---

---

[...] For instance, Person A gets together with Person B, whom they like, while Person C and others, who had a one-sided crush on Person B, experience unhappiness. Person A is completely unaware, and while it’s essentially misplaced resentment, they have still imposed unhappiness upon Person C.

Becoming unhappy is often nothing more than suffering from the illness where "people you care about steadily become strangers." ......Ah, murderers too, they usually contract that illness, don't they?

The moment a life is traded, the other person becomes either a stranger or simply yourself.

***

......Well, putting aside the trickier details, my conclusion is that if I didn't at least have the objective of supporting my little sister, life would seem unbearably dull.
Yes, it's true that a real lie truly remains just that—a lie.

And so, late at night. Today, like any other day, I'm off to torment a younger boy.
Such a misleading way to state the truth. My tolerance for human interaction has hit its limit today, and I really didn't want to resist the temptation to just skip out on this, but then I got this little premonition telling me that *because* it's today, I absolutely have to go. This whole spiel is either a lie or the truth, one or the other.

I left Akane absorbed in a game while sprawled on her futon, locked the door behind me, and stepped outside the apartment building. It looked like only Yuka-chan was in the garden; there was no one else around. Since one of those two must have killed Yuka-chan, I stepped onto the road imagining they might be off killing each other somewhere right about now. Of course, there's always the chance I could be targeted, so I didn't let my guard down. That said, even if a novice like me tries to stay alert for violence, it probably won't amount to much in terms of self-defense. Really, when a lady walks late at night, a gentleman's escort is essential, isn't it? Primarily to serve as a shield—someone you hope takes the hit for you somewhere on their body.

I kept glancing back periodically as I walked, until the apartment building disappeared completely from view behind me.
Seeing as there were no discerning stalkers intent on following me, I decided to just face forward.
Now, if only things could proceed normally from here... applies to this case, applies to life.
"......Things have just been one hassle after another lately, haven't they?"

Today, things are taking a slightly different turn. Along the way, I can't find Mayuko-san, the target of my tracking. Even paying close attention as I walk, she’s not the kind of plain Jane I’d overlook, so it seems she’s genuinely not here yet.
I hide in a position with a good vantage point, where it's easy to spot Mayuko-san, and wait for her arrival.
Could someone please teach me the trick to not feeling the emptiness of continually swatting away countless mosquitoes while waiting for a beautiful girl exhibiting suspicious behavior to pass by? Seriously.

If something has happened to Mayuko-san...... hmm, what should I do? Is there something I *must* do? I'd rather place my hopes on that smooth-faced young man from the supermarket yesterday—the one who looked like he’d meticulously packed his face with nothing but manjuu skins and was sticking close to Mayuko-san—and just sleep soundly with a high pillow, if you please.
Playing detective is boring. Playing thief seems much more satisfying, even in a material sense.

Yes, that one is real.
*Splat.* *Irritation.* *Slap.*
A mosquito, sluggish from sucking too much blood, was splendidly crushed against my skin, reduced to wings or flesh or blood.
Even after waiting a while, the only thing I encountered was my own sweat.
Since I wasn't getting anywhere, I decided to act freely under the pretext of responding flexibly to the situation.

Although it involves some risk of running into her, I decide to head to Hisaya-kun's place first and try to ascertain the truth about Mayuko-san's activities through his testimony. I'm not good at sitting and waiting; my report card used to say I was a restless child. Though, I suspect back then I was simply acting suspiciously.
While straining my ears, wondering if I could hear the distinctive *peta-peta* sound of Mayuko-san's rubber sandals, I move towards the abandoned warehouse. For Hisaya-kun, that sound must be like a cat's bell, signaling the return of a nightmare. For me, though, it's a precious performance that helps me endure the unchanging night scenery just a little. Perhaps today is her scheduled day off, though.
In the end, I arrived in front of the warehouse without encountering Mayuko-san or any other apparitions of that sort.
I peek lightly inside, confirm there's no one there, then slip under the shutter and enter.

The first thing I see right in front of me is a child in the darkness. Shrunken, curled up—that figure, to my eyes, was nothing but a child. A brat, a little shit. How irritating. It overlaps with memory. It traces over it. Lines tangle chaotically. A bad sign. The sign itself is bad. Therefore, assassinate just the sign. Expulsion. Withdrawal from the club. Words of severing ties I have no ties with. Things I hate are right before me as things I hate.
My rationality turned into sponge cake, got Kit Kat-ed, became sickeningly sweet, melted, and rotted.
When I kick the materials lying at my feet, Hisaya-kun reacts with a start and lifts his face. Looks like he was dozing off. As he recognizes the person who appeared, the quality of his gaze shifts.
Well now, I wonder which of us is rejected more intensely, Mayuko-san or myself?
"Has that girl come already?"
Taking large strides, I approach close enough to break Hisaya-kun's nose and make my inquiry.
Naturally, the rebellious teenager completely ignores the delivered message and glares defiantly at me. I don't dislike that way of asserting oneself. It just gets on my nerves. I take a giant first step. That is, I kick his throat with my toes. His head slams against the pillar, his breathing obstructed by the gag. To summarize in katakana, Hisaya-kun is afflicted with a *Geho-gon* condition. Oh my, he can barely exhale, can he? His face is swelling like a faulty fire extinguisher, turning igneous.
"Ahem." The gag still prevents him from speaking.
This should make him a slightly more obedient child. Inflicting pain just short of death is likely more effective on Hisaya-kun. And doesn't it seem like I can also start working towards achieving a stress-free existence? Yes, truly.
My scheme worked as planned; Hisaya-kun, still captive to the pain, interrupts it just long enough to reluctantly shake his head. Hmm, so she really hasn't come.

What reason could she have for skipping her feeding duty...... No wonder the public health center has so much trouble, with so many irresponsible owners like this.
Reluctantly, I decide that Miss Yuna the attendant will look after Hisaya-kun just for tonight.
I am not your mother, part 2. "Hey, hey, Mooom, *I'll* take care of the dog!!" Not even close to "That's a lie, though." In the end, the mother ends up taking care of it, doesn't she?
I pick up a bag of bread lying carelessly nearby and take out two pieces. Am I spoiling him a bit too much? Even Jirou had to make do with just one treat. Then again, Hisaya-kun isn't a doggy, so I should probably treat him like a human. And so, two pieces it is.
And water. A plastic bottle—hmm... Placing a hand on my forehead, I scan the area, then recall yesterday. After Mayuko-san finished pouring the contents into Hisaya-kun, she'd thrown it away. Where did she throw it, I wonder? I start to turn my head again, then suddenly realize. It was empty, that's right.
I don't want to go to the trouble of fetching water (because the creature being kept is not to my taste), and I don't recall seeing the glow of a vending machine scattered along the way. The human body is eighty percent water, which conversely means that if you have eighty percent, going without water for a day will just reduce it to seventy percent, right? I conclude, and crouch down in front of Hisaya-kun holding only the bread.
I reach out to remove the gag. Perhaps Hisaya-kun has gotten used to it, as he half-consciously juts his neck out, making it easier to remove. In consideration of this obedience, I decide against teasing him and quickly remove it, then promptly stuff both pieces of bread crammed together into his mouth. Oh dear, do I dislike making people wait for treats?
"Mmph-gck!" Pushing past Hisaya-kun's eyeballs, which are clearly struggling with where to put his tongue, I exacerbate his confusion. *Juburu*, a small grape seems to slip deep behind my finger, and drool nearly drips.
The me performing this sadism is very detached, yet the me observing this as a hobby is receiving it wholeheartedly as entertainment, extracting pleasure. When this divergence goes too far, it becomes dangerous. And I am now about to go too far. The bygone past is trying to make mistakes recur. But the opposite isn't the right answer either, which is why I'm currently going *uri uri uryaa* like this. That's what it looks like when I express incoherence plainly.
Thanks to being stored securely deep in his throat, the bread has become a part of Hisaya-kun's internal organs. That's a lie, though, but what exactly are external organs? The eyeballs you gouge out, the ear canals you pick clean, don't they ultimately just connect to the inside of a person? Doesn't that mean everything is an internal organ? So even though Hisaya-kun looks like he's suffocating and dying, maybe he's just making those muffled sounds because he's been provided with new organs, or something along those lines, that's what I believe! Shaa! Ahh—
Ahh, the essence?
Ah— "Ah—" Ah—, what am I doing? There goes that bad habit again.

If *His* rampage is clearly triggered by crossing a mountain pass, my little crazy switch is like a railroad track. I smoothly dive into the Fountain of Mad Destruction while it remains ambiguous whether I've crossed the boundary line or not. I just combined characters randomly to make it rhyme, but I used the final kanji for "fountain" (泉) because I liked it, which is a lie. Because I'm not supposed to know any kanji at all. I can't actually write them, either. My written notes are like a hiragana practice book.
Anyway, unrelated to all that, I swiftly pull back, allowing him to gasp for breath repeatedly and rise from the bottomless swamp.
"Calmed down?" I ask nonchalantly to someone who was genuinely struggling to swallow bread.
"That should be you, damn it," he retorts.
He seems too weak to even utilize exclamation marks. Perfect, makes him easier to talk to. Loud volumes accelerate time. I think it's because consciousness diffuses, and the individual particles each start consuming one second on their own. What do you think of this deduction? Hey, *You-Know-Who*, come here. *Kotodama*.
"What... are they doing?" he asks, confirming his top-priority, bottom-rung concern with a grudge-filled tone.
When did I give *you* permission to ask questions, I wonder? But disciplining him isn't a role I want to take on, so I smile, and smile, and smile, and on the third try, I successfully deflect it.
So concerned about his companions—or rather, the torso, torso part 2, and the head—he just can't help himself, can he? This centipede's tail. On its own, the poison just circulates; it doesn't try to expel anything, just writhes. You're just like Ooe Akane. How unpleasant, this useless member within the group. He’s the type of creature whose true worth only starts to show when plucked out individually with tweezers and left to squirm on a glass slide.
"Oh, everyone's quite fine. Though, since the game is on hold, they're about ready to start creating waterfalls of drool like they have rabies," I reply.
"Is that... so...... Yeah. Dammit!"
"Other than that, I suppose we all divided up and finished off the food that was in Tsurusato-san's refrigerator. It was piled so high, calling it anything less than a feast felt like blasphemy against the very concept of expression, you know?"
Japanese words chatter, writhing through the air. Slipping through the gaps in gravity, they attempt to build a permanent residence in the eardrums, these words, but for just an instant, they flip over, exposing their undersides. They were, predictably, black.
Looking vexed, regretful, filled with remorse, Hisaya-kun spits out indigestible language.
"My... Tsurusato's right arm..." "Oh, don't worry, it's still not attached anywhere."
Although the others buried the rest when they buried Yuka-chan. Also, I received a report from Imaki-kun that someone found Tsurusato-san's severed head, which someone else had apparently dug up and discarded.
"Huh? Makes no sense."
"Isn't it annoying how speaking too simply seems to lower one's expressive power?"
If that happens, you surely end up wrapping your brain only in proper Japanese, and then you have to go through extra trouble just to get the juices flowing. Ah, I aspire to that.

"Okay, let's head home."
"Already? You just came here to bully me."
"It would be troublesome if *that girl* came in. Trysts should aim for thick, short periods of time."
Besides, my work here is done. With this, well, let's entrust the rest to tomorrow.
August 17th is the summer festival. It's a day for family service, so I'm outta here.

*Crunch, crunch*, I walk, stepping on many things. On the way, I must have stepped on something sharp; it pierced my sandal and *puchu*-ed the skin on the sole of my foot. My sandal starts getting slimy with dripping blood, making my skin feel nice and smooth.
Ah, aren't 77 seconds of happiness truly auspicious? Good grief!
It's not just about stealing happiness by hurting people; it's that *because* I hurt people, I *can* become happy. In that case, striving for self-improvement just becomes purely detrimental, when you get down to it. If I aimed for the high score, wouldn't I just be Society's Enemy Number One, splendidly so?
People say I should just find other forms of happiness, but I think the idea of my own happiness changing is far more terrifying.
Ah, dear me, I've been flipping the switch too much, the electricity bill is piling up, and now the substitute known as "normal" has finally regained control. Hmm, oh, uh, Japanese language restored. ......How dreadful.
I feel like complaints might start pouring in from all quarters, asking what on earth I think I'm doing. And then there's me, not responding with sincerity.
You mustn't expect a rational reason like "contacting Hisaya-kun now will prove vital later on." Isn't it possible I'm just driven by my hobby, or rather, my authentic personality?
Therefore, whether you trust the next five lines is entirely up to your individual judgment—I'm completely washing my hands of it, but...

The key to solving this case is held by Hisaya-kun.
Yes, he's in a position perfectly suited to such a wonderful turn of phrase.
All while he doesn't wish for it, doesn't realize it, and isn't informed of it.
......And the key he holds is very sharp.
It's the type that, if grasped tightly under scrutiny, ends up wounding the holder as well.

And then, the next day. August 17th arrives.
The lifeline, on this day alone, is smeared with ink, becoming thick and bold...... That's the plan, isn't it? Who am I even asking?

As morning began to pass, I made my familiar illegal entry into Tsurusato-san's room. Sitting there was Nonami Erina. Again, crouched on the floor, absorbed in drawing.
I rummage through Tsurusato-san's book collection, find a few old manga volumes, open one, blow off the dust, and kill time reading. I appreciate that the manga has furigana for the kanji. Studying hiragana and katakana on my own was the right decision.
"—" Silence. The *kyukyu-ka* sound of a pen gliding across the floor. The sound of a page turning. Silence. Repeat the above, occasionally listening to the ticking of the clock's second hand as well.
After rereading the same manga about six times, I finally got bored and put it back on the shelf.

Once that was done, I murmured, "They're late." Yesterday evening's prediction flickered in my mind.
Even as the sun climbed past seventy degrees, metaphorically speaking on a protractor, and the time arrived for it to bestow midday upon the town, Imaki-kun still hadn't shown up.
"He's late, isn't he? Couldn't you go call Imaki-kun? You know, using the phone somehow?"
"Ah," she reported, her eyes widening as if she'd forgotten. But it was completely unrelated to my question.
"Whoops."
"What?"
"Eh?"
"Um, ahh, we're waiting, right? For Moki-kun to come, so everyone's here."
"Toshiki-kun won't be coming here anymore."
"Huh?" Unexpectedly, I let out a voice practically pandering to the masses.
"Because he's been here since the beginning today."
My premonition reached certainty, no proof required. It wasn't chilling. As if to say, "Who decided Zashiki-warashi were harmless?", Erina-chan, bearing something gloomy, blushed.

"Where is he?"
"In the bathroom."
[...]
"Yes."
Skipping a reply, I stand up. Erina-chan also stops drawing and follows behind me. It's nice of you to join my party, but what's your job class? High school girl, fresh-faced gyaru, murderer. None of them seem like they can use spells, or rather, wasn't the last one a monster? Man, it's tough securing an escape route for my composure by thinking about such trivial things.
The layout is the same as the room I live in, so I reached the bathroom without hesitation.
"...!" Imaike Toshiki-kun's... 'Ima' part, rolled...
In the bathroom, Imaki-kun's head, with its earlobe being sucked into the drain... gaah, um, what is he *doing*? I felt like I could somehow continue the sentence, so I postponed the punctuation...………… but he's escaping the summer heat. Taking a splash, perhaps.
Perhaps the blood pooled in the head had drained out; a section of the bathroom tiles bloomed with a dark red spider lily pattern. Judging by the lack of clusters, it seems he wasn't decapitated here.
Either way, does this mean the case is mostly over? Personally, I think it would have been better if Imaki-kun had survived. But things don't always go conveniently, do they?
I turn around. I was glad I didn't have to regret carelessly letting this girl behind me, so I breathed a sigh of relief. Mmm, smooth to the touch. I want to punch myself, honestly.
"Did you kill him?" A foolish question. Didn't I myself say the culprit is the last one remaining?
Being the only one left, she nods without excuses or lies. I appreciate the directness.
"Yuka-chan too?"
"Yes."
"And me too?"
"Yes."
"That reply and question were one too many. You gave me a spoiler," I say.
"Ah, that was a slip of the tongue," she says, covering her mouth with her small, round (what is this Japanese?) hands.

"Let's keep it a secret," she suggests. Between whom should we keep it confidential, the involved party wonders.
"More importantly, where's the scene where you killed Imaki-kun? And the body?"
"Huh? Knowing that... oh, the deduction is..." "I understand perfectly, now show me."
"Okayyy, but, hmm, hmm? But ooooohhh—" I pushed her back and exited the bathroom.
Without even putting on shoes, we pass through the entryway and go outside. Using Erina-chan as a sunshade.
I really wish she wouldn't force me into a confined space alone with her. I'd rather be locked in the kennel with Jirou; that would be more meaningful. Even on a midsummer day when the scorching sun strides freely, I have the confidence to snuggle him.
"Yesterday, Toshiki-kun was looking down at where Yuka-chan was buried. It was evening. So, I thought, oh, this is kinda perfect timing, and *zwip*!"
As we move, she flusteredly explains the time of the murder and so on. Also, why isn't this girl walking on her own two feet instead of just letting me push her along by inertia?
"What was your reason for killing Yuka-chan and Imaki-kun?" I mostly figured it out, though.
"Ah, that's because I reset."
"Reset..." Just as I thought.
We arrive at the murder scene. The apartment garden where Yuka-chan was buried.
No one around, check. As expected of an apartment with a bad reputation, you hardly ever see other kids wandering around here.
"You buried Imaki-kun's torso here?" I ask, looking down at the soil, disturbed from being dug up multiple times.
"Yes. Yuka-chan and Toshiki-kun, they're my friends. So, it's my selfishness, wanting them to be close by."
So Yuka-chan and Imaki-kun were, so to speak, tossed into a dirt tank.
But maybe that's better than being floated in a fish tank, simply because it's not for display.
"Alright then, I want you to tell me about this 'reset' business."
I need that information to solve the case for myself.
With a perplexed look, Erina-chan's lips are slow to open. Hesitantly, scattering her words,
"Resetting isn't like, making it zero, 'cause I'm still here, so, um... It failed with Toshiki-kun and the others, but, they're still my friends, and it's true they'll always be my friends, and I want to cherish that, so, conversely, I didn't want it to get sullied any more..."
How irritatingly slow. I'll patiently listen to the end, then edit and summarize it myself.
For a while now, time passes with the same fruitless irritation as observing a sea slug......
".........is what it is, though."
"...Is that it?"
"Yes. Ah, but maybe something else," "Tell me the rest after you remember everything." "Ehh......"
Alright, let's create an imaginary Erina-chan in my mind, one that moves with jerky agility.
Let's have this Virtual Erina explain the real Erina-chan's opinions.
"The game was clearly failing from the start. The moment we decided to start it even though Shirota-kun wasn't there. And letting in a weird person... no, someone we didn't know. Why did Moki-kun agree to that? Ah, it's not that I dislike you... what was your name again? Something-san. But this was supposed to be a game for the four of us... We should have waited for him, Shirota-kun. No, I *was* waiting. I tried not to participate much in the game, kept my talking to a minimum."
Even this is my summary. You can imagine the verbosity of the original text.

"But like, Shirota-kun wasn't coming back. And things just kept getting messier and messier. So, I didn't want to see it fail any further. And yet, nobody was trying to press the reset button, and I couldn't stand that."
There, she takes a shallow breath, moistens her tongue to lubricate its movement.
This part, even the real one stated clearly.
"I don't want to diminish the value of my friends any further."
That seems to be Erina-chan's primary motive.
Alright, from here, it seems the normal Erina-chan has gathered her thoughts, so let's have her continue. What should be done with Virtual-san's disposition, I wonder?
"The person named Biwashima who used to live in the room Something-san lives in now, he committed a murder half a year ago."
"I know about that."
"Then, they moved out... So I thought, if Shirota-kun, Moki-kun, and Yuka-chan were gone too, maybe their families would move out. And if they did, maybe other people would come, and I could become friends with them."
Quite the brutal change of pace. Well, I suppose you discard cards in poker too. Makes sense.
"Why don't you invite friends from school?"
"School isn't a place for making friends. Ah, just for me, though. People who are good at it, like Toshiki-kun or Yuka-chan, they can make friends there. But Shirota-kun and me, we only have friends in this apartment complex. Here, it's where I can get friends, a nest...?... something like that, probably."
Erina-chan explains her view of the apartment complex while vigorously shaking her head side to side.
Her world is likely shaped like a beehive.
"Changing the subject slightly, may I ask one thing?"
"Um, I feel like you've been asking a lot already... but... yes, please go ahead. Please don't glare at me."
"For just burying Imaki-kun's torso, quite a wide area of soil has been dug up, hasn't it?"
"Oh, that's 'cause like, lots of blood came out, so it was to cover it up. Also, bits of meat flew everywhere, and cleaning it up seemed like a lot of work, maybe."
"I see." How pathetic. Every single object and action. I see. *Ding!* A tiny lightbulb flickers on. Self-generated power. This flash of inspiration will probably be completely useless.
"But I tried really hard, and even though it took a lot of time, I managed to cut it properly!" she adds proudly.
"...Right. Did you need the 'tried hard' part in there?"
"*Ta-da!*" She held out both palms facing up. Eh, are you seeking a tangible reward? How troublesome. I'm not the type of person who can spit out receipts from their mouth like *wheeeen*, so creating a certificate is out of the question. Besides, I've never received a single one. In first grade, I got the reverse perfect attendance award.
"......Pat, pat." Reaching over her hands, I patted her head. "Fwahh." Surprisingly well-received, it seems.
After patting her for a while, getting bored of wondering how to handle this, I remove my hand.
"So, when do you plan on killing me?"
If I know the date beforehand, dealing with it will be easier, right?
The asker has issues, and the one pondering it has an even more open brain, ponchicchi indeed.
"Eh, so, like, now?" The fact that it's a question—is that a relief, or a source of headache?

I am weak. A fragile creature capable of defeating opponents only through surprise attacks.