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It was just a plain white wall blocking the way. But, as for the direction…
It matched the direction from which the old man had appeared outside the window.
The old man swallowed, then revealed in a mechanical voice, as if starved of oxygen, "There's a dead body staying in this hotel right now. That's why you should get away from here quickly."

"What are you talking about?"
"Hey, do you think you'd be chosen to be in humanity's remaining half?"
As I was about to leave the room and reached for the door, Tachibana Eiji threw that question at me.
I turned back towards the sound of keyboard typing and tilted my head. Though he wasn't looking at me.
"Are you talking about a novel? Unfortunately, I haven't had the chance to read all of your works yet, Sensei. My apologies for my ignorance." I bowed respectfully, feigning an apology for my lack of knowledge. The main component of my demeanor was sarcasm.
"Hmph. You say that, but I bet you have no intention of ever reading them in your life. It's just a simple question, no ulterior motive."
Tachibana Eiji said, sounding sulky. The cat was still sleeping peacefully under the chair.

Hanasaki Tarou
(Detective)
&
Touki (Girl)
Afternoon 4:25

"It's the kind of question where I'm more curious about your *true* intentions, though."
"Huh?"
"What about it?"
"It's a very simple question I sometimes ponder before I sleep. If humanity were to be culled by half, would I be chosen for the surviving half? A fantasy. A mental game on the level of a three-year-old."
As if finding something amusing in that statement, Tachibana Eiji's shoulders shook. He let out a forced laugh, "Ihhyahhya," and started typing dramatically on his keyboard.
"Me, naturally, I'd survive no matter when it's considered. What about you?"
"My fate would probably be decided by which side has more girls under the age of fifteen allocated to it."
"No, nothing. I'd probably be subtracted, you know? After all, I'm Luigi."
If Mario survives, that's more than enough for the story.
"That's incomprehensible. If I were your editor, I'd correct all your writing in red pen."
"In that case, it'd be faster if you wrote the novel from scratch yourself, Tachibana-san."
"Exactly. Ah, right, should I give you this?"
"An autograph. A-U-T-O-G-R-A-P-H. You came to this room to get one, didn't you?"
He swiveled around, chair and all, projecting a malicious grin. The sarcastic ball had been thrown back at me. He's probably a sore loser. I pegged him as the type who, if he got into a fistfight, wouldn't be satisfied unless he got the last punch in. Touki has a similar side to her, so I know it well.
"I'll save that pleasure for the next time we meet."
"I absolutely hate that kind of social nicety. I refuse to say anything other than what I truly mean."
If one can get by in the world like that, then the job of a novelist is truly enviable. Maybe I should try my hand at it sometime. The genre would have to be mystery, I suppose.
Counting my chickens before they hatched, I said, "Well then," and left Room 1707.
What remained in my hand was cash, unusually not even in an envelope, a room card key belonging to who-knows-who, and an index finger bent like a half-moon. That last one was awful. Right now, I feel like I could accept any "it was all a dream" ending. If only this finger would become a new moon. I should probably go to a hospital, but I don't have my health insurance card with me.

"Come to think of it." I crouched down in the hallway and opened my duralumin case. I had a feeling I kept some sort of medical supplies in there. Maybe a bandage at least... "Oh, a Band-Aid."
I found a Band-Aid (what was its official name again?) stuffed haphazardly into my business card holder. Hmm, preventing germs is appreciated, but this isn't an external wound, is it? The color is like a peacock feather, though. Well, it's better than nothing, I figured, and wrapped it around and around in place of a bandage.
While wrapping it, my finger hurt like hell. Once I became conscious of it, the pain shot through my whole body all at once. This is the worst.
Still, I somehow finished wrapping it and took a breath.

"Ah, I remember now." This Band-Aid was something I'd prepared, having devised an advanced application of the traditional 'Corner Bump Operation.' The plan was: I, a good, ordinary citizen, would be walking along, and a girl passing by would trip and fall—splat!—right in front of me. She'd get a scrape or something. At that moment, I would gallantly offer her a Band-Aid, saying, 'Are you all right, miss?' and tend to her. And then, love would blossom. That was the gist of it. Incidentally, if the girl was accompanied by her mother or someone, it would create an atmosphere of family approval, which would be even better. Or rather, don't let little girls walk around alone. The world is full of outrageous lolicon types who've lost all reason. I got sidetracked, but yeah, something like that.

"Um, is something wrong?" As I was crouched in the hallway, a voice came from above me. Looking up, I saw a woman whose age, for me, was like an outside pitch—out of my strike zone. It was the cleaning lady, the one I'd seen pushing a cart in front of the elevator earlier. She was empty-handed now, though.
She sounded like she was just asking out of token concern, so I gave a casual reply.
"Oh, no, it's just that my finger's a little broken."
"It's nothin' serious," I said, giving a little wave with my Band-Aid-plastered index finger to deny it.
"Huh, ah... Eihh?!" Her surprise took on a rolled-tongue quality mid-utterance, and her eyes went wide. A novel reaction.
"Thanks for your concern. Well then." I gave a nonchalant greeting, stood up, and started walking.
The cleaning lady watched me go, looking somewhat suspicious, but didn't follow.
Come to think of it, I don't seem to offer greetings that imply a desire to meet again to anyone but little girls. How strange.

After moving a little away from Room 1707, I realized which way down the corridor I was walking. My feet had naturally moved towards the end wall, in the opposite direction of my own room.
"Am I planning to go there?"
I asked myself nonchalantly. My pace was slow, and I could feel hesitation lingering in my heels, but curiosity outweighed the urge to stop. I proceeded slowly, consulting the feel of the card key I was clutching—the one I'd taken from the enemy's grasp—and silently asked it, "Where is your owner?"
I wasn't sure where that cat had picked up this card key, or perhaps stolen it, but earlier, Tachibana Eiji had been talking about Room 1701 on the phone, and that served as a trigger, bringing various things to mind.
It was over an hour ago, but apparently, the bellboy delivering room service had complained that there was no answer from the room no matter how many times he knocked. So that room has been empty all this time, huh? Maybe they're out sightseeing? That's my first thought. But you can't use the elevators here without a card key. It's not a problem if you ride with other guests or accompany someone, though. Still, if they did go out, it's certain they haven't returned to the room. Unless they opened the door and then threw the card key out into the hallway. And if the person inside was the type to not use any electricity at all, craving a dark room with a "night is for sleeping" mentality, well, they probably wouldn't even notice if they lost it. Too far-fetched, though.

Another possibility is a third-party room ransacking. Lure the person inside out of the room with some words, beat them to a pulp, and then enter. After thoroughly searching the place, even if they went out into the hallway and discarded the card key for Room 1701, if they're a guest here, they can still move around. But even so, there's no reason to throw it away. Just because they *can* doesn't mean it makes sense. In fact, it invites danger. If someone, through a series of coincidences, got their hands on the card key, and that person was an idiot who still strangely yearned for games of exploration, they'd go peek into the room out of sheer curiosity. Yes, like me right now. Or perhaps, they've already factored in being peeked at? If so, I'm walking right into a trap, which makes me a bona fide idiot.

"Anyone innnnside?" Like in that old cartoon.
Upon reaching Room 1701, I immediately knocked hard—bang, bang, bang. No response. There was still a "Do Not Disturb" sign hanging on the doorknob. Surely, they'd wake up if I knocked this hard, unless their consciousness was impeded by biological factors. As expected, I should follow my curiosity— I mean, my sense of justice.
Quickly, though. There's also the possibility that Blue Suit Man might return to this floor.
I checked the left side of the hallway. The cleaning lady from earlier had reacted to the noise and was looking at me. I didn't call for you. As soon as our eyes met, she quickly looked away and power-walked off down the corridor. What's with her?

Waiting for a moment when she wasn't looking this way, I inserted the card key into the door. If the front desk had been notified that it was lost, this thing would be unusable. A green light lit up near the doorknob. And indeed, the lock was easily disengaged. My feet, hesitation already gone, moved nimbly, and I quickly slipped into Room 1701. Memories of playing detective with a friend in second grade and stepping into an abandoned house in town resurfaced. It was predominantly white, its contours indistinct.
Around that time, I'd seen a horror movie where a horde of zombies appeared in an abandoned village, which made it even scarier. I recall the scene that most conveyed the horror to me was when a child hiding in a closet had a kitchen knife repeatedly thrust at them from the outside, putting them in a perilous situation like that Pop-Up Pirate toy. With such profound childhood memories of the child ultimately being killed, I burst into Room 1701—only to find no particular traces of zombies. Looking around, there was nothing out of the ordinary. I closed the door firmly and inserted the card key into the power slot. After a slight pause, three lights and the air conditioning started working.

Too bright, I thought, my eyes dazzled by the excessive light. I turned off the power for everything except the entryway light, then sat down on the bed. The bed didn't look like it had been made yet; the sheets were a rumpled mess.
"Oops." Belatedly, I took out the thin gloves I had in my pocket. It's illegal entry, so it's better not to leave fingerprints. The fact that "it sets the mood better" was my primary reason probably means I'm doing something wrong as a currently practicing detective.
"Now then, the gloves..." Considering the state of my finger, I realized this would be a hellish task. But I'd gone to the trouble of preparing them, and I wouldn't be satisfied if I backed down now. I forced them onto my right hand, including the broken finger. The excruciating pain, enough to make any half-formed tears retreat, made my knees tremble. Still, I somehow completed the preparations.
Alright, investigation resuming.
On the pillow of the bed was a pink cell phone. It seemed to be turned off. Other than that, there was a bath towel on the floor, a travel bag with some clothes somewhat scattered, a large empty suitcase, and additionally, a Boston bag. It was full of shoes.
Maybe they're the type of person who overpacks when traveling, thinking, 'I might need this.' Or perhaps they were transporting something. Something they'd stuffed into a bag, something they didn't want seen. What if they introduced airport-like baggage checks on bullet trains too? As for me, as long as there are no perversion inspections, I'd be happy to travel the world freely, so stricter controls on dangerous goods would only please me.
"But, there's nothing here, huh?" If I checked the contents of the bags, I might find something interesting, but messing with things too much... "Right then." I lifted myself off the bed.
If there's no scent of a case, there's no need to linger. Considering I'm illegally trespassing in someone else's room. The guest is probably just out sightseeing, or some anticlimactic explanation like that. Though leaving a cell phone behind and being out for a long time is a bit concerning.

On my way out, I decided to check the bathroom one last time.
"What if someone's in there and reacts with a 'Kyaa! Pervert!' or something?"
Should I snap back, "You're not even my type!"?
If I could feel heat or hear water, it'd mean it was in use, but... I pressed my ear to the door just in case to check. Nothing. Good.
I opened the door and entered the bathroom.
There was nothing suspicious in the bathroom either. It's just that the shower curtain was drawn across the bathtub, obscuring the view. Even though there was no steam from hot water or anything leaking out, meaning it wasn't in use.
"......Seriously?"
I had a strange premonition and peered into the bathtub, which was hidden by the shower curtain.
"..."
"......" Because I kept my mouth shut like a clam.
I wasn't cursed at as a peeping tom, though.
In the empty bathtub, with no water drawn, an old woman lay, looking truly pale and unwell.
And what's more, even though it was a bathroom, she wasn't naked.
Who would hang their head in despair at that postscript, I first wondered.

Shiina Kouji
Afternoon 4:30

Natsumi swallowed, the cloudiness in her sanpaku eyes deepening.
I pulled my chin back sharply and answered her with a serious gaze.
"Of course it's a lie."
A blow like an iron ball, delivered by my daughter's hand—soft as tofu—caught me. It was a nostalgic strike. Her habit of throwing whatever's handy she got from me, but I wonder who she takes after with the violence. Thinking that she should use her feet if possible, since hands get injured easily—can I call that fatherly concern?
"Damn old man! If you're going to joke, at least make it funny!"
"You're absolutely right."
My daughter's point was truly correct. If it *were* a joke, that is.
After stating the fact, a gust of cowardice blew in, so I forcibly tried to dilute its credibility. Explaining such a bloody, abnormal situation to Tanetorii-kun and the woman could lead to various other problems. I decided to resolve this issue among ourselves first, and then consider whether to rely on the police. That's what I decided, but still...
If possible, it would be best to explain the situation to Natsumi at least. Or rather, I truly hadn't anticipated meeting her in a place like this. What is going on today? Is it some kind of day where fate has scheduled a special program? And if my daughter and I are appearing in it, the casting choices are atrocious.

"So, cut the jokes and tell me, what did you actually come here for?"
Natsumi cut short the self-introduction segment and urged a forced transition to the next topic. Well, even if I learned the remaining woman's name, it doesn't seem like knowledge I'd use later in life. Besides, I already know why the woman is here. It's a distorted way of possessing knowledge, but it's strange that I've grasped the root of it.
"It's private, so it's a secret."
"Hey now..." Natsumi's left cheek was twitching. Uh-oh, she's angry.
"Whether what I said earlier was a joke or the truth, I'll leave that to your judgment. Besides, I already declared I'm never coming home again, so you don't need to worry about how I spend my days off, right?"
"Old man... Dad's freedom, if it makes Mom sad, I just don't want to allow it."
"Far from making her sad, I intend to strive for her to cry crocodile tears of joy."
"No, please stop doing dangerous things," she'd probably advise. Given my wife's personality.
Thinking like that makes me feel as if I understand my wife, but in reality, my life hasn't been one where I could survey my family from the center and confirm all sides. That's why my failures are countless.
Tanetorii-kun and the woman, outside the mosquito net of our parent-child quarrel, were looking at each other, bewildered.
Well, of course they would be, I thought, feeling a bit awkward for dragging them into this.
So, you can go home alone, Tanetorii-kun, I don't mind. If only I could say that, everything would be resolved.
And just as Natsumi's mouth was about to explode again, the situation trembled in my hand.
It received a signal, and the phone started ringing.
Everyone's gaze and attention focused on my hand.
The pink phone I was clutching was vibrating minutely.
It was trembling like a drugged guinea pig that had lost control of its body.

Sakurayama Eko
Afternoon 4:20

For ME, the future and all that jazz is nothing more than a mere schedule, you see.
I get to decide absolutely everything myself.
Ordinary peeple probably can only make sense of things with uncertain stuff like "possibilities."
Ah, how unfortunate for them!
And to live freely, betting on the future... to live without feeling irritated by the inability to determine something like one's own future, oh, how fortunate that is!
The past, that moss-covered tail, pierces MY present. The past is truly troublesome; it should just quietly return to the earth and dry up until its own rainy season. Back then, my darling husband wasn't by MY side yet, and I was just a frog in a well. But at twenty, having come to know my husband—MY vast ocean, MY blue sky, MY horizon, MY hills, MY everything—I built a world to settle in there and have continued to live in a state of ecstasy. And that's precisely why I can still say it now: I am the one who decides the future. The best for my husband, and ecstasy for ME.
"Her abnormality lives up to the rumors. To think she still hasn't dabbled in murder with all this, it's quite something."
In that world, my husband is there for MY viewing, looks only at ME, touches no one but ME, his five senses perceive nothing but ME—or rather, perhaps happiness is adjusting him so he loses about three senses to avoid distractions. There must be bonds that strengthen through lacking something, right? So, when I find my husband, punishing him for infidelity would be pointless, so I'll stop that, and, hmmm, ears, eyes, nose? "If I delete my husband's voice, he won't be able to sweetly whisper 'Ich liebe dich' to me, now would he? Oh my, ufufu." "Huh?" Which one should it be? I'll leave his tongue, of course, because that's the only place for him to take in MY home cooking. No, maybe having him savor it stuffed through his nose—my husband would surely be delighted by that, wouldn't he? But I'll probably crush his nose, so that's rejected. Because if his nose was open, wouldn't it be pitiful for my husband to smell those sows at his company all day? Ah, this consideration of mine, I flatter myself that I'm demonstrating the best wifely behavior today! He won't be able to smell ME either, which would surely be the greatest misfortune for my husband, but it's okay! Because I'll just lose MY scent too! Because anything YOU don't perceive has no reason to exist on this earth! Because YOU are MY entire world! Yes, truly!

"First strike wins!" Something like the hairy arm-legs of that Spirogyra reached out to grab the collar of MY clothes, so with goosebumps from the revulsion of being preyed upon, I ducked to avoid it and instead extended MY hand to slam MY fist into its chin. Then the Spirogyra dodged it by circling to the left, maneuvering just enough not to collide with the wall. Just what you'd expect from a Spirogyra, a creature whose only merits are its stickiness and elasticity!
"No time to insert the card key!"
"Oh, excuse me, I know you're in a hurry, but I'M looking for someone."
As I kicked at the Spirogyra, who was fiddling with something in the corner of the elevator, and asked my question, it placed its foot on top of mine and sent me flying back with the rebound. The Spirogyra and I slammed our heads against the back wall, and the elevator shook as much as my husband's rotten tooth before I broke it off for him on a bench.

"I can pretty much guess, but what kind of person is it?" the Spirogyra said, stroking its head as bodily fluid gushed from its mouth.
"My, how convenient. For such a liquid to substitute for words... Humans are so inconvenient when you look at it this way, aren't they?"
"His favorite color is cherry blossom pink, he trims his nails once every three weeks, cleans his ears once every two weeks, sleeps an average of six hours, average bath time is fifteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds, rolls over an average of seven times while sleeping, the only number registered in his cell phone is MINE, when he lies, only his right eye blinks two more times than average, he goes to the toilet an average of five times a day, his star sign is Aries, blood type B, and his childhood dream was to be a painter. He's a wonderful man, but have you seen him?"
"So it IS about your husband, huh? Just as I expected—"
"You know my husband?! HEEEEH?! WELL THEN, SPILL ITTTTTTTTTTTTT!"
YOU'RE close now! You're getting so close! Just a little more! You still have your nose, don't you? You can smell ME! Where are you?! Are you there?! Where on that Spirogyra are you?! NOW, "TELL MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
The moment I screamed, lunged, and tried to crush it, the elevator stopped with a jolt, and the door behind the Spirogyra opened. The front desk? What's the likes of the front desk doing, interfering with the bond between ME and my husband?! "AAGAGYAUUGYUAA DON'T YOU DARE RUUUUUUUUUN!" I deny the Spirogyra's attempt to flee for its life! There's no way it's okay for it to escape, not when it's for ME and my husband! And yet, what are you doing?! Ooooh! The Spirogyra used the front desk woman, who was about to get on the elevator, as a shield to block MY hand! Get out of the way, you! Stop walking on two legs and go mate with some female at the counter! If this ape hadn't been standing right in front of me, I could have caught that Spirogyra, but it dashed off, putting distance between us.

As if to relinquish the distance it had gained, the Spirogyra stopped, turned back, and spurted its bodily fluid at ME, "Oh, right, your husband? He's already dead. Truly unfortunate."
YOUR HUSBAND IS ALREADY DEAD? 'Your' means ME? 'Husband' means my darling?
Dead? The Spirogyra is running away, but... dead? My husband is?
"Fu, hihikii hikiiikikikikihihi! Hyahahaha! Whaaat! You really gave me a scare, you unkind Spirogyra-san! It doesn't matter, does it, even if he's dead! If you're dead, we can talk without any distance between us, can't we, MY DARLING! I did it! The time has finally come for us to be one in body and soul! Does anyone understand how much I've longed for this day? Hey, I'm asking if you understand, you damn woman cowering in the elevator! Now, come in! Come in, MY DARLING! I've spread my arms wide to receive you! Hey, are you here? 'Yes, I'm here!' So close! The reply came as if MY own mouth was speaking!"
This is wonderful! The best feeling! All five of MY senses are shared with my husband, so from now on, I'll embody insatiable emotion and entertainment! I'VE reached eternal ecstasy!
Happy to be dead! Thank you, MY DARLING! You've given me the greatest gift for our second wedding anniversary! "Eh? You want me to kill the Spirogyra?" All right then! Anything YOU can't forgive, I'LL take care of it all! Run, run, run! What do YOU want to see? The Spirogyra's insides? It probably doesn't have a brain! Oh, YOU, always so weak with science. But from now on, those flaws too will be filled in because YOU and I are one, and we'll build a perfect family! But before that!
That Spirogyra must have killed my husband! "That's right!" See, I knew it!
I'LL say my thanks, but for YOUR sake, I'll be sure to use MY own hands to kill it! Wait for me, MY DARLING! I'm going to kill the one who killed YOU right now!

Hanasaki Tarou
(Detective)
&
Touki (Girl)
Afternoon 4:40

"Ngh..." A sound leaked from my mouth, as if the old woman herself had groaned. Taking a step back, the old woman and I were reflected in the bathroom mirror. My complexion wasn't great either, but in the inverted world of the mirror, the old woman looked even more thoroughly shrouded in unhealthiness.
Observing calmly, she didn't seem to be breathing either; she was probably dead.
"Yeah, better not touch her after all."
I also have a past where I was regarded as extremely suspicious when questioned by the police and gave "detective" as my occupation. As is standard, let's leave the dead body to the police. Leave it to the professionals, as they say. Though this old woman's skin looks closer to old rice than mochi. "Pardon the intrusion," I said, leaving the bathroom, and took a deep breath.
Having completely closed the bathroom door, finding myself breathing in the air from the room side felt a bit novel. To think that breathing the air of a place a dead body had used as a sealed room would be accompanied by such revulsion for me.
"Unfit to be a detective," the Chief would probably say.
In reality, if the Chief ever participated in a mixer with a corpse, he'd probably run to the toilet within the first ten seconds.
My spirits sank. Taking out the phone from my bag was a dubious prospect due to my index finger.
So, making the excuse that I was just borrowing it since it was on the pillow, I decided to investigate the cell phone. I was a little curious. Especially about the pink color and all. The reason was pretty arbitrary, though.
The corpse in the bathtub—was she murdered, or was she brought here and then placed there? Regardless of the cause of death, deducing the process is something I, by nature of my job as a detective, aspire to. It's not like it's a habit. If I were personally witnessing that many dead bodies, I'd have joined their ranks long ago.
That's why this is a prime opportunity for a luxurious game of detective, one I can only carry out because I'm not directly involved.
And so, including my dislike for the police as a motive, I decided to act like a detective in the room with the dead body. If I didn't investigate it myself, I didn't think I'd be satisfied at all.

I turned on the cell phone. After "Please wait a moment" appeared, the screen went dark. Then it came back on. The wallpaper showed a woman who was, in a way that felt like bad taste, a beautiful older type, and a man, a single scarf wrapped amicably around both their necks, his smile slightly strained. Hmm, I recognize this woman.
If I recall, she's the woman who stepped on me in the elevator earlier. Was she the culprit in this case? This is bad; I even worried about her when she was shamelessly shouting like that. Oh well, I'll just faintly hope that she and the Blue Suit Man took each other out in the elevator after that.
I fiddled with the buttons randomly. The phone carrier was different from mine, so the operating system was different too; I was truly fumbling around. There was no intent behind my actions, but I seemed to have accidentally opened the call history. The screen filled up with the characters: "Eko," "Eko," "Eko," "Eko," "Eko," "Eko," "Eko," "Eko," "Azarak?"
No matter how far I checked, there were no registered names in the call history other than "Eko."