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"Everyone, don't sing along, okay? The person next to you will get really mad!" Yuna added a warning like a TV show host, and then her fingers tackled the second song. This time, there were no chaotic sounds inserted as a prelude; it formed a piece of music from the very beginning.
"...I remember hearing that song a few years ago."
The sparrow had finished climbing my arm and was now perched on my right shoulder like a shawl.
"It's a song where, in the end, you realize a happiness that's almost painful."
Yuna's explanation was abstract. But I realized she was tracing the lyrics with her words.
"You're all shut-ins as a family, so when did you learn it?"
"Touka heard it on a music program and made the sheet music. That's how we practiced. So some of the notes might have her own unique arrangement mixed in," Yuna explained, mimicking the sound of a harp, *plink-plonk*.
Hmm... So Touka had a talent for music, huh? I glanced at her older sister's face, and she was still beaming alongside the turtle.
Seeing it this way, not being able to resent anyone doesn't seem so bad.
"From my perspective, it's painful *because* I'm happy, though." As I spoke, I also had her tell me the title.
Hearing it, I twisted my lips slightly. *What the heck is that?* I almost let out a snort.
Perhaps it was a joke about the sparrow that had forgotten how to fly being by my side. But unfortunately for it, I haven't forgotten how to fly yet. I can easily demonstrate how a human flies. No, maybe right now, I can't.
If I could, I probably would have jumped over the railing of my apartment veranda long ago.
"But listening to you, I was thinking," Yuna paused her words suggestively, her eyes glancing towards me, prompting a reaction.
"...What is it?"
"You're more fragile than a normal person, you know." *Kukku,* she feigned a suppressed, amused laugh.
Cut it out. You really know how to hit where it hurts.
I was aware of it, which is why I'd avoided mentioning it.
I knew that my current self wasn't calm, but had merely returned to "Day One." It was the second time I'd returned. The day I found out Nagase had died, I was calm. Just like now, I was normal. But the next day, I had lost the outlines of the scenery. I had stopped perceiving reality correctly.
I deliberately didn't resist it. I wished to go mad, and I did my best to let the madness spin and spin. As a result, my heart, with its low regenerative ability, managed to survive for a week thanks to those life-prolonging measures.
But today, losing Mayu made me realize that the loop couldn't be established.
And I was also made aware of the reality that the number of people I was supposed to meet was steadily decreasing.
"What," I asked, facing a murderer who was killing off my acquaintances one after another, "am I supposed to do?"
"Oh? Is there something you *want* to do?" she feigned a surprised tone.
Even though she wasn't interested, she was willing to go along with the conversation, which made me mistakenly think she might be a surprisingly good person. When humans are weak, they tend to easily sway if someone is kind to them.
"When I calm down, I get seized by a sense of impatience, and I feel like I have to do something."
So, listening to Yuna's piano right now was actually a blessing.
Because she often missed notes, it kept me from becoming completely calm.
"Are you feeling responsible or something, even though you didn't directly lay a hand on anyone?"
"...I'm aiming for the Beautification Committee Chairman seat, so I have to show off my sense of responsibility in areas like that." That's a lie, though. Ahh, this feeling is a little nostalgic. I saw a sign of revival there.
"If it were me, I'd feign ignorance even if I killed them myself." Yuna-san, you're way too brazen.
*Maybe you were the one who went around killing in the Ooe family incident? Just a wild guess.* ...Hmm. But as a murderer, that's the correct stance, isn't it?
If someone calmly said such a thing jokingly, some people would probably be outraged at what a terrible person they are.
"I can't be as clear-cut as you, you know. There are times when you just can't live with a complicated heart."
"So if you're sad, you'll just keep crying and crying?"
"...Most of the deaths of people close to me were in exchange for my own life. Because that person died, or was killed, I was able to continue living. It seems I'm a nuisance who can't live without consuming not just cows, pigs, and chickens, but other people's lives too. Even though I'm not at the top of the food chain above humans. Just standing there requires support."
That's why I need other people. Someone's "misfortune" is essential for me.
"Yeah."
"It's pretty much, well, something I just have to accept... It's like the question of whether you can get over the sentimentality of not being able to eat pork cutlet after watching a movie where a little pink pig struggles... for me, that is. But, that's fine. I decided I'd keep living anyway, so I've become able to actively turn a blind eye to those parts. I decided to misinterpret the words 'don't look away' and keep looking forward."
Instead of replying, Yuna let her piano playing continue uninterrupted. Ah, I could tell she missed a note this time.
"But the problem is, it's a simple minus, not an exchange for my life. I have absolutely no resistance to that. It's not like they're dying because I'm the cause. That's why, with my stupid older brother's death... I was so... shaken..."
In reality, that's probably the normal kind of 'death.'
A minus calculation with no gain whatsoever. Something lost, where the equation doesn't balance.
Normal people are strong. They have to experience deaths like this many times, yet they live properly.
I have absolutely no tolerance for the pure loss of another person's death.
Even after hearing my story, Yuna prioritized her fingers on the piano over her lips. Akane, though, was staring blankly at me, but remained silent. Perhaps she'd become better at reading the mood than before.
"I'm not going to offer any particular advice. All I can do is play the piano."
"Since when did you switch to such a solitary, virtuoso musician character?"
*Sheesh, you're annoying,* Yuna said, shaking her head lazily as if bothered by cigarette smoke.
"Because it's just troubling to be irresponsibly told 'hang in there' by someone, right?"
I nodded. Akane-rin also nodded emphatically. But it didn't end there.
With her chin still tucked in, she looked up at me, peering into my face.
"...But you know, you've been making a face like you want to be told 'hang in there' for a while now."
"Really?" I touched my cheeks and nose to check. "No, I'm not." *Seems expressionless.*
"I wonder how many women you've deceived with that face."
"Shut up, I'm terrible at lying. No one ever gets tricked by me."
The only one I can deceive is just a single girl.
"Who would believe a liar when they say they're not deceiving anyone?... Anyway, let's get back to the topic. If you can talk about your condition that much, isn't that proof that things are sorted out in your head? Stop being a pain in the ass and do what you want to do. You're pretty unlucky as it is, so being modest now won't do you any good."
In the end, she's saying something that sounds like advice, isn't she? Is she meddlesome, or is this surprising?
She did, after all, let me stay at her house overnight.
"...What I want to do, huh."
Even if I decide, will I have the time to do it?
Conversely, now I'm not confident I can escape the loop I've started. No matter how noble my resolve when I start walking, the moment the date changes, my brain might degenerate, and for a third time, I might end up conversing with hallucinations. I already felt like I couldn't go back.
Will I be able to see it through? Will I be able to accomplish what I desire? When it's all over, will I be able to lead a sane daily life? It seems incredibly unlikely. My current feelings aren't a lie, but there's no guarantee they'll be true in twenty-seven hours. No matter how I struggle, any decision made here will be tentative.
"...Still," I don't want to lie to my current self.
I was frustrated.
That was the first thing.
There was sadness too.
There was anger too.
There was even clear murderous intent.
I knew that all of them were born from my own heart.
But because they all try to get out at once.
Like countless, countless, countless, countless, countless bugs trying to emerge all at once from the inside of a red apple, I was afraid of being torn apart, so I plunged a blade called "oblivion" into my body.
It's still stuck there now, its blade impaling the bugs through their bodies.
The true nature of my emotions is bugs. Since childhood, I've perceived the swells and agitations of emotion as bugs. Likening them to creatures I once hated, found hard to understand. That's what formed the worker ants.
How many times have these bugs been impaled by me and those around me?
But still, the bugs don't die. They abandon their severed bodies, and only the parts that should survive escape from the blade over time, and then they are polished. "Day One" is the day those symptoms appear.
The bugs seek release. They demand it of me, their host.
Right now, I want to offer my body to those bugs. I think it's fine to live as the bugs dictate.
But if I pull out the blade plunged into my heart, the accumulated blood will gush out. The heart's blood.
Scary.
So scary.
If I let it all out, what will become of me?
Will I become a weak creature whose heart alone has died?
Isn't it because people can't feel a bug's heart that they fear them?
"...Gueh." It was so scary, stomach acid rose to the tip of my tongue.
...I don't need wings. But, while I'm still human.
Give me something more abstract than wealth and honor.
"Have you decided?" The moment I looked up, Yuna asked in a flat tone, like confirming the message speed in a game.
"Yeah. It was decided from the start, or rather... For my, what is it... well, as a tentative friend, and for the peace of mind of Nagase... no, for the honor of her soul. And for the others who were killed... something like that, I guess."
"That's so abstract, I can't really tell what you're trying to say."
Exactly. But I'll make sure to do everything just as I wish, each and every time.
In this world of mine, so devoid of hope, it's easy to find what I desire from the very bottom.
If the novelization phenomenon were true, it would have been much simpler, something I'd have to work to death to achieve.
That's what it means to live in reality. At least until I solve the case, I want to stop my heart from floating off into the air. That will probably be very difficult, though.
"To be a little more specific, I was thinking of doing the same thing to the culprit, too."
Within the bounds where my conscience doesn't ache— But—
"Hmm," Yuna reacted blandly, then added with feigned casualness, "Oh, right, right."
"He wasn't too quick on the uptake, was he? Or maybe he's the type not to sweat the small stuff."
"You think so?"
"Well, he couldn't understand 'Isa Uchi no Kiri Sen Hachibi,' after all."
"...Ah, Sanai Rika." She's just forcing a distorted reading of the kanji.
"You pass, Akkyun. Let's acknowledge him as an agent of evil and you as an ally of justice."
*Thwack!* The Ooe sisters both pointed at the tip of my nose. And at the tip of Akane's hand was the turtle, whichever one it was. Damn it, I still can't tell them apart. Is she telling me to become a turtle appraiser? Well, even if I were to toss the turtle into a drinking fountain at the station, this town doesn't exactly foster an environment where an ally of justice can straightforwardly win, so being given this seal of approval just made me more anxious. But, it seems like it could be a tiny bit of support.
I stood up and brushed my shoulders as if to shake off my worries. My right arm, as expected, wouldn't move.
So, holding the hand of my left-handed girlfriend had become a little difficult.
But I was still allowed to hold the hand of a wonderful, right-handed girl.
My half-dried clothes felt stiff and clung unpleasantly to my skin. If someone were to pass down a secret assassination art passed down through a single child, the first thing I'd want to learn is an easy way to rip clothes.
"As a good citizen, the best thing to do is call the police and say you saw a murderer, right? Seeking peace of mind, perhaps I, as a representative of the citizens, should publicly snitch?"
You talk big for someone who isn't in a position to rely on the police.
The police. Natsuki-san. If I had relied on her from the beginning without going mad, the deaths of three acquaintances, excluding Nagase, might have been preventable. Pointless regret crushed my lungs. But now, I can't report it. I can't let the police intervene.
Because this is *my case*.
No matter where I look, no matter how much I struggle to find an escape route. From end to end, through and through, it's all me.
So, I need the reliable police officers to practice non-intervention in civil matters.
From here on out, I'm just going to be increasingly selfish.
Shouldn't I try to learn a thing or two from Maa-chan?
"...Ah." My eyeballs floated with a sensation close to ecstasy. My vision blurred. Is this how it feels when a man you grew up with like a brother becomes a vampire, and you're burdened with the fate of having to fight him?
It's an unmitigated disaster, yes, truly.
Yuna's insect-like eyes tilted up to look at me.
The eyes of a human whose heart is full of free-roaming bugs always lack luster.
"Your piano was a help." If nothing else, I'll thank her for that.
She turned this shabby room into a small theater and contributed to creating the atmosphere.
And I learned the attitude of "doing what you want to do" from the way her hands played that piano.
"Not really. If you hang around at mealtime, I'd have to serve you too, so I'm just kicking you out."
A toast to that unvarnished true feeling.
Shaking my stomach, which had caught rainwater like a metal basin.
I released the sparrow into the air. As if to lessen the pull of gravity, the sparrow, which had maintained its silence until now, opened its wings and beat the air. The wings the sparrow spread were much wider than the image I had conjured in my mind.
Its flapping reminded me of the moment I let go of a chicken I was holding in the elementary school's animal pen. Until that day, I had wondered why creatures deemed flightless had wings proportionate to their bodies. So, out of a bit of mischief, when I took a chicken out while cleaning the pen, I held it above my head and then let it go. The chicken, released from my hands, calmly flapped its wings, glided, and landed on the ground without incident. Their wings are not meaningless. Because their atrophied wings offered resistance, the safety of their bodies was ensured. I, too, will follow their example and wring out my atrophied "heart."
I don't know how many days this current state of mind will last. Perhaps with every new dawn, the world will blur and rust, transforming into a muddy, sludgy landscape. There's no hope left in my brain, only the dried-up remnants of thought. ...If that's the case, then I'll use those remnants as fertilizer and try to revive trees in the desert.
I don't know if I can do it. But I will face it.
This case, and this case alone, I have to be the one to end it.
Because I've finally resolved to escape the world's smallest spiral.
If it's full of flaws and riddled with holes, then if I put my mind to it, I'm sure I can escape easily.
So today, I won't sleep yet.
Do what I can, while I can.
Before I come to an end.
At the dirt-floored entrance, I put my discarded shoes back on. I forcefully pushed open the door before me, which wasn't even locked.
Outside, it was still a torrential downpour, and combined with the night, it was pitch black, like a path for ghosts.
"...Normally, in this kind of development, the path ahead would be cloudless and sunny, wouldn't it?" Well, I guess this is more 'me.'
"...Alright!"
There are two enemies. The murderer, and the Klüver-Bucy syndrome. A pincer attack from within and without. No shortage of opponents for me, but from their perspective, the target is probably full of shortcomings. But that, too, ends here.
For the first time in my life, I've positively voiced an abstract expression of my enthusiasm... I think.
I have finally come back to life, and I start walking as if freely traversing the lunar surface.
There was no road in the rainy night world spread before me; only my will filled it like sunlight.
It was an unfeigned light.
"Where are you planning to go first?"
"Just a bit, to the happy end."

Afterword
Ah, it concludes with the next volume.
Also, my father has started saying things like, "I have a vegetable allergy, so I can't eat carrots and stuff."
Iruma Hitoma

Something like a novel, part 2.

"Thank you very much!"
I saw off one customer and bowed my head. As I did, I nearly hit my forehead on the cash register in front of me. I hurriedly stopped bending my body, and my back, frozen in a halfway posture, twinged sharply.
If I had been alone in my room, it was the kind of pain that would have made me shriek "Hyaaah iiih ahhh!" and roll around on the floor. But since I was in the middle of my part-time job, I pressed my clenched fist against my stomach and desperately endured it. Still, a small cry of "Gueh," escaped me.
"...Phew."
While I was doing that, the male customer who had come in alone had disappeared onto the road outside the store.
The stiffness in my shoulders eased. Half a year had passed since I started this part-time job, but no matter how much time went by, dealing with customers still made me nervous. Massaging my lower back, which complained of a pain as if my nerves were exposed outside my skin, I somehow managed to straighten my body. There didn't seem to be any customers waiting at the register, so I let out a sigh of relief.
After tossing the discount ticket I had just received from the customer into the trash can, I looked down at the pile of similar scraps accumulated at the bottom and felt a complicated mix of emotions. Perhaps, to others, my expression might have seemed a little thoughtful.

I was the one who came up with the content for this ticket. The manager consulted me, and I just thought about it casually and decided. Regardless of my understanding of the store's situation or the customers' demands, my decisiveness probably surpassed the manager's, so my opinion was adopted. The deadline for the store's promotional text to be published in the city's information magazine was also approaching, which probably played a part.
So, while I'm happy that the number of customers coming in using the information magazine's ticket has increased, it's not great for the store if repeat customers don't increase. Especially, the manager's true desire is probably to hope for customers who will visit not just for lunch, but also in the evening. As for me, if crickets were chirping at my part-time job, work would be easier, but I was also worried that the fun would disappear along with it.
"Got a sec?"
I was about to leave the register to go refill customers' water glasses when the manager, emerging from the back, called out to me. The manager, true to his droopy-eyed, gentle appearance, is an indecisive old man. He's in his early forties, and his slightly long hair, either naturally curly or permed, winds and weaves like a rollercoaster. He always looks unsure of himself, and his eyes dart around restlessly.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Come here for a bit."
Beckoning me, the manager returned to the office in the back. I asked the other male part-timer to handle the water refills and then hurried to the office, feeling a sense of déjà vu.
In the office, the manager was plunked down heavily in a chair, having a staring contest with the computer on the desk. It was an old black model, a ridiculous computer with some of the keyboard keys blown off. To top it off, it was, surprisingly for this day and age, completely disconnected from the internet. For the manager, it was basically just a word processor.
After closing the office door, I stood in front of the manager, and the man, who looked like the epitome of indecisiveness, scratched the right side of his neck. His eyes were darting sideways too.
"Well, actually, I'm struggling with the content of the ticket again."
"Again?"
*Ah, just as I thought.* I nodded, convinced that this wasn't just déjà vu but exactly the same as something that had happened in the past.
"Yeah. And this time, the ad copy isn't even finished."
"Eh, seriously-ssu ka?"
*That thing is only about two hundred characters long. How much can this manager agonize over it?*
The manager stood up from his chair with armrests and patted my shoulder. I thought about warning him that some people in this world would sue for sexual harassment over this, but I held my tongue because it seemed like it might create a rift in our relationship of trust.
"...Ugh."
"And so, it's your turn. I'm counting on you again this time."
Putting aside the ad copy, I was used to dealing with the tickets, so I didn't resist and sat down in the offered chair.
The Word document on the computer screen, containing the ad copy and title, was blank.
The shadow of an index finger flickered over the keyboard.
It certainly is difficult. Isn't the whole point of advertising because there's nothing particularly noteworthy or highly praised by customers? It's blunt, but that's how it is. If you praise it too much, it sounds fake, and explaining in detail where the store is located is out of the question because there's a map outside the ad copy section.
"Muu." I picked up last month's issue of the information magazine. For other information magazines, don't the editorial staff usually write this kind of promotional text? Making someone write the original draft and then just editing it later, isn't that just slacking off? While thinking that, I opened the page where restaurant introductions were compiled.
"Come to think of it, isn't it usually time for someone from the editorial department to come pick it up by now?"
"Ah, yeah, that's right. It's rare for them to be late, but it's a help for us, huh."
The manager laughed cheerfully, already looking like he hadn't given a single thought to the store's ad copy.
Apparently, there are several old guys like this in restaurants who are out of touch with the internet, so only one person from the editorial department has to run around.
I skimmed the introductions for a yakiniku restaurant and a somewhat nonsensical "cave dining" establishment on the open page. Besides the price list for the dishes they wanted to introduce and the discount tickets included with the magazine, they also wrote about limited-time services. And then there was the seating capacity of the restaurant. If a restaurant was popular enough to fill up like that, they wouldn't need to advertise in a magazine in the first place, I grumbled internally.
"Fumufumu."
Usually, you'd advertise new menus or, if it's year-end, reservations for parties, but this store is far removed from both. In that case, the only option is to present existing dishes as a good deal or something similar.
The manager was glancing nervously at the clock and the store's back entrance. Even if they were late, the editor would probably come soon to pick up the ad copy and discount ticket details.
If I don't hurry, I won't make it... Oh well, fine. I'll just make my favorite pasta the discount item, and the introduction will just push that. The customer I just served at the register was eating pasta too, and Japanese people surely love noodles, they must. As I discovered anew how unsettling it is to have "surely" appear twice in one sentence, I clattered away noisily on the keyboard.
"Ta-da-da-da. Aaaand, there we go, all done!"
Yep, finished. Easy peasy. Or rather, if you took away my decisiveness, there'd be nothing left of me. The resulting text made it sound like an introduction to a pasta specialty shop, but if that entices more customers to come eat pasta, then it's all good. *If* they come, that is.
"Man, you're a lifesaver. I really hired a good part-timer."
Without even checking the content, the manager thanked me with a beaming smile. I'm doubtful it will contribute to sales, but is this really okay? Well, it doesn't feel bad to be praised, though.
"Sorry, I'm late!"
As if he had been timing it from outside, the young man from the editorial department who always comes to pick things up poked his head in through the store's back entrance. He must have run here in a hurry; he was out of breath and his face was bright red.
The young man took the document data I had typed on a USB memory stick, and then, saying, "Thank you very much, well then!" he rushed out even faster than he had come in.
"It's tough being an editor, huh?" the manager murmured thoughtfully, gazing at the back door that had been slammed shut.
"It really is, isn't it?" I replied, watching him go and thinking it would be nice if our store became so busy that the staff were that swamped too.
The question of whether that ad copy and discount ticket were really okay remained.
The ticket I devised last time seems to have been reasonably well-received, but I wonder how this one will turn out.