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, Imaki-kun's eyes flew open. His fingertips, about to pinch a piece of ham, froze.
"Ah, right... Eh, no, seriously, that's true. What do we do?"
Imaki-kun, having relaxed his speech a bit, scanned the faces around him, his round eyes wide. Yuka-chan, expressionless, ignored him, continuing to chew on the dried sardines from the Tupperware.
"Pipon! How about we give up? *Shubih!*" Only after finishing her sentence did she finally start to raise her hand.
"Well, that's the quickest way, huh? Still, you're decisive as ever, Erina."
"I was praised," she said five seconds later. "Yahoo!" Three seconds after that, she raised her hand.
Is this girl stopping time just for herself? Imaki-kun, likely used to this, gave a wry smile, and even Yuka-chan subtly snorted.
...... Be that as it may.
Not a single one of them seems to mind if this situation gets exposed. No attempt at concealment, just pure distortion. So I have to find a way to coexist with this group of children who possess such mindsets.
I wonder if aliens from a different civilization feel something like this swirling inside them when negotiating with Earthlings.
Though I suppose everyone on Earth would probably throw stones at me and say, "Look who's talking."
Also, it's unknown just how wide the ripples from Shirota-kun's disappearance will spread.
Hisaya, Imaike, Fukiage, Nonami—four families. According to Kaneko-kun's secondhand information, they are the source of the apartment building's long-standing bad reputation.
............ They say in society that you can judge the parents by looking at the child, so perhaps I should just nod in understanding at this point and bow my head. Yes, I'll leave it up to you whether that's true or false.
That's about it for our first meeting, I suppose.
Chugging the undiluted yuzu juice straight from the bottle. I choked, a burning sensation searing through me as if my insides were ulcerating.
The faint sound of the radio calisthenics song vibrates my eardrums, I noted, searching for some boring peace outside the window.

Well then, perhaps I should briefly summarize the situation.
To give a quick overview, this is apparently a game they started.
Imaike Toshiki, Fukiage Yuka, Nonami Erina. And Hisaya Shirota.
A mystery game played by these four, who have known each other well since they started living in the same apartment building over ten years ago.
"Who cut off Tsurusato Shingo's head?"
Unable to bear being mere spectators looking up at the stage of a mystery novel, they began their invasion onto the stage itself.
Someone apparently proposed this game when the four of them were in upper elementary school.
The one chosen to play the supporting role on this stage was Tsurusato Shingo, who lived alone in the same apartment building. After investigating his private life over the several years he'd lived there, they reached the extremely rude (from his perspective) conclusion that his connections to the outside world—visitors, acquaintances—were incredibly weak, meaning "no one would worry if he suddenly became unreachable." That's why he was elevated to the status of last night's murder target and continues to be treated as a toy even after death.

The game begins when one of the four murders Tsurusato Shingo. The real thrill lies in not setting any specific date, time, or rotation, leaving it unknown when it will start. This includes the possibility of an eternity where it never begins. But they spent years believing that one of their friends would, someday, definitely start it.
Then, one midsummer night, like a breeding ground for new ghost stories, it took shape.
The "head-cutter" culprit performs three tasks to process the death.
Cut off and keep one of the corpse's limbs, and sever the head.
After that, the culprit's role is successfully completed by secretly transporting the body to a predetermined location within the apartment building, agreed upon by the four, as a signal for the game's start.
Upon discovering Tsurusato-san (deceased), the remaining three each cut off one of the remaining limbs with their own hands, marking themselves as accomplices and participants in the game.
Which is... how should I put it? If it were just imagination, one could smile condescendingly and dismiss it as "just their age," but adolescents these days are strangely proactive, making it hard to just shelve the issue. How tiring.
The common saying that summer makes people bold seems to be true. I suspect the cause lies in the heat melting the screws in their heads. Although, the residents of the Ooe house were all shut-ins year-round with skin so pale they'd almost quit being yellow, but the degree to which their brains leaked was terrible. That house was a mental zero-gravity zone, omitting things like laws and rules, so perhaps the supporting bones atrophied. Like bone density. Who knows.
KANWAKYUDAI. Re-converting it turned it into "Mitigation Passing Grade." How rounded it's become.
............ *Ahem.* Tsurusato-san's torso is hidden in the refrigerator, as mentioned earlier, and since he's a man with no signs of contact, discovery will likely be delayed. I just imagined how, if this were the kind of apartment adorned with wreaths of gossip by the neighborhood wives—"It always smells like pickled dead rats around that apartment building!" "No, no, dear, that's the smell of a rotten crab after playing in the mud and then attending fourth-period Japanese class without showering!"—it might be even further ostracized. This is, needless to say, a lie, but oh dear, it's gotten out of hand. Retreat.
Well, basically, they're using the now-vacant Tsurusato Room as the secret base children dream of, quite pleased with themselves as they put their heads together for deductions since early morning.
Besides the limbs, just who is the culprit who also lopped off the head?
Cutting off the head is a heavier crime than cutting off an arm (probably). The culprit who accepted this and took on the role of making the first move will surely bask in the praise of their peers at the end of this mystery game.
What wonderful haphazardness. I wonder if those kids have properly thought about the post-processing of the corpse they used for their game. No, they're absolutely overflowing with the "It'll all work out somehow" spirit... *Gack... blech.* Oh, excuse me. You've caught me at an unsightly moment.
However, just one thing has occurred in this incident that exceeded their expectations.

The disappearance of Hisaya Shirota, one of the culprit candidates and an accomplice.
Despite his absence, the limbs are precisely gone, indicating an intent to participate.
The rise of destabilizing elements. A swarm of bubbles obscuring the bottom of the glass.
Did the culprit provide a squared stimulus by making Hisaya Shirota a victim too?
Amidst such speculation circulating among the three, a self-proclaimed "substitute" appeared, carrying the right arm.
Still not trustworthy...... but accepted as seasoning for the game's fun—an unexpected situation.
Now I just have to rack my brains about how I should distort the course of this incident.
But why was Hisaya Shirota nowhere to be seen the day after the incident, and why am I in possession of Tsurusato Shingo's right arm?
Perhaps I'll explain the reason while observing the "rearing" that will likely take place again tonight.
But before that, please listen to something nice about my little sister.

This morning, when I returned to our room from the Tsurusato Room, Akane was sitting slumped over the kitchen table. Not touching her food. She said, "I wanna eat with Onii-chan~" *Kyoo.*
Okaasama gave her her habits, but Natane nurtured her personality, so her developmental guidelines are the exact opposite of Touka's. An ironic exchange, isn't it? It's also ironic that the influences of Otousama and Kiyoshi aren't particularly visible, isn't it?
Anyway, shall we move on? Why do I feel like I've exposed something shameful, or rather, embarrassing?

Even as night falls, the heat doesn't know when to quit. A sweltering heat that compels you to squirm and dance like bonito flakes on a hot plate is enveloped in the darkness. I find myself wickedly speculating that the air stays perpetually in the same place, raising the heat like the touch of human skin.
Lately, the number of times I take walks at night has increased dramatically. The reason is that I've been entrusted with a top-secret mission, so I can't reveal it carelessly, but well, it's also that it wouldn't look good for me to continue living unemployed. I figured that unless I put on a show, like those laid-off dads making calls at the fountain plaza or students in cafes holding phones that aren't even ringing to their ears while rattling off jargon, I wouldn't be able to face society as the eldest daughter of the Ooe family. Which I admit is a lie. It's just killing time. Is that wrong? The victors in life are decided solely on one point: how meaningfully they devoured their lifespan.
"If you say 'Time is money,' then I'd really like to request this surplus time be exchanged for cash, yes indeed." Am I the only one who thinks a lifespan is perfectly sufficient until you hit thirty? Is this the result of listening too closely to Okaasama's views on life and death? But it seems difficult to find the flaw in them. The people who would be affected by my death are truly few. I wonder how many fingers I could count them on.

And a person whose death has no meaning cannot possibly achieve value in life.
Passing by a ramen shop whose tables look sticky, nearly getting drawn in by the light of a convenience store—a vaguely dull journey. If I had any playful spirit left regarding money, I wouldn't be averse to taking strolls with an animal like Kaneko-kun. In my imagination, my everyday life is always Animal Crossing. Of course, Piano Forest would be fine too. Because, you know, I *did* dabble in piano. From my early childhood, with my outstanding talent and supple fingers... I can't play anything, though. Playing an actual piece correctly is impossible. Because I never learned how. It's just that there was a piano gathering dust at my family home, and that was my only toy. When I first touched the keys, such a lovely sound flowed out—hard to believe it belonged to *that woman*—that I almost wept tears of emotion. But it was impossible. Because at that time, I was already crying. Felicitations?
"What a dull town."
No neon lights, no charumera noodles vendor's flute, no sirens course through my senses—just a townscape that has simply drawn its curtains for the night. They often call places like this ghost towns, but even ghosts would surely move away because there's no point trying to scare people in this town.
"This is what they mean by not meeting a single soul." It's gotten to the point where I wouldn't even be reprimanded for walking down the middle of the road. Getting carried away and writhing my body going "Ahaaan, ufuuun~"? That's obviously a lie. Yes, really, it's a lie. Seriously. I haven't slid my yukata down because it's hot and exposed my shoulders either, seriously. Apparently, the public safety in this town is such that wandering around late at night presents a more real danger to oneself than any ghost under a willow tree. I almost commented, "The outside world, you know..." but living in the same mansion as Natane and Okaasama might have been far more dangerous. In fact, I was on the verge of starvation and saw the brink of death.
Ah, naturally, I wear a yukata even at night. It's basically my standard attire. Every day is a festival, just for me.
"Eh? Why am I carrying a Japanese parasol in the middle of the night, you ask? Because I was taught that equipment you receive isn't meant to just be held—!" With great explanatory flourish, I convey my appearance to someone. There are matters in this world belonging to dimensions beyond my comprehension. And my involvement with them consists entirely of "conveying"; whether it gets through or expecting a reply is not possible. Good grief, what am I even saying?
However, more than just the nighttime conditions, the decline of my own eyesight is starting to take its toll. What a blurry state of affairs. It's because I spent every day engrossed in reading books in my room at the Ooe house without turning on the lights... well, manga, actually. Conversely, Akane, who honed her skills with portable game consoles, still has eyesight better than 2.0.

"Nearsightedness is merely the eyeball adapting to see nearby things clearly." That was Okaasama's assertion, but in a sense, it can also be interpreted as losing the capacity to survey one's surroundings. Otousama, Okaasama, Natane, Takahiro too. Because they lived in such a closed-off house, staring only at the walls.
"...*Sigh*. How wretched. To think the only things I can recall are those two families." Well, a protagonist is supposed to depict the future, not the past... so perhaps that's just right. Although, occasionally, you do get protagonists who just desperately keep fleeing from the assaults of their past. A lie.

Shifting my mood, I lifted my chin, which had drooped down at some point. The purple parasol, filtering the night, became appropriately murky, ruining the local artisan's work and seemingly mocking it.
From the apartment until I spot my target, I use my standard walking course. Pouring my heart and soul into forging new paths only to get lost would defeat the purpose. Despite appearances, I had a reputation for being a responsible girl—among other people's relatives. Yes, really. That's why I have to keep observing "that girl."
I emerge onto a street where two traffic signs overlap like elementary schoolers lining up single file. A road leading away from the residential area towards the rural fields. Continuing straight, an area unfolds that accelerates the lack of human presence, with rows of rental warehouses and abandoned ones full of discarded materials. Apparently, there used to be a batting center further straight ahead, but when I peeked in during a walk, it was long defunct. According to Volume 2 of someone's autobiography, it held memories for that someone, too. Ah, more nonsense spilling from my mouth. Do I have the talent of an itako shaman? Or perhaps tongue-specific schizophrenia? Is that why I have a reputation for being two-faced?
"...About time, isn't it?" I don't have a watch, so I'm relying on my body clock... Ah, there she is. Well, the route and time are always the same, so spotting her is easy. Besides, I already know the destination.
As long as I stay outside the range of her night vision, tracking is possible without hiding behind cover. I close my parasol, wipe my faintly damp palm, and follow her back with my eyes.
A lone girl wandering the town, her steps unsteady, swaying left and right. So many extraneous movements. Her pace is so slow, it's actually tiring trying to match her movements. She moves forward tracing what seems like a useless trajectory to anyone but herself, like a butterfly fluttering, so if you lose sight of her, you should probably consult an ophthalmologist. Her back hair, grown quite long, nearly reaching her waist, swings indiscreetly near her bottom, just like a broom. The brownish color also contributes. And each time her upper body moves, the long hem of her clothes flutters. Yes, just like me. Her appearance alone makes her seem like my spitting image. Yes, really. Naturally.

I definitely have a sense of déjà vu, or rather, déjà *porté*, about her clothes. It's a wisteria-colored yukata, dotted here and there with bloodstains that couldn't be completely washed out.
"Unless she's a thief specializing in clothes or a bandit whose hobby is stripping people bare, there's only one answer."
If I recall, that girl's name is... Mizono Mayuko? Was it a name like that, one that catches on the tongue? It's hard to etch people's names into memory, so when it's time to recall them, there's no starting point. Gutter Mayuko? And what her relationship with "Ale" was is also lost to oblivion. Back when boredom reigned supreme at the mansion, that topic came up once, but it was brushed aside. Either way, to me, she's less than a neighbor. I'll never have any connection with the kind of giddy fool who goes "Gyururuun, meat today, kyururuun, kyu-bi-bi, payday!" at the supermarket; I just occasionally spot her inside the store when I'm buying udon or soup stock. And I might cast an envious gaze her way. Eating heaps of domestic beef like that... *Wehfyushiege*—Pardon me, I got a bit flustered by the outrageous situation. I want protein. I'm tired of living well for my skin. Especially since Akane is in her growth spurt, if we don't turn her into foie gras now, in the future, she'll end up like me... Never mind. Right, let's focus and follow Mayuko-san.
Mayuko-san isn't particularly wary of her surroundings—or rather, the town should accept the reality that there's nothing much *to* be wary of—but her demeanor doesn't seem to recognize her own situation. Still, the fact that she's out at night suggests some consideration for others' gazes. Her yukata and excellent looks—the kind disliked by the vast majority of her own sex—would draw attention and leave a strong impression.
Careful only not to make footsteps, I leisurely watch Mayuko-san's movements, sometimes stopping. As usual, she's moving like something between a person and a mathematical formula. The way she naturally wears an intriguing creepiness is worthy of astonishment. For example, when I walk down a road, my gaze isn't very fixed. My eyes are drawn to the scenery, which changes angle gently and shows diverse aspects, and sometimes I check my footing. But her behavior shows absolutely no sign of such shifts in interest. If there were a sickly cat abandoned in a cardboard box on the opposite side of the road (What are the town delinquents doing!), Mayuko-san would likely ignore it completely. But even if the box, with cat, were right in her path, she'd probably ignore it just the same, step on it, crush it, and keep walking. Someone who possesses such a tunnel-vision world is truly bizarre. Eventually, she will become the enemy of the world... No plans for that seem to exist. If anything, enemy of humanity seems more like her calling.

The *peta-peta* sound of her rubber zori sandals reaches me from ahead. In the meaningless night of a town overflowing with merciless words, what is she seeking as she pushes forward, dawdling along the way? I hope the answer arrives in five minutes. Her leisurely pace, like she's stargazing on a pleasure trip, makes me want to just throw everything away. If only I had an electric fan accompanying me, I could probably endure it a bit better.

...Skipping ahead. It took about fifteen minutes to reach the edge of the residential area. I'll add that Mayuko-san nearly tripped over her own feet about six times. A country road where utility poles become sparse and power lines stand out starkly against the night sky, a place lacking objects. Further in from there lies the abandoned warehouse that was Mayuko-san's and my destination.
I walk with my head down to avoid carelessly stepping on the materials scattered around the warehouse and making noise. Mayuko-san, on the other hand, is crashing through them without a care. Quite nonchalant for someone in the middle of a criminal act.
Ah, inside the warehouse, tied to a pillar by his hands with rope, is Hisaya Shirota, currently undergoing acclaimed confinement. That, apparently, is the biggest problem right now. How troublesome.
The kidnapper is, of course, Mayuko-san. I watched the whole thing unfold. Near my apartment, Hisaya-kun was triumphantly heading off to report to his companions, carrying Tsurusato-san's right arm, when Mayuko-san, who was wandering about late at night, attacked him without warning—who knows what she was thinking. An injurious act towards another, performed with a lack of hesitation reminiscent of my family's eldest son. It was a way of moving the body thin on human elements, like a giant snake with abnormally developed abs slithering rapidly across the ground to attack someone, easily snuffing out their life. She punched him about five times, dragged him, and took him away. Quickly, using string and rope found in the warehouse, she improvised his confinement. The abandoned warehouse became the stage for a story overnight, and the right arm that Hisaya-kun dropped and Mayuko-san left behind, I recovered.
And so, the stage returns to tonight.

Hisaya-kun had his head down as if asleep, but he looked up upon noticing the footsteps. He was gagged. About the only way he could satisfactorily voice his protest was with his feet. He drummed his heels, making his point strongly to Mayuko-san.
But am I mistaken in thinking it would be wiser for him to stay quiet if he wants to ensure his safety? Because surely a kidnapper isn't going to help the person they kidnapped? Yes, I wonder if that's true.
Mayuko-san impassively prepared his food on top of a crate of materials. She opened a package and took out a single roll. The moment she approached Hisaya-kun and forcefully removed the gag, she forcibly stuffed the bread into his mouth. Not permitted a single complaint, question, or wail, further suffocation brought tears to Hisaya-kun's eyes. His legs flailed, and his hands, tied behind his back, struggled as if trying to destroy the pillar. However, he seemed somewhat lacking in combat power, as no effect whatsoever could be observed. If anything, his shoulder joints look like they're about to dislocate, probably. If he were the type to think, "Well, in a place like this, pain's the only entertainment," I'd reconsider Hisaya-kun's grit, but he seems to have normal inclinations.
Once she made him swallow the bread, next came the water torture. She made him guzzle water—probably tap water—from a plastic bottle. His eyes weren't rolling back; they became bloodshot red and white, bulging out. This is incredibly irrelevant, but if you write 'suidousui' (tap water) in kanji (水道水), it reads the same forwards and backwards, doesn't it? ...Ah, I forgot to dub over Hisaya-kun's suffering during the water torture. Just kidding.
When the bottle left his mouth, Hisaya-kun immediately put on a water-spewing performance. He violently shook his head, ignoring the fact that Mayuko-san was grabbing his bangs, and spat out the remaining water. It splashed onto the yukata of Mayuko-san standing before him, but she made no move to avoid it, simply watching him intently. Judging that he was finished, she replaced the gag to prevent any words from forming.
...... She's engaging in such seemingly fun bullying, yet she has no reaction? How improper. Still, kidnapping someone to a place like this... What kind of taste does she have?
Mayuko-san looked around restlessly, turning her head left and right. It wasn't the air of belated caution, but the flexible bend of soft muscles searching for something. What... what could that mean? Is *that* her objective? Is she perhaps eagerly awaiting a hero of justice? You there, the one in front of or behind me, what do you think? Wait about 160 pages for the correct answer.
Then, retrieving the bread and bottle, Mayuko-san turned and started walking away without saying a word to Hisaya-kun. No lingering attachment or human warmth could be sensed from the joints of her actions, devoid of emotion. It seems there was another insect person in this town, separate from "Ale."
If "Ale" is the Ant and I am the Cricket, then Mayuko-san is the Mantis. And Earthlings are all parasites, ticks! They should perish from the Earth!! ...Excuse me, I lost my composure. Going mad is fine too. Yes, though I truly hate it.

I watched from the shadows as Mayuko-san left the abandoned warehouse, then entered it as she departed. Towards me, visiting for our second encounter, Hisaya-kun no longer showed any particular surprise.
"Good evening. How are you feeling?"
An expectant-less gaze looked up at me. It's hard to tell with his mouth covered, but he looks displeased. After all, the woman who lightly ignored his pleas of "Why won't you help me?!" last night has now appeared two days in a row, so one can only imagine the mix of emotions he must be feeling. Last night too, I followed Mayuko-san like this, met Hisaya-kun, and extracted the story about the "game." On the condition that I would carefully store Tsurusato-san's right arm. Practically under duress.
And then, the next day, I broke that promise. Unavoidably, you see.
Unlike last night, the smell is terrible when I get close. ...... Ah, it's because of his lower half. Sitting must be quite uncomfortable.
Not that I'll be providing any nursing care.