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"Huh?" As he turned with a dubious look, he swung his foot up and kicked my chin like a shot. My head nearly spun like a drive shot. The base of my jaw started making an unpleasant, grating sound, like sand had gotten into the joint.
"Are you... the one who cut off Tsurusato-san's head?"
"...Who the hell are you? What do you know? Are you friends with that yukata woman? Or maybe the crazy one?"
"A foolish question, isn't it—*gurk*!" His toes crushed my throat, making me croak like a frog rather than just mimicking one. My face contorted like a puffed-up frog as I stared at the ceiling.
Since I could no longer claim "I'm on my own side" at this point, I wracked my brain, wondering how to respond.
"It was you, wasn't it?"
I asked again, persistently. There was no point in drawing a black-and-white line anymore, but still, maybe I should see my role through? That thought crossed my mind regarding Ooe Yuna's efforts.
Maybe he pitied my condition, or perhaps felt a sliver of gratitude for being rescued. Or maybe he was just at that age where he wanted to brag about his exploits.
With a sarcastic twist of his lips, the guy looking down on me finally introduced himself: "I'm the killer."
"...Hah. That's right, you got it. This is the game *I* started."
Ah, just as I thought. Just as Yuna deduced.

Originally, Biwashima had described them as an inseparable foursome, like a centipede. The very fact that they started the game without Hisaya Shirota was strange.
If the killer had been among those three, I think they would have wanted Hisaya Shirota present, under whatever pretext, to increase the number of suspects before starting the game.
After all, it was obvious that Yuna wasn't the one who cut off Tsurusato Shingo's head.
Meaning, because they weren't the culprits, they started the game seeking the thrill of deduction. Nonami Erina had seemed suspicious partway through, but she was removed from the list of potential suspects when she murdered Imaike Toshiki. Because the murder scene clearly showed an unfamiliarity with the act of "cutting off someone's head."
If she had already experienced it once with Tsurusato-san, she should have been able to take some countermeasures.
And if the three of them weren't the culprit, then the only one left was Hisaya Shirota.

So I wasn't wrong after all... Ma-yu... Dammit, this isn't the time for jokes. If he hurts me any more, my life warranty might just get revoked.
"And yet, me not being part of it? That's seriously messed up. Besides, those guys won't believe a word you say, so snitching on me is pointless."
He held the bond with his friends—like threads made of sandpaper—in the palm of his hand and gloated. And then,
"Anyway, I'm gonna take off now. You saved me, but I've got no reason to save you. If you just lie there, maybe that woman will come and lock you up or something, huh?"
"...Yeah, maybe so." He had a point, I had to agree. And with that, he delivered a parting shot—a kick to my stomach.

"That's a lie, though."
Abandoned, my legs couldn't even find purchase on the ground to chase after him.
Hisaya Shirota departed, clutching Shingo's right arm as if it were precious.
Entangled in the scorched air of the muggy warehouse, even the last fragments of my willpower were stripped away.
Up to this point, it might seem like I'm just some perverted youth who went out into town solely to get beaten up, but with this, the case is solved.
A simple solution, easy enough even for me in my current state.
Though it involves exploiting a consumption that most people would hesitate over and give up on.
But I can't hesitate. That's why I can prioritize Mayu's five years over your sixty.
Though swaying slightly, Hisaya Shirota marched off triumphantly, buoyed by indignation and hope. My parting words are,

So looong, murderer.

With no energy left even to lie, I listlessly sucked in air and spat out blood, waiting for the tremors in my body to subside into aftershocks.
Right.
As expected, the quickest method is the "dead men tell no tales" strategy.
Basically, all that needs to happen is for Nonami Erina to kill Hisaya Shirota.
That's where the solution lies for me.
I don't have to get my hands dirty directly; I just need to piggyback on this human-powered reset.
The fact that I didn't let Yuna tell Hisaya Shirota about the murders of Fukiage Yuka and Imaike Toshiki ended up working out by chance.
Well, it was merely fortunate that Nonami Erina's ideology fell within a range I could exploit.
I wasn't calculating enough to act all high and mighty about it.
The younger boy's back receded toward an eternal reset.
First time failure, second time force majeure, third time the fulfillment of a premeditated crime.
If you're prepared to bear the invisible sins that no one will condemn, and no one will save you from, then come here.
It's not that I'll do anything to save her, but perhaps it's only by doing anything and everything that I can finally save her.
I want to become something other than human, quickly. Before this feeling becomes a lie.
Because continuing to live as this human monster is becoming too painful.
I might end up loathing the scars left by my own ugliness from a different perspective.
"...This isn't good."
I'm slipping back into "boku" quite a bit. Back to my raw, actual self.
I wish people wouldn't conduct unauthorized excavations—or rather, self-discovery expeditions—on me. That's grave robbing, plain and simple. Emotional mummies can't learn from dried seaweed that expands when you pour hot water on it.
"Seriously, I get beat up way too much every time..."
It's too much adversity. This time, I didn't even have a chance to fight back. It'll probably be one-sided from here on out, too.
Even a worn-out rag would probably be treated more gently.
And what's more, the only opponent who knew martial arts was the first one; the others were pure civilians. Am I really allowed to continue being the protagonist? Shouldn't I be on the side yelling 'Abeshi!'? But looking back at my win rate, it's surprisingly not bad.
Round 1, vs. Sugawara Michizane. Victory, despite getting my leg and arm gouged with a knife.
Round 2, vs. Watarai-san. Victory, despite numerous attacks to the head with a pipe chair.
Round 3, vs. Imouto. Kicked all over, as usual. Split my lip. Kind of a loss.
Round 4, vs. the Saka couple. Both arms broken, head bashed in again. Defeated without resistance.
Round 5, vs. the Assailant. Shot twice through the gut. But I coordinated the opponent's face with bloodshed for the victory. Also turned his accomplice Sugita into a dripping, blood-stinking man. Wonder what he's up to now.
Round 6, vs. Hisaya-kun. Just now, became an outlet for his stress relief. Crushing defeat.
.........So, a 50% win rate. Grasping victory while covered in wounds is supposed to be the royal road for shonen manga, but instead of grasping victory, I'm just covered in mud. Suits me, though.
Thinking outside the box, I considered trying to pass myself off as a frail character from now on. But reality becomes truth whether you want it to or not. There's no room for my lies to interfere there.
"...Phew."
Exhaling felt like letting blood out along with the air.
My lower abdomen, which should have felt heavy, became light, and goosebumps raced from the base of my shoulders to the gates of my wrists before vanishing. It felt like I was being dragged along by the illusion of something squirming under my clothes.
Like there was a parasite darting in and out of my blood vessels, a repetitive *gyurugyuru* and *gyugugyugu* sound echoed. Inhaling was over in an instant, but exhaling was drawn out, intermittent, yet my lungs saw the breath off courteously, as if handling something precious.
It was similar to the situation back in April this year when I was on the verge of starvation—a feeling that crucial components of my body were markedly absent.
Even if I had the urge to dig my nails into something and tear it apart with all my might, I couldn't even properly muster the strength to raise my fist.
"Like the ozone layer and ultraviolet rays... maybe." It felt like my raw self was being exposed to the gravity that distractions usually help me ignore. If I lay here like this for a few more minutes, I might not get a continue.
I can't let myself become unable to go anywhere yet.
There's somewhere I need to go before heading back to the hospital.
"Somewhere to go..." The words formed weakly, fragmentarily, like loose hiragana characters sticking together.
My body rallied as one to support the brain deciding on action, propelling me forward.
A disjointed, erratic tilt of the limbs. A clinging obsession with the ground.
Me sneaking out of the hospital is practically a given at this point.
"I have to go visit a grave."
While blood still circulates within my body, and the decay of flesh is postponed.
Ah, and while the fragments of my heart are still gathered, too.

As a grave-visiting enthusiast, I believe a grave is the quickest way to feel someone else's presence. Especially since it's something impossible for a dead person to build themselves.
Incidentally, the fact that I've racked up enough visits to become an enthusiast means, well, quite simply, that I've parted with that many people in death...
...And it also means I've met that many people.
Look hard enough, and you'll find one, Ooe Yuna. A difference between you and me. Though, I wonder about having differences only on the level of a spot-the-difference puzzle. And which one of us is correct?
Using an iron bar I picked up in the warehouse as a cane, I proceeded, clumsily tilling the ground. It was vaguely uncertain whether I was even moving forward; I was tormented by the feeling that only my mind was floating. My body maintained double gravity.
Along the way, I passed people heading out for the summer festival. As usual, they looked at me strangely.
"...I remember the way surprisingly well. Even after sleeping so much, I wonder what part of me memorized it."
My destination was the cemetery. The largest graveyard in the city, conforming to the slope of the mountain. It's debatable whether she's my family, but it's where my sister's mother belongs.
I had to stand before the grave of the girl who was laid to rest here two months ago.
There was a classmate named Ebihara Kanae. Apparently... there was. I basically never met her. We probably weren't ever in the same class. But her death saved me and Mayu.
On the day we were ZKYUUUUN'd in the gym, at the same time, Ebihara Kanae fell into a coma in the science lab.
An ambulance rushed over in a panic, and then, because it was time for the next class, another class came to the gym and discovered the tragic scene inside. Those coincidences overlapped, and my death and Ebihara Kanae's were exchanged.
Ebihara Kanae's condition was a cerebral hemorrhage; outwardly, she merely fainted, foaming at the mouth.
In contrast, we were like autumn leaves out of season, covered in a blanket of blood. What's more, our insides seemed ready to ooze out from the holes in our stomachs. Based not on our identities but on our current state, the paramedics prioritized transporting us.
If the culprit had been a master of "You are already dead" and I hadn't moved a muscle, I would have been put off till later, which means I would have died for sure either way, so that theory's rejected.
Ah, so basically, presentation is important in life, huh? As a Japanese person, one must never lose the seppuku spirit! That's a lie, though. If you want to exist in society without humility, you need the resolve to reign at the top.
Other details about the culprit... I know nothing. Due to ignorance. I don't know what happened to Sugita either. At the very least, I think he's probably still living under this blue sky. Honestly, I'm not interested.
Stabbing the bar into the slope, I stopped for a moment. My breathing was too ragged; even the cicadas' cries couldn't reach my ears.
The thrumming of my bloodstream reached me incessantly from the base of my ears. That was the proof that I was still alive.
The only point of interest in a graveyard, the graves themselves, were naturally immense in number. I had to find Ebihara Kanae's grave among them. In my current condition, it was a goal I doubted I could achieve in a single night.
But I had to do it. Fortunately, the atmosphere of the place felt appropriate for collapsing. Literally, they'd probably pick up my bones. Though I want to remain a lie. Visiting here with such a purpose feels like desecrating the dead.
With the determination of tackling a mountain climb, I started taking steps forward again. *Thunk, thunk,* stabbing the ground, and incidentally, a small part of my inner self got dug up.
I think the targets of my gratitude and the subjects of my repentance are too intertwined. That's probably why I can visit graves so dispassionately each year, or why my handling of corpses lacks human feeling.
My emotions towards people, once dominated entirely by fear, were torn apart by many and patched together with new materials. Now, I can't even grasp what feelings I hold towards others; I'm lost.
Conversely, how others think of me and interact with me is also unclear.
The relative of a criminal is blamed, subjected to contemptuous gazes. That's certainly not wrong.
*You want to be useful to society? Then stay in your room, perfectly still.*
Someone once gave me that harsh advice, and I came to agree that it was indeed true.
And yet, quite a number of people bother with someone like me.
Each time I live in the world I wanted to keep confined to its limits, it keeps expanding.
It seems I've unexpectedly grown into a selfish person. More than Mayu, more than anyone.
Fate seemed to have been eagerly awaiting my confession, as I managed to reach Ebihara's grave relatively quickly. It was fairly close to the grave of my sister's mother, which I visit every year.
From afar, the sound of something tearing through the atmosphere. Followed by bursting notes of color.
Somewhere connected by this night sky, my benefactors are likely looking up at those fireworks.
I tossed the iron bar onto the ground.
Kneeling as if in prostration, I clung to the grave.
"Thanks to you dying, I'm alive."
I said it to Ebihara Kanae.
I *wanted* to say it to Hisaya Shirota.
And it's what I said every year to Amano Iruka.
I can't even live without being supported by the dead.

Fireworks rose in the distance. Scattering. Blooming proudly.
Occasionally, they painted me and the grave in myriad colors, making us creatures of the night. The phantom wails of a graveyard keeper and the laughter of a silent child pierced my eardrums. For an experience in *your* place, the pasts we trace are surely quite different. How derisive.
"Ah, right. I missed going to the summer festival with Mayu." Only now did I remember that casual promise.
My legs gave out further, and I bumped my elbow against the grave. I hugged the headstone as my body slid down. The inhuman coldness felt good. My body and consciousness, feeling like they might melt away, solidified.
"Tears... this is a first. When I visit graves, I don't report anything, my expression doesn't change, it's all meaningless. They'll dry up before the night is over, since it's summer. But right now, I am definitely crying."
How would Ebihara feel about the tears I rubbed onto her grave? Sorry, I don't know your personality. I don't know what you'd forgive, or if you'd hold a grudge forever, or anything.
So I admit that I'm mourning the death of you, who wasn't part of my world, purely for my own sake.
On top of that, I declare that I won't be following you just yet.
"...I have to go."
Again, I mumbled my next destination faintly, so quietly I couldn't hear it myself.
I came here to visit a grave, not to hasten my burial here. Summer festivals are held every year. Most tourists visit the prefecture in the summer.
And I will surely be alive next summer too.
Prolonging the lie, on and on and on, endlessly.
So I can go to the summer festival with the girl I like.
Seeking, far into the future, the chance to someday look back on such utterly ordinary, quality memories.
That's why I can't sleep forever in a graveyard.
I have to get back before I die.
Gripping the headstone, grinding mud between my back teeth, looking up at the scattering fireworks, I roared.
With all my current strength, I resisted.
"I have to go,"
To the place where I change. The place where I take over. The place where I belong.

**Chapter 5: the perfect world of liar**
*The world's background noise for those around them = The idiot couple, returns.*

Synopsis up to this point: A lot happened.
Apparently, that's the one-line summary... or so it seems when I integrate the results of being made to listen to Yuna's real-life fairytale (please perceive the meaning with the eyes of your senses) for ages, only to inherit the conclusion.
That said, if you compare this whole incident to a full-length novel, my part this time was less than a short story's worth, so it's not like my days were passing in full color. Mostly, they were pitch black behind closed eyelids.
And actually, it seemed like the real trials and tribulations were just about to begin.
"Okay, first person, come on in!"
With a sloppy reception that didn't even involve handing out numbered tickets, I heavily summoned the three people waiting outside the hospital room.
Approaching Problem Element Number One: Nagase Tooru enters. *Clatter, clack, thud*—she announced her arrival by bumping her shoulder against the door. Timidly, fidgeting. Dressed in her school uniform, she walked into the room with jerky movements.
"H-Hullooo," she greeted, her voice buckling under the pressure. Hmm, the "100% Nervous" display shows no signs of fabrication.
She hurriedly set up a folding chair for visitors, sat down deeply, and straightened her posture rigidly. But as soon as her eyes met mine, she immediately wilted like a dying flower and looked down.
Awkward. If I had to be alone with Nagase like this for even a minute, I'd get a hole in my stomach. That's a lie, though.
If I had nerves like that, I should have been able to build relationships a bit more smoothly.
"...Number two, please come in."
*Clatter*—sliding the door open normally, the small-animal-like girl, Fushimi Yuzu, entered. She pointed to "Hello" in her notebook, gave a quick bow, and set up a folding chair... right next to Nagase. These two ended up coming to the room at almost the exact same time.
Yuzu Yuzu just staaaaring—intently—at Nagase Tooru's profile was a bit of a novel sight.
However, the situation hadn't quite hit rock bottom yet.

"Okay, last person, come on in!" Because yeah, there was still one more. The population density in here is way too high. So typically Japanese.
The door opened a third time. Lazily this time, roughly. Skipping the silhouette quiz, she advanced.
She barged right up to the bedside, and a slipper flew from the tip of her raised foot, sticking to my face. As I let it slide down my face of its own accord, she kicked me square in the shoulder, and the impact sent the slipper falling onto my lap. Thinking that there weren't many acquaintances who would commit such violence against me—or rather, act so impulsively—I took another look to confirm my opponent.

The last one in was, naturally, my ever-short younger sister.
...My sister. Not Nagase's sister, *my* sister. The genuine article. Clone theory: rejected. W-Whaaaaat?!
She was alive! Man, that surprised me. That's a lie, though.
Since nobody ever killed her, it's only natural, right?
Hahahaha.
Anyway, said sister, looking perfectly grumpy as usual today, lazily slapped the slipper off the bed. Without even watching it roll into the corner, she quickly climbed onto the bed and plopped down onto my lap. ...Huh? Were they all out of folding chairs?
I started to worry that Nagase, her earlier confusion still lingering, was thinking, "Who? Who is this kid? No way, is Tooru actually into lolis?! Kazuki's in danger!" and giving me those *very* concerned, meddlesome eyes.
Fushimi, meanwhile, looked like she was thinking, "That was an option?!" Her eyes practically popped out as she stared intently at my sister. Then, for reasons unknown, her cheeks flushed red, and she covered her face with her hands.
And my sister, once she'd found a comfortable spot, sat perfectly still, staring straight ahead with her lips pursed.
...And so.
Whether you called it suffering or woman trouble, something was definitely stirring beside me.
August 22nd. The early afternoon, when I watched a cicada clinging to the tree visible from the window finally fall. Inside the private hospital room, four sets of breathing.
Yes, Nagase Tooru, Fushimi Yuzu, and my sister had come to visit my hospital room.

[...]

Why? I wondered. Looking back calmly over everything, I couldn't see any signs leading up to this.
After wrapping up the incident, I was carted back to the hospital once more and got chewed out big time by a lot of people.
I was gripped by the guilt that perhaps I'd done something truly heartbreaking—making someone worry about me. Well, that's mostly a lie, though.
About five days had passed since the fireworks viewing. I'd slept through two of them, though.
My tears had already dried up and stopped, and the wounds that had throbbed for dramatic effect had all subsided back into scars.
The restoration work on various locations was complete, so my tear ducts probably wouldn't burst for the next fifty years.
Instead, it now felt like new holes might get punched in my side or somewhere, leading to total blood loss.

...Ah, sometimes I remember. When I was on the cusp between single and double digits in age, when I was in a different hospital. Back then, I should have been wishing for the exact opposite of what I want now. Is this really growth?
I want out of this hospital. Now.
If anyone ever had the chance to know this scene, I'd want them to feel its chill not just through words but on their skin. In a sense, it feels like life is about to strike out, three times. Behind me, the Umpire (Grim Reaper) is practicing the call. So, this is my goodbye game, huh? It's amazing I've avoided a called game until now.
"Wow, the room is filled with the scent of girls~" I wanted to murmur, as if talking in my sleep, and just lie down. In reality, all I could smell was disinfectant and the faint scent of mold and dust wafting from the air conditioner.
No, honestly, what *is* this atmosphere? The question mark floating up is severe, but it's being pushed away by the density of the unique air generated by the synergistic effect of the three girls, leaving no room for it to enter.
Somehow, the three of them had been enacting a slug-frog-snake standoff in the hospital corridor, so I had no choice but to let them in one by one... Well, what should I do now? Preferably, I'd have liked them to form a love triangle excluding me.
If I didn't do something about this trapezoidal relationship, I wouldn't be able to fulfill the hospital's primary purpose: healing. Actually, convalescing at home would be highly desirable, but alas, the punishment for the strain my body endured due to a little overexertion and escape means I can't be allowed to spend time without the probationary supervision of a doctor... or so some nurse explained to me with a line graph. The latter half was so flat it would have indicated death on an ECG. "Gasp! It's synchronizing with your life itself!" Big help, you're way off.
Isn't every day just this heart-pounding (need heart medicine) and exciting (cold sweat)?
Actually, I think a flatter path is easier to walk in life and should be welcomed. Who can keep walking a path with daily elevation changes like climbing a mountain?
The silent Nagase and Fushimi were both in their school uniforms today. Apparently, it was a school day, so it made sense that they arrived at my room around the same time. But right now, I couldn't comprehend it.
""""...""""" *Chirp-chirp-chirp.* The cicadas, bless their hearts, couldn't read the room at all.
Inside and outside the window. I felt an indescribable barrier between living beings... or rather, I didn't, so I can't express it correctly.
Actually, it's a secret that Yuna had visited just before these three descended upon me. Or rather, if any more people had converged here, I would have had no choice but to change genres from Countryside Youth Mystery Mockumentary to something like Girls' Pure Romantic Baseball Novel. That's a total lie, though.
Fushimi, though mostly looking down, kept glancing sideways at Nagase, staaaring. Nagase's gaze darted restlessly and impartially between me, my sister, and Fushimi. My sister was glaring daggers. Especially at Nagase. Incidentally, she was also kicking my shin repeatedly with the sole of her foot. That part was normal behavior, so everything but my right leg could breathe a sigh of relief.