---

---

Shoving the rest of the matcha bread into my mouth, I looked up at the ceiling. Spiderwebs, rat droppings, insect eggs—all painted over by the darkness, invisible to my eyes. Things you can't see... you just have to acknowledge whether they're there or not based on their presence or absence.

I wonder what sort of creature Mayu sees when she looks at me.

"Hey, Mii-kun."
"Hm? Want me to eat the rest for you?"
"Someone's coming this way."

I choked, sputtering. Bread crumbs did a little dance on my Adam's apple, blocking my breath.

"Oh, ahh, sorry," Mayu said. "I forgot to bring drinks. Silly me."
"Forget that! Who is it? Where?"

At my urging, Mayu pointed outside the window. Straining my eyes in that direction, I could indeed see a slender, human-shaped shadow flickering minutely, heading for the ward's front entrance. I pulled Mayu away from the window, snuffed out the flashlight beam, and frantically grabbed my crutches.

"Accident?"
Unfazed, Mayu tilted her head and rummaged in her bag. Not good—she's going to pull out her knife.
I craned my neck wildly, urgently seeking a hiding place. With no real estate agents in sight around here, self-reliance was my only option. I kept scanning the darkness, eyes narrowed.

Driven by rising panic, I spotted a perfectly placed locker beside the door, just inside the room. Deciding it was our only choice, before I could hear anyone enter the building, I moved.

"Maa-chan, come on!"
Clutching my crutches, I hopped over to the locker on one leg. I'm technically forbidden from moving like this, but in an emergency, there's no reason to follow doctor's orders. First, I shut the door connecting the records room to the larger room beyond.
Mayu ambled over with all the urgency of a fire drill. With my blood pounding from anxiety, I was frantic. I yanked open the locker door, relieved to find it empty of cleaning supplies, and slid inside. My crutches snagged on the edge, but I grabbed them and Mayu's hand, pulling her in so I was basically hugging her.

"Ooh, this is kinda exciting, huh?"
"Nyu-fu-fu," Mayu giggled, making no effort to hide her excitement.
Should I lament my own cowardice or praise her incredible nerve? The question gave me a headache.
"Don't make a sound, and don't move. Absolutely," I whispered. Maybe my breath tickled her neck, because she squirmed, murmuring, "That tickles!" Overwhelmed by endless anxiety, I just hugged her tighter.

[...]

Hiding, holding our breath in the locker that stank of dirty rags, I mulled over the situation.
Who on earth would visit this pseudo-haunted house this late at night?
Obviously, it had to be the person who hid the body here. In other words, the killer.
But why now?
The killer has to know that being seen would be fatal.
Coming here at all is reckless.
Which means, just like me, the killer must have a reason compelling enough to outweigh the risk.

Are they planning to move the body?
Or just check on something?
No matter how frantically I spun my thoughts, I couldn't come up with a convincing motive for the killer.

Criminal psychology is truly hard to grasp. Especially kidnappers—they're just... out there. Like, FCC-banned vocabulary territory. Oh, wait. That's us.

Next concern: Does the killer know we're here?
This is critical. If the answer's yes, we've willingly walked into a deathtrap. However, I can determine that possibility is low—and I'm not just being optimistic.
From the killer's perspective, if they knew someone was aware of Nawa Mitsuaki's body, they'd surely take steps to silence that person. Walking up so blatantly like that shadow did makes no sense. They'd tail us with extreme caution and eliminate us. If *I* were the killer, my utmost priority would be preventing anyone from knowing I exist.

Therefore, I conclude the killer came to the old ward simply to accomplish their own goal, nothing more.
The fact that we both decided to act around the same time... I guess great minds think alike? Or maybe just desperate ones.

The faint sound of a footstep on the stairs. Looks like we'll be here a while. I swallowed hard, while I still could. I used my elbow to keep the crutches steady, preventing them from leaning against the door. Inside the locker, dyed pitch black, completely out of the moonlight's reach... for whatever reason, Mayu's tiny smile transmitted itself to my chest as a faint vibration.

Her composure granted me a tiny dose of relief.
With each step upward, the sound and vibration intensified.
The sensation of my father coming down into the basement resurfaced, raising goosebumps on my skin.
Strangled by tension and memory, my throat constricted, I struggled to breathe, gasping.

The final problem: If the killer senses us, what do we do?
Naturally, they'll try to silence us. And naturally, we'll fight back.
Avoiding bloodshed... as long as Mayu is *Misono Mayu*, that's practically impossible.
All we can do now is pray it doesn't come to that.

I'm not relying on God.
He never granted a single one of the things Mayu prayed so desperately for back then.

Footsteps landed at an ambiguous distance—far, yet near. Sounds like they entered the room just before ours.
Someone with hypersensitive hearing might tell if it's a man or woman by the weight of their tread, but that trick's beyond me.
The click of our doorknob turning sent a dull throb through my head. The door swung open dramatically. The killer stepped inside, crunching over floorboards, scattered papers, and broken glass, striding confidently through the room where we were hidden. The killer's steps were confident, unwavering.
That sound governed everything—our safety, our fear. Even Mayu didn't move a muscle.
The killer remained unhurried, their pace steady. As the footsteps passed right in front of our locker, my stomach clenched tight.
Then, the sound of the refrigerator door opening—the killer's target. Did we leave it looking undisturbed? A tense moment that had my palms sweating.

The killer remained utterly silent, as if they didn't even have a heartbeat.
To stop myself from freaking out, I decided to distract myself. Specifically, by just counting seconds in my head. A simple, pointless exercise in boredom.
At two hundred fourteen seconds, there was movement.
A soft *thud*, something hitting the floor. Followed by a *creeeeak* as the floorboards groaned under a heavy weight. My mind already swirling with questions, a new sound assaulted my ears.
Listening intently, I could just make out the killer muttering something under their breath. Were there two of them? I wondered, but given the footsteps I'd heard, that was impossible unless one of them floated about an inch off the floor. Which means... the killer is talking to Nawa Mitsuaki. C-Can they actually communicate? Which possibility is more terrifying? I almost zoned out, trying to ignore the current reality to analyze that question.

A Shinto prayer? A litany of grudges? A wedding speech? What was the killer offering the corpse?
Finally, as I counted two thousand, one hundred and seven seconds, the muttering stopped.
Footsteps faded into the distance. Were they jogging on the way out? It sounded like they rushed down the stairs at double time.
I held out until the count reached three thousand, one hundred and two. Steeling myself to leave, I realized the Mayu in my arms was fast asleep, breathing peacefully. I was impressed by her sheer nerve, but then recalled that darkness and dreams make for a bad mix, so I shook her shoulder. For once, Mayu woke easily.

I followed her out of the locker as she rubbed her eyes. The air outside felt even more refreshingly disgusting than before.
A glance at the refrigerator showed no change from when I'd opened it.
Just to be sure, I hooked a crutch under the handle and pulled it open. Yep, Ms. Nawa Mitsuaki was still present, thoroughly enjoying her corpse status.

"What the hell was that all about?"
I hoped there was no one around to answer me.
Mayu went "Fu-hyu-hyu," puffing out her cheeks to make her signature laugh. Once she was done laughing, she let the air out with a soft *"pohe."*

"Mii-kun, your heart was going *ba-dump, ba-dump*," she said. "Listening to it kinda made me sleepy."
"Ah... right..."
Suddenly drained, I collapsed onto the floor, landing hard on my butt.

Using scattered books and glass shards as a makeshift cushion, I looked up at the dark, clouded sky beyond the window. Clouds drifted freely across the sky, stingily hiding the moon.
Mayu chose a thick dictionary to sit on and settled down beside me.
"It's not a full moon, is it? What's it called?"
*Imachi-zuki, was it? Definitely not a half-moon.*
"I wonder. Have we ever gone moon-viewing..."
I found myself glancing at Mayu's face. Her expression was soft, something different from her usual smile.
"Today's our first time, then," she said.
"...Yeah."
For some reason, getting those words out felt difficult.
But there was no unpleasantness in it.

Both Mayu and I pushed the fact that there was a corpse in the room to the back of our minds and simply stared silently at the moon.

A moon without a name.
But still, its light reached us.
The utter lack of scenic beauty felt strangely appropriate.

---

It's common knowledge among most inpatients that you can slip out of the hospital at night through the parking lot exit. Most of the nurses know about it, and naturally the doctors do too, but it's become an overlooked situation. It's the unofficial way the hospital deals with complaints about the small meal portions.
Consequently, the nearby convenience store thrives, catering primarily to inpatients clad in pajamas. Unusual for a rural area, there's little need for customer parking. The store owners, taking this into account, have reduced the parking lot size to expand the store itself.

We emerged from the parking lot side path onto the road. The asphalt is good for planting crutches. Though any road is a nightmare if it's wet, like after rain. About two weeks ago, I recklessly went out on a day like that and fell down six times. Being helped up by my middle-aged roommate... a bittersweet memory now.

"Let's go walk-ing~, W-A-L-K~," Mayu sang innocently, lifting her legs in an exaggerated march. Mid-step, she kicked something into the air. Checking where it landed, I saw it was the misshapen corpse of a kitten. Unclear if her kick was the fatal blow.
"Alright, alright, let's enjoy our walk on the sidewalk, okay?"
I guided Mayu, who seemed inclined to walk down the middle of the road, towards the edge. It felt like supervising an elementary school group walk.
"Geez, Mii-kun, you just don't understand a woman's heart," she pouted, giving me a disapproving look.
*And you don't understand what 'a woman's heart' means, Maa-chan.*

The road leading from the hospital to the convenience store was flanked by rice paddies on the right and a construction site on the left. Looks like they're building condos, scheduled for completion in four years. Seriously, don't ignore the location factors. Don't underestimate the countryside.
As I fumed internally, the faint echo of a motorcycle exhaust reached me from afar. Probably someone in their "wanna be the wind" phase of life.
Speaking of wind, it had died down to a light breeze. Still, it wasn't enough to stop the goosebumps from tingling, nor did it lessen my desire to get warm.

Sniffling, we arrived at the excessively fluorescent convenience store. Though only one light truck was parked outside, the inside was bustling with a crowd dressed predominantly in white – bandages, pajamas, pale skin – an increasing concentration of the hospital's signature color.
Just before we passed through the automatic doors, Mayu's soft, pliable expression tightened, and her posture straightened.
*Like she's made of clay,* the thought occurred to me.

Inside, we were met by the unprofessional greeting of a pale-faced clerk with a bad attitude, the flat electronic beeps of the register, and a blast of warm air that blew away the thin film clinging to my skin. It felt like surface grime being washed away, a liberation from dust and cold air.

"Buying anything?"
"I'll look around a bit." Her face was composed and neat, her lips moving with economical precision.

"Okay. Well, I'll copy these notes while you look."
"Let's look together." Mayu's hand tugged at my sleeve. An appealing suggestion, but...
"I want to get back to our room soon, Maa-chan. Okay?"
Before replying, Mayu yawned. Ignoring the tear that traced a path down her cheek like clown makeup, she agreed, "Okay."
I took the notebook and headed towards the copy machine, parting ways with Mayu for the moment.

And on the way, I encountered my roommates. We're treated as problem children by the hospital staff. The ringleader is the eldest, Watarai-san, who wanders aimlessly outside every night. Is it that typical old-person thing? people might or might not think. He claims he's going to visit his wife. The view that he simply sleeps too much during the day and has his nights and days reversed cannot be denied.
I ran into the high-schooler, another member of the problem-child contingent, in front of the magazine rack. He looked depressingly natural engrossed in a dirty magazine. His actual age is unknown, but everyone naturally treats him like he's maybe in middle school. Incidentally, the other roommate, the middle-aged man, was right there with him at the time. It's like they say, see one rat, and you know there are ten around.

"Oh, you came too?" the high schooler confirmed my presence, his speech tinged with dialect. I really didn't get along with this guy. He seemed like one of those young people who don't really get jokes, probably lacking in Vitamin C or something.
"Yeah. Well, see ya."
"Hold up, got somethin' to talk about."
He grabbed my shoulder, pulling me alongside him. He put the magazine back on the shelf, a smirk spreading across his face.
"Hey, gimme one."
"No way. I still can't walk with just one."
"Not the crutches!"
*I know.*

The high schooler scowled, but his expression quickly shifted back to lecherousness.
"Mii-chan or Maa-chan, was it? That girl'll do. Better yet, introduce me to her."
From the way he said it, he didn't seem to realize Mayu was here in the store. I see.
"Not a chance."
Glancing sideways at Mayu browsing the food shelves, I rejected him bluntly. Since the conversation was over, I started to leave.
"Hey, wait up!"
Apparently, I'd earned his anger. His attitude turned prickly.
"I have no reason to introduce my girlfriend to anyone," I stated, more formally than usual.
Even though I'd refused him with a perfectly reasonable statement, the high schooler was indignant. Definitely a calcium deficiency.
"Oi, you think you can have that attitude?"
"My unvarnished personality is a huge hit with a certain niche minority."
*A 'huge hit' as in, my personality is perceived as idiotic.*
Still, perhaps I should mend this personality somewhat if I wanted more peaceful days. The high schooler's oppressive aura was intensifying, going from a winter fire to a summer blaze.

"I really don't wanna say this, but..."
He paused, outwardly extinguishing the flames.
His acne-scarred face smirked defiantly.
The twist of his cheeks looked like someone drunk on the moment of playing a trump card in Daifugō.

"You're... that guy, aren't you? The kidnapper's son?"
My teeth ground together involuntarily.
The notebook crumpled further in my grip.
"And Maa-chan... she doesn't know, right?"
Every time I blinked, red flashed across my vision. My eyes felt dry. Stinging. Like they were bleeding.
"Cause if she knew... she probably wouldn't wanna hang out with you, righ— huh?"
The high schooler faltered, seeing my expression. He took a step back. The triumphant pimples on his face seemed to shrink, his expression shifting to a sloppy, fawning grin.
Just what kind of expression did I have on my face?

"If you know I'm the kidnapper's son... then maybe you shouldn't get cocky and tease me too much. For your own sake, right?"
Using my identity like this—the way I hate most. The disgust churning inside me was the price for turning myself into a paper tiger.
Overwhelmed by his own paranoid fantasies about the relative of a criminal, the high schooler mumbled, "Uh, well, just think it over, 'kay?" as a parting shot and made his escape. He fled the store without buying a thing, just another window-shopper beating a hasty retreat.

With the nuisance gone, I quickly went to take care of my errand.
I vented the resulting unpleasantness in a muttered monologue on the way.
"...He's right, though."
*Mayu doesn't remember me anyway.*
*Not that it matters to me, though!*
With Nagase, I wouldn't really care who she was interested in these days, but Mayu seems to be the popular one. With him... and with me.

After that slight obstruction, I finally reached my destination. I inserted coins into the previous-generation business copier, starting its overtime shift. The machine began its labor with exaggerated operational noises, seeming rather reluctant.
"'Copiers sure work hard without complaining,' I thought with empty admiration as I exploited its labor." A finger tapped my shoulder. I turned. It was the middle-aged man—the one with the moderately tanned skin who'd been looking at magazines with the high school kid earlier. Seems he hadn't made his triumphant return yet.
He's the taciturn, print-addicted middle-aged guy. His drooping bangs and the balding spot on his crown invoke a certain melancholy. He's currently hospitalized for whiplash, neck stabilized with a cervical collar.
This middle-aged man silently held out an anpan (red bean bun). What's this? If this is his idea of a bribe, then he must see me as some kind of cheap, second-hand goods.

"......... For your... ..."
"Sorry?" My hearing isn't actually that bad, but with him mumbling like that, I wish he'd practice being in a cheer squad or something.
"Give it... to your girlfriend..."
"...Huh?"
He delivered the line like a ventriloquist, lips barely moving, then shuffled off towards the register in his worn-out sandals, the soles flapping. I was left holding the anpan I'd somehow accepted.

Wait, uh... "give it to her"? But he hasn't paid for this yet. Is this pushy salesmanship? Is he secretly working for the bakery? His motives were so unclear, I felt suspicious of a simple bean bun.
This somehow reminds me of my tragic boyhood involving anpan... Not that there's any connection whatsoever.
'Yeah, I'm not giving this to her,' I decided simply, after deep consideration prompted by my fractured psyche. 'I'll put it back on the shelf later.'
'Still, though...'
'Maa-chan sure is popular.'

Her looks are unparalleled, and she acts reserved in public. Just look at her from behind. She's only paying at the register, but Maa-chan is... well... she transcends language to the point where I hesitate to use any specific praise. Then again, maybe it'd be weirder *not* to be captivated by her. Or so I brag internally about my girlfriend.
My spirits soared. Adrenaline pumping, making a minute feel like a full sixty seconds. The copier, ignoring my elevated state and just plodding along at its own pace, felt intensely annoying.

Restlessly scanning the store, I spotted Watarai-san pacing back and forth in front of the alcohol display. So, all my roommates were present and accounted for, despite it not even being eight o'clock. Arms dangling loosely like a gibbon's, he stared longingly at the aluminum cans in the cooler. Lately, he's been acutely aware of his rapidly declining health, so his hand has been forbidden from reaching for booze.
Still, Watarai-san... long johns and a *dotera* jacket? That's way too casual, even for here. Not that he's the only one. Everyone walks around in hole-ridden *hanten* jackets or shuffles about in hospital slippers, trampling through the store like they own the place. These people are practically uncivilized when it comes to clothes and shoes.

"Hmm?"
"I like the yakisoba better."
Thinking I was agonizing over which cup noodles to buy, Mayu, who'd appeared beside me unnoticed, offered her advice. Turns out the cup noodle shelf was right opposite the copier. "Alright, sounds good," I said, grabbing one without even checking the brand.
"Done shopping?"
"Uh-huh," Mayu confirmed, holding a small bag of mini-donuts.
Flipping through the copied notebook pages, I explained, "My stuff's going to take a bit longer. Hey, could you pick out a tasty-looking one for me?"
Putting the one I'd grabbed back on the shelf, I delegated the cup noodle selection to Mayu.
"Okay," Mayu agreed readily. She crouched down, examining the options at eye-level.
Leaving her to it, I turned back to the copier. We stared blankly at each other for a minute or so. Giving up on the silent treatment, I decided to admire Mayu instead. She was crouching, shuffling side to side, earnestly trying her best to fulfill my request. Truth is, Mayu has zero expertise when it comes to instant food. She's a genuine sheltered rich girl (*ojou-sama*). Still, I convinced myself, taking a page from a cooking manga, that whatever she picked would undoubtedly be the ultimate delicacy for me.

Turning back dutifully to the now-finished copier, I placed the notebook on the glass to copy the next page.
My arm froze.
My eyes locked onto something in the page's margin.
"...This..."
I lightly pressed the spot with my finger.
Just the texture of paper.
When I lifted my finger, a smudge of black charcoal stained the tip.
"...Forgot to erase this, huh?"
"Hm?" Mayu glanced back.
"It's nothing," I told her.
*Whirr....*

---

**Chapter 4: Because We Are Strangers**

The man smiled and said, "I'm Santa Claus, you know."
He spoke to me while I was walking home alone from school, in the park.
He's famous in town, so I knew his face and name too.
I think his job title was something like "Education something-or-other."
He was slender and looked smart.
But he wasn't wearing red, and he didn't have much of a beard.
No matter how I looked at him, he wasn't Santa Claus.
When I looked suspicious, the man broke into a wide grin.
"Just kidding," he admitted easily.
Then he gently patted my head, and I quietly accepted it.

---

*‘Toru, are you Hacchy the Honeybee or somethin’-ssu?’*
*‘It’s been a while since someone compared me to an insect...’*

That was the conversation Nagase and I had the first time we met up on a day off. To be precise, we didn't just "meet up"; we'd specified a time and place, so bumping into each other was inevitable, and necessary. Calling this arrangement a "date" felt awkward. The place we went was a batting center called "Sea Lion's Turn," and if anything was having a date, it was the metal bat and the hardball. It was a choice between that or a golf driving range, and Nagase chose free batting. Since neither of us owned clubs, it was an inevitable decision.

Nagase faced down 100 km/h (about 62 mph) fastballs, and while saying she "cut through space" sounds cool like some battle manga ability, the reality was just a series of swings and misses. Granted, on the rare occasion she managed a foul tip, her hand went numb and she'd jump around, so maybe not being able to hit was a blessing in disguise. When I mentioned that later, she punched me.

I watched Nagase's valiant efforts from behind, learning, among other things, that she was left-handed.

*‘Seriously, why are we even batting-ssu?!’*
Having set a record of thirty pitches, ten consecutive at-bats ending in strikeouts, Nagase looked like a textbook example for the phrase "seething with indignation." She plopped down next to me, panting, shoulders heaving, and glared.

*‘Can what you were doing really be called 'batting,' Nagase?’*
*‘Swinging a bat should take you to Koshien-ssu! No-ssu! No-ssu! A stylish cafe for lemon tea-ssu! After that, buying some kind of sparkly stuff I don’t even know-ssu! Dinner at a fancy place where you need a Higuchi Ichiyo bill, going Dutch-ssu! That’s a date-ssu!’*
*(A Higuchi Ichiyo is a 5000 yen bill)*

*‘............ So, to summarize: grab tea, buy some metal accessories, fail miserably at a gyoza-eating challenge.’*
*‘Stop being so damn literal-ssu!!’*
*I think you're the one doing the warped, try-hard stretching of reality here.*

*‘And after that, in some nearby field—’*
*‘W-w-what are we gonna do there?!’*
*‘Calm down now.’*
I draped a towel over Nagase's head, which was dripping with sweat. *‘That was fast?’* Nagase questioned.