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"...Hm?" A clothing sleeve is peeking out from the garbage bag pressed against me. Did someone throw it out by mistake? What a waste.
"Aargh, geez. Why does this kinda stuff always happen? I've been so unlucky lately..."
The sound of her right hand scratching furiously at her hairline. It's as if she's desperately trying to expel the pus of regret and anguish, and the sound shows no sign of stopping on its own. I recalled the part of her face above her eyes, and after reaffirming to myself, *ah, she was beautiful*, I decided to speak to her.
"Can I talk for a bit?"
"Whisper."
"Okay?"
She pointed it out, so I adjusted my volume and tested it. "Go ahead," she urged, so I asked.
"Was that your dad earlier?"
"...He's a damn old bastard."
She demands I correct my phrasing to one that indicates their bad relationship. As she spoke, the hand that had been tearing at her forehead dropped limply.
"Are you, like, fighting with him or something?"
"Yeah. We did. I took him down."
With a series of short affirmations, she shifted from her crouched position to sitting with her knees drawn up. I'm surprised she can move her body that much in such a cramped space. Girls really are small, huh.
"Besides, it's none of your business, Senpai. Don't ask so much."
"Speaking of which..."
"What?"
She clearly shut down any further probing. When it comes to this, I have no choice but to stay quiet.
More than her family situation, her father storming the hotel is the bigger problem for me.
"...Do you still, uh, feel like coming to my room?"
That was the important part. In fact, everything else since a while ago has had nothing to do with me, hasn't it?
"Oh, yeah, I still do," she replied quite nonchalantly. It was so brisk it was almost anticlimactic. "But you can't smoke in your room, right, Senpai?"
"Huh? Do you usually smoke?"
"I do. Behind your back, Senpai."
"...I see. Oh, speaking of which."
"What's next?" Even her dialect was starting to show.
"No, it's just... that person..." The self-proclaimed detective lady wasn't around. She should have gone this way.
"Senpai, whisper. Or rather, shut up."
She pressed her fingers to her own lips, silencing herself with a makeshift gag. Taken aback by that, I closed my mouth too, and the lingering sound of footsteps on the carpet reached us from close by.
The vibrations from someone walking on the carpet told us they were approaching the cart. Could it be her father? If he was chasing her, this cart would be the first thing he'd notice. He wasn't the kind of father who'd assume his daughter was training to be a magician and had vanished from the hallway in an illusion.
She clenched her free right hand into a fist. If her self-proclaimed personality was no lie, then the moment the cloth of the cart serving as our hiding place was opened, that fist would probably shoot out into the space beyond. Regardless of whether it was her father or a member of the cleaning staff who had finished cleaning a room and was coming to collect the trash.
*Should I help too?* I wondered, glancing at her face and trying to meet her eyes, but our gazes didn't connect. She was staring at her clenched fist, her eyelids half-lowered as if in sorrow. It was the face of someone whose heart was stirred by memories. Was a recollection of a strike slumbering there?
The footsteps stopped right next to the cart. I braced myself. In this situation, rather than daughter → father, wouldn't it be father → me who gets punched? That's the thought that crossed my mind. Come to think of it, today was the first time I'd heard her talk about her family. If he was an old-fashioned father, would I face his iron fist? But then again, that father was also with a woman who was dragging her leg. If we ended up face-to-face, it would probably be an awkward atmosphere.
She'd punch her father, and we'd use that opening to escape somewhere else again—just as I lifted my hips from the garbage bags, preparing to jump out, the sound of a door opening and a woman's voice saying, "Sir, is something—"
From her polite wording, I figured it was a member of the cleaning staff. "No, nothing," came a gruff male voice in reply, and her eyes narrowed. Just as I thought, her father had been standing nearby. And because someone spoke to him, his footsteps and presence retreated a step from the cart. We were saved by the cleaning staff's casual kindness. But if they started moving the cart after this, wouldn't they notice something was off and peek inside? She still hadn't unclenched her fist. I, too, readied myself again, preparing to jump out with the soles of my feet.
The vibration of someone gripping the cart's handle transmitted through its metal frame. The cleaning staff member seemed to be a woman; could she even move this cart? It had the added weight of two people.
*Thrust, thrust*—the propulsive force was applied to the cart in two stages. Then, with a slightly stronger *clunk*, the darkness surrounding us began to move forward. A subtle tremor in our surroundings, like a train starting up.
The cart was moving. And without anyone peeking inside, it proceeded as if nothing was wrong.
The sound of the small wheels on the bottom turning beneath our feet, as loud as an engine.
The wheels caught on the carpet fibers, getting snagged and occasionally shaking us violently.
I exchanged glances with her.
I felt like a cow loaded onto a light truck, being taken to market.
And in the center of her gaze, an image seemed to be painted: a bipedal *something* effortlessly pushing the cart.

Hanasaki Tarou (Detective) & Touki (Girl)
4:00 PM

"The cockroaches commonly found in Japan don't bite people to death. However, most Japanese people feel revulsion when they see one in their homes. What about you, Hat Man?"
"I hate them too, Blond Bastard."
"What a coincidence, I despise them too. Those cockroaches—one look at them, and you feel fear. It's not their insides, it's purely their appearance that makes people loathe those small insects. I suppose it means humans often experience fear visually. Chilling ghost stories are terrifying, but an alien larva bursting from a chest is also quite the object of fear."
"You're quite the scaredy-cat, aren't you?"
"You're not scared of aliens?"
"Nah, I mean, they're scary, but—"
"Right? Ah, I got a bit sidetracked. Well then, in that case, don't you think it's plausible that one could identify a person who habitually commits murder by their appearance, and fear that person, even without having witnessed any particularly gruesome crime scene?"
"It'd be easy to tell if they had 'Kill' printed on their forehead or something."
"I personally interpret you to be that kind of person."
Ignoring my wisecrack, the man flashed a bright, refreshing smile. Just looking at him made me feel like I was about to break out in a cold sweat.
"I do know some folks who've sublimated that kind of intuition into a superpower, though."
"You're probably similar. From the moment you spoke to me and were on full alert."
"No, I just had a strange benevolent impulse to, you know, provide a little extra service as part of my job for once..."
My "handsome man" time slot is starting to end. I'm gradually turning into "squid tentacles."
We've strayed so far from the cat search, where on earth are this elevator and I headed?
To think it would lead to a path of such hardship and resolve... searching for animals is a deep business.
When I get back to the office, I'll declare this month "Intensive Animal Search Month."
"I'll declare it once more: I have no weapons on me."
"You seem to have plenty of madness, though."
"Absolutely correct."
The murderer closed the distance by a single step. The elevator had no floor indicator, and it felt like we were in free fall.
"Uh, um, don't tell me this atmosphere means... a battle?" I tried to play dumb.
"We are indeed about to battle. Is there a problem?"
"No, tilting your head like that... it's weird. This isn't a shonen manga, you know."
"Well, it would be tough to pitch your assertions about your sexual preferences to Shonen Jump."
"That's not the issue!" I threw the cell phone I was holding at the man's face. "Shya!" He leaned back and dodged it! No way! I didn't even have time to lament. The sound of the cell phone smashing against the wall echoed in my ears. I timed it with the man stepping forward and swung my bag sideways. He caught it with his left hand, and though it made the bones in his fingers scream, he sealed my movement. The instant I let go of the bag, which had lost its momentum, trying to free my hands, he kicked me up in the left flank. "Gah!" My cry of pain seemed to peel away with the elevator's gentle ascent, making it feel as if it came from a different location.
I was slammed back against the closed doors, causing the entire elevator to shake violently.
My back slid down the doors. The man picked up the duralumin case and thrust its corner at the tip of my nose, using it as a substitute for "checkmate." Hanasaki's *hanasaki* (nose tip)... Forgetting the gravity of the situation, a laugh escaped me at the pun. But when I tried to laugh and shook my shoulders, my flank hurt like hell.
"Ow...!" I couldn't suppress a groan.
"We're in the same boat. My fingers are swollen too. They might even be broken."
The man dangled the fingers of his left hand, shaking them like the dislocated neck of a doll, all while maintaining a cool expression.
"But really, who throws someone else's cell phone? Normally."
He said this with an air of exasperation, looking down at the cell phone rolling on the floor.
"Because the philosophy book on life that I read said, 'Use whatever you can.'"
"Isn't that from Nintama Rantarou?"
"Besides, for someone who says that, you dodged it pretty easily."
"Sucker-punching someone while they're talking is a method I often use myself. So, I'm actually more vigilant then. But I was impressed by your complete lack of hesitation."
"A man's face still has some flavor even when smashed. It's like fermented food."
"No, I was talking about how you threw an acquaintance's cell phone as if intending to destroy it."
Ah, *that's* what he meant.
"Didn't your parents teach you to treat things with care?"
"This is also a form of kindness."
"That's quite the self-righteous imposition of S&M. You'll be more than just disliked by women; you'll get sued."
"Nowadays, just patting a girl's butt gets you accused of sexual harassment or corporal punishment..."
"That's probably because your face shows motives other than just 'punishment'."
It seemed the elevator had arrived at the top-floor restaurant, reputed for its beautiful night view. The doors wouldn't open since no card key had been swiped, but for an instant, the resistance to gravity ceased. Soon, the descent would begin, creating a moment of weightlessness. I was looking forward to it.
If I could stay conscious until then, that is.
After all, before the elevator's descent, the duralumin case's descent was coming down on me.
The moment the corner of the case the man swung down brought excruciating pain to my right shoulder, a dark curtain fell over my eyes.

Sakurayama Eko
3:40 PM

So, the one waiting for the pig was a cow, I wonder? A dull-witted, slow, good-for-nothing more worthless than dust. Scum whose appearance isn't even good enough quality to be displayed as meat in a shop should just be ground into powder and used as feed to raise other meat, don't you think? Ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo. Inside the elevator, as the cow—without a shred of suspicion, brandishing its worthless kindness—bent down to pick up the cell phone I'd deliberately dropped, I timed it perfectly, clenched my molars, and headbutted its nose. As the cow's vision flew from the impact, I thrust my hand into its pocket and snatched the card key. While tucking it into my shoe, I scratched and scratched at my forehead. Ahhh! I want to burn off my own skin for having touched a man other than my husband! While the pig rushed over like it had found a truffle, yelping, 'Are yoo oo-kay?!' the elevator arrived at the seventeenth floor.
While desperately rubbing the 'bait' to wipe away the 'filth,' I kept up appearances with a 'So sorry, ohohoho.' Having been taught that if you can't handle social interactions, you shouldn't show your face in public, *I* am quite good at acting—it truly makes me want to praise my past self. I grabbed the proffered 'pig's trotter' and used it to pull myself up. The cow, putting on airs in front of the pig, feigned kindness, and even outside the elevator, we had to bow our heads to each other again with 'So sorry.' Bowing my head to a cow *twice*! I'll kill its tongue and brains.
Not that I'd want to eat them, mind you. My tongue or stomach would probably rot.
After that humiliating time ended, I prefaced my departure with a 'Well then,' and finally managed to escape from those livestock that stank of shit. 'It'd be uncouth to stay together forever, wouldn't it?' Who'd want to watch a cow and a pig in their pre-mating heat? 'Iyahahaha,' the cow 'mooed.' A rotten stench already emanated from its blissfully ignorant head. It should just die already.
'For now.' I distanced myself from the zombie cow and the ass-kissing pig and walked down the corridor. For now, I need to keep my distance until that beastly pair is 'shipped out' from in front of the elevator and disappears. Then, before the dull-witted cow realizes the situation and returns from 'pasture,' I just need to take the elevator and move to a different floor.
The right place for the card key, useless to the cow, is in *my* hands. I obtained it skillfully, removing any restrictions on my movement. All that's left is to find my husband. If only he'd come to me. If only. If only. Ugh-gigugu-oigugogugi-ugh—No, I must think calmly. First, what floor is my husband on? No, that doesn't matter.
I'll keep calling his phone, and if I hear it ringing from inside a room, that's where my husband's phone is. I made a promise with my husband never to turn off his ringer, so that he'd always be reachable, no matter what. And my husband will be right there beside his phone. This floor has rooms where that pig and cow can fornicate, so are they twin rooms, I wonder? My husband cheating on me or betraying me is absolutely, positively, to the power of three, impossible, so there's no way he's staying in a room like this. No way. But, for example, there's a possibility my husband has been attacked by someone, is having his organs gouged out, and is on the verge of being brutally murdered. The possibility that a room on this floor is being used for that scene is not zero.
Alright, *I'm* becoming quite calm now ♪ That's right, that's right, I'm not doubting my husband, I'm just worried about him, so this isn't betrayal, rather, it's a wife's duty, isn't it?
So, I have to start by investigating this floor. I'll call his phone, and head down the corridor... *click, clack, click*... Wait, wait, wait. The power isn't on? The synthesized voice chews up my nerves. The phone that was supposed to connect just moments ago is now cut off, and it gives me the insolent recommendation, 'PLEASE TRY YOUR CALL AGAIN.' *I* go, 'WHAT DO YOU MEAN, what do you mean, wha-do-ooyoo-raneee-to-to-to-to-to-to-toko-oooo-oooo-oooo-oooh!' I thermally run away, and my vision warps and distorts. Trying to make effective use of what I saw in that state, I slammed the side of my fist against a switch. I grabbed the water that came out and crunched it down, *gari-gari-gari*. Cool down and be calm. As it went down my throat, I almost choked slightly and calmed down more than necessary. La~la, la~la-la la~. There's no way my husband would turn off his phone.
A third party is manipulating my husband's phone. And if my husband were conscious and normal, he would never allow the connection to *me*—his connection to *me*, who is his everything—saying it twice isn't nearly enough, but anyway, he would never allow it to be cut! Besides, my husband is on this business trip alone, so that person is simply an enemy.
My husband is in danger! I get more ice and crunch it. Of course! My husband always says his life is at its peak because *I'm* by his side. Through his behavior. His tone of voice. The way he enters the bathroom, and so on. He expresses it through his actions, it comes across so strongly, *bing-bing*! For such a husband to be unhappy the moment he's away from *me*, it was only natural that danger would befall him. Ah, what a disaster! As I thought, from now on, *I* must accompany my husband on his work trips. Honestly, my husband's foolishness is beyond imagination. Perhaps I've been spoiling him too much.
Well then, perhaps it's about time I went to make some inquiries.
I swallowed the second piece of ice and ran towards the end of the corridor, still trying to call. The phone still said, 'THE POWER IS OFF OR YOU ARE IN AN AREA WITH NO SIGNAL—BEEP.' Shut up! It's because *your* effort is lacking that the signal won't reach, you should be ashamed! My hand trembled with the urge to smash the phone against the wall and bury it, but the now perfectly composed *me* restrained herself and arrived in front of Room 1784. *Clack, clack, clack,* I knocked on the door.
My right foot continued its *tap-tap-tap* running motion. How irritating! Hurry up and come out! You should be weeping with gratitude for my consideration in not breaking down the door! 'Yeees, what is it?' The voice of a female hippo came from inside.
*I* avoided the spot visible from the peephole and moved to the side, then said, 'Excuse me, I'm from room cleaning, and I mistakenly took a shirt along with the towels. Could you please check if it might be your shirt?' I prepared a suitable excuse for the hippo.
The aged hippo, with its dull hippo brain, made no judgment and said, 'Okaay, I'm opening it now,' unlocking and opening the door from the inside. The instant that door opened, *I* lunged from the side and slapped the middle-aged hippo across the eyes. The back of my hand struck the area around both the hippo's eyes, preventing it from seeing *my* face.
Just as a hippo-like scream was about to erupt, I reached out my other hand and slammed it against the wall. The hippo's eyes shot open, trying to locate *me*, its pupils contracting. Then, its head and shoulder blades were smashed against the wall, and it spewed foam and screams in agony. *I* closed the door, forced my way into the room, and then struck the hippo's eyes again with my palm, completely, albeit temporarily, blocking its vision. Pinned between *my* hand and the wall, the hippo, now like an Othello piece, fell into a state of black-and-white, muddled consciousness. I immediately moved away from the hippo and dashed towards the back of the room.
The hippo's male—a camel, let's say—had heard the groan and came rushing out. We nearly collided as *I* lunged around the white wall in front of the bathroom. The camel's mouth was slightly open, its jaw completely exposed; I instantly smashed it with the heel of my hand with all my might. Things like kung fu or other barbaric practices are foreign to *me*, so I've never learned them, but it seems even just copying what you see in movies can be effective, hmm.
Is it because I have no 'hesitation'? The camel's eyeballs rolled to the left. It also seemed to have bitten its tongue as if to sever it, its cries more than twice as loud as the female hippo's, adding to the zoo-like atmosphere. *I* stomped hard on the camel's face once, then rummaged through the handbag that was beside the bed. There was a brown handkerchief. This will do. I grabbed the camel's hair, pulling up its face, which was crying out in pain. Then I covered its eyes with the narrowly folded handkerchief, tying it at the back of its head as a blindfold. Next, I used the bedsheet to tie both its arms behind its back. Camel processing: complete.
Next, the hippo. For the hippo stuck to the wall by the entrance, spewing foam, I used *my own* handkerchief as a blindfold, prepared to not just get it dirty but to have to throw it away. And to tie its arms, I used a bath towel. The hippo seemed to lose consciousness—its awareness dyed black—in the process of having its arms twisted behind its back; just before an exclamation mark could attach itself to its cry of 'Help, someone,' I crushed its throat. The hippo vomited stomach acid and its fat body fell face down. The handkerchief around its eyes is damp, so it must be sweating something that smells of watermelon. I completed the interrupted arm-tying, then, remembering I'd forgotten to crush the camel's throat, went to the back of the room. I stomped on its throat—ah, kicking its jaw halved the power. As expected of a camel, its hump got in the way. I kicked and crushed it again, and once the camel's neck and entire body convulsed, the work was done. *I* had worked up a sweat, so I went to the bathroom to wash my face. I washed my face with lukewarm water and wiped it with the hand towel that was hanging there.
I came out of the bathroom. I dragged the hippo, which was turning into a rolling sea lion, to the back of the room. 'Please help, don't kill me, no, hey, help, hiee, ee, eee,' the hippo was being noisy, so midway I kicked its hip and politely instructed it, 'Please calm down.' The well-behaved, trained hippo fell silent. I rolled the hippo next to the camel and crouched down in front of the two 'animals.' 'Excuse me for interrupting your fun. Let me deny this upfront: *I* am not a robber. Nor a murderer, nor a thrill-seeker, nor do I aim for excessive violence. I am merely a detective.' I used the same professional persona I'd presented to the pig and cow. That should be sufficient for the hippo and camel.
The camel's tongue trembled, 'Ah, ah, geh,' and the hippo's lips quivered, 'No, no, no.'
'I would like to ask you just one question. And while I'm at it, perhaps I'll have you shelter me here for a bit.' Since I ended up intruding here, the possibility has arisen that the cow and pig might chase after *me* and we'd run into each other. Let's just impose on the hippo and camel's beastly 'goodwill' here.
'Can you hear me?' I asked, placing my thumb on the camel's lower abdomen to confirm. If there was no reply, I intended to crush the camel's stomach. 'Yes, yesh! Yes, I can hear you!' it answered desperately in a hoarse voice. The blindfolded hippo, noticing the camel's presence, started, 'Honey, this, gweh!' I don't permit unnecessary chatter. I pinched the hippo's tongue with my fingers and pulled it hard. 'Eeeeeeeeeeeeh!' My! Did you know that if you torment a hippo, it turns into an extraterrestrial lifeform? Perhaps I should sell this scoop to a zoo.
"'Ngh! St-ghaaaaaaah!'" When pulling the camel's tongue, I added a twist of my wrist. Ahaha, the camel doesn't fly off to space, but it does join the ranks of shit-crawling insects. Don't cry, camel, you only produce noise.
'I promised not to inflict unnecessary violence. Right now, do you have any reason to speak to anyone other than *me*?' To use time effectively, I questioned the camel and hippo simultaneously. The hippo, its tongue lolling, shook its head from side to side going, 'Uehehe uehehehe!' as if trying to curry favor with *me* using some kind of hippo language. Fine, fine, that attitude is fine, just answer the question. The camel, on the other hand, was drooling like it had rabies and muttering 'fuga-fuga.' They should just die once the questioning is over.
'First question: how many days have you been staying here?'
"'Thr-three daysh ago.'"
Mmh, it stinks.
The camel, its tongue still stretched out, replied with an energetic nod of its head. If it's been three days, then there's a good chance they saw my husband. They have no other value, so they should have lived their lives paying proper attention. This is why I hate herds of beasts that live condoning their own negligence.
'Alright then, I'll ask my question. A twenty-eight-year-old man, wearing a gray suit with a striped tie, height 172 centimeters, eyesight 1.2 in the right eye and 0.9 in the left, earlobe thickness of three millimeters, hair count as of two days ago was 107,243 strands, shoe size 27.5, palm reading shows his lifeline broken in three places, has a pierced ear on the left from when he was twenty, done at a friend's recommendation, smoking habit started in college on July 15th during third period when he skipped class and first smoked with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter he happened to find in the smoking area in front of the library, favorite food is all of his wife's home cooking, and lost his virginity in high school, instigated by a 'pig woman' without any consent whatsoever—have you seen such a man anywhere in this hotel?' I feel like the information I should convey is a little insufficient, but even hippos and camels should be able to remember these characteristics from someone passing by. If they don't remember, then they truly are just beasts.
What was the camel so terrified of? It drooled from the corner of its mouth, going 'Nn-nn!' and struggling to escape *my* fingers. I judged the camel to be a lower-class animal for tourism, lacking the ability to listen to what people say. I released its tongue and removed the scarf the hippo had been wearing around its neck. I used it to gag the camel and kicked it towards the wall. I narrowed my target to the hippo, grabbed its lapels, and informed it that time was up. 'Well?'
"'I... I hafen't sheen him,' the hippo, drooling sticky saliva and snot, exposed its pink flesh and yellow-stained teeth, confessing its incompetence. 'Really?' Its neck wobbled clumsily, *gako-gako*. 'Is that so.' After *I* had been so patient with it, going to such lengths to provide an opportunity for an answer, it fails to respond to my efforts. Ashamed of my folly in expecting human decency from a hippo, *I* sealed the hippo's mouth as well. I couldn't find anything readily available to gag it with, so I forcibly shoved the camel's toenails—undoubtedly breeding grounds for athlete's foot—into the hippo's mouth, and thus resolved the matter.
Fueled by irritation, I sat on the bed and tried redialing the phone I'd temporarily put in my pocket. 'THE NUMBER YOU HAVE DIALED IS CURRENTLY OUT OF SERVICE OR—BEEP.' *CRASH!* Good thing I smashed it onto the bed, this idiot phone. Ah, it's hot. The world is taking advantage of the good-natured *me* and becoming far too hot. I washed my face in the bathroom again and drank some water. There are probably drinks or something the hippo and camel bought in the refrigerator, but *I* am not a robber. I don't steal things. It's to be praised by my husband as a woman with good sense that city garbage collection started to separate items in such a way. In other words, thanks to *me* and my husband, environmentally friendly practices are being carried out, you see.
Just as I was reaffirming how much *I* care about the world, another animal came calling, knocking on the door from outside. Since when did this place become an animal village? The hotel says bringing in animals is prohibited, but well, they're all just beasts in the end anyway.
'Are there other guests in this room?' I asked, and the hippo shook its head. That action caused the toenails to dig into the inside of its cheek; it must have truly savored the taste. Good for you. As a hippo and camel pair, at least it wasn't cannibalism.
After retrieving the useless cell phone I'd smashed and thrown away, I walked to the entrance and pushed the door outward with all my might. The sensation of crushing the nose of some impudent, swaggering, bipedal animal. Half the impact I'd dealt the animal transmitted through the shaking door. I stepped out of the room and looked down at the animal at my feet.
What's this, mutton? Some rotten-brained thing that probably thinks expanders and Alexander the Great are the same, writhing with a crushed nose. 'Excuse me.' Just as I was about to leave quickly, the unprocessed mutton started 'baaing' at me imploringly. Oh, is this a goat? A sheep? Whichever, it doesn't matter. It's still a herbivore. Go get eaten.
"Oww... W-wait a sec."
"What is it?"
Mutton talking is clearly an auditory hallucination, but the *me* who indulges it is truly the image of a woman full of the devotion and virtue my husband prefers, I think. When I turned and looked down at the mutton, it was holding its nose with one hand and offering me a card key with its 'foreleg.'
"This... you just dropped it."
It was the card key *I* had 'headhunted' from the cow's possession. Isn't this the first and last useful act for others in this mutton's entire life? Oh, how happy! 'Thank yooou.'
Truly, receiving it with my 'foot,' just like *you*, would be the proper etiquette to match a beast, but unfortunately, I'm only dexterous with my hands. So sorry.