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"It's nothing."
"If that's really true, you've got serious problems."
*Shut up. Stop being right all the time.*
My gut, unfilled by shame or concern for appearances, and the important items tucked into my yukata sash, I left the room.
Despite having pilfered two important items (or are they?), I maintained a nonchalant expression. Less a fearless warrior, more a brazen thief. Just kidding, though.
"Well, business is done. No need to go back to the dining hall... I think I'll head straight to my room."
I stated my plan aloud, indirectly probing what the other two would do. Yuna was the first to respond.
"I see. I'll be returning to my room as well... And if you're amenable, I'm fine with entrusting the key management to you again tonight."
"Are you sure?"
*If I were to take it, I couldn't hand it over to anyone else. Meaning, I couldn't guarantee my own safety. If she kept it, though, it would mean she could move freely during the night.*
"I don't mind," Yuna replied, flaunting her composure. "Basically, as long as no one breaks in and murders me, it's fine."
"Haha, you don't say," I feigned cheerfulness, inwardly exasperated. I added a topping of self-restraint to my self-deprecation, thinking how *I* would probably be reminded of the usual trope after a line like that.
"In any case, Kouzou-san ordered me to leave my door unlocked tonight anyway. So I'll have to politely decline."
"I see. Well then, if a third incident occurs, I can treat you as the culprit."
*"That's a complete contradiction, you know. But maybe I've only just now realized, why the hell do I even need to ensure the safety of these people?"*
"Ah, that's one way of looking at it, isn't it?"
*Putting my own issues aside to turn someone else's thoughts into a joke.*
Then Yuna looked down at Fushimi—about as tall as Yuna's own conscience was deep, perhaps—and plastered a smile onto her face like a misprinted photograph.
"And what about..." "Fushimi." "Right, right. Fushimi-san, what will you do?"
Prompted for an answer, the shrinking Fushimi drew closer to me. Without meeting my eyes, directing an intense gaze at my feet, she gripped the sleeve of my clothes.
".........Are you going to come to my room again today, maybe?" For some reason, my tone was hesitant. Fushimi, still looking down, lowered her head even further. It looked like she might just connect into a forward somersault.
Yuna and I exchanged glances.
" "Seems that's the case," "
"...doesn't it?"
"............doesn't it?"
Mine was like stew with paint thinner added as a secret ingredient; Yuna's was like expensive sashimi that had gone bad. Liar. Just kidding.
Well then. Good evening, I'm currently cheating.
"...No, it's not like I *want* to be doing this."
The door at the entrance kindly lent an ear, so I couldn't help but shift the blame onto it. But if Maa-chan were ever informed of this, she might just kill Fushimi, so I resolve to confess nothing unless my tongue is ripped out. Right then.
Several tens of minutes after parting with Yuna, I was now standing guard. Miss Fushimi was bathing, so I was keeping my eyes peeled like tiny light bulbs, ever vigilant against peeping toms and, incidentally, murderers.
For some reason, Fushimi had stubbornly refused to bathe yesterday. But apparently, skipping a bath for three days straight was unacceptable to her feminine sensibilities, so, accompanied by her resolve and pale lips, she had charged into the bathroom.
Perhaps she'd been influenced by watching too many splatter films.
Until a moment ago, there was no sound, but now my ears were captivated by the sound of water spraying from the shower nozzle and hitting the floor. Also, as is typical in these situations, everything else was completely silent.
Still, the fact that a girl about my age, who I was definitely sharing a room with, was taking a shower... felt somehow... "Nwah!" I jumped while still sitting cross-legged.
It was a sudden performance designed to test my nerves.
*Bang, bang, bang, bang!* The washroom door started being violently pounded from the inside with full force.
Who was doing it? The force was enough to make my eyes dart back and forth in panic, the banging echoing relentlessly.
Honestly, my courage was annihilated.
"Wh-what's wrong? Did Jason slither out of the drain or someth—" Crap, just imagining it gave *me* goosebumps. To think the thing haunting Friday the 13th was actually some kind of amoeba. Just kidding, though.
My heart raced, etching hasty beats into my vision. A piece of trivia I realized then: when your stomach is too empty, the impact of your heartbeat echoes deep in your gut. Now with slightly increased pathos.
Clangs, clunks, and rattles sounded frantically from the washroom.
And though there was no reply, Fushimi burst out of the washroom, leaning forward as if her legs had given out.
Her eccentric fashion sense almost robbed me of my composure and reason. Like hell it did.
"What the hell are you wearing?"
Was her whole body making some nonsensical, idiotic declaration like "I've graduated beyond towels"? She wasn't half-dry or perfectly damp—she was soaking wet. Droplets seeped and dripped from her drenched pajamas.
And just like that, she leaped at me. Like an amphibious creature emerging from a swamp to launch an assault.
"Wh-what happened?"
"With the sound of the shower, I couldn't hear anything... and then..."
"...You got scared?"
Her chin and wet hair trembled against me.
"I got worried... whether you were still here."
"...Right. Uh, sorry about that," I ended up apologizing.
*At this rate, starting tomorrow, I might be in high demand as an escort right into the bath with her.*
*Nyahaha, it's not like I want to peek with her consent, oh no, certainly not.*
However, Fushimi. Seeing her soaking wet state, the man wrapped in a woman's yukata retracted his frivolous remark.
"Anyway, let's dry you off. Okay?"
As if soothing a child, I patted Fushimi's unpleasantly damp back, urging her to let go.
Because if we stayed embracing like this, I felt like I might actually fall for Fushimi.
A joke, of course. For both our sakes.
Then, after the clock's minute hand had progressed about a third of the way around, Fushimi finally separated from me and, without properly drying herself, put on the clothes borrowed from Akane. The sleepwear clung to her, revealing the curves of her body, skin tone, and various other things. Consequently, I had no choice but to take refuge in monitoring the exact opposite direction from Fushimi. Cheating is bad.
Such a Fushimi and such a me were on the bed. Stating only that might invite misunderstanding, as if tonight were some special occasion, but I had a legitimate reason for not being able to get off the bed.
Fushimi was holding my hand. And with enough force to seemingly register a number exceeding Natsuki-san's age on a grip strength meter—a grip infused with the squeezed-out juices of youth. It wasn't just that I couldn't be cruel; even if I seriously tried to shake her off, I'd probably end up working up a sweat and needing a bath myself.
We sat huddled together, backs against the wall, a blanket pulled up to our knees.
Fushimi's shoulders were tense, and perhaps because she was fervently gripping someone's hand while still warm from her bath, sweat flowed ceaselessly, yet she didn't wipe it away.
Even her notebook, that extension of her heart, lay tossed aside on the floor, unretrieved, as she simply trembled in fear.
...I see. So this, this current situation, it merits fear, huh? Right...
The corpses. The murders. Furthermore, being treated as a suspect.
And then being provoked with the knowledge that the murderer is still alive, playing the part of someone in this mansion. Yeah, maybe fear is understandable.
It's just that my standards are abnormal; Fushimi's reaction is the normal one.
The residents of this mansion also seem somewhat cold, but maybe we just don't click either.
Yes, normal. Fushimi Yuyu is unbelievably ordinary.
So much so that it's strange she's here with me like this.
I vaguely think I should say something.
This isn't the time to capture her heart with charming conversation, but honestly, I was bored. Let's just leave it at that. As for lies... well, let's bench them this time.
Alright, time for some witty, sensual, sophisticated, urban, refined—ah, whatever.
"Did you do your spring break homework?" Once I gave up, I settled on an elementary school level question. If it were Nagase Tooru, she'd say, "Like I'd show you, 'ssu!" If it were Biwashima Yagoto, it'd be, "That's creepy." My sister would probably just respond with a silent barrage of kicks.
Incidentally, with Fushimi as the conversation partner, she looked up at me tearfully, then glanced once toward her distant notebook... Ah, I see. She's struggling to reply because she doesn't have her notebook.
"Okay, wait a sec. I'll go get i— Guah!" My hand was yanked back. I hit the back of my head on the wall. I'd tried to get up, but was stopped. Fushimi clung to my arm with her whole body, shaking her head furiously side to side. Side to side. Side to side... how long is she going to keep shaking?
"Don't... leave me."
The plea was exhaled, heavy with emotion.
In a tone that made one's skin crawl, like an eggshell had suddenly gained a voice on a whim.
Fushimi Yuyu clung to me. Her hands steadily encroached—my elbow, my chest, finally reaching my shoulders—as she hugged me with all her might, so tightly it wouldn't have been strange if our bones had creaked together.
"I'm scared, I hate it, stop, together, I want to be together, leaving, I absolutely hate it!"
Had her facial muscles and tear ducts reverted to childhood? Fushimi sobbed uncontrollably, casting aside her high school student status. Like her sweat, her tears soaked into my neck and chest. There were too many to handle completely, though.
Fushimi relied on me as if it were a confession of love, or perhaps a marriage proposal.
"Stay with me, I hate it if you're not here, if it's not you, I hate it..."
It's strange for me to say it, but certainly, every resident here gives off an untrustworthy vibe. I understand that, partly by process of elimination, she has no choice but to select me. It's similar to how Ikeda Kouta-kun and Anko-chan latched onto me as a means of survival.
...But is this really okay? My entire village seems to be buried between her breasts. Isn't this perhaps a grave situation? What am I doing, trying to mask my surprise with polite language, as if this *weren't* some pun involving Fushimi Yuyu's name? Just kidding, though.
"...Fushimi. I don't mind you trusting me, but just being an acquaintance isn't grounds for unconditional trust. For example, if I were..."
"No! That's absolutely not true!"
Mmph, I made her cry even more. All I did was ask about spring break homework, why did things escalate to this point? Plus, I feel like I've been doing nothing but making girls cry lately. Damn it.
"You wouldn't kill anyone! You're not that kind of person! Absolutely, absolutely not!"
Her denial was fierce, her voice like dust swirling into my ears.
Devoid of logic, leaping over reason, ignoring context, she simply affirmed me, purely and absolutely.
Perhaps even trusting me more than Mayu does.
Even someone like me couldn't spin any more words after that.
There was no way I could now mention that my "For example, if I were..." was meant to lead into something like "...a guy whose only good grades were in Health and Phys Ed." What face could I possibly make while correcting her? ...No, uh, that's a lie.
"No, no..."
She continued her denial between coughs, her voice like a low groan. As if insisting that believing this was her only way out.
Watching her, I irreverently had the thought, "She's really quite wholesome, isn't she?"
Even though she's the daughter of a family living only three hundred meters from my own home, which was filled with nothing but deviants.
"Yeah... Anyway, calm down. Thanks."
I patted Fushimi's back gently, soothingly. A back unconnected to crime; simply fragile.
...This back... Out there, it might be different, but in here, it seems I've been assigned the role of protecting it.
"...Is that just natural, I wonder?"
Because I have to take responsibility for dragging others into my affairs.
"The floor beneath your feet or the ceiling above—which collapsing would be scarier?"
"...The floor."
"Down-to-earth type, huh? Okay, an elephant and a giraffe—which one has deeper pockets?"
"The giraffe."
"I feel like neither has pockets, really... Is this kind of conversation actually calming you down?"
Fushimi leaned against me, rubbing her cheek against my stomach, half-lying down as she gave a small nod. She was still busy letting out sobs and sniffling, but she was deigning to take the time to converse with me. Or rather, since the order came down to "say something," I'd done my best to try and kill the mood.
Me and Fushimi Yuyu. We're supposed to be mere clubmates, yet here we are snuggled up like a stupid couple. Not that I regret it *that* much, but if Mayu saw us like this, there'd be no way to explain it. Who would she kill first, me or Fushimi? It'd be a disaster for Fushimi too, being misunderstood because of me.
I found myself sympathizing with Fushimi while grinding my finger into her cowlick.
"Ooh... Stahp it..."
*Sniffle*... she protested with a tear-streaked face. Mmm, a girl who simultaneously inspires guilt and sadism.
"How scared are you right now?"
"Very."
"Scared enough to wish you were dead?"
Fushimi froze. The tendons in her neck stood out as if trying to discern the very concepts of up, down, left, and right.
*I have experience with that, though not quite to the point of hating it. But I didn't die. There was even a time Mayu and I got overwhelmed and tried to strangle each other, but even so, we grew properly into a "Hooray for stupid couples!" state. Well, we're kinda separated right now, but getting back together is just a matter of time. Mhm, mhm.*
Anyway, it's because I have this composure that I can comfort Fushimi... but why do I have it? Having been through similar situations is one reason, and environmentally, this situation resembles the past.
The different points are that the enemy isn't clearly out in the open, and... maybe one other thing.
Without nodding yes or shaking her head no, Fushimi revealed her state of mind.
"I'm hungry, but that's something from TV and manga, but it's real, and people are dead, they've been murdered... We can't get out, I might die, the night is scary... and I'm hungry."
The way she brought up hunger at the beginning and end suggested she still had some resilience left.
"Haaah... Well, it certainly is worrying, I guess.
What I, who unreasonably dragged my clubmate into this, can do is... make full use of lies. But it's an ugly dynamic, having the very person responsible for her involvement in the incident offer comfort.
"I'm not good with words of comfort, you know. I can't say anything particularly cool, but..."
I squeezed Fushimi's fragile shoulder tightly, avoiding looking directly at her face as I delivered some harsh words.
"You can cry, you can be scared. You can even give up. It just means I can act on my own—"
I felt the vibration as Fushimi snapped her head up with a *gyuwa*. But I ignored it for a moment, wanting to cool my flushed cheeks. Trying too hard to act cool had made my body feel itchy. I suck at regulating myself.
"Help... You'll help me?" Fushimi tugged repeatedly at my yukata sleeve.
"Yeah." I affirmed in a gruff tone that would suit a sullen face.
"You'll help me?" Her voice cracked, the maidenly Fushimi-san.
"I'll help you even if you don't want me to. And if you do want me to, well, I'll manage somehow."
A flicker of doubt crossed the back of my mind: could I extend a hand even to Nagase in this situation?
"I'll save you up to three times. I promise."
In contrast, the moisture receded from Fushimi's eyes, replaced by a light kindled in their depths. Hydroelectric power... not to be underestimated.
"...Why three times?"
"Because that's the going rate."
I was just following the age-old trope for wishes.
"So, well, I want to implant the contradiction that you can rest easy even if you despair..."
"Nuh-uh," Fushimi denied, shaking her head vigorously. A childike smile, absent for so long, pushed aside the dark circles and gauntness to occupy her expression.
"It's okay. Because you'll save me, I'm okay."
"...Try not to repeat yourself."
Is she high on scale powder? Fushimi seemed dazed, dreamy, as if soaking in some hallucinogenic hot spring.
"You are... Agh..." She started to say something, then trailed off.
"Hm? Shall I go get your notebook?"
Fushimi shook her head side to side at six times the speed of an electric fan. She held fast to the blanket, my yukata, and incidentally my thigh. It seemed there was still no prospect of the fear occupying her heart diminishing.
Turning pale with fear is a familiar expression, but someone whose ears and cheeks burn bright red is probably rare. Was she so hungry she ate coal or something?
"Um."
"You are, for that reason..." *What reason?* "...I am, um, Do-Re-Mi-Fa!" *That's a self-introduction so avant-garde it's about to fall off the stage.* "Does that make me in charge of Sol-La-Ti-Do? Hmmm."
"N-never mind that." Fushimi waved both hands from right to left, physically shifting the topic.
"H-how m-much..." Her throat seized up there, making her cough. "...lunchbox?" "N-never mind that either! D-d-d-do you like Snufkin? Ah, like, skier?"
[...]
*Let's try to organize that: "For that reason, I am Do-Re-Mi-Fa, how much is Snufkin a skier?" Man, this is a tough one. I can't decipher the intent of the question.*
Even the questioner, Fushimi, was clutching her head going "Uah uah uah," completely stumped. As the elder here, I have to somehow resolve this situation.
"Alright, bring on the next question! I've gotta get this one right and avoid a failing grade."
I declared my enthusiasm and straightened my posture. I felt like I'd somehow drastically changed the subject, but now I couldn't back down or veer sideways.
"C-co-co-co—"
"...No need to announce the morning just yet."
Fushimi's liveliness improved, her legs starting to kick about. It's all well and good to regain energy through means other than eating, but really, what's going on? In a way, for me, Fushimi Yuyu is the hardest person to understand.
The next day. A day overlapped the third day, making it the fourth. As if inversely proportional to that, the number of people became seven.
In the morning, just as we showed our faces nonchalantly in the dining hall, earning Kouzou-san's irritation, and were about to commence conversation with our fellow fasters via stomach rumbles, either sad news or valuable news—one or the other—came flying in.
"Oh my, Touka really isn't here."
Akane burst into the dining hall, and upon surveying the faces present, blurted out that outlandish yet disturbing remark. Everyone's eyeballs, already overworked by shocking events to the point their optic nerves seemed weary, turned toward the speaker as if to say, "There's still more?"
"She really wasn't there?" asked Yuna cautiously, seated near the entrance.
"Yup. She wasn't in her room or the bathroom. Usually, *boku* is the late sleeper, so she wakes me up and we come eat, but today she didn't come, so I thought it was weird and went to peek." And then, she wasn't there. Akane stated it flatly, as if the gravity of the matter was outside her mosquito net.
At this news, the adult contingent—Kiyoshi-san, Natane-san, Kouzou-san—murmured and showed confusion, but remained seated, passively waiting for someone else to take the lead. After three consecutive days of personnel reduction, even Kouzou-san, who aimed to be the leader of the bewildered flock, seemed too drained to seize the opportunity to speak.
Fushimi, meanwhile, was tensing her recently quite idle stomach muscles and murmuring, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," ruminating on last night's vow.
Yuna maintained her usual, stable attitude of aloof insectile indifference, jiggling the tip of her crossed foot as if she had absolutely no intention of taking action.
Waiting was just a waste of time, so I spoke up to get things moving.
"Let's all go confirm."
As expected, no one declared themselves opposed to my suggestion.
Although there was one certain child pouting, "Don't you believe *boku*'s words?"
The seven of us, listlessly united, searched Touka's room on the second floor. Just as Akane reported, Touka had apparently sought such an advanced game of hide-and-seek that she'd hidden even her tracks. Lies aren't appropriate here, but she had vanished without a trace. The bedsheets showed slight signs of use, but it was impossible to tell if they were from yesterday or remnants from two days ago.
Natane-san and Akane, perhaps genuinely adopting the hide-and-seek theory, started rummaging through drawers. If Touka had been hiding there as an anti-murder countermeasure and was still sleeping peacefully, it would have provided a precious seed of laughter to moisten the mansion, but unfortunately, it only added to the weight on our shoulders. Akane, perhaps displeased by the disappearance of her playmate, kicked the dresser with the sole of her foot.
Touka wasn't lying around in the toilet, the washroom, or the bathtub either.
As the last one out of the room, I closed the door behind me, shutting off the space—now devolving into an empty room—from the outside world.
There was something in Touka's room that caught my interest, but I plan to investigate that alone later during harvest time.
After that, keeping a slight distance yet staying together, the remaining seven of us dashed around the mansion on a cursory search.
In the end, after searching for over thirty minutes, we returned to the dining hall, having harvested neither Touka nor, of course, any bloodstains or weapons.
"What does it mean, that she's just gone?"
As soon as Kouzou-san sat down, he struggled as if trying to strangle the neck of this inexplicable fact.
"Y-yes, um, perhaps she managed to get out of the house, maybe?"
Kouzou-san bisected Kiyoshi-san's faint hopes for escape with a single glare.
"If so, why didn't she explain the route to us? Was *she* the killer?"
Childishly, he revealed his distrust of Touka by grinding his teeth.
*Certainly, even if Touka wasn't the culprit, she probably would have included Akane among those to be rescued.*
"Mmm... *Boku*'ll go search one more time."
Akane declared this and left the dining hall, her legs, tangled with fatigue, flailing slightly. No one stopped her or offered to help. The search born from a sense of duty had already fulfilled its obligation.
Then Kouzou-san brought up a topic that was hard to imagine came from any bag of wisdom.
"Including Touka's situation, I have a theory about the culprit."
And for some reason, he then narrowed his already unpleasant gaze on me to its absolute maximum, as if trying to shoot me dead.
"I discussed this with Kiyoshi yesterday."
"—" He seemed to be emanating an aura that begged the question, "What might that be?" so I put on a vacant look and feigned absentmindedness.
"If Keiko's and Takahiro's murders, as well as the destruction of the entrance, were committed by the same culprit, then you two are the most suspicious. That was the conclusion we reached last night."
"...Hah." I scratched the back of my head. *"You two," meaning me and Fushimi, then.*
The verbose Kouzou-san spun out his pet theory as if humming a tune.
"Certainly, the entrance is destroyed. But, if you had an accomplice outside the house and instructed them to open the door from the outside on a designated day, you could escape, couldn't you?"
A masterstroke condensed from Kouzou-san's wisdom—a gamble of fate, from his perspective. Natane-san and Kiyoshi-san nodded along with "I see." Fushimi, not particularly perturbed, tilted her head—"Hm? Hm?"—puzzled by the accusation with a gaping hole right in the middle, while Yuna gazed off toward the day after tomorrow. It seemed I was the only one who could offer a rebuttal.
"Couldn't that theory apply to someone other than us?"
"Hmph. Unfortunately for your theory, *we* rarely go out. My daughters and son don't even go to school, so they have no acquaintances outside."
*That was the first time someone had proudly boasted, chest puffed out, about their entire family being shut-ins. I certainly wasn't about to suggest that, while he was at it, he might as well take pride in being unemployed. Even my sister isn't *that* defiant. Besides, I refrained from making the cliché retort that procuring a handgun would require outside connections.*