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"So, I guess that's just how it is."
God, I'm the worst. As a small act of defiance, I decide to bravely *assault* the stairs. Staring intently down at my feet, planting both feet on the same step before delicately moving to the next. But I pay absolutely no attention to what's above. Ignoring the "up" part so completely I almost forget why I'm moving like some kind of stair-climbing exercise mod. This kind of behavior is called reckless bravery, or being a heedless youth. Even commenting on my own fabrications feels like it would become a lie, so I opted for internal silence.

I reach the top of the stairs. It felt like quite the distance, finally returning from the second basement to what felt like the first floor. And then, another door that could be called the final hurdle. Faced with it, I'm forced to a standstill by a design utterly devoid of unreasonableness.
The landing in front of this door is narrow. Meaning, there's little footing. If I tried kicking it open again, this time the momentum from swinging my body could send me tumbling headfirst down the stairs. The difficulty level is steadily increasing. A design utterly devoid of unreasonableness.

Or rather, if the door opened outwards right now, I'd fall. How very Captain von Trapp of it. There's no hidden meaning, not even a primary one, but the fact I can amuse myself alone with such jokes suggests my condition, including my brain, seems to be recovering. As if heading in the complete opposite direction of the situation itself.

"Right... Huh, maybe this is easy."
Bending my upper body, I try gripping the doorknob between my shoulder and cheek and twisting. My forehead scrapes the wall a bit, but I manage to turn it. Should've just done this from the start. Now, carefully killing the momentum, I pull the door open. The smell of rust drifted from the knob.

The ancient-looking door creaked, yielding hesitantly. Being an elder among the house's materials, it had dignity, but also the frailty of old age. Having imposed upon this old body to make way, I didn't forget to express my gratitude as I passed. If this were a person, it wouldn't be a lie, though.

Finally released from the basement, but the way ahead was still dark. Despite having gone back to sleep, it seemed night hadn't yet broken. However, taking in the precise time as information is difficult under these circumstances. My internal clock isn't analog or digital; its specs are 'approximate.' It only makes judgments for 'light' and 'dark.' Well, yeah, it's completely neglecting its duties, but that's a lie... Anyway, setting that aside, according to the report from my visual sensors, night is still alive and well outside. So, even with the power out, the amount of light isn't much different from the basement—a fact that could inspire distinct fear in anyone. After all, a murderer and corpses are supposedly in this mansion.

"'Glad it's not winter.'"
Means I didn't have to worry about Fushimi stabbing me to death with ski poles. There are no cameramen either. Truly peaceful.
"......Right then."
Advance or wait? There's no path of retreat. Ever since eight years ago, my life has been stuck in place.

The probability of carelessly wandering the mansion and encountering something—especially the murderer. The possibility of waiting here idly for morning, only to be confronted by an increased quantity of corpses. The murderer still exists. If the killer is still around, even on the verge of annihilation, then I'll be the next target. In the end, waiting just postpones the deadline, doesn't it? Well, as long as we have lifespans, we're essentially doing the same thing every single day just by being alive, tracing that postponement.

For now, maybe I should just be grateful for the current situation where there's *a* path forward. Let's go with a lumbering advance.

After exiting the basement, a straight passage continues past three rooms towards the main hall. First, I decided to pass through there and head towards the main hall. Just in case, I'll check the rooms along the way, even if they aren't being used. It would be good if everyone was gathered somewhere, but if they're scattered, I first need to find Fushimi. Because she clearly doesn't have the face of someone who could escape a confined space through luck and her own strength. Though she acted composed, she might end up a victim by the morning of the third day, eliciting a numb, dry reaction from me, already desensitized to corpses... Not that I'm really one to talk.

In a closed circle mystery, annihilation is the real flower, after all. The competition for survival is fierce.
And it's uncertain whether Fushimi is even still alive.

Unable even to feel my way, I advance down the dark passage. A situation where it wouldn't be strange at all if, one second later, a hard object smashed against my head, or a cord wrapped around my neck from behind, or a bullet flew from the far end of the long, narrow corridor to pierce my chest. If there's any room for doubt, it's probably just about the truth of whether the culprit is the person each of us has arbitrarily decided it is.

"...Or rather, isn't gravity discriminating against just my arms?"
My elbows feel ridiculously heavy. Because of that, they're making a self-assertion that appeals directly to my pain receptors, enough to make me want to cut them off right this second. Well, that would probably hurt even more, and it falls into the category of injuries that would incite the most fear in my goosebumps, making them flap their wings, so that's definitely a lie.

No light squirms within my field of vision. Not even the shadow of a living creature flickers in the dark passage. Only my own yukata sleeves occasionally create the impression of something to the side. Is everyone else just trembling quietly in their assigned rooms?

However, when they searched me, naturally no weapons like guns or knives turned up. But even pulling a single weed can't stop the seeds of anxiety from blooming one after another. They probably still feel some unease.

Besides, who carried out the murder, the assault, the confinement? The perpetrator's identity still hasn't taken shape. The price of trust is skyrocketing. Buying more is impossible—it's been bid up to a price that's too late to meet—unless one does something extraordinary, or perhaps somehow manages to bring the asking price down. In other words, trust will only settle down once the murderer's violent spree is prevented, or everyone is killed.

Amidst all that, Fushimi was trying to maintain her composure by trusting me unconditionally. If a living Fushimi is still okay, I need to rendezvous with her quickly and tell her at least one lie to give her the illusion of safety. If she's dead, I can't even put my hands together in prayer. So that I'm not branded as useless, I really need Fushimi to still have life in her. I'll just frame that motive up as a lie.

"...Hmm, Fushimi, huh."
The thought that I was lucky my partner visiting this mansion wasn't Mayu is the kind of sentiment that could get me disowned even if said in jest, so I'll lock it away deep on a shelf and throw away the key. In reality, it's true that I am comparing her and Mayu in some ways. For example, their different reactions to this mansion.

My internal PTA is protesting that immersing Mayu in darkness would negatively impact her development, so I'm glad I could avoid that situation. But if Mayu *had* come to the mansion with me, she probably would have eliminated every last member of the Ooe family. Especially if I were attacked and someone proposed locking me in the basement to ensure safety – that would undoubtedly be a repeat of eight years ago. And I can't exactly spin this into some big fuss like Christmas and New Year arriving together, claiming a ray of hope shone through thanks to me engaging in the Mii-kun game.

Fushimi probably would have objected, but after that, she'd likely just cry; she can't rely on violence. Her soundness, cowardice, and rationality build walls everywhere, keeping Fushimi confined within the bounds of common sense.
Maintaining that personality would probably bring her closer to a life of unending happiness.
For both Mayu and Fushimi, mutually. Though that's just my personal, selfish, self-absorbed take on it.

Having left the basement, I arrive at the first room on the passage leading to the main hall. I peeked in here once on the first day, but didn't find any tools that could help escape our predicament. However, now, three days later, perhaps a precious resource of which only single digits were prepared within the mansion—so-called 'human resources'—might be holding their breath inside.

It's rude, but I decide to knock with my foot and hope for a reply.
But just as I'm about to kick upwards, an intrusive thought intervenes, bringing me to a temporary halt.

Is it really okay to make noise so carelessly? Even I haven't completely closed my eyes of suspicion. I hesitate, wondering if a masked killer might appear, axe in hand. There isn't even a three-digit number written near the door, so I have to make a judgment with no hints.

Assuming there's a normal person inside, Akane is probably the only one who'd be simply convinced by the thought, 'Would a murderer really knock politely?' Because there are surely plenty of killers who act friendly only as long as their true nature isn't recognized. What's more, if I, who's supposed to be imprisoned in the basement, call out, it's bound to cause needless confusion.

My foot swings aimlessly like a pendulum, demanding its destination be specified by my brain.
After putting on a show of pondering for a moment, I quietly, muffling my voice, made my decision. "...Alright."
I decided to kick it.

Thinking about it, whether it's a surprise attack or face-to-face confrontation, in my current state, I can neither resist nor flee. Besides, even the path I just took isn't guaranteed to be safe. I concluded that getting this over with while I'm here seems like the most effective use of time.

Important people and cool people are always saying, 'Nothing changes if you just run away.'
But it's also true that every time I hear that, I think, what a naive idea.
While someone is running away, time still moves forward. And events conclude, fail, or achieve windfall successes without needing that person. The world is always moving, and individual value fluctuates.
Just because you do nothing doesn't mean your surroundings are going to wait for you.

"*Thwok!*" I kick the door with my toes. It produces a surprisingly high-quality sound, so I give it another two or three shots. It reminds me not of a graveyard at night, but of an elementary school sports day, so I inadvertently start tapping out a 3-3-7 rhythm. However, the door remains closed, and no one takes the bait. The recoil from the kicks reverberates through my bones, and my cheek twists.

In no time, the shattered silence rewound itself back to the dead of night. A wasted effort kicking.
The door, apparently having no sports day memories of its own, doesn't even offer the comforting response of creaking in rhythm.

I look left and right, but no human figures emerge. Only the shadows of night continue to spread.
I'd really like someone to explain the developments that occurred while I was sleeping so carefreely, though.

I knock on the next room in the same way, but get the identical response. Therefore, I resumed moving.

The high-quality carpet absorbs sound like rain or snow. It threatened to muffle even my own footsteps. That's inconvenient in that it hides the presence of attackers, but advantageous for listening.

As I walk, I hold my breath—which is just noise—until I reach my limit, concentrating on gathering any sounds. Since this mansion is laid with fancy carpets, footsteps can't be picked up unless they're quite close. However, searching for other associated sound effects—like someone being cooked into a tomato pizza, or ground into red yam soup, or stir-fried and thickened into the ingredients for a chop suey bowl—I don't think it's *that* pointless. Because I get to state my preference: I'd like to be carrot juice, please. Just kidding, though.

As I focus on gathering sound, I acutely feel that this is the second time in my eighteen years I've experienced a life of seeking the whereabouts of people by sound. However, the period of silence continues for too long, and the cry of the air begins to torment my strained ears. No air raid sirens, no evening park broadcasts urging children home, no midnight sirens shake my eardrums; the mansion held no tones whatsoever. Besides the ringing in my ears, some other unidentifiable sounds are mixed in, but they're sometimes like moans, sometimes like a woman's faint singing—impossible to grasp, in short, the category of auditory hallucinations.

The Mansion of Unease (just named it) is so utterly silent, it feels like whispers of "...Desolation..." might reach my ears from all directions. Is everyone paying meticulous attention not to make sounds that would reveal their location, or have they already escaped? Given this state, I can't laugh off the possibility of 'I woke up, and everyone was annihilated.' My role is to investigate who murdered the last person. That's a pain, though, so just kidding.

"'Is it *And Then There Were None*, or is it *Kamaitachi no Yoru*...?'" Past perfect, or present progressive?
"...Huh?" I muttered it, then realized—it's not total annihilation yet. I'm still left. Meaning, this incident will only be complete when I am the last one to 'disappear'. Completing it isn't my role.

"'Well, in that case, I'll leave it to Natsuki-san.' It's a pain, anyway." [T/N: Natsuki is likely a reference, possibly to a character or creator associated with mystery games/stories.]
The walls on either side are dimly visible. I emerge into the hall near the entrance. From there, it's a few meters to the dining hall. If I head there and don't run into anyone, maybe I'll go back to my room.

Even straining my eyes in the hall, it was still an unchanged dark night's road. The entrance that should exist further ahead still hasn't emerged. Even focusing my eyes, which are shifting towards 'wild' specifications, all I can see are indistinct shapes of uncertain material.

Something appears in an instant, shows a brief flicker of movement, and vanishes into the edge of my vision. I try to ready myself, but both arms appeal to my pain receptors, 'Don't ask the impossible!' Having no choice, I try only to sharpen my consciousness, worsening my glare, and discern that the entity that just passed was a phantom vision backed by my emotions.
However, even accepting that, I almost make a false step forward. My stomach feels like it's scraping upwards, planting a sense of wrongness in my abdomen.
The phantom vision had a shape, as if it were holding something.
That something looked like a weapon.

The concentration of darkness is higher in spring than in winter. It's sticky, diffusely spreading one's mood flatly. When that happens, one can spot many dangers and problems, but it becomes difficult to apply highly precise attention and response to any single matter. Shallow and broad awareness is a poor match for the pinpoint-focus type required by murder.

However, in my position, there's very little point in standing paralyzed here. Time to drop the pretense mask and get walking. To be honest, I'm so hungry that if I don't keep moving, it feels like the sense of starvation will gnaw right through my stomach and intestines. So, that's what pushed me.

Proceeding down the passage at a constant speed, I arrive in the main hall.
In the hall, a small sound was living out its life with regularity. The sound of the clock. Its inhuman tone echoed through the dark night. It seemed everything non-human wasn't running about in confusion, nor did it harbor any sense of crisis.

If anything, this mansion is only now starting to show its true worth, accompanied by the scent of blood. I arbitrarily surmised that the large clock is now lively, cheerful, and welcoming its prime working years.

I walk up beneath the clock and confirm the time. Straining my eyes, the short hand was on eleven, and the long hand looked like it was agonizing over its course of action between the one and the two. Personally, I'd recommend the two. Just kidding, though.

If one could return to the past, that seems like it could be interesting, too. ...Come to think of it, we have the concept of time, but what does time mean to a clock? Despite the situation, I found myself caught by this strange question. Maybe I'll give it some thought later, when I have time to spare.

I scan vertically and horizontally. No one seems to be overlapping the carpet. There's no corpse pierced by a blade in the center of the room, and frankly, without any change in scenery, I might start feeling sleepy.

Time for a deep breath here. I'll make it serve as vocal practice too.
"'Is anyone theeeeere?'"

First, I tried calling out with the standard line. In a standard mystery, the convention is to proceed where the flashlight beam leads while uttering this line, and around the time fear permeates you enough that you start getting scared by your own footsteps, you inevitably burn a shocking sight revealed by the light into your mind. Regrettably, however, I am not a girl. If a woman's high-pitched scream marks the curtain rise on an incident, a man's scream is no more than the croaking of frogs signaling the arrival of the rainy season.

Taking deep breaths, I wait for a reply. ...Since that breath ended, I inhale and exhale once more.
No matter how long I wait, not even an echo is returned. Outrageous.

I decided to aim upwards using the stairs at the right end of the hall. I roughly planned to check Fushimi's room (though she'd been hanging out in my room since the second day), and then maybe look for Akane next. Under the condition that she's alive, among the Ooe clan, she's the one I need to be least wary of. Because she doesn't harbor a shred of fear. Meaning, she has no reason to attack others.
If we're including corpses, then naturally Keiko-san is the top candidate for the 'soothing type'. Whoops. My thoughts unintentionally overlapped with some lookalike somewhere.

"'Well, Akane too might attack me if I were carrying biscuits or chocolate, though.'"
Aah, I'm starving. Even the bugs living in my stomach are losing the energy to chirp.

I proceeded straight through the hall, turned right just before entering the passage, and then, by the stairs—
"'Kyaaah uwaaaaaaaah!'"
That was quite an age-inappropriate scream—I was able to analyze it calmly probably because the other party's shock completely swallowed up any surprise or suddenness from my end.
However, cold sweat commenced continuous shipment centered on my back.
The one who had missed her footing on the stairs, hit her backside on the second step, and crumpled down was Saka Natane-san. I was scared out of my wits, but it seems Natane-san was scared stiff.

"'Are you alright?'"
The 'offer right hand' often included in the set menu with this line was omitted due to the speaker's circumstances.
Natane-san seemed dizzyingly frightened of me, her hand pressed to the floor squirming as if kneading the carpet.

"'Ah, y-you, why... This must be a liiie?'"

"'...What a refreshing thing to hear. Usually my everyday attitude is so blatant that nobody ever tells me, 'That must be a lie.'" Things like, 'You, that must be a lie.'

Natane-san's agitation is far from ordinary. Even in the dimness, the trembling of her lips is visible, and her feet slide on the carpet as if kicking sand to drive me away, signaling rejection. It seems I'm being treated as something less significant than a ghost under a willow tree.
However, thinking calmly, if a bleeding man (wearing a yukata) who looked like not just blood but his insides might spill from his head suddenly appeared, *not* being shocked would surely be far more terrifying. Therefore, Natane-san's reaction is extremely correct. Hmm, I'm never the right answer.

"'Wh-why are you... out here?'"
"'Letting me get my hands on a silver spoon was outside your calculations, wasn't it?' I boast vainly. However, if I could destroy that stone paving with a single spoon, I'd just demolish a wall and go out to breathe the outside air. Well, it's a lie, so pursuing realism is gauche."

Judging from that question, it seems I really was imprisoned in the basement under false charges after all.

"'S-spoon? Eh? Can you, like, undo locks with it?'"
Mixing in subtly realistic actions, Natane-san swallows the lie. Her judgment seems quite dulled. I had assessed you as being a bit calmer than this, though.

"'I-impossible! Because your arms—'"
"'Of course. My hands are currently in their own personal closed circle state, you see, since the bridges of bone were destroyed.'" Aiming for the moment she tried to regain her composure, I insert a malicious comment. Hunching my back, I let both arms hang limply, dangling them back and forth right in front of Natane-san. Like dried persimmons hung under the eaves, offering no resistance to the wind.

"`...`"
"'So, why exactly was I forced into an 'offline existence' in the basement?'"
Asking the question mixed with light sarcasm, perhaps having grown somewhat accustomed, Natane-san manages to tidy up her discomposure a little. Hand on her chest, breathing heavily, she begins to speak.

"'The Master, um, found you collapsed, and, he took a majority vote, and, um, it was the consensus, so...'" Looking uncomfortable, Natane-san explains, emphasizing that it wasn't her fault.

Kouzou-san, playing the leader, proposed something troublesome again, didn't he. If he survives another ten years, he's got the makings of becoming the 'Old Man Who Made Anxiety Bloom'. [T/N: Pun on Hanasaka Jiisan, "The Old Man Who Made Flowers Bloom".] Starting to use majority rule in a closed environment only serves to foster conflict and factionalism among the members.
Although, in this case, it's too late now in two senses, so I doubt any major damage will result from that. But, phrasing it as discovering me collapsed, and furthermore, leisurely taking a majority vote... Does that mean attacking me wasn't an act officially sanctioned by all the mansion's residents?

"'I see. So, what are Kouzou-san and the others doing now?'"
I change the subject to cut off Natane-san's excuses, which seemed likely to continue on tearfully forever.

Natane-san responded "Ah," her voice cracking. After clearing her throat several times, she said,
"'If you mean everyone, they are gathered in the dining hall.'"

The dining hall, despite it being late at night. I almost wanted to interrogate her, 'What, were you all silently munching on eel pies because of the 'night' connection?' [T/N: Unagi Pie is a snack advertised as 'a nighttime snack'.] Because in this mansion where objects maintain a solemn silence, you'd think even a single snippet of human conversation would echo. Were they all holding their breath that intently, or were they choked up?

"'When you say 'everyone,' does that mean all of them besides you, Natane-san?'"
"'No, um, Miss Touka, and also, um, Kiyoshi-san aren't there either, but...'"

"'... 'Miss,' huh." Referring to *her*?
"'Eh? Eh?' She gets flustered. Blinks rapidly. Combined with her round physique, for an instant, I almost feel soothed. Somehow, her reactions are like those of a teenage daughter, this woman."

"'By the way, has your *daughter* been found since then?'" Touka's rigid body seems to wrap around my tongue, smoothly delivering a sarcasm that melts pleasingly in the mouth.

"'My daughter... you mean Miss Touka, riiight...? ...There hasn't been any word, thooough.'"

"'Is that so. And what about Kiyoshi-san? Is he holed up alone in his room or something?'"
"'Ah, no, he's not in his room, so I was just about to go look for him...'"

"'It's careless to go alone. Surprising that Kouzou-san and the others allowed it.'" I can picture Yuna and Akane not paying any mind to someone leaving the dining hall, though. Fushimi... how about her? She might just be crying quietly. ...All of this assumes they're alive, of course.

Natane-san looks down and starts scratching at the carpet again. There certainly wasn't the slightest sign she was conflicted, thinking something like, 'Oh dear, encountering such a suspicious, blood-soaked man is a crisis for a maiden's chastity and long lifespan!'
This time, it seems to be a problem with her throat; that is, she seems hesitant to speak, burdened by the frustration of being unable to say something, though she does look up at me sometimes. If it's something difficult to say *to me*, then it's obviously got to be slander, backbiting, or verbal abuse concerning me, right?

"'Please, feel free to think whatever you like. I'm used to it; in fact, I'd be happy to take it as a return to normalcy.'" Pretending to be amiable, I tried making such a skull-like statement. Really, I'm completely hollow inside.

`........` Did that statement reassure her, or did she decide regardless? Finally, Natane-san treated me like a nuisance.
"'Ah, because, everyone felt relieved, knowing you were in the basement...'"
Ahh, I see. So, I was still currently under acclaimed suspicion.
And since the suspect is now in a state where he cannot handle weapons, they have enough leeway to at least hold a conversation.

"'In any case, I'm relieved you weren't wandering the mansion with murderous intent, Natane-san. If you'd been holding a weapon, I'd probably have been done for the instant we ran into each other.'" *Haha,* I add a mocking laugh internally while uttering the improvised joke for the time being.