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After running down the list of elements that seemed tailor-made to plunge us into despair, the nine of us headed not for the dining room, but first for the front entrance.
To check the front entrance, which had abandoned its duty as entrance, exit, and escape route to become sealed shut.

By the way, Kiyoshi-san was the first one to find it.
“Um, ah, yes, I heard something like a gunshot, y’see, and when I went to look for the Mistress in the garden, well…”

That seemed to be the gist of it. However, Kiyoshi-san’s Japanese had this uncanny way of making listeners think of bean sprouts. *That* was the mystery I was currently itching to solve. As for the number of lies I've told, eight hundred doesn't even scratch the surface. Just kidding, though.

When we reached the entrance hall, trying to find any composure in Kouzou-san's expression as he chewed on the bitter taste of destruction proved exceedingly difficult. With its handle destroyed, shut so tight not even a sliver of light could pass, it didn't seem to be his job to offer any constructive suggestions about the door facing us.

“Who would do this?! And Keiko!”
There he goes, bellowing away. His head swiveled, glare accusing, *You're the culprit, aren't you? Just admit it.* Only Kiyoshi-san seemed to react to the master's little one-man show.

With Fushimi still clinging to me, I stepped out ahead of the others. And pressed my palm against the door that had become a wall of iron.
When I entered the mansion yesterday, I *pulled* the door. Which means pushing it should open it. Unless my arm strength was insufficient for this massive door that felt positively American-made, that is. The result: it didn't even creak. All I got was a cold palm. The electronic lock's switch, lying conspicuously at my feet, added its own special flavor.

“It’s no use, y’knooow. It didn’t budge even when Kiyoshi-san pushed iiiit…”
Natane-san gently pointed out the futility of my actions, given the difference in our builds.

“I gave it a try myself, but… I just wasn’t strong enough…”
Kiyoshi-san muttered, lowering his face in defeat.
*You’re no pocket Hercules; someone your size wouldn’t stand a chance. And even if there *was* a cat flap, you probably couldn’t squeeze through it anyway. Honestly, what an exasperatingly medium build.* That’s a lie, of course.

“Kiyoshi! A hammer… Don’t you have any tools? Carpenter stuff?”
Finally deciding to try breaking the already damaged door further to escape, Kouzou-san, who'd been restlessly shaking his head, finally questioned the handyman.

“Yes, well, I do have some, but…” said Kiyoshi-san, shrinking down and lowering his gaze from the master.
“Well, bring them out!”
“They’re stored in the shed, and, well, that’s outside the garden…”
With a servile demeanor, Kiyoshi-san crushed Kouzou-san and everyone else’s hopes.

Touka stared fixedly at the two adults, Kiyoshi-san and Kouzou-san, her brow furrowed as if thinking *Useless*. Yuna, demonstrating her profound lack of interest in the current situation, yawned repeatedly, wiping away large teardrops with her index finger. Every fourth yawn or so, she'd lick her finger, tasting the salt.

“Well, isn’t there anything else?”
Not hiding his frustration, the master directed it squarely at Kiyoshi-san.

“Well, um, in the toolbox, maybe a screwdriver…”
“A screwdriver… to pry open this thick door? By all means, I’d love to see you try.”
His temper fraying visibly, Kouzou-san snapped. In response, Kiyoshi-san looked down slightly and said,
“No, I thought I should at least try…”
“Then go get it, quickly!”
With a gesture like shooing away a cat, Kouzou-san gave the order haughtily.

As all eyes followed Kiyoshi-san scurrying off somewhere, heads turning in unison, Touka launched a question into the air.
“Where’s Akane?”
Prompted by her words, we glanced around the hall. Myself, Fushimi (who was rapidly becoming my accessory), Kouzou-san and Natane-san, Touka, Yuna (present in body, if not spirit), and Takahiro-san… even counting them all, there were only seven of us.

“Probably the bathroom or something. That kid doesn’t understand anything.”
Kouzou-san assessed his daughter with a mix of harshness and indifference. Then, he kicked the door with his bare foot. Naturally, it was Kouzou-san who flinched. His foot must have gone numb, because he hopped on one leg right up to the door. He peered into the opening where the handle used to be, trying to see inside the mechanism, struggling futilely by himself.
Too bad the door seemed completely unresponsive, not reacting in the slightest.
Muttering curses like “Damn it” and “This part here,” fiddling with the exposed, grimy mechanism, he seemed determined to prove he wasn't useless, that he could actually *do* something.
We watched this display, feeling strangely detached, as if looking down from above, waiting for the stagnant air to stir.

Eventually, the one who returned first wasn't Kiyoshi-san, but Akane.
“Hey! Why don’t we try hitting it with thiiis?”
What Akane brought wasn't exactly a 'weapon' designed to break things down. Although, I do have a history of having my head bashed with it as a sign of trust, mind you.

“Akane, what’s that?”
“It’s the chair from Daddy’s room!”
Akane reported the tool's origin with a triumphant smile that seemed completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere. *I thought I recognized it; it’s the same type of chair as the one in Keiko-san’s room.* However, while it might work if it were wooden, facing an iron door, could this chair really serve as a substitute weapon?

“Do you seriously think you can break the door with that?”
Kouzou-san tried to shoot down his daughter’s suggestion with petty irritation. But Akane, blissfully ignoring everyone else’s mood, plowed ahead with her own logic.

“Nope! Not the door, the *wall*!”
She pointed sharply towards the left passageway. Then poked her other index finger at the center of the door.
“’Cause, we don’t *have* to go in and out through there, right?”
She suggested brightly, as if laughing off Kouzou-san’s rigid adherence to using the designated front entrance.
*Wall materials *do* seem more manageable for human effort than solid metal. Perhaps that was her simple reasoning? Had this straightforward idea completely escaped Kouzou-san?* He flushed, looking rather embarrassed.

“Right… I suppose so.”
Taking the chair with a hesitant, mumbled agreement, Kouzou-san entered the passageway. Waiting for Kiyoshi-san didn't seem to be an option. It seemed none of them had a specific plan of what to do next, so the remaining people followed him.

Kouzou-san aimed for a spot just inside the passage leading to the kitchen and dining room. He seemed to be pondering which part of the borrowed chair would be most effective to strike with.
However, unless my eyes were particularly prone to escapism and flights of fancy, it seemed glaringly obvious to everyone that this wall wasn't going to yield to a fancy chair. Nevertheless, Kouzou-san, breathing heavily through his nose, squared off against the wall as if it were a mortal enemy. The only encouragement came, perhaps inadequately, from the insects in the garden.

Kouzou-san lifted the chair with both hands and slammed it against the white wall. If smashing a human skull with a metal bat is playing in the shallows, this was like dropping a boulder offshore—a heavy thud vibrated through our eardrums. That was the most noticeable change wrought by Kouzou-san's full-force blow. The wall, utterly indifferent to the impact, remained pristine white.
He swung again, and like a scene replayed, the second blow struck the wall. The only effect was on Kouzou-san’s arms. Still, he kept at it, but couldn't even manage to properly chip the paint.

“Damn it… Too sturdy. Why is it built so ridiculously…”
Far from admiring his solidly built home, the master of the Ooe household spat and grumbled. *Quite the hypocrite, considering he'd dismissed his daughter's brain as incapable of understanding anything, yet couldn't judge the feasibility himself without physically trying. What a wonderfully unconscious form of self-deprecation.*

Panting heavily, the next thing Kouzou-san's eyes landed on were the iron bars on the windows.
Unlike the wall or door, this obstruction could be seen in its entirety. He tossed the chair aside, opened the window, and pinching one of the bars with his fingertips, Kouzou-san started bossing around his *second* servant.

“Natane, bring the knives and kitchen knives from the kitchen. We'll see if we can cut the bars.”
“Aaaall of them?” Natane-san grimaced, a flash of rebellion showing, perhaps finding the task troublesome.

“Of course!”
“But, uh, then I won’t be able to coooook…” Wringing her index fingers, Natane-san pleaded her case as a cook.
We all stared, eyes wide with disbelief to varying degrees. *Could she really be worried that being unable to cook would lead to losing her job…? If so, bravo, I'd have to fan myself in admiration.*

Kouzou-san reined in his near-dissipated anger and redirected it towards Natane-san.
“Are you thinking straight? Calm down! Are you okay?! If we can’t get out of here, there won’t *be* any cooking, dammit!”
“Huh? But, y’know~, if we can’t get out, we have to live here, right~? So I still think food is important…”

Faced with his servant prioritizing food above all else, the employer (currently unemployed) covered his mouth as if fighting nausea, his eyes darting around. Then, perhaps weary of the debate or acknowledging he couldn't win, Kouzou-san made a clear concession.

“Leave one and bring the others. That’s fine, right?”
“Ah, yes.” Only with that instruction did Natane-san's troubled expression finally relax.
“Um, someone to help me carry them…”
“I’ll help.”
Touka quickly volunteered, cutting off Natane-san's act of slowly looking around. “Ah, thank you very much then~,” Natane-san said, bowing to the young lady, and the two walked off towards the kitchen side-by-side.

“Akane, hit the wall with the chair for me while we wait.”
While waiting, he assigned the futile task back to the person who suggested it. Akane nodded twice emphatically and hefted the chair. “Se-yah!” With zero concern for her surroundings, she swung the chair wildly, attacking the wall haphazardly from the side, from an angle. The only likely effect was to combat boredom. While waiting for Natane-san and the others, and for Kiyoshi-san, we watched this little performance and sighed for no particular reason.

“Say…”
I spoke quietly to Yuna, who had taken position next to me. Yuna remained silent but prompted me to continue by shifting her eyes to the corner of her vision.
“Aren’t there any windows without iron bars?”
“Nope.” She answered instantly. *Fair enough. If there were, we'd probably have escaped already. If there were hidden passages or back doors, following the 'be prepared' motto, Kouzou-san would probably be a bit more cheerfully boisterous.*
“What were these installed for?” I asked another one, this time out of curiosity.
“And they didn't need to be *this* heavy-duty. Is it supposed to remind the residents to take their calcium supplements?”
“I believe someone said they were measures against burglars.”
Yuna replied with calculated nonchalance, her gaze still fixed on Akane, who was engrossed in her game with the chair.

During that exchange, Fushimi had straightened up slightly, regaining some strength in her legs.
“Ah, sorry to keep you waaaaiting…”
The number of blades the two carried, careful not to stab themselves or each other, totaled nine.
Akane also stopped, wiped her sweat, and shifted to the role of observing the proceedings.

“Give it here. I’ll do it.”
Kouzou-san grabbed one kitchen knife; the rest were placed directly on the carpet.
*Come to think of it, yesterday there was talk of a missing knife. Could it be related to this incident? At least, no one showed any outward sign of concern about it.*

Kouzou-san moved the knife blade up and down along the iron bar, as if filing it. The sound effect of metal grinding against metal, like flesh being scraped away, made goosebumps rise on everyone's skin. The only one seemingly unaffected, staring fixedly down the hallway, was Takahiro-san. Fushimi bent over slightly again, covering her ears. I blocked my right ear with my elbow and my left with my hand.

“To think it would come to this… Why, in this kind of house…”
As hostility and panic mounted over the house design—a problem of his own making, really—Kouzou-san’s eyes grew increasingly bloodshot.
In the midst of this stomach-churning, futile struggle, Kiyoshi-san returned, seeming to gauge the atmosphere.
“Um, yes, I’ve brought the screwdriver…”
“Then you go try it on the front door. It’s obviously inefficient for all of us to be here.”
Perhaps disgusted by the metallic scraping sound he himself was producing, he brushed him off irritably.
Kiyoshi-san accepted the order from Kouzou-san, who was engrossed with the blades, without objection and turned around.
“Ah, I’ll go too,” said Natane-san, following her husband, and the number of people became seven again. The six remaining, excluding Kouzou-san, pretended to be busy covering their ears as an excuse for inaction, maintaining their observer stance.

The fact that the attacking knife blade was chipping away made Kouzou-san grind his teeth even harder. *If Natane-san witnessed this, she'd probably be frustrated for a different reason.*
“How’s it going?”
Kouzou-san didn't hide his irritation at the question from Touka, who couldn't see the progress from her position.
He slammed his raised fist and the blade against the iron bar, frowning as if tormented by pain.
“I just started, there’s no need to report results yet.”

With that retort, he abruptly crouched down. Discarding the knife that had become slightly more like a saw, he grabbed the next one. And it met its end even more easily than the first, its edge ruined, rendered useless.
Right, next one.
And the next, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next.
…Oh? This time, it seems he managed to at least make a tiny scratch on the surface paint.
Kouzou-san clicked his tongue and let go of the knife. Tossed away without regard for the surroundings, it landed at Touka’s feet. Eyes bloodshot, teeth grinding, Kouzou-san leaned forward, grabbed the chair again, and hoisted it high. Temporarily using furniture as a weapon, he aimed not at the bars, but the window glass. It shattered more dramatically than a prop beer bottle made of sugar glass. The shards, their former unity absurdly ripped apart, flew out through the bars and into the garden.
The humans remaining inside weren't quite leisurely enough to stand by watching those escaping shards with envy.
Kouzou-san carefully gathered the larger shards of glass left inside the mansion and started trying to use *them* on the bars instead of the knife. His family, careful to keep their distance from the patriarch—who seemed one wrong move away from being classified as dangerous—watched to see what would happen next.

*I wasn't quite detached enough myself to lecture him on the futility of it all.*
So, while occasionally checking Fushimi's expression, I watched quietly and kept my mouth shut.
*My only thought that formed into a conclusion was that he'd probably order Kiyoshi-san or Natane-san to clean up.*

It didn’t take long for the Saka couple to report back, “It was no good.”

It just took a little while longer for the reality of our predicament to truly sink in for everyone.

End of vividly remembered flashback.

And even as I replayed that past in my head, the present marched on.
“I’m gonna go potty!” Leaving Akane, who had ducked into an empty room along the way, the remaining eight of us headed off to confirm the whereabouts of the weapon used to murder Keiko-san. We proceeded down the main corridor from the hall, turned right, away from the direction of the body-viewing area. At the dead end of that wall, an old locker likely containing cleaning supplies and a milky-white safe stood in the corners. *What an odd pairing. Do they store wet rags in the safe as part of some unique cleaning regimen?*

Kouzou-san took the lead and started opening the safe. It had a keypad. He casually punched in a four-digit code. 1006. October 6th, maybe? What it signified was impossible for an outsider like me to decipher. But this lax security implied that any Ooe family member who'd lived here for years could likely open it.
Kouzou-san took out an old-fashioned, black revolver and displayed it for all to see. It looked rather toy-like, the kind of thing you'd expect to give up the ghost after maybe three shots. Although, a toy couldn't launch bullets faster than sound, admittedly.
For some reason, Kouzou-san showed the gun to *me* with an air of ‘See? It's right here.’ Then he started checking the number of bullets.

“Three rounds left in the cylinder. Capacity is six, so exactly half have been fired. The killer must have shot Keiko from that window, returned the gun to the safe, and then left the immediate vicinity.”
Kouzou-san declared this with a self-satisfied expression, offering something less than a full explanation.
“We heard three shots. Does that mean they missed twice?”
“Or maybe they fired a finishing shot just to be sure,” Kouzou-san retorted. *He, too, seemed remarkably calm—or perhaps detached—for a man whose wife had just been murdered. Maybe their marriage wasn't exactly warm and fuzzy.* ......Actually, it wasn't just their relationship. Neither Touka nor Akane seemed overcome with grief, nor were they showing any unseemly distress over the fact that there was a dead body. Emotional distance and other factors were likely involved, but it seemed to prove that family connections here didn't flow as smoothly and reliably as, say, the house's electrical wiring.
*In this atmosphere, it wouldn't even seem unnatural or particularly regrettable if the murderer and victim turned out to be members of the same family.*

“About this gun… how about I hold onto it for safekeeping?”
Kouzou-san floated this unreasonable request in a deliberately casual tone. Hearing this, the rest of us remained silent, our collective downward gazes serving as a clear rejection.

He added an excuse that didn't amount to a reason, “It was originally my property.”
“As if,” Touka’s retort summed up the general consensus, casually shutting Kouzou-san down.
Even as the master of the mansion, he apparently didn't possess enough power and guts to resist the opposition of eight people.
After Kouzou-san had thoroughly gotten his fingerprints all over it, he reluctantly put the gun back where it was.
The instrument (potentially responsible for taking a life), now secured in the keypad safe.
Putting aside the issue of who should manage it, not a single person raised their hand to suggest destroying it.
Even assuming the gun was the murder weapon and the shooter was highly likely among them. …Still, that made a certain kind of sense.

*If that one knife hadn't gone missing, perhaps someone might have suggested destroying it.*
The gun is mightier than the knife. The safety of being able to shoot outweighs the risk of being shot.
A gun in someone else's hands is a deadly weapon,
but in your own, it becomes a dependable weapon.

A subtly discordant atmosphere forming among us, we returned to the dining room.
“Heyyy? Didja leave me behind?” Akane returned, sounding peeved in a way that didn't fit the situation, and the nine of us reconvened for another meeting—one likely to exercise our mouths more than our brains.

There were no other houses nearby; surrounding fields had given way to plots of land and houses listed ‘For Sale.’ Cheerful shouts for help from the window wouldn't reach any passing farmers. Furthermore, it was difficult to imagine anyone on the outside worrying about the Ooe family, who seemed to have no need for phones and few, if any, acquaintances. Fushimi hadn't left a note saying where she was going, either. In short, we were stuck grappling with the reality of our complete isolation in this landlocked spot. And with the high walls surrounding the property, even if someone *did* happen to pass by, they wouldn't be able to see Keiko-san's body.
It was like being locked in the bathroom of a one-person apartment after an earthquake jammed the door.
The fact that this cut off the food supply would inevitably become a factor cruelly tormenting our lives if we couldn't escape soon.

“I think we should have Natane manage the food. Either way, none of us can cook, so let's leave it to someone who can use it effectively.”
This time, no objections flew up at Kouzou-san's proposal. *That's why I considered nominating Fushimi, but when I glanced at my neighbor who had become remarkably quiet, she was looking down, rubbing her thumbs together. As if she hadn't participated in the conversation at all, she just shook her head when our eyes met. What was she rejecting?*

“Um, yes, I shall do my very best.”
Natane-san accepted the duty, the usual drawl at the end of her sentences somewhat clipped. The speed of her repeated bowing was faster than yesterday. Kouzou-san entrusted the kitchen key to Natane-san.

“But why did the killer break the front door?”
Touka muttered, completely drained, as if not expecting an answer. Next to her, Akane reacted, folding her arms “Hmm” and pretending to ponder. Everyone watched, not expecting a brilliant answer.

The answer Akane eventually produced *was*, in fact, a clear one.
“To stop people from getting in or out!”
“…Right,” Touka said, touching her forehead, her expression unconvinced.

*If Keiko-san was shot with the gun, then the scrape on the window was the trace left by the bullet passing through. And since there were no bullets embedded or scratches on the inner walls of the mansion, it must have been fired from inside the mansion.*
*Meaning the murderer is also trapped.*
*It's still unclear whether the person who killed Keiko-san and the one who destroyed the entrance are the same.*
*However, if the killer is inside, they likely would have destroyed the door *before* firing the gun, which involves a loud noise.*

Kouzou-san, holding onto the conversational reins, made another proposal.
“After this, anyone returning to their room, please raise your hand. Sorry, but I’m going to have you locked in.”
He hooked his finger through the steel wire ring holding the keys that were lined up on the table and lifted it.
“Everyone remaining will witness the locking. It's for everyone's safety.”
“Safety? So you're thinking someone else might get killed?”
Touka interjected. Kouzou-san admonished his daughter, adding a hidden “What are you being so nonchalant about?” to his “That possibility exists, doesn’t it?” Perhaps realizing she couldn't remain an uninvolved bystander with no connection to the events, Touka stifled her own urge to argue back on that point.
“So, who manages the locked keys?” But the daughter, full of rebellious spirit, pressed further.
“Ah… I’ll hold them—” “Dad, haven't you learned anything yet?”
Touka preemptively crushed her father's opening move, pride, and standing. She glared daggers, intimidating him so he couldn't follow up.
Kouzou-san made a half-formed clicking sound with his tongue, abandoning his previous intention and trying to save face. “Of course.”
“I'll leave it to each person. Nominate someone yourself.”
Kouzou-san finished explaining the procedure in a dismissive rush. *That puts the key-holder in an awkward position, though. What about their *own* room key?*
“Alright, decide whether you're returning to your room or not.”

Kouzou-san pressed each person for a decision. Among them, Fushimi looked to me, asking with her eyes. *Was it cruel to expect Fushimi to decide this on her own? She seemed completely overcome by the chill and horror of the dead body.*
“I plan on exploring the mansion a bit. Want to come along?”
Fushimi started nodding midway through my sentence, bobbing her head about four times in total.

In the end, the ones who raised their hands were Yuna and Takahiro-san, who had maintained his silence, continuing his silent prayer.
At this result, the residents of the Ooe house, excluding the two who raised their hands, were astonished. Especially Kouzou-san.
“Takahiro, you’re going to your room?”
“Yes.”
Unflustered and unwavering, Takahiro-san projected his firm intention back at his father. This must have registered as something alien to the Ooe family. *If he only ever obeyed his parents' orders, did this mean he never acted on his own volition?*