---

---

"Eh? Why?" ← The woman who stole her mother's name and various other things.
"Well, I mean, nobody's been gossiping about you in this apartment since you moved in. How'd you even find out about the game?" ← Hume + Ann.
"Ho ho, quite the deduction." ← The initials of Cube's techniques.
"Ah, wait, but that means she could have killed Shirota... Man, being a detective is tough." ← Disco.
"Oh my, have I become a suspect in that one too? I'm quite the pro at being accused now, aren't I?" ← Watch your enunciation.
"No, I'm telling you, you didn't kill Tsurusato. Pretty much, I think we all think that." ← Gakyo.
"Um, does anyone have any requests? If not, maybe I'll draw the person in the fridge..." ← The day after tomorrow.
---

『……………』 ← Fukiage Yuka.
"Then why did you allow me to participate?" ← Cricket.
"I kinda thought it might be more interesting if there was an accident. But it's no good. It really needs to be the four of us, including Shirota. To be blunt, you're super annoying." ← Earthworm.
"Heeh, it's refreshing to be treated so dismissively. Believe it or not, I have a track record of serving as a handywoman for various households in many forms, yes indeed." ← Rental Family.
"Well then, by all means, we'll be expecting great things from you as a catalyst or something here!" ← Brocco.
"Leave it to me. There was even a time when I was feared in some circles as Speaker Keiko, louder than any pachinko parlor. Allow me to show you the line between noise and excitement." ← Half true.
"Um, speaking of, isn't Shirota-kun coming back? Maybe we should, like, try looking for him, or..." ← Reject.
"Dude, Yuka, speak up already. What the hell are you doing?" ← Game Maniac.
『……………』 ← Yuka-chan.
"You talk nonstop normally, trying to suddenly change your character now just makes you look pathetic." ← Sorry.
『(Puffs cheeks)』 ← Pfft.
"Hmph, guess I can't complain if someone tries to forcibly pick a fight with me while I'm exercising my right to remain silent." ← A little proud.
"No, no, she's the one who seems to be playing the most seriously, wouldn't you say?" ← Follow-up.
"Huh? You think so? Looks like screwing around to me, especially knowing how different she is normally." ← Displeased.
"...... Deep in thought." ← Chinshimokkou? Chin shimasu ka? Atatamemasu ka? (Note: Puns on the phrase 'chinshi mokkou' - deep thought - sounding like 'microwave?' or 'warm up?')
"Hey!" ← High decibel.
"What is it?" ← Imaki-kun. Back to basics.
"I won't yield the air conditioner remote." ← Me, being dead serious.
"………… Read the room, will you?" ← You too.
"I hate it when things just drag on like this!" ← Is she picking a fight?
"Look who's talking." ← This kind of thing is usually the facilitator's fault, you know.
"Shall I coordinate a more suitable line for you?" ← For example:
"Look at how others behave and correct your own ways......" ← Silence.
"Aww… I wanted a lovely group without bullying, hooray…" ← Where?!
"Aargh, damn it, whoever killed Tsuru, you should've made it more exciting!" ← Earnest plea.

---

How's that for chatter? Although the sound dome is dented in places, it was quite the lively hubbub.
Boss, your efforts are far too fruitless. Oh, do you think so?
Unlike them, I found something meaningful in this conversation, I did. Yes, surely.
The Tanuki game themed around a murder (no plans for an apartment serial killer case for now) concluded with the truly carefree feeling of a school club activity, as they say. Afterwards, the key was hidden in a secret location known only to us four. We buried it in the ground, so anyone leading a normal life would likely never find it.

And now, it's already past noon. I had a small errand to run after that, so I stepped out.
It wasn't a particularly interesting place, but the air conditioning was working, so I'll praise it as lovely.
Once finished, before heading back to my room, I decided to stop by a nearby park to perhaps organize my deductions.
If I stay home, Akane tends to stick to me or cling to me. In the summer, that's unintentional harassment, that is. It's about time I invited Mr. Color Television into our home as a friend other than myself, but he has quite the mercenary personality, doesn't he?
The coating of cool air I'd dragged along from inside the building was stripped away in five minutes by the descending heat rays, and I began to regret my walk to the park. This sunlight is critical not just to the undead, but to all living things. But if I stop, I'll start pouring sweat, so I keep moving just to get temporary relief. Ooh, I feel like my blood's been replaced with boiling water. I bet if I stuck a spaghetti noodle into my brain right now, I could cook it al dente. At the very least, I should have brought the Japanese umbrella that Merlion detective bought for me—
"Owa-chaa!" A flash of something with a fleshy texture flies at my head. My hands shoot up reflexively, batting it away. The light slowly vanished.
The source of the light buzzing 'jijijiji' on someone's head was a cicada. It seems the critter fell from the tip of a tree branch hanging over the property line, aiming for me. Whether it was looking at me with eyes longing for companionship is uncertain, but I have no need for insect friends. Especially not the kind that use human forms to mimic society.
As a child, I never doubted that "mushi" (insect) was short for "mukishitsu" (inorganic).
"......Ah." I cover my sweaty face with my hands. "......Hm?" Something dry and rustling is stuck to my face. "Nuh-" I pull my hand back and "Oooooh-oh-oh-oh" recoil. But it's my own hand, so it follows me. Gyaah. A cicada was crushed in my hand. Some of its parts are still twitching, 'jijiji,' which is horribly vivid.
Especially the wings. They're really buzzing. I rub my hand against a nearby telephone pole to roughly brush it off. Especially the wings. They're really buzzing. I rub my hand against a nearby telephone pole—
Did I really brush that cicada off just now? Or was that an illusion, and it's actually in my hand? Well, either way, I've needlessly shown my aggressive side. If you break things so easily, you can't enjoy the process at all, so everyone just loses out.
After wiping my hand, I cover my face again in distress. Somehow, or rather, it smells like dirt.
I reacted falsely just now. Regarding living things, there was a falsehood.
Yesterday, I blathered on about touching a living creature for the first time, but surely I've touched insects before.
For me, insects aren't living things, huhuhu.
If someone laughs when nothing is funny, then they themselves are the strange one. Therefore, I am.
"Yes, truly."
I remove my hands and stroke my face once with a finger. Then, I start walking again.

The park I arrived at was just a vacant lot with some playground equipment. Because there wasn't a single soul in sight. The town's depopulation isn't satisfied with just the night, it seems. When summer comes, does everyone go upstream to the sea or something?
I sat down on a dilapidated bench that looked like it had sported a 'Wet Paint' sign for fourteen or fifteen years, and my rear end grew warm. I started to worry it would gradually get scorched.
"A park bench really is the place for deductions." Nodding to myself, I strike a pose as if smoking a cigarette.
However, I have absolutely no idea where I picked up this particular piece of common sense. Firstly, there's no way a modern-day aristocrat could sit in a playground this hot, where a cigarette might spontaneously combust, and get their brain working without complaint. It's completely illogical. I'm getting on in years; maybe I should start developing the awareness to consider such things before acting.
"............Hm?"
There seems to be someone running around the perimeter of the park. Without thinking, my eyes follow the human figure repeating this act of barbarity, which seems plausible only if they alone were tormented by the Australian climate. My brain, deeming it too much effort to stop the action, got lazy, so no questions arose about the pointlessness of the behavior.
The moment they passed the park entrance, our eyes met, or so I thought. The distance is too great; I can only perceive them as a clay doll. Indistinguishable by age or gender, the flesh clings tightly, without slack, like a desiccated, putrefying corpse. Without my glasses, it's like I'm living in hell.
Or perhaps my own eyeballs have died and reached such a state.
Could it be a dream sequence, a daydream? If I put my mind to it, I might be able to see one in this outdoor temperature.
The clay figure approached. Running, covering the distance I'd take ten seconds for in three. They circled around in front of me and gave a curt, baseball-player-style nod. "Ah, hey." That voice finally allowed me to identify them.
"Well, if it isn't Kaneko-kun, for the second time today."
I put on a nonchalant expression, acting as though I'd noticed him earlier.
I thought his faint shadow would be swallowed by this sunlight, denying him a spot on the main stage. But the encounter rate is surprisingly high. Is there some invisible curse between us? Not that I know of any visible curses, just kidding. Because every person lives witnessing the curse known as 'Death' firsthand.

"What's a student preparing for exams like you doing?"
"Eh? Ah, I'm running to clear my head."
Despite being drenched in sweat, Kaneko-kun manages a smile that keeps his refreshing-factor in the single digits. Handing him a sports towel would send the youth index soaring, but unfortunately, I'm the one who wants something like that.
"Running when it's hot helps clear my head better, about various things."
"Heeh, the athletic type, perhaps?" If so, he's the first I've met.
The ones I've encountered so far have only been the shut-in type, the insect type, and the violent type.
I glance at Kaneko-kun's feet and hands. Hmm. I check the surroundings too. Hmm hmm.
"She's not here."
"Eh? Ah, Jirou, you mean?"
"No." That dog is my Pellucidar. No, not in that sense.
"He's escaped to a cool room inside the house and is just lazing around. He's a slacker, that one."
"I said no." Conversations aside, this town is full of people whose responses don't quite connect.
But if it's between Kaneko-kun and Jirou, I'd choose the doggy.
"What are you doing, Amano-san?"
"Sunbathing. I have many worries, so I thought exposing them to the sun might make them evaporate."
Also, I now regret using this fake name. This makes it sound like I'm a loving couple with 'that guy'. I don't want to be a widow at my age! That's all a lie, though.
"Go ahead."
"Ah, I see... May I sit next to you?"
Kaneko-kun joins me as a bench buddy. As he sat, a few drops of sweat fell from his bangs onto the ground. "Amano-san, aren't you worried about getting tanned? Oh, maybe since you're so pale, you don't care."
Despite pointing it out, he himself is only lightly tanned, no match for a serious baseball club member's tan. Hisaya recommends uni. (Note: The Hisaya/uni part seems like a random non-sequitur, possibly a leftover thought or typo in the original, kept for fidelity.)
"No, I don't mind. It's been a while since I've been baked by the sun."
Besides, I'm aiming for the ganguro look, just kidding. Is that reference old now?
A long, long time ago, when I lived outside, it was popular among the older girls in the neighborhood.
"Is that so?" he replies, glancing my way. When our eyes meet, he quickly looks away.
He's not blushing or particularly conscious of me, probably. I'm not conceited enough to think otherwise. Only someone with a taste for the bizarre would take a shine to me. Like someone who eats yogurt with chopsticks.
Carefully searching for the right angle to broach the subject, Kaneko-kun begins to cut to the chase.
"This morning... ah, that woman." He nods his head up and down emphatically, then looks down. More sweat drips.
"Hisaya-san's mother." Riding the wave of that sweat, I throw him a lifeline. I made it to the other shore just before it dried up.
"Right, her... I was wondering what kind of things you talked about."
"Oh my, are you curious?" I return his question with a foolish one. Someone who wasn't curious wouldn't ask, surely.
"Well, yeah..." "And why 'well, yeah,' I wonder. Are you acquainted with her?"
I keep countering questions with questions, reversing the vector. This is the foundation of being a liar. First, let's cultivate a habit of secrecy, of not speaking the truth. Though I wouldn't recommend it for those who pride themselves on being wholesome.

Kaneko-kun, sensing what I wanted, gave a wry smile and said to me, "So, you're basically telling *me* to tell *you* something about *them*, right?"
"Well now, wise Kaneko-kun. Looks like you'll avoid wasting your life needlessly from now on."
"It's not just me, it might include my friends' opinions and stuff, though."
"I see. Even so, I'd love to hear it, for the sake of peaceful neighborly relations." That's a lie.
"The room you're living in, Amano-san, a family friend of mine lived there until just recently."
"A friend. You possess something wonderful." Yes, truly.
"Huh? Ah, well, thanks. Anyway, he was in the same club as me, and, how should I put it... ah, he killed someone. Two people, maybe. Seems like he did stuff to animals quite a bit too, but I'm not sure about that."
He tilts his head at the latter half, talking to himself. I mimic him, furrowing my brow. Impossible, though.
"A girl named Biwashima, we'd been friends since way back... She never played with the kids in the apartment at all, never even tried to get close to them. She was a year older, so that might have been part of it. But, she stayed away from those four, saying they were creepy."
"Hoh, creepy, you say." That's certainly true. And dangerous, too.
If they killed people like it was a game, there might still be hope for them, but for them, killing *is* the game itself. As value systems go, it's not the absolute lowest, but it's perilously close to the worst.
"According to Biwashima, they were like a centipede cut into four pieces, all tangled up because they didn't know the right order to put their bodies back together."
"……………Heeehh." The impact triggered the illusion of my brain being replaced with a new one.
How many years has it been since I was genuinely impressed by someone's expression? I'm momentarily speechless.
The phrasing—not four centipedes, but one centipede cut into four—is brilliant. Hmm, but then, that makes things a bit strange. The situation itself feels off. Well, I'll put that aside for now.
"The housewives around here gossiped too, saying the families were unnervingly close, too close for comfort," he added. But more than that, I wanted to savor the lingering resonance of that expression, so I held my breath, restraining my rampaging consciousness from escaping.
I'd like to have an unreserved discussion with Biwashima-san sometime. Though it's probably too late.
"Well, basically, after talking about all this, I guess I'm saying you should probably be careful around those people. Ah, and even if talking like that makes them seem like good friends, from an outsider's perspective, it's kind of not great."
"I'll take your warning to heart. So, how did you become good friends with this Biwashima-san?"
"Ah, back in elementary school, she played softball, and I played soccer. We both played in the open spaces on either side of the river bridge, so, well, we'd sometimes walk there and back together... we were friends."
"Did you like her?" I try mentioning romance once in a while. Because it's supposedly interesting, according to popular opinion.
"Nah, not really... But I guess I vaguely thought I wanted to be in a special position, maybe," he replied, speaking unusually fast towards the end.
"Special?"
"Like, maybe just be half a head more consciously recognized than the other boys. Maybe I wanted that kind of specialness, one suited to my level."
The landing point of his final words is uncertain, swaying unsteadily. Like watching people doing the Bon dance in the distance, a feint containing comedy in a good sense.
This town is full of people who are bad liars. Myself included, of course. I still haven't mastered it.
"The dog we used to have, Tarou, apparently Biwashima killed him. My little brother saw it and got traumatized. I mean, why would she kill him?"
"Oh dear, my condolences. The Takahiro we kept at home committed suicide. Very human, wouldn't you say? Just kidding."
"Do you have stuff like that too, Amano-san? Ah, I mean, you seem like you have a lot going on, generally."
"No, not particularly. What I carry isn't grand enough to be called trauma, it's merely the past. True trauma is... let's see, perhaps finding out your little sister was a pig."
"......Ah, this is really hard to say, but... in a metaphorical sense?"
"No, no, it's a much simpler story. The person you spent over a decade with as your sister was actually, to your adoptive mother, worth no more than a pig from a pig farm... meaning, she was nothing more than a replaceable existence on the side to be consumed. And up to this point, that might only function as a metaphorical expression, but the conclusion reached was that she was truly meant for consumption... Now, that has a bit of a pungent odor, doesn't it?"
Still, Akane, who eats delicious meals every day without complaining about the menu, is a strong girl. Even after seeing 'the cooked meat chunks of her sister' with her own eyes, she has no aversion to meat. Maybe she just grew up insensitive because there were few things she could touch. And given our family's financial situation, meat fragments don't often grace our table.
"......Hah." A strained smile.
"That was just a hypothetical, so if you're not feeling well, please forget it quickly."
"Ah, I will... Is that thing wrapped around your wrist an amulet? Looks like you have two."
"This? It's something I bought. Both inexplicably say 'Prayers for Safe Childbirth,' though. More importantly, Kaneko-kun, I have a favor to ask. If you still have the textbooks you used in middle school, I'd like you to give them to me tomorrow morning."
The daughter of suitable age at home should still be able to absorb studying. It's too late for me. If I started studying second-grade material now, my self-esteem would abandon education.
"Sure. Oh, should I go get them now?"
"During your morning walk is fine." Listen when people talk.
Kaneko-kun blinked, then uttered his usual verbal tic, "Ah."
"Uh, okay then, I'll walk Jirou in the morning."
"Heeh, so your textbooks were a mutt. You don't seem blessed with life's mentors."
Resting my chin on my knee, I shot back a snide remark. I properly reflected seven seconds later that it was third-rate.

Now, I'd like to skip time ahead to the next morning, but things aren't that simple.
Extracting only the important parts for the scene transition, tonight cannot be skipped, no no no.
I won't follow Mayuko-san, the lazy animal caretaker who only feeds the creature she's keeping once a day. As a fellow person on feeding duty, I'm brimming with competitive spirit, just kidding. In my case, I haven't even fed the creature I'm currently caring for. I won't say what it is, though, ufufu.
As always, Mayuko-san sways wildly from side to side, full of erratic movements. If she went out shopping on a weekday afternoon, she seems the type who'd need a manly line like "Prepare the undertaker!" but for now, she seems to be in one piece. Today she's not wearing my former yukata, but pajamas. Unchanged. Judging by that spiky state, it seems monsters are invading the town left and right. Though at our apartment, it feels like a ghost might show up, having misread the atmosphere.
Hiding ourselves in the cloak of night, we take a road deviating from the village into a deserted country lane. I don't empathize with it as our life exactly, but I'm grateful at least that we're out of sight. For some reason, this kidnapping and confinement would be bad if it became public knowledge. In this town, needlessly burning with a sense of duty, perhaps ninjas are out of business at night, I worry, as we arrive at the abandoned warehouse. I wait outside, diligently playing Peeping Tom for the sake of my maid training. Staaaring, while taking care not to meet Hisaya-kun's distant gaze.
Mayuko-san first looks around restlessly, searching for something as usual. Or perhaps, searching for someone. Apparently not finding what she was looking for, her face fixes forward. Hisaya-kun, anticipating what comes next, is subtly freaking out. His eyebrows are raised, his whole face seems pulled upwards.
And today too, the fun time begins. Bread in the right hand, hair in the left— "GumomomomoGAH!" Not content with just making the sound echo through the night, the hideous scream comes to rattle even my eardrums. Bread is shoved deep down his throat with no regard for suffocation, and tears overflow. I cry in sympathy for the wonderful man-and-wife routine they're putting on for their sole audience member, me. That's a joke, but somehow my toes are itching to jump in. If it were me, I wouldn't grab his hair to lift his face, I'd plug his nose. Because wouldn't his eyeballs be more likely to see hell that way? You see, I grew up properly watching the backs of adults, so my nature seems to be warped.
Maybe the truth is that letting children grow up freely is best. Yes, truly.
Oops, looking away from Hisaya-kun now to ponder things was careless. I mustn't miss his facial expressions, even if tracking every single gesture is impossible... Arara, Part One seems to have ended already.

Pushed to the brink of fasting, the haggard Hisaya-kun swallows the roll with exaggerated movements. Looking up, looking down, it feels like he's concentrating the body's energy into his head to compensate.
But the night is far from over. Next up is Part Two, the Water Torture chapter. Mayuko-san prepares water from a plastic bottle that has overcome the high, steep, lukewarm wall of being left inside the warehouse all day in summer.
Oh, come to think of it, even if direct sunlight didn't pour in that much, was the hygiene okay for bread left out in the blazing heat? If this were the rainy season, he would undoubtedly be even more haggard.
The bottle cap comes off, and Hisaya-kun is assaulted by glugging sounds. After forcing the opening into his mouth, she presses down hard on his chin and tilts the bottle. "BogaGE!" Ah, such a wonderful melody tonight too. "GapogaGE!" Ah, such a wonderful melody tonight too. It's slightly melancholic that the conductor seems utterly uninterested in the music, but she still does enough work to satisfy the customer, so let's forgive her. If I even have the qualification to grant permission.
The water finished pouring, the bottle is empty for tonight. Mayuko-san tosses it into a corner of the warehouse, reapplies the gag, finishes with another round of head-shaking exercises, concludes her duty for the day, and heads home.
There's no key to lock, but the partially lowered shutter will serve as its replacement. From the shadows, I watch Mayuko-san's expressionless face, giving the impression she just popped out to the convenience store.
...But, hmmm, I tilt my head.
With Mayuko-san's saw-toothed nerves, she has zero consideration for her opponent, but she isn't intentionally inflicting any harm herself, excluding the kidnapping process.
Keeping humans is a hobby for the rich, but she doesn't seem to have that kind of inclination either.
However, is it okay for me, the pretend version, to unravel this? Well, maybe that too is part of my duty as the heroine.
It seems I can't just play the bystander and watch the play forever. Now that I've stepped onto the main stage.
Right then, let's start the day's greetings energetically, as one should. It's the basis of pure, proper, and bright human relations.
This much, at least, I learned from my parents.
"Hiii, good evening! I'm from the strata of society that responds to commands with questions, swish swish."
Twisting my ankles enough to risk a sprain, I slowly approach. Hisaya-kun, still suffering from the water damage, lifts his face and glares at the familiar visitor. He's quite well-bred as a human, his hostility still far from tamed. If he became obedient, he'd lack面白み (omoshiromi - interest/appeal).
The weirdo persistently holding an umbrella indoors and the eccentric tied to a pillar spending his day cross paths for the third time.
Around Hisaya-kun, having passed another day, the stench was asserting itself even more fiercely. Just one whiff feels like it could inflict a massive amount of status ailments. Even so, even if I learned it, I have no desire to use it myself.