---

---

"Everyone, gather in the dining room immediately."
No one gave a distinct reply to the order from the self-appointed leader, but the atmosphere suggested compliance, so everyone would likely do as told.
As if grasping that his opinion had sunk in, Kouzou-san gave a small nod, then looked down at Takahiro-san with narrowed eyes.
"We can't just leave Takahiro like this, either."
"...Why don't we move him to the basement? Like some kind of underground cemetery."
Touka threw out her opinion in response to Kouzou-san's mutter. This time, Kouzou-san didn't argue with Touka's jab, just nodded vaguely. "Yeah... right."
"I'll carry him on the dolly."
Natane-san timidly volunteered for the job of corpse transport. Then she glanced at her employer's expression.
"Ah, um... but before we take him downstairs, would it be pointless to clean up the blood first?"
"No... please do."
Kouzou-san said weakly, starting to walk away from his son. He glanced back midway, but Akane was in the way, making the invisible pull of Takahiro-san's memory meaningless. He quickly turned his head back and left alone.
Then, Natane-san and Kiyoshi-san walked side-by-side, followed by Touka holding Akane's hand, heading towards the stairs. These four showed no particular signs of lingering attachment to Takahiro-san. Their heads remained strictly forward—safety first.

And so, Yuna and I, the ones left behind, looked at each other. Standing there with the corpse between us, I decided to chat, just to feel superior to someone who couldn't talk back. That's a lie, though.
"You're the prime suspect now, aren't you?"
"Well, I do boast an elite track record. So, how do *you* see me?"
"That question... I'd like to hear your answer regarding me as well, sometime."
".........Alright then." "Yes."
Ready, set...
""Something other than harmless.""

---

**Chapter 3: Sunset / "Time Stops for a Cold Corpse"**

To go out under the sun, I go into the garden.
To play, I go to my sister's room.
To study, I visit my old mother's room.
Living in a very big house, a satisfying life.
But, ever since I went along on Natane's casual shopping trip, my world became small.
Every day, living with things I can't understand crammed into my room like questions.
Will I become an adult just like this?
*Can* I become an adult like this?

---

Morning on the third day in the mansion.
The number of empty seats in the dining room was steadily increasing. Eight remained.
Fushimi, next to me, had managed to come out of her room, but she sat hunched over, with no time to even fix her bed hair.
The seats on both sides of Kouzou-san were now vacant, making his section look sparsely attended and lonely. It wasn't like he bought up the extra tickets out of necessity and performed the daimyo-like act of propping a foot on each chair, of course.
"Just as I thought, we should have done a body search to figure out where that knife was."
He glared straight at me, pushing the emotion out from his gut as if in regret. It wasn't affirming my own statement, but merely bearing a grudge, like, "You said it, so you should've done it." Incidentally, Kiyoshi-san also gave me a vaguely reproachful look, just for show, but when I stared back, he quickly averted his gaze.
"Besides," he bit his lip, "if everyone had spent the night with their doors locked like I suggested yesterday..." *Takahiro might not have died. No, my calculations must be correct, so it would have been peaceful and uneventful.* The one tasked with stopping Kouzou-san's scheme—trying to force his wingless argument to fly and sublimate it into righteousness—was, naturally, Ooe Touka.
"Like anyone would adopt a plan full of holes like that."
*What?!* The father turned to his daughter, his eyes looking as if his boiling guts were about to spill out through his tear ducts. Touka continued, "Besides, if there was an accomplice, wouldn't the odds [of being locked in with them] just be higher?!"
Touka retorted with sound logic that carried a hint of scorn for her father. Kouzou-san, however, didn't flinch. *What I'm talking about is the hypothetical possibility, not reality!* Just as Kouzou-san was about to launch this counterattack, another follow-up blow landed after a slight pause.
"Anyway, is it even possible for everyone to agree on *one person* they can trust?"
"Well..." You wanted him to declare, 'That'd be me, obviously!' but he just trailed off vaguely.
"See? That's why your proposal is impossible tonight too, Dad. It just means you have to protect yourself."
Touka delivered her conclusion, crushing Kouzou-san's position. Kouzou-san fidgeted resentfully and scratched his scalp in irritation for a while, but by not raising his voice to spew unrelated abuse, he maintained a minimum level of dignity.
Points resembling my own childhood family structure are scattered throughout, sparking a sense of familiarity. They're such a cold family, it seems like even touching each other would be unpleasant.

"So, Father, what is it you wanted to know?" Yuna spun her words, containing a mild teasing quality, seeking to change the direction of the room's atmosphere.
"Ah," Kouzou-san sighed, relaxing his shoulders, "I just want to confirm, for the record, who spent the night in a locked room yesterday."
"Yes," I raised my hand proactively. Fushimi also made a small gesture, asserting her innocence with a tiny hand. Kouzou-san scowled as if finding fault, his face scrunching up towards his nose. Looks like I'm going to be forced to sleep with my door unlocked tonight.
"Ah, Kiyoshi-san also locked his door, and I held onto the key... right?" With a slightly firmer ending to her sentence, Natane-san established her husband's alibi and her role as key-keeper. Perhaps disliking being exposed to contemptuous gazes, Kiyoshi-san looked down, sealing away his eyeballs. Fushimi and I were shoved into our room first, so we didn't witness it, but the others probably did.
"I didn't lock mine." "Ah, me neither. It was cold when I went to sleep, so I left it open."
Touka and Akane spoke next. Looks like Akane reverses 'hot' and 'cold' too. ......Hm, wait a minute. How far does this reversal go? If she's supposed to have the opposite opinion of Touka, who said she *didn't* lock her door, does that mean Akane's door *was* locked...? Nah, probably not.
Also, Takahiro-san, having died outside his room, obviously didn't lock his door either.
"And neither did I, nor did Father." She glanced at Kouzou-san, who nodded slightly, then continued, "Which means the suspects are Father, Natane, Touka, Akane, and myself, yes?"
Yuna thrust her palm, fingers held rigidly straight, before everyone's eyes. Perhaps stimulated by that hand, with its uncannily long palm lines, Touka suddenly spoke up as if she'd just thought of it.
"That knife... I feel like it was stabbed in really deep."
The hand withdrew, clearing the view towards Touka. "And?" Yuna tilted her head slightly.
"Wouldn't that take quite a bit of strength?"
At that, everyone understood what Touka was implying. Naturally, all eyes turned to the master of the house.
"You want to decide I'm the killer based on just that?" Kouzou-san snorted, feigning composure.
"I just thought it was suspicious. I'm not saying it's definite."
Eyes still full of suspicion, father and daughter glared daggers at each other, locked in a stalemate.
The Saka couple watched this nervously, but didn't intervene.
The air was getting stagnant again, so I decided to break the tension with a rash statement.
"Um, there's something I'd like to confirm, too."
I got glared at by the only male among the suspects. But my question was for Natane-san, so I felt like advising him to just recede into the background with his sour face. That's kind of a lie, though.
"The knife stuck in Takahiro-san... it's weird to say 'the first day,' but was that the one that disappeared from the kitchen on day one?"
"Um... yes, that's the one. I was sure as soon as I felt the grip, you know."
For some reason, Natane-san seemed slightly proud. Her answer served its function, so there was no need for me to comment on her attitude. I let it slide.
"Ah, one more thing." This time, addressing all seven people, I adjusted my voice to sound brighter.
"The handgun... I was wondering if it's still in the safe."
The fact that no one destroyed the handgun yesterday implies that everyone has the intention to potentially use it. If so, there's a high probability someone decided to acquire it early, before anyone else could. That's why I had a tiny feeling someone might have taken it last night. When I explained this, those who seemed to have something to hide readily agreed, and just like yesterday morning, the eight of us ended up participating in a 'handgun viewing party.' With Akane innocently fueling suspicion by saying, "I wanna try firing it just once!", we once again found ourselves face-to-face with the safe and that locker which seemed destined to become the origin of ghost stories.
"Should I be the one to open it?" Kouzou-san asked me, a dubious confirmation that wasn't even sarcastic—was he even using his head properly? Silently, I was worrying if Fushimi, who'd been drowsing since we left the dining room, was alright, when he started opening the safe door on his own.
And then, my fear became reality.
"...The handgun is gone."
The sound of swallowed breaths sank murkily into everyone's minds.
With a look that was less 'stern' and more 'contemptuously eyeing a criminal whose guilt is certain,' Kouzou-san whirled around. "You! Why—"
"If I had taken it, I don't think I'd be the one bringing it up." I preempted him, deflecting the accusation. Kouzou-san snapped back again.
"You could just be pretending to be uninvolved!"
"Ah, I see... That's possible. Just like you might already have known the gun was gone yesterday, yet you're putting on quite a show of being surprised now."
My bluff worked; Kouzou-san displayed blatant, textbook astonishment. He stumbled back, hitting the nape of his neck on the safe, his face contorting in pain, yet unable to tear his threat-filled eyes away from the person looking down on him. It was the highest possible rating for a bluff, and I had to consciously restrain the grin threatening to spread across my face, lest my nose grow long like a tengu's.
"Getting a head start wasn't forbidden, you know. No one's going to blame you." *And there are probably others who know exactly what I'm talking about.*
His shame and secret exposed before this small public, Kouzou-san ground his teeth with even greater resentment towards me. Seems like it might escalate to murderous intent soon.
"Hey, maybe we'd find it if we did a body search?" Touka proposed the measure, seeking to prevent further tragedy. But my headshake drew a horizontal line.
"Why not?"
"That might be difficult." "Whoever took it would have done so assuming they might be searched, so naturally, I think they'd have taken measures to ensure it wouldn't be found." *At least, not until everyone confirmed the handgun was missing.*
Touka conceded, "You're right..." while glaring resentfully at the wall as if it were somehow to blame, and the room fell silent.
"But maybe we should try anyway, just in case."
At my easy reversal, Touka delivered the accurate assessment: "You're so fickle."
And so, we hastily conducted the search. It's generally accepted in the world that women touching men is somehow permissible, but the reverse is unacceptable. Even in an emergency like this, that rule applied. Everyone might be on the brink of life and death, but there was still ample need to consider what happens *if* we survive. Therefore, the searchers were the women, checking myself, Kouzou-san, and Kiyoshi-san. No one could entertain the suspicion that *all* the women were accomplices—that would be stretching doubt too far. The fact that Fushimi, an outsider, was mixed in actually helped create an air of legitimacy for the search.
Once the method was decided, the women came over one by one and felt around my body. If I had to give my impressions, Yuna had the most careless touch, while Fushimi was the most embarrassed.
Afterwards, the result of the nearly ten-minute search was that no one was found to be hiding anything.
"See? It was pointless after all," Touka complained bitterly.
I apologized, "Sorry about that," and then felt a sense of unease about that exchange, but it dissipated before I could grasp it as my gaze caught something out of place.
Kouzou-san was silently attempting to leave. I spoke up, acting as the representative, just in case.
"Going off alone is—"
"Shut up! I can't stand being around the killer any longer! Who knows when I'll be shot dead!" he yelled, slamming his fist against the nearby window. Ignoring the question of whether his irritation was directed at me or his resentment at the sealed mansion, it seemed Kouzou-san's hand was not, in fact, made of iron. Because the window was wide open, his clenched fist collided head-on with the iron bars, likely distributing the pain in a perfectly unequal ten-to-zero ratio. The state of his face, contorting as if about to reshape itself into the Japanese archipelago, was palpable even to a third party.
Hiding his teary eyes, Kouzou-san didn't look back at us, just clutched his hand and power-walked away. Still, I was slightly satisfied to have heard such a classic, predictable line.
With one person having left the gathering in a mood-killing huff, the flow naturally turned towards dispersal. Natane-san and Kiyoshi-san, then Touka and Akane—the expected pairs—vanished down the hallway like participants in a co-ed test of courage.
The safe remained wide open, demoted to the status of a 'madogiwa-zoku' (window-seat tribe).
"Well, isn't this something..." Though I hadn't intended it, the confrontation with Kouzou-san had deepened.
"...Ngh, whoa there." I caught Fushimi as she started to fall backward, touching her cheek to wake her. Whether from a yawn or natural causes, she blinked, shedding a few tears as she pushed her eyelids open and registered me and what had just happened.
"Sorry." She drooped her head like a wilted flower, then found her footing again.
"Want to rest in your room for a bit? I'll keep watch." Though, with the situation deteriorating this rapidly, who could I even ask to manage the door locks?
Fushimi shook her head side-to-side—so finely at first, I almost mistook it for shivering. "I'm scared... of you leaving my sight."
"...I see." Was she relying on me, or was this a threat, warning me her life would end the moment I looked away? If possible, I hoped for the latter. Otherwise, after we escape from here, Maa-chan will bare her fangs. Like, "Roar!" Play-biting my neck like in the Choju Giga scrolls... I need to buy a new phone and get photos.
"Hey there, mister." Yuna, who had defied the group departure and was still lingering, spoke to me, her gaze passing through Fushimi.
"Mind indulging me in a little Q&A?"
I didn't reply with a single word, let alone "Bring it on," but she started anyway.
"Why would anyone want a handgun, I wonder?"
"Because it's convenient, probably." I offered a sloppy and overly broad, generic reason. The second question arrived.
"I suppose so. Then, why did the culprit return the handgun to the safe after killing Mother?"
"Because violating the Swords and Firearms Control Law gets you arrested just for possession." I volleyed back the words with a glib and simplistic reason that smoothed out the wrinkles in my brain.
Was Yuna satisfied with that, or had she decided to drag my motivation out into negative territory? With a look that combined loveliness and bewitchment—clearly unwelcome—she closed the distance between us.
"Dewah!" I braced myself, but she slipped past my arms, somehow entwining my shoulder and shoulder blade, and brought her lips close to my ear. A rough tongue traced my earlobe, freezing me in place, before she whispered her curse.
"You... you already know who killed Mother, don't you?"
It was within the realm of expectation, but a question I'd judged unlikely to be used was deliberately posed, leaving me speechless. Just as expected of my post-gender-swap lookalike. I wanted to return the favor immediately, without even time to gift-wrap it.
Since my dignity was involved, I offered just one sentence in reply. "I have my own circumstances and reasons." *Mainly based on Mayu.*
Would that answer actually satisfy Yuna? I wondered for just a second after saying it. The facial muscles revealing her score were close enough to brush my cheek, and when I checked the answer key that way, it seemed I'd apparently given the model answer.
"Shouldn't you wash your clothes sometime?" Just as she was about to leave, Yuna deliberately stopped and offered this simple advice.
"Hm? Ah, maybe I should. I have been wearing them for about three days... That said, I don't have a change of clothes. Borrowing the washing machine, and maybe some clothes while I'm at it... might be difficult, huh."
"Do you think Father would lend you Takahiro's or Kiyoshi's clothes?"
"Seeing as how spectacularly I'm hated, he'd probably refuse just as a form of harassment."
As if she'd been waiting for that answer, Yuna let out an eerie chuckle. "I'll lend you *my* clothes."
"Hey, the important thing right now isn't the similarity of our *insides*, it's our *outsides*." *You, female-like. Me, male-like.*
"Rest assured, all the clothes I own are one-size-fits-all."
"Focus the problem on the fact that the inside of your head is also one-size-fits-all!"
My insults didn't amount to even a single drop in a great river; Yuna just said, "Wait right here," and ran off, the hem of her yukata fluttering. Naturally, I'm the type of kid who doesn't listen to what people say.
"Right, let's go back to the room."
"'You' 'Clean' 'Is' 'Better'" She revealed her intentions, utilizing her long-unused notebook-speak. Then, Fushimi captured my arm. *Is this really the time to worry about the cleanliness of someone's clothes when our lives are in danger?* The question swirled within me, just for a moment. But maybe this could help divert Fushimi's attention away from blood-soaked topics, I thought, easily halting that train of thought.
"Ah, alright then..." A feeling like resignation, like letting rain fall, came over me, so I decided to wait.
Ten minutes later.
Clad in a lavender, woman's yukata, I let out my first cry (a grinding of teeth) in the Ooe household.

"Oh my, it suits you better than expected."
"Couldn't you grow your hair a little longer? You'd make such a lovely doll."
"If I could, I'd strangle you first." I pressed my forehead and sighed, shaving precious moments off my lifespan. This meant I'd just increased the points of similarity between Yuna and myself. How lamentable. What was she thinking, aiming for someone like me?
".........Is it funny?" Hoping for that reaction, I asked the girl next door [Fushimi].
Fushimi, however, seemed utterly captivated, her cheeks flushing red.
"I feel like I'm awakening to a forbidden world."
"Go back to sleep."
Before returning to the main hall from the back passage where the safe and cleaning locker were located, we went straight ahead instead, to view Keiko-san's corpse—being sun-dried by the afternoon rays—through the window, whose glass pane alone was open.
I vaguely hoped that gazing upon the scene might help sort out, even slightly, the vague, unceasing questions bubbling up inside me. Beyond the top of the iron bars stretched a calm, rounded sky of ultramarine and a sea of clouds. The plants and trees were tickled by nature's breath, and the scent of earth drifted upwards.
Keiko-san, the deceased (and it was probably about time I accepted that as definite), was immersed in a healthier environment. Meanwhile, we, the living, working our lives like cart horses, weren't even bathing fully in the sunlight.
In life, the mistress of the Ooe house had been hell-bent on attacking and killing me with suspicion alone.
Now, our positions were reversed, with me being the one full of questions for her.
Why had Keiko-san been wandering out into the backyard so early in the morning? Getting confirmation would be quickest with her own testimony, but it wasn't like I could make her speak the truth via ventriloquism.
Pulling Fushimi, who had her eyes closed, I went up to the second floor.
Then, from a room on the right, I heard what sounded like the voices of about fifteen people.
Gripping the hand of Fushimi—who couldn't forget to row her boat even while walking on land, and tended to get swallowed by dreams again—I guided her and barged into the room with 'Akane' nailed to the nameplate, skipping the knock. The door was already more than halfway open, and I'd made eye contact with the people inside, so I figured a signal was unnecessary and cut corners.
The room's interior was colored with furniture based around yellow. The surrounding walls were white, creating the illusion of having stepped inside an egg, which flickered across my vision. Checking incidentally, it seemed the item I ought to be searching for wasn't in this room.
"Oh my, what happened? ...And what are you wearing?"
"It's something other than a hobby. Please pay it no mind."
Inside, Natane-san was sitting on the bed, absorbed in watching television. Touka had mentioned its existence, but this was the first time I'd actually laid eyes on the 24-inch visual receiving device in this house, and I couldn't help stopping to stare.
On screen, they were hotly debating something or other about whales. *Two people are dead, and this is the time to be passionately discussing the life and death of whales? How inappropriate!* I tried feeling indignant. But of course, it wasn't like the news on any channel would be reporting *our* situation, and in fact, watching TV in these circumstances... I reconsidered, thinking I was more likely to get lectured from the other side of the cathode-ray tube for indulging in TV viewing under these conditions. That's a lie, though.
"Ah, the TV? Want to watch together from a distance?" She displayed the advanced technique of extending an invitation while remaining wary.
"Nnmi... Watch?" a sleepy voice mumbled from Natane-san's lap. However, my costume change apparently served as a good wake-up call; the kid started bouncing while still lying down. "Oneechan, what's with the outfit? You look just like Yuna-oniichan!"
"Those words... I feel a very heavy meaning in both parts..."
Resting her head against Natane-san's skin, teeth were idly chewing on a thumbnail—Akane's. If Touka witnessed this scene, she'd likely pick a fight again.
"Are you guys gonna watch TV too, Oneechan-tachi?"
"Yeah, might as well. We're bored," I let my true feelings slip, deciding to spend the listless 2 PM afternoon with the television.
Keeping a firm distance from Natane-san, I sat down. Fushimi, her cognitive functions markedly diminished, plopped down adjacent to me. Just as I thought she was leaning on my shoulder, she slid down and settled onto my lap in the same pose as Akane. Her breathing grew steady—or rather, accelerated—as she slept. It seemed the limits of sleeplessness and tension had finally arrived.
"Oh my, isn't that what you call a 'baka couple'?"
*Abbreviate it!* Otherwise it really just sounds like you're calling us idiots.
Paying no mind to people's complaints, Natane-san combed her fingers through Akane's hair and plucked out a single white strand.
"Ah, are you hungry perhaps?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Hungry enough that even water stings my empty stomach."
"Oh, that's rough," she concluded, offering no solution, just closing it off as small talk.
Then, watching the TV where the mutual mudslinging between both sides was heating up, Natane-san muttered, "...It's strange, isn't it? Why shouldn't we protect the whales?"
"Are you opposed to whaling?"
"No, it's not that I particularly like whales... In fact, I dislike them because they're big." Natane-san directed her irrational indignation at the image of whales swimming in the sea. Maybe because she herself is small? Isn't she probably the shortest resident of this mansion?
"Natane's tummy is small too! And it's all pudgy—" Akane interjected teasingly, pinching the flesh at Natane-san's side.
In response to that action, for Natane-san, the way her lips twitched was more rabbit than turtle.
"Hmph!" She thrust a finger into Akane's ear canal and twisted it firmly. "Unya nya nya!" she squealed, writhing. Pinning down the struggling Akane who tried to escape, Natane-san's corporal punishment continued under the guise of ear cleaning.