---

---

***

"Itsuki," I started, paying no mind to her state, "you know why Nawa Mitsuaki disappeared, don't you?"

I decided to throw the question out there, regardless of her current disposition.

With the bubble wand still near her mouth, Itsuki touched a finger to the corner of her lips, tilted her head, and put on a theatrical display of incomprehension.
Looks like I got a bite.

"When we talked yesterday, you said, 'Hooray, they caught the culprit.' But at that point, I hadn't even pointed out the existence of someone else who might be responsible for Nawa Mitsuaki's disappearance—a culprit, that is. It'd be fine if I'm just imagining things, but I was wondering if you actually knew something about this 'culprit'."

Silently, Itsuki placed the bubble container and wand on the side table. The troupe of soap bubbles collided with the equally transparent window and vanished en masse, as if spirited away. It was the kind of sight about which a poet might proclaim, "Just like my own existence."

"Hmm, did I say something like that~?"
Itsuki didn't resort to the unseemly behavior of getting flustered. Instead, she responded cheerfully and brightly, treating it as a joke.
Her tone was gentle, utterly unfitting for this conversation.

"No, it's fine if you don't remember."
"Oh re~ally? If you want, I can try and churn it out of my head~?"

The personality known as Nagase Itsuki, seemingly scrubbed clean of even fragments of malice.
If she can just keep going without panicking, making a fuss, or stumbling, she's bound to grow into a truly fine person someday.
That's still not in the past tense.

"More importantly, Itsuki, when you went to the bathroom in the middle of the night, you used to have one of your roommates go with you, right?"
"I'm not a scaredy-cat~!" she protested in a drawn-out voice.
Placating her with a "There, there," I moved on to the next question.

"Did Nawa Mitsuaki help you out with that too?"
"Uh-huh."
"Was she a punctual person? Someone with regular habits?"
"Umm... yeah, kinda."
"Did she ever make you go buy her yakisoba bread or anything?"
"Nyah?"
With that tilt of her head, I keenly felt the generation gap.

"...Alright, that's all I wanted to ask. So, what else should we talk about?"
At that declaration and suggestion, Itsuki instantly perked up.
"Okay then! You have to tell me, in great detail, what exactly you liked about Nee-chan!"
"Uh, well, how should I put it... Something about the way her personality and her looks kinda matched, but also didn't..."

While we were engaged for a short while in this sort of conversation—one that had *some* meaning but didn't really build to anything—the door was flung open with unnecessary force, and the nurse arrived to distribute lunch.

Getting used to this particular nurse's voice felt like it probably wasn't a good sign for my overall well-being, but familiar it certainly was.

"Okey-dokey, chow time~! Don't give up 'til you turn into foie gras~!"
Maybe she thought she was a student waitress? She utilized everything from her fingertips to her upper arms to carry in four trays at once. The moment she spotted the creature on my lap, her lips softened into a gentle-looking smile.

"So, when's the date for the ceremony~?"
"Shut up, Transparent Red Oxide."
I'd gone and memorized it. A piece of knowledge definitively relegated to the third-string reserves within my brain, with absolutely no use for it tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, or the day after that.

Today's menu was *oyakodon*—chicken and egg over rice—and onion soup with white miso. The food at this hospital, relatively speaking, maintained a respectable level of taste. It lacked the sort of awfulness I'd pictured before being admitted—the kind that would make you demand to see the chef immediately after a single bite.
---

"Whoa, where's Takenaka-san?"
The nurse directed her inquiry about the middle-aged man's absence towards the three of us.

None of us were brave enough to declare, "He has embarked on a long journey in search of your posterior."

"Well, if he's not here, I don't know. Itsuki, are you gonna get eaten by this big brother here?"
"Get fired. Promptly."
"Are you eating her?" "I am not." "Then I'll take just the chicken for ya." "That's not what I meant, ahh, geez."

My meal became a special egg-donburi instead. Slices of onion soaked in broth served as a hollow substitute for the chicken.

"Hey, Watarai-shan, what're you doing playing dead? Wakey-wakey."
The nurse ruthlessly ripped off the futon, Watarai-san's second skin.
Inside was an old man with poor color, curled up like a beetle larva.
Sensing that something was truly wrong, perhaps detecting danger, the nurse's professional face switched on (She could *do* that?).
"Examination? Will you have it this afternoon?"
"No, no," he managed, struggling through the motions of raising his upper body from a prone position like a freshly made zombie.
The nurse watched him, finger pressed to her temple, but respected the patient's wishes.
"If you can't eat your meal, please give it to someone else."
The nurse certainly wasn't one to merely suggest leaving food behind.

Still...
Nagase Tooru, and Nagase Itsuki.
Seems neither sister is good at telling lies.
Just like me.
The only difference is that I'm a habitual offender.

"Mmm, the chicken has a faint taste of soap bubbles. Bitterr~"
"That's because you accidentally sucked on the straw, idiot."

"Are you sure you don't need me to walk you home?"
After we finished our friendly lunch and took a break, I asked Itsuki this (was made to ask Itsuki this).
"Yep, it's close to home-ssu!"
Itsuki-chan was really getting into it, even bringing the color in her cheeks into the performance. Had Nagase really reported even *this* kind of exchange to her sister? Even someone as thick-skinned and shameless as me felt an unwelcome embarrassment.
"Whose turn is it for the farewell kiss today-ssu~?"
Dammit, she hasn't missed a single word. I want to cough up my soul and flee.
"You gotta let go of my hand or I can't go home-ssu~. But I don't wanna go home yet-ssu~."
I'm not holding your hand! Just leave at the speed of sound!
"Or, or is it, like, you're not letting me go home tonight-ssu? At the, at the park... on the grass..."
Don't recreate the pauses too! You, you...!
"......Please spare me."
I prostrated myself before a fourth-grader. Itsuki, misusing the phrase "Yoshi na ni" ("As you see fit," essentially), was quite pleased with herself.
If I were cross-dressing as a Yamato Nadeshiko, I'd bite my tongue off from the shame.
"Jokes aside, why don't you have *that* nurse escort you?"
She seems like she'd appear from a stain on the wall the second you called.
"It's daytime, so I'll manage somehow-ssu! Stop treating me like a kid!"
Indignant, Itsuki ran to the hospital room door. Opening it, she said a cheerful "See ya later!" and vanished down the hall, running. "Hey!"

The instant she left, a voice, unexpectedly deep despite his advanced age, called out.
Watarai-san, who had dragged half his body out of the futon in a passable imitation of a snail, rounded on me.
"What was that conversation just now?"
"Sir? Uh, we certainly weren't rehearsing marriage fraud or anything—" "You were asking that girl about the culprit, weren't you?" Watarai-san snapped, cutting me off.

Hooked one.

Voice and breath rough, Watarai-san interrogated me.
Hmm, his health seems to have returned. Guess talking to Itsuki here was worth the effort.
"Just a bit of harmless fun born from curiosity—" "Quit messing around and answer me."
His main body launched itself from the futon.
An old man, his yellow plaque-stained teeth conspicuous, right up close to me.
The high schooler is out at the kiosk. Just the two of us. An unpleasant pairing.
"Your hearing isn't bad, is it? Since you heard our conversation."
"Yeah, still sharp enough-y'know. Now, hurry up and talk."
"I have no reason to tell you. Are you related somehow?" "I am."
He stated it plainly.
"To Nawa Mitsuaki or Nagase Itsuki?"
"...To Nagase Itsuki."
A headwind blew against his bluster, making Watarai-san fumble his words.
"How so?"
Watarai-san hesitated to answer my question. He didn't retort with, "This is elder abuse!"
"If you're not going to tell me, I have things to do, so excuse me."
"Alrigh', alrigh'!"
Urged and prodded by me, he finally revealed the explosive statement.
"That girl, Nagase Itsuki... she's my granddaughter."

Something exploded behind my eyes.
My brain, stimulated, started running wild.
......Like being attacked head-on by a ghost standing behind you. An utterly unpredictable development.
"Meaning Nagase's... surname?"
"Nagase is her mother's surname. Around the time they got married, my son was fighting with me, said he hated sharing the same name, so he used his wife's. That's why it's different."
Nagase's. Itsuki's.
Blood relative. Granddaughter, grandfather.
In other words, it's the so-called... So that's why...
He got hooked differently than the fishing line I cast.
"Is it really that shocking?"
"No... So, Watarai-san, you must be quite the discerning bigwig then."
"Huh?"
Seems even a light jest irritates an old man lacking essential bone components.
"But Itsuki and Nagase didn't seem to care about you at all, did they?"
I worried I'd misspoken mid-sentence, but I didn't stop halfway and said it all.
Watarai-san replied, his words colored with loneliness.
"We've never even properly introduced ourselves face-to-face. They don't know who I am."
"Ah..." I see. So Nagase, back then... "Right..."
"But there aren't many grandparents who can stay indifferent to their grandkids, y'know," Watarai-san offered, his opinion kneaded with deep emotion and years.
I couldn't help but vaguely think of Mayu's grandparents.
Unmoved by my sentimentality, Watarai-san, looking ready to grab me by the collar any second, pressed me, almost spitting.
"Don't drag my granddaughter into trouble."
"Heavens, no. I just promised that girl. That I'd find Nawa Mitsuaki."
"Find her? Are you police?"
"No. I'm merely someone who, had things gone differently, might have had the potential to call you Grandfather-in-law."

Though the possibility with her *younger* sister isn't quite past tense yet. What a charming fellow I am, deliberately grating on the grandfather's nerves. Right now, my tongue, my usual workplace, is on vacation, and I'm indulging in a mental word buffet.
"Ah, right, right, right. You and Tooru..." He ended with a click of his tongue.
"Y-yes, we currently share a rather awkward relationship."
I almost said, "We share a rather naughty relationship awkwardly." Lucky my tongue was resting.

Perhaps drained of venom like trees weathering a storm, or perhaps infected by *my* venom and losing his fighting spirit?
Shedding the agitation unbecoming of an old man, Watarai-san retreated into his dwelling.
"Your granddaughter is precious to you, even without any interaction, isn't she?"
"Seeing your own kid become a parent. The emotion of those years, remembering when I first had a child myself. Sentimental stuff like that gives you a push. That's why most old geezers think grandkids are a good thing."
Watarai-san became a storyteller, heading down a human-interest route.
I found myself listening intently. While searching for an opening.
"That's why, that missing girl, I think it's a tragedy, but seeing her parents looking downcast is harder to watch."

...That was it.
The cue. To insert a dissonant ripple into the air.
"...The *girl*, you say?"
I deliberately paused, posing the question.
To confirm the catch.
Watarai-san's eyes narrowed, wrinkles gathering around them as if deflated, his gaze becoming sharp like a glare.
"What about it?"
"No... it was a *girl*?"
"Huh?" His tone was rough, perhaps irritated.
I pointed out, with a cool preface, "That's strange."
"How did you know the one who died was a girl?"
"Wh-why...?"
"Her name is Nawa Mitsuaki, you know? Doesn't that sound like a boy's name?"
My current testimony clearly contradicts this. I thrust out a finger as if to accuse him.
Faced with my accusation, Watarai-san looked bewildered and exasperated.
"She shared Itsuki's room, y'know? It'd be stranger *not* to know."
"Oh?" That is indeed true.
"Besides, haven't you seen the newspaper? It was printed in huge letters."
Watarai-san answered, cleaning up the confusion that had started to bloom like a red tide.
"Ah, I see. Come to think of it, I haven't seen it. ...So, then..." "What now?"
"I have one more question."
"What is it?"
"Why did you know the girl *died*?"
"I told you, you're—"
And there, everything but Watarai-san's heart and blood came to a temporary halt.
He seemed to realize, belatedly, what a careless response he'd given.
"The TV and newspapers are still treating it as a disappearance, you know. No articles say anyone was killed. So why didn't you mention that point? You heard my words, didn't you? I just said 'the girl who died'."
Your hearing is fine, right? I tapped my own ear with a finger, adding a nasty finishing touch.
Watarai-san was confused. That confusion, expressible in a single line of text, shifted moment by moment, never boring the viewer. The clarity and muddiness of his irises, the twitching of his nose, the faint, aimless tremor in his hands.
Eventually, perhaps hitting upon an escape route, his overall hesitation converged on a single point.
"Sorry, I wasn't really listening properly. When you get old, you lose the concentration to hear everything people say."
"Is that so? That's rather sad."
A lie, though. I placed a hand on my chest and shook my head dramatically. I'm starting to sound like Natsuki-san.
"Aren't you interested in the well-being of someone who met misfortune, someone you pitied? You seemed to have no problem listening to the conversation with Itsuki."
"Well, that was about my granddaughter."
For an immediate comeback, it had logic. I suppose I might possibly be confident I could pick up even ultrasonic nagging if it concerned Mayu. Intentions aside, it's a lie, though.
"That makes sense too. Grandchildren are so precious you could put them in your eyes, so of course they can live in your ear canals too, right?"
"Hey, hey, no, that makes no sense."
Like a dog whose tail, constantly stepped on, is finally released, I could see the tension in Watarai-san's shoulders and muscles slacken. In that instant, I slipped in my words.
The sensation of thrusting fingers between ribs bloomed on my tongue.
"Ah, I have one more thing."
"Are you Columbo...?"
Watarai-san smiled weakly. As if to remind me he was an old man.
I wanted to laugh scornfully at myself for only being able to see things that way.
"Why did you know she was *murdered*?"
What happens twice, will happen thrice.
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say Watarai-san's body and face were now laboring solely for the sake of shock and amazement.
It must surely be detrimental to his health.
"I only said 'died' once. The next time, I phrased it as 'murdered.' You had no doubts about that either, Watarai-san. You're far too inattentive."
Was the conversation with me so trivial that you could handle it absentmindedly? That's probably how it was, actually. But perhaps now, you can feel its weight, somewhat?
"It's too warm in this room, isn't it?"
Your nose is starting to shine with unpleasant sweat.
However, being flustered, perhaps his head, prone to brain cell death, was becoming even duller?
Since it wasn't Watarai-san's own slip-up, if he just stood his ground more, there'd be plenty of room for counter-argument.
Natsuki-san or Sensei wouldn't get caught by such flimsy interrogation in the first place. They wouldn't even let me speak. It's in their nature to kick down the hurdles in a hurdle race.

Perhaps Watarai-san finally considered that point. Like a manga protagonist making a decision, vitality returned to him. His tone overcame its turbidity and resumed operation.
"How do *you* know such a thing?"
Oh? So he's counterattacking like *that*.
"I was taken aback because you said something so outrageous. But if that's true, why do *you* know it?"
Watarai-san attacked me with bloodshot eyes. I see, so you're saying *I'm* the culprit?
Well then, let's counter with a lie that will leave him speechless.
"Actually... I witnessed the crime."
I stated the fiction with a straight face.
Watarai-san, being the picture-perfect kind old man from a storybook, believed me with utter sincerity.
His noble spirit crumbled in twenty seconds.
His speech suffered a derailment, repeating sudden stops and sluggish advances.
"The crime... you mean, the young lady... so..."
"Yes, from beginning to end, leaving nothing out. No, it was an unavoidable murder... no, you could call it an accident. A heart-wrenching death. Though for the deceased and her relatives, I imagine they despair over the result, not the process."
If pressed too deeply, this paper-thin lie would be folded four times, then several more times, turned into a paper crane, and sent flying away. So I used it as a weapon to suffocate the opponent's words and willpower.
So this is the feeling Natsuki-san savored for free at the department store. No, perhaps it's similar yet different.
Bullying an elderly person with words to weaken their mind and body... even that bully would probably hesitate, keeping a certain distance and trying hard with a megaphone. Face-to-face oral arguments? She probably wouldn't do that to avoid public criticism. How ill-natured.
"Therefore, there's no way I can keep my promise to Itsuki."
Which is truly not disappointing at all.
How about you, Watarai-san?
I didn't transmit that question to Watarai-san. Based on personal convenience, I saved it as a draft in my heart.
Watarai-san was depleted. As if his soul, on the verge of ascending to heaven, was opening its mouth, sounds were emitted from around his forehead.
"If you know... why haven't you told the police?"
"Because I have my reasons."
I dressed up the blunt five characters "Because I don't know" with an air of hidden meaning.
However, the other party doesn't know that I don't know. The suspicion thus planted is like a rootless tree. Unless one finds a way to let it wither, or resolves oneself, the pain will make its gravity felt even in the heart.
"Well then, I'm going to visit my mother's grave, so I'll see you again this evening. Take care."
I showed my palm, fluttered my fingertips, and gave a farewell greeting.
I used to be prejudiced against the 'it' role in tag, finding it hard to have a good impression, but surprisingly, once you understand the mechanics of the game, that changes too.

I strode across the floor with my crutches, leaving only the old man, where instability and fear vied for dominance, behind in the room. His back radiated such melancholy, you could prepare the headline in advance: "Elderly man dies alone in countryside hospital room."

In the hallway, the meal cart stacked with trays hadn't been collected yet, waiting for her. It's the kind of guy who always has women under his thumb, yet is somehow supported by them - a strange relationship it builds.
Well, it's not my place to advise inanimate objects on their relationships. Bidding the meal cart a one-sided farewell, I extended my left leg and crutch towards Mayu's temporary dwelling. Before chatting with a nice taxi driver, I decided to at least check on Mayu's condition. Her sleeping face is by no means refreshing mineral water, but it's not city rainwater either, nor muddy water to rinse your mouth with. Yet it's not as bland as purified tap water; rather, it has the mystique of groundwater. My uncle's drinking water at home still comes from a well, you know. The countryside is wonderful. Back to the topic.
Digression aside, my decision to go see Mayu's unconscious expression was made. But if her unconsciousness yields such a sculpted mask, then the times she's with me must be when she's *conscious*. Somehow, it smells of philosophy.

My movement came to a red light before the athletic-meet-style stairs, forming a connection with such literary intellectual curiosity being as impossible as needing assistance from an alien living deep in the Amazon.
This hospital's stairs are precariously steep and ridiculously long, so the elevator is extremely popular. But if young people use it, they get roasted by the resentful gazes of the elderly crowd left behind. Thus, patients concerned with appearances ascend and descend the stairs with the fighting spirit of a judo club training camp. I'd pass them by even if not a single soul was using them. When I boasted about this, Natsuki-san asked, "Do you like stress fractures?" I do not.

I traversed those stairs, shaving about three seconds off my lifespan. In the hallway just beyond, I succeeded in finding Mayu, who had come out of her room and was throwing something out the front window.
That "something" was the manga I had received (or rather, *said* I received) from Sensei. Blue-handled scissors, fitting for Mayu's right hand, were dicing the bundle of paper – cover and contents – vertically and horizontally into shreds. Having roughly finished the processing, she tossed them not into a pot, but out the window. Next, she pierced the center of the manga with the scissor blades and began forcibly tearing it open, continuing the destructive act. Her form, wasting the Earth's resources and diligently engaging in pollution via disposal, was ignored by the hospital staff with an indifference suitable for winter. This is because their role is to save human lives, and their reach does not extend to Mother Earth. Just kidding, though. They simply didn't want to receive a violent "hello" or get caught in the crossfire.

Partly with the aim of interrupting Mayu's work, I approached the window. Reacting to my distinctive footsteps, Mayu paused her hands and turned to face me. Naturally, being "outside," she wore her Noh-aficionado expression.

"Hey, morning."
It's past noon, so proper Japanese dictates "Konnichiwa," but when I greeted her like that before, Mayu scolded me. "When you wake up, it's Ohayou," she said.
"What are you doing?"
There was no reply, so I spoke again. The scissors opened and closed once.
"This isn't yours, is it, Mii-kun?"
She thrust out a palm laden with manga wreckage. On a scrap of a page, the heroine, missing everything below the neck due to physical factors, was smiling and bleeding profusely. ...No, that's weird. This manga is printed in black and white, so why— I didn't even need to wonder why it was colored with bright red blood; the truth was right before my eyes.
"Maa-chan, those fingers... what?"
Mayu's fingers, their thin skin and flesh sliced by the silver blades. They had become both paint and brush.
Hangnails would be treated like kindergarten stuff compared to the ripe, crimson fissures running haphazardly across her fingers, multiple layers deep. Overlapping, intersecting, the skin tormented by bloody sweat. On her palm too, in addition to the fate and health lines, self-inflicted wounds suitable for a unique form of palmistry had been added. It was laden with manga scraps stuck on with blood paste.
Even the fingers of her right hand, her dominant hand wielding the scissors, showed a devastation reminiscent of a family massacre.
Yet Mayu didn't complain of pain, merely questioning me with her eyes about the history of the get-well gift.
"Why... did you cut your fingers too?"
"Because they smelled."
"Huh?"
"They smelled like this book, so I cut them together."
"I... see."
All I could do was return a pure affirmation, devoid of emotional accompaniment.
Where does that attitude, the one that handles apples so carefully, vanish to?
The things being handled are both fundamentally red.
Mayu constantly, easily transcends my predictions and expectations.
Sniffing the scent of blood, Mayu tilted her chin back once, seemingly satisfied, then glared at me.
"More importantly, who gave this to you? Who came? Who did you meet?"
Mayu pressed me in triplicate. The tips of the twin blades, stained with raw red liquid, were unconsciously brandished towards me. I didn't want to die, so I decided to lie, as usual.
"A friend, see? Said I must be bored being hospitalized and left it here. But he's a thoughtless guy who doesn't know you, Maa-chan. Honestly, honestly."
I shrugged dramatically for effect and let out a sigh with a different meaning. It's not a pleasant lie, but... but if I were honest and said, 'I met the liar you hate so much,' those scissors would mistake themselves for magnets and fly right at me. It's bloody enough already; if I shed any more useless blood, the doctor would probably yell at me to get a transfusion.
After all, Mayu also "destroyed" the hospitalization fruit set my aunt brought.
The blood of the Beautification Committee member in me stirred, and I took the initiative to clean it up afterwards. Just kidding, though.

"So it's okay to throw it away?"
"Yeah, but... let's use the trash can."
Once I'm discharged, I'll have to invest my allowance in buying it again. And after this, I need to get some bandages from the nurse or someone.
"Okay, Maa-chan. Just stand still for a sec... Ah, I'm asking you to stand up straight, please."
Obediently following my order, Mayu faced forward, slouching slightly.
I nodded once at her, then leaned my crutch against the window sill to dry in the sun, balancing on one leg.
Then, in order to lubricate the wallets of high schoolers facing a tough spring and summer, and the mood of my weirdo (oops, mistaken for girlfriend)... I, in broad daylight, engaged in the act of embracing Mayu. I felt like struggling, at least to secure the final volume intact. And also, so that Mayu's fingers wouldn't use any more blood paint.
Additionally, I was curious how she'd react to this sort of situation in front of others.
Still connected to the tool that severs objects via leverage, Mayu's hands hesitantly came around my back.
A situation likely to be shunned even for summer cool-downs, chilling my back in multiple senses.
The blood seeping from Mayu's fingertips onto my back was as sharp and cold as metal.
Mayu sealed her eyes and mouth with eyelids and lips, entrusting her body to me without resistance.
Her head bandage was clumsily wrapped, as a doctor's hand hadn't touched it yet.

...My plan to avenge Nawa Mitsuaki's regrets is set, but I need to quickly arrange substitute revenge for Mayu's head injury too. Ah, just the reason is a lie.
Still, was it careless of me? Leaving it in Mayu's room when there's precedent.
Is this expense, and Mayu's direct diet, my fault?

"Aren't you sick of sticking by Mayu's side?" Was it Mayu's grandfather who asked that?
Mayu's grandparents avoided their granddaughter.
That's why, after visiting me, they went home without seeing Mayu.
Most people, if they peek into Mayu's inner self, keep their distance.
But you know, precisely *because* she's that kind of girl, I'm blessed with the chance to monopolize her. And, as the price for that, I personally take on the role of an insecticide to drive away malice.
...Or rather.
It's more accurate to say *I'm* the one being monopolized.
Finish the troublesome business, become peaceful, and start being a stupid couple again.
May good fortune be with us humble folk who desire such terribly ordinary days.
It would be nice if that *wasn't* a lie, though.
Before I go visit the grave, solve the current case, and get discharged, perhaps I'll determine the truth or falsehood.

Chapter 5: Looking Up at the Sky Within Reach

I don't play with Mii-kun much anymore.
Lately, talking with Ojisan is more fun.
Ojisan often jokes, "I have a wife and kids, but no friends, you know."