than me, left the hospital over two weeks ago.
Something triggered Mayu back at that gym, causing her to lose sight of 'Mii-kun' again and revert to her life from a year ago. And I was being blamed for various things related to that. Maybe because my body was weak, I couldn't drive away the imaginary ghosts with clever words, and I was being strangled by an absurd sense of guilt. Getting my head cracked open with a vase by Nagase, being stabbed in the hand and shoulder by my sister's knife, my head breaking a little due to contradictions, getting shot—it was all because 'Mii-kun' was by Mayu's side. 'Originally, it's all your fault, you bastard!' they seemed to say.

When told all that, I started to feel like the two of us were causing some kind of chemical reaction, like how 'comical' becomes 'chemical' by changing one letter. Well, even if that caused harm to those around us, I'm the type of person who barely recognizes it as harm, but when it comes to Mayu herself, I can't just ignore it.
Hmm, is this really okay? I worried that this time, Mayu might actually die in the near future.
Just as I was agonizing over this like a proper adult, Maa-chan went and faithfully reenacted her past actions, right down to kidnapping and confinement. When I first heard the report from Yuna, I felt dizzy. I was tempted to escape to the underworld under the pretext of making an appearance in Kawana's room. Just kidding!

From that day on, my request for Yuna to monitor Mayu during my absence proved not to be in vain. Mayu had once again unintentionally removed a troublesome person from the incident. The option of me taking the blame was currently impossible, with me unable to stretch my hands or feet satisfactorily.

I no longer had the luxury of leisurely dreaming, and the boredom of my hospital stay instantly turned into agony. Being unable to writhe around was frustrating. Having no choice, I got a nearby nurse to help me writhe. My wounds actually started to open up—you think I'd let her get away with a 'Tehee'?
I certainly writhed in agony, and it was my own fault, but: setting that aside.

A single ray of hope was brought by Ooe Yuna.
For just this one moment, the situation certainly took a turn for the better. If I missed it, everything would be over.
My life won't end in hospitalization. I have to at least secure a place to go after discharge myself.
...Because I learned that pretending to agonize is truly meaningless.
That's why I escaped from the hospital room.
I'll repeat it as many times as necessary, because I'm a fool.
And now, I'll implement a method to solve the case even with this body.
So that what I've lost doesn't fall asleep somewhere beyond the reach of my waking hand.

"And so, the idiot who can't hold a conversation has arrived!"
Simultaneously with arriving at the abandoned warehouse, I elegantly drop to one knee, plagued by nausea. Ugh, settle down, my entire body...! Seriously, I'm shaking too much. Am I imitating my alcoholic grandma? And no, Ai-san, that's not it. The vomit rising in my throat seems to be mostly blood. Swallowing it back down feels like gulping a steel golf ball. It rolls around in my stomach. If I held it in, it felt like a beam cannon would fire from my left nostril, so I obediently spat a small amount out of my mouth. A pomegranate garnish on stewed tomato was born, crushed, and elongated.

And Hisaya Shirota is taken aback by the man who's vomiting blood and looking half-dead right after appearing. ...Hmm, my first impression is that his esteemed face does indeed resemble the paper stuck to the bottom of a castella cake. Since saying I have quite the aesthetic eye could become self-praise in a way, I'll limit myself to modest admiration.

"Good evening... No, it's still evening, so good afternoon, I guess? You must have been pretty bored, being tied up and living here. I was in a similar situation, so I know how you feel."
First, I decided to express a sense of kinship to close the distance. After all, people do tend to be drawn to those similar to themselves, which is troublesome. If that were the case, I'd end up forced into a game of tying a red string around Yuna's neck and mine and having a tug-of-war. Could there be a more pointless death?
Hisaya Shirota is reacting noisily (*fugo-fuga*) at the newcomer. He's probably ignoring my introduction and making an omnidirectional request for rescue. Therefore, first, I select 'No.' Gradually, I feel the twistedness of my nature reviving, the refraction of my heart deepening. It's novel to perceive the phrase 'getting my intuition back' in such an uncool way.

"Sorry, I didn't actually come here to save you. I heard various reports from the Tattletale Fiend, er, I mean, U.N. Ooe... and just came to take a look."
I lift my knee, endure the strike by my blood demanding reinforcements, watch it argue over internal deployment, and finally, my body stabilizes enough to maintain bipedal locomotion. Not just my words, my body's becoming roundabout too. If I don't consciously think about each movement, my muscles don't coordinate.
I shuffle towards Hisaya Shirota, as lifting my feet feels like it would instantly drain my stamina.
They didn't provide shoes, figuring they weren't needed inside the hospital, so I'm wearing hospital slippers.
Thanks to that, combined with my behavior along the way, my suspiciousness levels skyrocketed. People might suspect I escaped from a different kind of hospital.
Hisaya Shirota also struggles futilely, straining his back muscles to try and distance himself from me. If he could destroy the pillar and retreat like that, this case would have bypassed complexity and been solved by brute force. There'd be no need for me to come here like this. But the day when 'Happily Ever After' gets written in a powerful title script never arrives, and reality demands this confrontation.

"Well, that was mostly lies." *And I'll keep lying to you.* "I'll save you now." *Meaning Maa-chan.*
I move around to the pillar Hisaya Shirota is leaning against. Then I place Mr. Tsurusato's right arm at his feet and untie the rope at his wrists... The knot won't come undone. This isn't the time to feel clever for thinking 'This won't be easy.' Mayu must have tied this, right? Currently debating whether to admit that 'Lasses these days sure are strong, yessir.' My incompetence is such that I can hardly laugh at Mr. Tsurusato's reliance on his independently capable arm.
I've lost confidence in my ability to participate in the neighborhood festival, hoist Maa-chan up instead of a mikoshi, and chant 'Wasshoi, wasshoi.' Not that I had any to begin with. We did that kind of thing inside the apartment building, anyway.
"Nnngh... No, I'm not trying to tease you," I explain to Hisaya Shirota, who's forming a look of undisguised hostility with sidelong glances and haggard cheeks, while I struggle fiercely. The phrase 'last-minute rope making' floats in the back of my mind. Sweat seeps out, wetting my bangs and face. Being clumsy *and* looking awkward about it... utterly hopeless.

After several minutes, I finally untie the rope, and almost let the burden slip from my shoulders. I hastily shoulder it again.
Hisaya Shirota rejoices at his long-awaited freedom and, for starters, shoves me with his emaciated arms. My Japanese is a mess, but please understand I composed this sentence hastily. His right hand thrusts into my chest without holding back, his left fist punches above my eye as if scraping it. Ignoring friction, I go flying and land on my butt.
After being confined for days, how can he move like that? My childhood self should learn from him... seems impossible, though.

He removed the gag himself. Ripping it off forcefully, he spits saliva onto the floor repeatedly. Ooh, very youthful.
I've never heard of any areas in the city with signs posted in front of stations saying 'Caution: Floor slippery due to youth saliva,' so my prejudice probably deserves to be punched by city dwellers without complaint, the end. No, just kidding, I've been to Tokyo and stuff. Once. On my middle school trip, when we went to the 'Let's Modify Any Creature for Bipedal Locomotion Factory,' aka the Land of Dreams in Chiba prefecture, I even rode the Shinkansen, can you believe it? Though it was the Kodama. In this prefecture, the Nozomi only passes through once a day. That's a revelation from the railway company, that hopes don't easily pass through...
"The hell?! What're *you*?!" This time I'm kicked away, rolling energetically across the floor. At one point, I even bounced from the momentum. Seems I cut my lip; the taste of blood mixes into my mouth from the outside too.

Unable to get up, I roll my eyes, trying to grasp the tail end of my fading focus.
"Huh... That's weird. Normally, in a scenario where you get knocked down and then make a comeback like this, there should be some kind of invincibility frames, but I got hit. Maybe life isn't an action game, but an RPG after all."
"What're you mumbling about! Dammit, piece of shit!"
Toe kicks pummel (*dondoko*) my abdomen. Incidentally, my opponent also stumbles each time he kicks, looking like he's about to fall.
*......Good, do more. Live out your remaining life to the fullest.*
"What the hell are you! An ally? An ally of that shit woman?! If you're on the side of JUSTICE, then thanks a lot! Shit! How damn late are you?! Me— Ahh, this sucks!"
My sides are stomped repeatedly, and I expel air and stomach acid like a pump. The hospital food stuffed into my stomach at lunch today via a 'Here, say ahh~' has now become like a three-scoop ice cream cone (please understand) bought with allowance money by a five-year-old girl from her dad, which she dropped—*splat*—waaah, now even my clothes are sticky. The taste... if classified by color alone, lemon-vanilla? Maybe honey jam. Though it looks like porridge with too much vinegar, but normally you wouldn't put vinegar in porridge.
Furthermore, regarding the person who said 'Say ahh~' and wielded the chopsticks, I leave it to your imagination. Correct guessers get a complimentary self-serving sense of superiority. To the viewers who ignored the question, I grant you effective use of time from your remaining lifespan. Please spend the rest of your life comfortably.
"My friends are waiting! Or rather, are they really waiting? Nah, I bet they've totally started already! But hey, there were always four of us! So there's a chance they're waiting, right?! Right?!" The violence of his words and the brute courage of his limbs keep pace, crushing me. Despite staggering, his considerable lung capacity and whatnot make him seem young, you know? Just kidding.

...Ah, hello there. I know I'm being beaten up at will by a high schooler younger than me, but I am, for the record, the protagonist.
Wait, isn't this me catching the fallout from Yuna's repeated, pointless provocations?
There's nothing left to vomit, and the situation doesn't permit inhaling, so oxygen deprivation is setting in. My lips feel heavy. My eyes have been blurry from the start. My temples feel hollow. The cramping in my legs has gotten worse; it feels like Obon, a typhoon, New Year's, and heavy snow are all jostling together. In other words, my body's in a tizzy. One brain can't possibly process it all, but conversely, maybe thanks to that, the intense pain isn't fully getting through. A blessing in disguise?
Either way, if this continues, the date will change before the lines in my heart's diary entry—'August 17th, Wednesday. Weather: clear. Today, starting in the evening, I got kicked a lot by the person who was kidnapped. Otherwise, it was the same as yesterday'—are even close to filled. No, it's doubtful there'll even be a tomorrow.
*Somehow, while moving things forward, I also need to secure some lifespan.*

"Um, the package..."
"Huh?"
I no longer have the strength left to point, so I send my gaze as a proxy.
While kicking me with his back foot, Hisaya Shirota turns, goes over to the cloth bundle, and picks it up.
Though suspicious, he removes the cloth. "Whoa!" For a moment, his eyes, catching sight of the contents, widen, and he almost throws it away. But he hurriedly catches it mid-air and stares rudely all over the right arm, from fingertips to the severed end.
After confirming its identity based on memory, "This... the right arm... *Mine*." A complex expression mixing fury and astonishment surfaces, fueling his questions directed at me.
"You had this? What the hell?"
"Huh? Returning it... to you."
"It was mine to begin with! Fuck you!"
I wanted to assert it was Mr. Tsurusato's, but I got kicked hard near the lips, so the exit for my voice got blocked and lost its way. My throat had to take it in instead. *Gueh.* Around the time it emerged from its recipient, having grown fat, tears wet my cheeks as if saying, 'You grew up in a good environment, didn't you?' No, I'm not lying. My eyeballs are playing tourist spot for a limited time. Fake crying isn't my specialty, so well, it's rare.
"I'll thank my benefactor for saving me, but don't fuck with me. Should've saved me sooner!"
"Ah... sorry." *Because I have absolutely zero intention of saving you. That's why it has to be now.*
"Ahh, finally, we can start. Finally, I can play with them again."
With a remarkably cheerful expression, he looks towards the warehouse entrance. I don't think 'Youth is great,' but I did feel 'Ignorance sure is convenient.'
"Good for you."
"Thanks!" My solar plexus was stimulated to its roots.
......Huh?
Before I could even blink, Hisaya Shirota was two steps away from me.
It seems my consciousness fled the fire barefoot for a few seconds. Even though my memory is connected.
Is this what it feels like when time gets blown away? It's unsettling, I find myself strangely convinced.
"Can I... ask... one thing?"