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"What is it?"
The mutton bleated, "Wasn't this the place?" and then, "Hey, uh, this isn't really to thank you or anything, but I have a favor to ask," it continued to bleat at me.
"Could you lend me your phone for a bit?" What a truly brain-dead request, reeking of idiocy.
"Phone?" Ah, this piece of shit phone that refuses to do its job and connect me to my darling. I’ve been thinking it should just die for a while now, so this is perfect. "I'll give it back right away." "You can have it," I said, throwing the phone at the mutton. After watching it somehow manage to catch it, I added, "...And you should probably help out those things in the room," instructing it to take care of the animals.
It wouldn't bother me personally if the hippo and the camel croaked, but I can't have my darling hate me, so murder is off the table. They should just get rescued quickly, get fat, live their lives carelessly, and then drop dead into a grave. Aaah, they should just die already. Before someone else kills them.
Partway down the hall, I overtook a filthy vixen pushing a cart and headed for the elevator, practically displaying a "Beware of Swine" sign. No one was there. Thanks to that, it didn't stink of beasts, so I'm in a great mood! ♪
My darling is truly wonderful. I'm sure he didn't complain at all, even though this hotel stinks to high heaven of beasts.
Just you wait, Anata. I'll go squish all those bastards who hung up on me and come save you.
After a moment's hesitation, I pressed the elevator's call button.
Alright, let's go to another floor and gather more intel!

Yamana Misato
Aspiring Suicide
3:55 PM
The old guy ran into his daughter and froze. Piecing together the information, that seemed to be the situation. What's more, it looked like I was being treated as the old guy's woman, which is highly uncool. His daughter... though she looks about my age. If she's my age, you'd think she could judge whether a woman would be interested in an old guy like that. Besides, he's her own father, so she should have an even better idea of his character.
Anyway, the daughter yelled something like, "Look who's talking, bringing a woman to a hotel! Aren't you doing well for yourself, you stuck-up old bastard!" with a face like a Buddhist statue from a history textbook, clicked her tongue with a "Tch!" and then ran off down the opposite hallway with the college-student-looking guy.
The old guy was visibly flustered, his hands moving as if to say, "Now, now, no need to panic yet." It was the kind of behavior that would make everyone want to tell him, "You're the one who needs to calm down."

"You seem to be in a bit of a bind."
I moved to the vending machine and inserted a coin. I offered my own brand of irresponsible concern while picking out a juice. I didn't care if he heard me. I messed up with orange juice earlier... so I looked at the teas. Green tea is bitter, so no. Tea with adlay, brown rice, and evening primrose is option number one. I almost started humming that song from the commercial. I haven't watched much TV lately, so my knowledge is a bit outdated. Ever since he left my side, I've lost interest in the outside world. I wonder if that commercial is still airing.
Oolong tea is also tempting. Apparently, it like, *sizzles* away fat or something. Not that I really know.
But in the end, my finger strangely reached for the orange juice. The same kind as before, the one with "99% fruit juice" printed on the can as its selling point. Even though it has such a cloying taste.
The vending machine whirred, then *ka-chunk, ka-chunk*, it digested the money and excreted the juice can. What a horrible thought, I realized, and then fell into self-loathing once the image faded. I crouched down and stuck my hand into the retrieval slot. A long time ago, I bought a second juice without taking out the first one, jamming the slot, and he and I had a real hard time with it. We really struggled to get it out back then.
Lost in memories, back in reality, I tried to hook my fingernail under the pull-tab to open the can. My freshly cut nails just went *clink, clink*, merely grazing the surface, completely unable to catch the tab just right.
I'm really bad at this. All my life, I've had other people do the things I'm bad at; that's how I've managed to get by. My sister was clumsy too, but maybe because she was the eldest, she had a habit of taking care of everything herself. That's probably why she was able to prepare for her suicide, all alone.
Maybe I can't even kill myself without someone's help.
*Clink, clink,* the pull-tab vibrated slightly.
"Ah." The old guy standing next to me took the can. Just as I thought, the old guy was broke and had decided to go with the bully tactic of snatching my juice. Thinking that, I casually reached out to take it back, but he handed it to me, saying, "Here." The opened can. "Ah." Someone helped me again.
"Thanks..." I'd been saying it forever, so I had no resistance to voicing my gratitude.
Seeing me cradle the juice can in both hands, the old guy made a request.
"I know I'm asking a lot from someone I've only known for about an hour, but..."
"It's, uh, if I come running back here again... please let me in your room."
"Huh?"
Again? The first and second time, didn't the old guy just barge in through the window on his own? Is he planning to come in formally through the door this time?
"P-Please, I'm counting on you."
He bowed his head again. I'm almost never in a position of authority like this, so I was bewildered. It seemed the old guy didn't even have a room to go back to. What on earth was he doing here, walking along window ledges? He might be a pretty dangerous person—a murderer, for example.
...Which would be convenient for me, though.
The orange surface of the liquid spreading in the dimness inside the can. Staring at it, I accepted with a, "Well, okay, I guess." Because I found myself thinking that he, being the soft-hearted person he was, would surely do the same.
"Alright. ...Assuming I haven't gone out, that is." Mainly out the window.
"Thank you," the old guy said, and ran off in the direction his daughter had fled. What an energetic old guy. Ever since he died, I haven't pushed my legs to do more than walk. When we were meeting for a date, if I got there first, I might have run to him, but that was the last time.
Well, my knees hurt now, so I especially don't want to run. I don't even want to walk. Honestly, I want to lie down on the carpet, muttering something like "slithery, slithery snake~" and go back to my room.
I wonder if I can, I thought, checking the hallway and for any eyes around. Ah, no good. A girl is walking down the hallway towards me. A middle-schooler, maybe. She seemed to look back for a moment, but then she untwisted her body and kept walking. Ah, she looked this way. Since I'm crouching in front of the vending machine, maybe she thinks I'm like one of those young people hanging out in a convenience store parking lot. I stood up slowly, trying to clear up the misunderstanding, like, "I'm just a bit anemic, you see~."
I don't know what the girl found so funny, but she was covering her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking slightly. I sometimes surprise people I meet for the first time by how much my eyes seem to shine, but it's rare for someone to laugh. I wondered if I had an LCD TV stuck to my face playing a comedy show or something, so I rubbed it with my palm, but all I got was a sore nose. The girl shouted "1707!" like a room number, then *thwip* pointed right at me.
Ignoring my tilted head, the girl walked off, laughing even harder. She was going in the same direction as me, so I briefly considered following her, but my leg hurt, so I decided against it.
I'm spacing out. My sense of time is hazy.
I idly brought the juice can to my lips, tilted it, and let it burn my throat. It's cloyingly sweet, no matter when I drink it.
A cell phone rang somewhere. Lots of phones ringing today. Maybe it's just one of those days. And then, whether drawn by the sound or not, I'm not sure, but a creature that had been hiding stealthily poked its head out.
"...Phew."
"Whoa." I jumped a little. A cat's face had appeared from a place I hadn't been paying any attention to. It was dark, and for a moment, I thought it was some kind of yokai. It was that white cat, the one that came into my room. It was still holding an ultramarine blue card key in its mouth, the color harmonizing nicely with its fur.
It seemed to have been up above. Stuck in the gap between the top of the vending machine and the low ceiling. It's like "darkest under the lighthouse lamp"; the vending machine's light didn't reach directly above it, so I hadn't noticed. Wriggling and squirming, its body seemed to be wedged in, and it wasn't coming out of the gap easily. How did it even get in there in the first place? Did it try hard to climb the vending machine, maybe finding something interesting on the ceiling? *Fshururu,* its tail thrashed deep inside the gap as it struggled. But even in the midst of it, perhaps because I was watching, the cat maintained a cool expression. What's more, it didn't forget to glare at me as if to say, "What're *nyu* lookin' at, bastard? Gimme some of those orange pulpy bits for all my hard work." I revised my opinion; cats are creatures with grit.
But then, the cat's face gradually started to wrinkle towards the center, taking on an inscrutable expression like one of those "What is this picture?" quiz show questions. It seemed it couldn't get out on its own. The cat, looking like it was sweating, made eye contact with me—a conveniently available resource—and requested rescue, all while maintaining its superior gaze, as if to say, "What're *nyu* lookin' at, bastard? Have the decency to help before the stares of others compel you." Its determination to maintain appearances, at least, is admirable, I thought, slightly revising my assessment. Its front paws were flailing. It was a little calming to watch. I gazed at it for a while, waiting for the stagnation in my thoughts to clear. In the end, I couldn't think of a reason to help this cat, nor a reason to abandon it.
So, I go with the flow. As always.
I slipped my fingers behind the base of the cat's front legs and pulled. Apparently, I felt like helping.
*Pop*—its right shoulder? part came out, and using that as leverage, it twisted its body out with a forceful wrench. And then, finally freed, the cat slid off the top of the vending machine and fell.
I instinctively reached out to catch it, but the cat righted itself in mid-air, landed perfectly on its feet, and looked up at me with a prim expression, as if to say, "What're *nyu* doin', bastard? Instead of helping a cat, *nyu* should learn to jump properly."
Then the cat dashed off. *Pat, pat*, it ran with that same bounding gait, and I watched its retreating figure, focusing on its tail. They say cats take after their owners. If I owned it, would that agile cat also be "corrected" into a personality that just collapses on the floor in a heap and mopes around? ...Wait, was it dogs that take after their owners?
This is no time to be playing with a cat, feeling vaguely soothed or experiencing a sense of accomplishment.
More importantly, I need to solidify my resolve to jump.
And I'm starting to feel kind of sleepy.
Should I go back to my room and jump, or should I sleep? That is the question.

Hanasaki Tarou
(Detective) &
Touki (Girl)
4:10 PM
It wasn't so much that I jolted awake; it felt more like time had continued seamlessly. A single blink ended, and I opened my eyes. That's how faint the sensation of a gap was, this return from unconsciousness.
But according to the man in front of me, my consciousness had definitely been fading.
"You were out for a little under ten minutes. How are you feeling?"
"Seems I've accomplished a time slip accompanied by excruciating pain."
And to top it off, the one in my line of sight is the dangerous man in the blue suit. As long as he's here, I can at least rest assured I haven't departed for the next world, but at the same time, I'm fed up with the high probability of seeing hell in this one.
"A little under ten minutes, I was...?" "Yeah, you were collapsed on the elevator floor," the blond man nodded, looking deeply serious. If you took this scene in isolation, you might misunderstand and think he'd been worried about me and was looking after me. Glancing around, it was still just me and the man in front of me in the elevator.
The elevator wasn't stopped; judging by the sensation of gravity, it was ascending.
I leaned back against the wall and sat up properly. I didn't have the energy to stand. Besides, if I did, it felt like round two might start, so this was also a way to avoid that.
"So, what were you doing in the elevator for ten minutes?"
When I asked, just to see what he'd say, the man looked awkward. Was he embarrassed? He averted his gaze slightly.
"Well, you were interesting when you were unconscious, so I was observing you. Then I missed my chance to leave, and my chance to kill you, and ended up sticking around until you woke up."
"Interesting?" And he says such dangerous things so casually.
"At first, I thought I'd just quickly get out of the elevator and run. But when other passengers came in and saw you collapsed, I got curious about how they'd react. It was a grand experiment to gauge the extent of civic justice and concern for others based on their reactions to witnessing this situation."
"..." How many people, I wonder, have thought about punching this guy? And how many of those people has he killed?
"So, what were the results?" I asked, trying to project an air of composure instead of just staying silent. The man's face lit up as if he'd been waiting for the question, and he began to rattle on.
"Mostly, they ignored you, got in the elevator, and quickly got out when they reached their floor. The guests here are remarkably heartless. That said, I can understand why foreign guests might be perplexed about how to react to a Japanese person lying down in an elevator. It might also have been my fault for continuously emitting an aura of 'I'm a complete stranger to this guy; he was sleeping in the elevator from the start.' Perhaps it would have been more interesting if I'd created more of a connection to stir up people's sense of alarm."
"...Maybe everyone thought I was just drunk."
"Ah, I see. Your face was strangely red while you were unconscious."
I meant it as a light sarcastic jab, but he actually agreed. My only weapon, the duralumin case, is firmly in his hands... This is bad.
As we ascend, leaving the other guests further behind, another chance to escape probably won't come for a while. Give me a break, I lamented, along with my stiff right shoulder.
The man didn't seem inclined to do anything to me immediately; he just looked down at me without causing any harm. He must have been watching me like this while I was unconscious, too.
He also looked like he was pondering, unable to come up with a particular reason to kill me.
"Did you do any martial arts?" My life is precious, so I tried to stall for time by talking.
"Not at all. But in college, my friends and I used to amuse ourselves at batting cages by seeing how long we could stand in front of a 120 km/h fastball before dodging. Maybe my reflexes were honed thanks to that."
He pressed the hard corner of the case against my forehead, *grind, grind*. I still hadn't recovered enough energy to push it away with my hand. Every time I breathed, air seemed to seep into some part of my organs. Is this what gum feels like being chewed in someone's mouth? I imagined, as cold sweat broke out all over my body.
"Um,"
"What is it?"
"Could you get my cell phone for me?" I asked, making a rather daft request in hopes of distracting him even a little.
"Sure." The man stepped on the phone with his foot and dragged it over. Had it just been lying there the whole time I was out? I grabbed the cell phone that had been kicked near my right hand, which was limp on the floor, and tried operating it with one hand. "Oh, the screen's on. It's not broken."
"Technology these days is amazing," the man said, sounding impressed too. He peered at the LCD screen with me, saw the white cat wallpaper, and said, "It's a cat the same color as your strap," seeming to find some understanding.
Ah, this cat. So there *is* a photo. I could probably find photos resembling the cats on my other keychains on this phone if I looked. What's with that big liar? Just what you'd expect from a fiction writer.
"Did you see this one in the hotel?" "No, I haven't," the man said, shaking his head honestly.
"I mean, getting my phone for me and all, you're surprisingly nice."
"If I do one bad thing, doing one good thing makes me feel refreshed."
"I don't think 'one' is going to cut it for you, though."
"Besides, I have a personality that tends to prioritize curiosity... Ah, why did I kill them like that and knock on the door...? It was interesting, that's a fact, but I'm constantly reflecting on it."
He started some kind of solo confession. If he stopped midway, it would be awkward for me, so I let it slide without comment.
While I was buying time with this exchange, the elevator began to descend. I savored the longed-for moment of weightlessness as my body floated a few centimeters. Ah, bliss. I couldn't appreciate it earlier because my consciousness was fading.
.....Well, then. The fun time ended in less than a second.
"So, why did you attack me in the first place?"
"Because you picked a fight with me and kept naggingly bullying me with your words, and it pissed me off."
Are you a child? Your half-baked lack of ethics is also childish, which makes it even more exasperating.
"When the elevator is going up from a floor above the front desk, people rarely get on. But when it's going down, someone's bound to get on, I suppose. Now, what to do?"
"If someone comes in, I'll scream 'Murderer!'"
"What your justice must protect to maintain its dignity is truly incomprehensible."
"Besides, it's still too early to talk about 'what to do' in terms of disposal."
The duralumin case moved away from my forehead. I put strength into my eyes, desperately suppressed what was rising from my side and stomach, and pushed out as much defiance as I could muster.
"If you're so proud of beating me, try making me say I love huge boobs!"
"Let's try."
My bluff was easily called, and my right hand was grabbed. My index finger was enveloped in his palm.
"I'm breaking it," he declared, and then without further ado, "Uwaaaahhh, gyaaaahhh, aaaahhhh! Eeeeaugh! Oooough!" The latter half was mostly screams, and my nose was about to run. *Snap!* The bone... my index finger was bent back at an angle where the tip of the nail nearly touched the back of my hand. The outside was bright red, and the inside had turned a dark, blackish purple—a veritable Rainbow Bridge. Gyaaaah, gyaaaah, aaaah!
"Just because there's no time, things like giving someone time to prepare themselves, or forty seconds to get ready, you know, those are important."
"Become a star!"
"Let me ask you, what do you think of a childhood friend who's well-endowed, bad with words, and shy?"
*Thwack!* Stars danced. I was struck on the side of my face with the duralumin case. A dazzling dance of sparks and stars unfolded before my eyes. I thought my neck would snap.
My pain threshold broke, looped around, and this time I couldn't even pass out.
"What is R-18?"
"No one under twelve allowed to perform!"
"Let's go to the coming-of-age ceremony!"
"I wish people came of age at twelve, then it'd be legal!"
"Moped license?"
"From age twelve!"
"Shut up, Mr. Twelve-Year-Old-Obsessed."
"My justice won't be broken. Same for what's under my nose."
Though my finger was broken so easily. My faith in calcium has plummeted.
But really, I feel like the direct equation of calcium = bones needs a bit of an overhaul.
The man scratched his cheek, like a friend who'd finally given in to another friend's unyielding conviction, saying "You and your ways...", and praised me with a wry smile.
"I'm beaten, part three. You lost the match to me, but it seems you've won the contest."
"Serves you right," I managed, though it was hard to speak with my swollen cheek.
"This hotel is full of interesting guests. A little while ago, there was a couple showing off the latest fashion of having their fingers connected by a string."
"Ah..." I had a good idea who he was talking about.
"That aside. I have a question for you, an undeniable lolicon by anyone's standards."
"Lolicon 101: Gets Even Monkeys Hot and Bothered, right?"
"Should I break another finger and turn off the switch in your head? From a lolicon perspective, how about someone who looks baby-faced and petite but is actually an adult? Within your acceptable range?"
"No, that's no good. Because even if you divide the number ten by two to get five, the number ten still remains in the equation. What I seek is a pure five; no diluent needed."
"I see, that's quite selective of you." For some reason, the duralumin case made another round trip, and my other cheek felt like it was about to be shaved off and become spareribs or something. That bastard, he hit me out of sheer momentum.
My health bar completely dyed red, I collapsed in the elevator. *Clang, clang, clang,* a gong rang three times in my head. Total defeat. It really was a good thing I didn't bring Touki.
Lying there, in a posture of accepting things as they were, my consciousness was hazy. Then, I felt it through the floor: the elevator defied its descent and came to a sudden stop. I vaguely sensed this was what I'd been waiting for, gathered my scattered consciousness, and shot upright. My efforts to buy time with pointless conversation had paid off, thankfully. I snatched the duralumin case from the man's hand—"Tch!"—and rolled out of the open elevator doors. My hat, which had come off, got snagged on my broken finger, and I nearly lost all color in my face, but I managed to retrieve it. The man watched my antics with amusement, offering no particular resistance.
And just as I got out, a woman brushed past me—or rather, stepped on my shoulder—and entered the elevator. What's more, the shoulder she stepped on was the right one, the one the man had injured. She stepped on it so precisely I couldn't help but suspect she was aiming, and I involuntarily stuck out my tongue and gasped.
Moreover, she was wearing a skirt, so lying on the floor, I got an eyeful of the older woman's underwear, which made me feel sick. Seeing something impure is like being shown an enlarged insect carcass. And I was being stepped on, too. It seemed she'd decided I'd landed on a "miss a turn" space, as she didn't crush me for long and quickly moved on, which was a relief.
I rolled until I was a sufficient distance away, then prostrated myself on the carpet, put on my hat, and yelled at the woman.
"Run! That guy's a maniac!"
I wasn't sure what his main crime was, so I chose the most suitable word to convey danger without telling a lie. Unfortunately, it's a prime candidate for a broadcast-prohibited term, so in the current state of the world, it's evaluated as an inappropriate expression.
The college-student type, my fellow lolicon, and the older cleaning lady who were in front of the elevator, plus the older woman with a student-like air who was trying to pull her friend back to the side of common sense, were all staring at me with dumbfounded expressions, but I didn't have the luxury to care.
The man, amused, was clutching his stomach and laughing without denying anything. The woman, whose back was all I could see, stood stock-still without looking back, showing no intention of getting out of the elevator.
"Hey! It's true! You might get killed!"
The woman finally turned, gave a smile and a nod like a polite social gesture, said, "Thank you for your concern," and then left. Isn't this the woman who was pestering that college-student type at the front desk? Contrary to her words, she showed no sign of backing down, so I gave up. Though I didn't go so far as to think she should just die.
As the doors were closing, my tongue and lips sprang like they were spring-loaded, trying to get one last shot at the man.
"That man is also a pedophile and necrophile, a stalwart who has passed through the super-dreadnought pervert course, commonly known as the 'Recycling Plant,' with an albatross score! Be warned!"
"Hey, you—!"
Without waiting for the man's rebuttal, the doors closed completely. Since I hadn't inserted a card key, I couldn't freely operate the doors either. But at the very end, it looked like the man had taken out something resembling a card key.
"......Owww."
These injuries are also vaguely related to the case, so it's frustrating that I can't just yell at him indiscriminately this time.
The stares of those around me pricked like needles. But I didn't feel like getting up. Though not obvious, my whole body ached from rolling around in the elevator and on the carpet.
"Being a detective isn't easy... Though maybe I'm just bad at it.
It was somehow noisy behind me. I craned my neck around to see a man and a woman arguing. That's not wrong, per se, but the man was an old guy, and the woman, from my perspective, was an old lady. The college-student type next to the old lady seemed caught up in the argument, looking so bewildered her eyes seemed to wander blankly. Another old lady pushing a cart went off down the hallway, as if escaping the quarrel.
Unless that man from earlier smashes through the elevator's steel plates or pulverizes the ceiling to return to this floor, this scene is outside my jurisdiction, so I decided not to get involved in the lover's quarrel or parent-child spat behind me and faced forward.
Anyway, I managed to retrieve Tachibana Eiji's cell phone.
Before I return it, I have to check if he's sprouted any tails of infidelity.
As if relaxing at home, I lay on the carpet and prepared to press the buttons on the cell phone.