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Inazawa paused for a moment, then adopted a tone that placed particular importance on his next words.
"More than anything, I was drawn to that purity she has."
"...Purity?"
I couldn't help but repeat the word back at him.
Inazawa nodded deeply, proudly affirming it. As he lowered his head, I realized how blinding the sunlight was pouring in from the window behind him. A faint sting spread across the surface of my eyeballs.
"She's not bound by the lines of common sense. Like the other day, when she got mad that you were getting inappropriately close with another girl, she took pretty extreme measures, didn't she?"
A faint thorn sprouted within Inazawa's words. Not that something so lacking in poison had any effect, though. It was less than that clumsy knife work from Nagase. The apples *she* peeled were certainly rich in iron, after all.
"Expressing jealousy so honestly like that... that's impossible for most normal people. Not being constrained by superficial relationships, accurately lashing out with her feelings of disgust... Finding appeal in that kind of unrestricted behavior, I think it's actually pretty natural."
"...Hah," was all I could say.
He seemed to be misunderstanding things.
Where exactly in Mayu was anything like "purity" supposed to reside? There was no room for such a thing to get in.
Inazawa probably didn't understand just how saturated with illusion the world she saw truly was.
Utterly oblivious to that, Inazawa's speech continued.
"I know I'm prefacing this, but I'm going to say it anyway."
"I don't particularly want to hear it, though."
"Being with you is just going to isolate Misono-san even more, and her reputation is only going to get worse, don't you think?"
And just like that, Inazawa struck at the core of the matter. Hmm, he's right.
When you actually stop and think about it calmly, there’s really no reason for me and Mayu to be together anymore.
The necessity for me to be Mii-kun has also evaporated. After all, the kidnapped siblings have been freed.
"No matter how much Misono-san adores you, you need to make her look at the world around her."
But do I really have to muster the courage, *now* of all times, to tell Mayu it was all just one big prank?
And would that truly be beneficial for Maa-chan?
Because there *is* no right answer, *that person* gave up on treatment, didn't they?
"I know about Misono-san's... incident, from the past. Even so..." Partway through, I shut off the audio feed.

...So he knows, huh. Ho ho. Hoh hoh hoh.
I imagined that if I were some hot-blooded idiot, I probably would have decked Inazawa without a second thought.
"Of course, I know it's difficult for Misono-san. Both fitting in with people, and having people around her accept her. But still, giving up before you even try is weird, it's a loss, and it's wrong."
Inazawa stated it definitively. He exposed his own set of values, laying them bare for all to see.
And then, it came.
Crowding my mind, filling every space where hands or feet could go, a swarm of toggle switches.

One of them, pushed by Inazawa's words, was casually flipped on.
A distorted light fed into my irises.
"Hey, are you serious?"
"Um, serious about what, exactly?"
Not a dazzling light, but one of eternity. Principles that weren't chilling, facts that couldn't bear the heat.
Mind you, unless things go terribly wrong, it won't transform into anything like enlightenment.
"'Not doing it,' and 'can't do it.' Do you seriously, *actually* think there's a difference between those two?"
If he did, that would explain why we couldn't possibly become friendly.
This wholesome marble of a student, struggling to sanely fix the abnormal, was fundamentally different from me.
Our values, our attitudes towards human relationships. Within the larger framework, there were no common parts we could extract and share. If that's the case, then it's impossible.
Because humans are cowardly, sensitive, conservative creatures, unable to get along or build good relationships with those who don't possess similar elements to themselves. That part's nice and animalistic, isn't it?
Even things like hating your own kind are just manifestations of consciousness.
Enjoyable relationships start not with judging the other person as good or bad, but by striving to find points of similarity. From there begins the process of fitting the other person into your sphere of awareness.
Anyway, enough of this self-education, back to Inazawa-kun. He looked dumbfounded. His gaze was now wavering with suspicion. Was he *really* just talking to a human being?
Yes, he's Mr. Human. Unconsciously drenched in values.
"That's just—"
"That back."
Interrupting Inazawa's rebuttal from behind came a tone containing a medium dose of elegance.
Inazawa and I ceased our war of words and turned around simultaneously.
Today, it wasn't a metal bat, but a wooden chair used by students. Smiling, Ichimiya Kawana came striding down the hallway, gripping one of its legs in her hand. Students passing by uniformly recoiled about three steps, granting her a grand, leisurely entrance.
"Envy, envious, I envy you, *you*."

Had it become a catchphrase? Ichimiya pointed me out with the three-stage conjugation. Thanks to her, the switch flipped back to normal. I exhaled, clearing out the non-burnable waste of pent-up emotions.
"You haven't killed the culprit, have you?"
"Of course, I'm following the Vice Chair's orders."
I have no interest in killing the culprit, nor in providing information to Ichimiya. Not for the time being, anyway.
The media is lamenting the lack of story development, since piles of corpses like Yoshihito's haven't been turning up on the town's roadsides. There were a couple of small incidents involving dismantled dogs and cats, but after a human death, they somehow make less of an impression. You could say the townspeople have already gotten used to it.
Ichimiya, looking satisfied after receiving the report from a low-ranking committee member, finally noticed Inazawa. Her eyes narrowed to slits, not revealing the eyeballs that housed her will.
Ichimiya does this naturally now; Natsuki-san does it consciously as part of her daily routine.
"You, are you the culprit?"
"Ah, no, I don't think so."
Inazawa denied it with a somewhat perplexed smile, which was only natural. If he'd blurted out any synonym for 'Yes,' even as a joke, he'd either end up gratefully contemplating his fortune from a hospital bed, or take a one-way trip straight to a red heaven. I pretended to bite my handkerchief in envy that Inazawa probably wouldn't be heading to hell. Just kidding, though. I don't believe in heaven or hell.

Being someone who piles up lies and misdeeds, it'd be a pain if they actually existed.
Besides, it would make me worry about which one Mayu would get invited to. Just kidding, though.
Ichimiya clasped the chair and her right hand behind her lower back, sizing up Inazawa. Inazawa looked awkward, smiling only with his mouth, his eyes darting around. Our gazes met, but since Inazawa isn't on the Beautification Committee, the spirit of mutual aid failed to blossom. That's a good enough excuse for a heartless person, right?
Ichimiya finished her window-shopping posture, adjusted her bangs with the chair and her fingers, and negated Inazawa with a "I suppose not." Her expression was filled with some fatigue and immense disappointment.
"You seem different. Unlike that sus-suspicious *you* over there."
What's the big idea making me the basis for comparison, missy? And I see I haven't earned an ounce of trust.
In this case, is it more convenient to interpret this as being suspicious as a human being, or being counted as a culprit candidate?
"I was actually pretty friendly with Yoshihito, though." About ten years ago.
"Those with connections are more suspicious."
Ichimiya brushed aside my tentative explanation with sound logic. Then, using the chair held in one hand, she tried to physically brush me aside—
Without hesitation, I leaped backward. The front leg of the chair grazed the tip of my chin, catching the air.
Putting my right hand down first to break the fall, I slid across the hallway floor on my back. It'd be great if the friction heat could nicely warm up my cold sweat and boost my metabolism, but instead, pain clung stickily to my out-of-shape right leg.
Brushing off my butt and back, I stood up, rubbing my chin while maintaining distance.
Ichimiya brought the chair back to a ready but relaxed stance, her neck tilting. If the glue holding her head on was weak and it just fell to the floor right there, this crisis would be amicably resolved. I mocked myself for having become quite the optimist. I shifted the blame for that onto the unpleasant feel of Maa-chan's cheeks.
"The fact that you dodged means you really *are* the cul-culprit, aren't you?"
This detective is way too militant. If a suspicious person hid in the woods, she'd set it on fire to smoke them out; if they tried to jump off a cliff into the sea, she'd go exploring the seabed trying to pull the plug. I can't deal with someone like that. But behind me is a wall, and to my right, the restroom. The men's room... she'd definitely barge right in. I don't have the luxury of acting like some old man thinking, "Girls these days have no sense of shame..." But am I an idiot for thinking that way anyway, or do I just lack a sense of danger? ...Both apply, that's the model answer.
"You dodge because you harbor gui-guilty feelings in your heart, don't you?"
"Hold on a sec. So, Ichimiya, if I were to hit you, you wouldn't dodge?"
"Yes, of c-course," Ichimiya affirmed with a smile. I'd asked a pointless question.
Since I have no reason to assault Ichimiya, this just ended up validating her position. Ah, the murmuring from the surrounding students is picking up speed. Though really, they're just pretending not to see and running away, so the murmuring isn't much to speak of. The bigger problem is that even if someone were to urgently fetch a teacher, it wouldn't act as a deterrent against Ichimiya.

"S-so *you* ki-killed Yoshi-Yoshihi-Yoshihito! I won't for-forgive you!"
Perhaps from the excitement of targeting her sworn enemy, the foam at her mouth and her frenzy increased dramatically. Her smile vanished, replaced by bloodshot eyes that had been waiting impatiently for their turn, now fully exposed and reclaiming their role completely. Her symptoms are on par with Watarai-san's in his final stage.
"That's a misunderstanding. Don't jump to conclusions."
I attempted to verbally pause Ichimiya as she approached with the gait of a sleepwalker. It had no effect.
"Gi-give it back! Yoshihito's... innards!"
"Innards?" My opponent wasn't listening to me, but I couldn't help asking. Like for hot pot?
"They're missing, Yoshihito's internal organs! The police said so, the culprit stole them!"
Ichimiya shrieked, fluids streaming from her eyes and nose. This made it difficult to casually interject with, "Couldn't stray dogs or something have just eaten them during the time before the police found him?" Besides, does she even need something like that now?

I really doubt it, but... "Do you actually think getting the organs back will bring Yoshihito back to life?"
"You can't even imagine something like that?! %&~SS&S!"
From the midway point, Ichimiya went into a massive fever pitch. It was incredibly difficult to decipher, but she seemed to be indicating affirmation. If that's the case, then her stance of trying to snatch the organs, even if it means killing the culprit, is not entirely incomprehensible, but I don't *want* to understand it. Besides, the body was cremated long ago.
...Hm? Organs? Hmm, no way. No need for *that* connection, *Imouto*.
"And th-th-th-that toooooo, ggggggh!"
A great eruption of foam from Ichimiya's mouth. It had the air of some bizarre apparition, a Crab Woman. ...Hmm, *that* too, huh.
"Calm down. I'm not into that kind of stuff. I'm a picky eater who only orders kalbi and loin at yakiniku restaurants, you know. I hate innards," I said, gesturing emphatically. Just kidding, though.
"But you d-dodged."
Ah, the smile fluttered back. Her feet stopped too. But her speech hasn't quite returned to normal.
"That can't be helped. It's animal instinct not to allow room for thought when faced with a sudden attack."
As I said this, I glanced over at Inazawa, who was still standing bolt upright in the hallway.
Inazawa was positioned closer to Ichimiya's side, watching the proceedings unfold along the wall. Judging by the degree of his conscience, he probably had the spirit to want to resolve this situation, but felt there was nothing he could do. His hips were pulled back too, a sign of hesitation.
"So now, you'll ac-accept it without resistance?"
Ichimiya asked a very tricky question. If I answer "Yes," I'm declared innocent and then bludgeoned with the chair. If I answer "No," I'm happily found guilty and then bludgeoned with the chair. Even a hero would be shocked, what kind of choice is this? I have to negotiate some kind of compromise, or I won't be able to walk home with Mayu.

"That's right. However, one strike should be sufficient proof, wouldn't you agree? Anything more than that isn't selection, I'll consider it an attack on me." Not that considering it an attack means I have any means of counterattacking at hand yet.
"That's fine," Ichimiya consented. For the life of me, I couldn't bring myself to say the words "Thank you."
Ichimiya, stepping on the heels of her indoor shoes, approached me at a slow pace. How did it come to this? This time, I haven't actually participated in any wrongdoing yet. Well, I *am* concealing the name of a suspect candidate, but if Ichimiya doesn't ask, I can't very well answer. Not that I'd likely say it even if pressed.
Ichimiya stopped right in front of me. It was about the same distance as when my sister held the tip of a kitchen knife to me.
"One hit," she confirmed. "Yes, one hit," I agreed. And then, the power arm of a softball club member swung down vertically in a full swing. Eh, not sideways? "Gebeh."
An agony intense enough to make me want to escape reality washed over me, making me think, "Even for a dime-a-dozen small-fry character like me, that's a pretty forced 'defeated' line..." Ringing in my ears and a white-out field of vision. My knees buckled. A blow so strong I was amazed I hadn't passed out. The hallway twisted before my eyes, swirling into a phantasmagorical vortex.
As expected, there's a world of difference between an old man weakened by poison and a madwoman strengthened by exercise. I keenly felt that difference.
Ichimiya bent down at the waist, sizing me up just like Inazawa had. The result was likely限りなく黒 (kuro - black/guilty), I'm sure, but since I had stuck to my non-resistance principle, she seemed forced to acknowledge it. She sighed, and swung the chair again, this time horizontally. It smashed against the wall, and she lowered her eyes in frustration at the disappearance of her suspect.
"With this, I'll tr-trust that you are not the culprit."
"Oh, well, thanks."
Good thing it was the backrest part. If the metal part had hit directly, it wouldn't have ended with just a lump.
But Ichimiya, let me tell you one thing.
I really didn't think you'd aim for the head.
It hurts normally. Not just the outside, the inside might be cracked too.
As promised, Ichimiya didn't go beyond the single strike. The damage seems to have been kept to a minimum.
I wasn't moved to tears thinking, "I'm glad I'm alive." Having never officially died, I have nothing to compare it to.
Ichimiya departed lightly. She has the kind of face that would suit a parting phrase like "Gokigen'you" (Farewell/Good day), but there was no greeting. What just happened was clearly assault, and she's already suspended from school, but everyone around treats her as the "victim" who suffered mentally after her lover was murdered. Mayu, too, though kept at a distance, is considered a "victim" by those around her, myself included. Sugawara's public reputation is debatable, though.
But me... I'm clearly different.
After all, I'm the "son" of a criminal who combined the inhumane trifecta of kidnapping, confinement, and assault.
I'm related by blood to the "perpetrator."

...Doesn't really matter, though.
"Are you okay?"
I lifted my face, thinking Inazawa was showing concern. But halfway up, I keenly observed that the sock color, slipper size, and the attire on the lower half of the body had changed to something decidedly feminine. Noticing that much with my current brain, reeking like a half-dead, rotting crayfish, makes me a certified genius. I mentally patted myself on the back before fully raising my head. Inazawa was still standing exactly where he'd been before, a spot you could now call his fixed position without exaggeration, plainly watching us.
"...Were you just spectating?"
Standing before me, silhouetted by the western sun, was Fushimi. A bag on her shoulder, and naturally, the familiar notebook in her hand. Casting a shadow over me, she was scrutinizing the top of my head. Hey, don't poke the lump with your finger.

"I was looking for a teacher, but the incident ended before I could find one."
Fushimi didn't sound particularly regretful. Maybe I just interpret it that way because her voice naturally sounds like chewing beach sand or eggshells, though.
"Go to the nurse's office?"
"Nah, it's not that bad," I replied, rubbing my head and playing the humble Japanese citizen as I stood up.
...Huh? A sense of wrongness had been drifting vaguely in my ears, but now I get it.
"Hey, you still had 'Are you okay?' written in your notebook, right? Why didn't you use it earlier?"
At my指摘 (shiteki - pointing out), Fushimi blinked incessantly. After a reaction like "Ah!" showing self-awareness, it was like fast-forward playback.
For some reason, Fushimi frantically turned her bag upside down, scattering textbooks and her lunchbox onto the floor. Then, ignoring the state of her skirt, she crouched down and grabbed her pencil case. If someone saw only this part, they'd definitely think I was bullying Fushimi.
Spilling pens from the pencil case, she took out an eraser. She flipped rapidly through her notebook, and finding the tally marks by 'Are you okay?', she didn't just erase one stroke—she erased the entire count. Hey, I'm saying, you *didn't* use it, so why erase it?
"Um..." A reserved voice cut into our roundabout exchange.
I guessed it was Kaneko, but it was Inazawa. Damn him for making me guess wrong, my resentment grows. Just kidding, though. He seemed to have grasped my intentions and played along. Good job.
"Well then, I'll be heading off first. I'll invite you to the club activities again sometime."
Inazawa tried to leave with a commonplace smile that betrayed no hidden motives. Apparently, the plan was to pretend the earlier exchange between Ichimiya and me never happened and return to flat, everyday life. So, I decided to be mean.
"Hold up a sec," I called out to his retreating back. Like the good young man he was, he dutifully turned around.
"Based on what you were saying earlier, I think you could apply the same assessment to Ichimiya, don't you? She's a lady who's pure *and* even devoted, right?"
"...That might be true, but... looks are important too," Inazawa said, mixed with an embarrassed laugh. This guy's got some nerve too.
"Well then, give Misono-san my regards."
"Yeah, yeah."
"And Fushimi-san, too. Huh, so you *can* talk, huh?"
At that lighthearted comment, Fushimi adopted a posture of brushing it off by fiddling with her hair. Apparently, Inazawa hadn't been blessed with the opportunity to hear Fushimi's actual voice before. As a club member, I've heard it quite a few times.
Inazawa straightened his uniform and dashed towards the stairs with light steps. I watched him go, thoughtfully contemplating whether to chase him down and deliver a flying kick from behind. Well, just kidding, though.

So, that left Fushimi. Deftly packing her textbooks back into her bag, she stood up straight with such momentum it seemed she might surpass my height. Unfortunately, her head stopped its growth somewhere around my neck level.
Then, Fushimi stood mostly still, looking up at me. Her blinking rate increased dramatically.
"Um, I won't be at the club today, though."
I reported my truancy to the club president. Fushimi acknowledged it with nods.
Then her lips pursed and hardened there. She let out short breaths, "Hyu, hyu," and then, as if practice was over, "Shu," "Shu," "........."
"...Shu?" I prompted the frozen Fushimi, urging her to continue.
Driven into a corner by nervousness, an incomprehensible question flew out of Fushimi... Hmm, is this a trick question?
"Do you like... Schrödinger's Cat?"
"Sorry, but I'm claustrophobic."
That's a lie, but I absolutely refuse to be put inside a box. Also, I tend to avoid poison gas.
Fushimi gestured with both hands as if to say, "That's not it," or "Setting that aside." I mentally shifted gears accordingly, but Fushimi herself wouldn't spin the thread of conversation. Mouthing words, flipping through her notebook, rotating both her arms. ...I kept her company in silence for a while, but got impatient.
"Uh, well, can I go home too?"
My head's starting to hurt now, I want to lie down in bed.
"Oh, okay..." Fushimi replied, not hiding her disappointment, and yielded the path to me. What the heck?
There was that awkwardness, but I gave a reserved "Goodbye," and started walking, leaving Fushimi behind.
If I looked back, she'd probably turn into a puppy wagging its tail, so I deliberately kept my eyes fixed forward.
Fushimi Yuyu. She is certainly strange.
But since she's always strange, it doesn't make much difference, does it? I concluded, heading for the classroom.

In the classroom, a few students were still scattered around, sitting and chatting idly.
Among them, being careful not to have her leap at me half-asleep, I woke the peacefully sleeping Mayu.
Once she sluggishly awoke, I had her grab her bag and supported her back as we left the room.
We went out into the hallway.
There, I fulfilled my promise to Inazawa.
"Maa-chan, *'Yoroshiku'*."
Oops, feel like I left something important out there.
But the brilliant Maa-chan understood, saying, "Leave it to me."

All's well that ends well.
And so, we went home together, the very picture of harmony.

As the wheels turn, memories turn too. What surfaces is the sign of a diner.
*'Yes, the small intestine hasn't been recovered. Oh, add an extra order of Twice-Cooked Pork, single item.'*
*'Excuse me, and a water refill. Was anything else missing from the scene?'*
*'One regular rice. Let's see, I believe a bag was missing.'*
*'A bag, you say. Ah, water refill.'*
*'Grilled salmon with mirin, please. It seems he didn't return home before going to the murder scene either.'*
*'Huh... water refill... oh, it's self-service, right? ...Was Yoshihito's body, like, cut open in the stomach area?'*
*'Add an order of takowasa. Yes, fatal injury by blunt instrument, and one stab wound... By the way, Mii-san, asking something like that, does that mean you have some idea?'*
*'The police don't intervene in civil matters, so we can't force that information from them, you know.'*
*'Mii-san's consideration touches my heart. Well then, perhaps soon, you could introduce me to your sister?'*
*'That's... Trying to meet my dead sister... Natsuki-san, if you die too, I'll, I'll...'*
*'Oh, Mii-san... Well then, since this is a pure and proper affair, we're splitting the bill here, right?'*

"...Excuse me, water just came out my nose."

No, no, not that recent sour memory. Something more bittersweet, you know.

Let's see... right, bicycle-related stuff.
Memories of practicing riding a bike alone after school. The memory that the bike at home was adult-sized, and falling hurt like hell. The memory of being sent out to buy the alcohol my father drank or the books my brother read once I could ride. And the memory of putting my sister on the back rack and going to the crematorium to see off my brother's remains.
...My sister had a habit of putting her foot in the back wheel. Naturally, doing that would make me, the driver, lose balance and fall sideways. My leg would get caught between the bike frame and the ground, getting scrapes and bruises. My sister would get caught up in it too. Then, even though it was her fault, my sister would kick me and hold out her hand. I'd grab that hand, pull her up, right the bicycle, and start riding again. I still couldn't understand my sister, who would pull that prank exactly once on the way there and back, without fail.

I was speeding through the night town on a *mamachari* (utility bike) I'd borrowed without permission from my uncle's house.
I was on my way back from a secret meeting with Natsuki-san at the diner just now, where the warmth had been stolen from my pocket.
Well, I was the one who suggested meeting, so I guess I brought it on myself. But Natsuki-san was also trying to get information out of me about my sister, a potential suspect. As a result of imagining a future where the evil clutches of the police closed in on my sister, or where she happened to run into Ichimiya and her crew and got processed for massacre, I fudged the details. I can sort of understand how Watarai-san felt protecting his granddaughter now. Probably. Just kidding, though.

9:30 PM, a time when Mayu couldn't possibly be active. But the cut ends of the thread still hang from both our pinkies. It's that whole thing about being connected by an invisible thread even when apart, right? A barefaced lie, though.
Because the hole in this pinky has festered quite splendidly, I was currently heading towards a late-night drugstore on my way back, in order to buy medicine. Buying the medicine would empty my wallet of all its bills, but beggars can't be choosers.
Passing through the nearby area with lots of gravel roads, I entered the city center. The asphalt was well-maintained, and it was appreciated that the wheels weren't obstructed by stones. The risk of falling even with somewhat reckless riding decreased. Instead, the possibility of getting caught in a game of automotive tackle football and flying through the air increased, but I didn't care.
Passing by a dry goods store that stayed open late, I came out in front of the station, where buildings of three stories or more became more frequent. The rooftop of a building you couldn't fit in your view without tilting your chin up. Metal rust was showing, looking run-down, but it was one of the more developed parts of the city. Even so, at this hour, the wriggling of human shadows had already ceased. Was it the effect of the murder case? The few people who were wandering around late at night were scarce, and precisely because of that, their figures stood out even in the night darkness.
The traffic light was red, and taxis were starting to flow out from the station, so I obediently stopped before the crosswalk, to the left of the person already waiting there. With the discount ticket shop at my back, the ground and the frame of my bicycle were dyed in the red light.