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Fushimi wasn't crying anymore. In fact, she seemed calmer than yesterday. She could meet people's eyes, and her chin wasn't drooping. And while we were sitting next to each other, we weren't pressed close together; she maintained her own space, sitting upright. Had she attended some kind of self-help seminar in that room or something?

Maybe she misinterpreted my stare, because she picked up a glass of water from the table and tilted it towards my lips. Right now, I couldn't even bring water to my own lips, so I felt like some old grandpa receiving care.

"Hey, I wasn't complaining about being thirsty, Yuzu-san," I wanted to say, but all that came out were bubbles rising *boko boko* to the surface. At this point, dramatically refusing would just be more exhausting, so I meekly gulped it down, *gubi gubi gubi*. *I wonder if this is how a flowerbed feels when someone waters it,* I mused, observing my surroundings to kill time.

Kouzou-san looked sullen. Having learned through practice that interrogating Natane-san yielded no meaningful results, he now just clutched the pistol, cocking the hammer or dry-firing it, seeming to be impatiently waiting for someone to make a move. Next, Natane-san, assigned the seat furthest from the entrance, also showed no notable reaction, save for a small yawn. Even when our eyes met, she did nothing more than blink, like it was a natural phenomenon. I was relieved that she didn't seem to hold any particular grudge about me strangling her.

Akane was sitting backward on her chair, facing the entrance. Waiting for Yuna to come back, no doubt. And hoping, perhaps, that Touka would be the souvenir she brought. Among those confirmed alive, only Yuna was absent from her seat. Yuna had announced she was going alone just to peek into Kiyoshi-san's room and left the dining hall. Since the pistol had already lost its value and terror as a weapon, no one voiced any objection to her actions.

So now we were waiting for Yuna's return, though perhaps "waiting expectantly" gives it too much importance.

I finished slurping down the water. Ended up drinking the whole thing.

『 More 』 『 Drink 』 「 ? 」

"Mm, no, I've drunk enough to turn into a water balloon, so I'm good. Thanks." *Besides, I'd rather suck the lifeforce out of you.* That's a lie, though. And sexual harassment.

This time, I managed to stop Fushimi as she started to stand up. After watching her put the glass back on the table and equip her eraser for a moment, I looked up at the large digital clock.

Our fourth day in the mansion was drawing to a close. And about twenty minutes had passed since I'd rescued Fushimi Yuyu.

After that, our group, including Fushimi and me, had gathered around the dining table. A completely familiar sight—not quite. *Hardly surprising, given the empty seats multiplying each day,* I reasoned.

Kouzou-san, ever the self-preservationist, had angrily declared, "How can we search for anyone with someone who was hiding a gun?!" So we ended up returning here, forming a circle around Natane-san upon our return.

Stripped of escape routes and weapons, and tied to a chair with a clothesline due to certain circumstances, Natane-san didn't attempt any futile resistance. She remained silent no matter what Kouzou-san asked or accused her of. Since her guilt hadn't been confirmed yet, she was probably banking on the lack of concrete proof preventing others from unleashing their resentment and grudges on her.

"Hey," Fushimi got my attention by pinching my cheek and tugging gently, *kui kui*. It was such a novel way to capture someone's focus that I tried to devise a New Era-style way of turning my head in response, running through possibilities in my brain cells, but they were all too unrealistic, so I gave up. Who was the idiot suggesting I try sticking my tongue out through my eyeball? Fushimi quickly opened her notebook, showed me the word "Arms," flipped the page smoothly, and paused as she was about to point to the entry for "Okay." Looking closer, I saw the tally marks had been completely used up and vanished. So, she added more, essentially asking, "Okay Okay Okay Okay Okay?"

"Mm, well, 'okay'......" If it *looked* okay by any common-sense judgment, you should probably check Townpage for an eye doctor to treat your faulty vision. But the fact that she asked might mean Fushimi's eyes and common sense were having trouble distinguishing right from wrong. Damn, now I'm getting confused too.

Having finished scribbling with her pen, Fushimi waited for my answer. Deciding this wasn't the moment to make her grimace unnecessarily by describing the intense pain that made me feel like passing out every three seconds, I replied, "I'm fine, I'm used to it." Because, hey, look, my arm—broken or dislocated or whatever—moved! With enough fighting spirit and grit, you can transcend the mysteries of the human body, y'know. That's a lie, though.

If anything, the fact that the bones *had* moved was the problem. Not only could it have damaged the blood vessels and muscles inside, but in the worst-case scenario, it might be irreparable even after we get out of here.

My right arm had swollen up like a water balloon—maybe from internal bleeding, or maybe my body was rejecting some suspicious cells implanted in it. It felt like others might perceive its existence as, `A partially giant arm has appeared!` It looked like I could unleash a Special Punch (name changeable).

"Since I can only stay in one position and can't rotate my shoulders, I feel like my shoulders are going to get incredibly stiff, though," I concluded my report with a joke utterly devoid of any intention to lighten the mood.

Hearing this, Fushimi closed her notebook. She tucked her pen into her pocket and stood up.

"Hm?"

She moved behind me and gently placed her hands on my shoulders. Then, she began to gently massage them. Her touch was delicate, like someone curiously poking a cracked egg.

"Does it hurt?"

"Does it hurt?" came Fushimi's voice, the kind that would spark debate among radio listeners about whether the speaker was male or female. It was beyond devoted; she was practically at the level of a doting wife. ...Wait, that makes no sense.

"...Thanks. You can go a little harder."

Accepting my request, the pressure increased, like graduating from straw paper to construction paper.

**

Fushimi checked in with me at every step. Her earnestness almost made me fall for her. ...Almost. Maybe.

"Hey Fushimi," I started talking, partly just because. I acknowledged the slight defensive barrier it erected against the surrounding glares that screamed, *'What are these two doing, flirting during an emergency?'* It also served to kill the fruitless boredom of waiting for Yuna. But my main point was unclear.

Fushimi seemed overloaded with question marks, so maybe I should muddy the waters—no, transform the liquid entirely—with some of my trademark meaningless chatter.

"Hey Fushimi, how about 'Yuzuyuzu' as a nickname?"

I just changed the reading, that's all. Well, nobody expects much from my naming sense anyway. After all, I named Misono Mayu "Maa-chan," talk about straightforward... wait, that was someone else, excuse me.

Fushimi's heart seemed to pierce my shoulder like a chest rope. Using that perfect leverage, she pulled herself closer, leaning in to peer at my face. Fushimi's eyes darted around restlessly, like visor slits on a suit of armor.

"Y-Yuzuyuzu?"
"Yup." Her breathing was slightly heavier now.
"Yuzuyuzu."
"Sounds very citrusy." Though contrary to the name, Fushimi's cheeks looked like they were about to develop slapped-cheek syndrome. "Yuzuyu-"

She took her hands off my shoulders and re-equipped the notebook and mechanical pencil she'd pocketed. Then she scribbled "Yuzuyuzu Yuzu Yuzu Yuzu Yuzu Yuzu Yuzu Yuzuyuzu" like a raging storm before hastily putting it away.

With a stiffness that looked like it might creak *gigigi*, Fushimi bent at the waist, bringing her face close to mine. Then, a sandstorm—definitely not a whisper—passed by my ear.

"If... if it's just you calling me that... o-okay!"

"..." It was just a joke; I hadn't planned on trademarking it or anything.

"Anyone else... ab-absolutely not!"
"Hey, it's not like they'd know."
"Spreading it is also forbidden!"

She emphasized the point. My shoulders were also subjected to pushes and shakes along with her words, what a disaster. It was a needless worry, though, since Fushimi and I didn't have any mutual friends.

But still, a nickname only one person is allowed to use, huh? Just like Mii-kun and Maa-chan.

"Mm, roger that."

I gave a small nod, my eyes meeting Natane-san's.

Satisfied, Fushimi—or rather, Yuzuyuzu—resumed the shoulder massage. However, perhaps because she wasn't in the right state of mind to pay attention to adjusting her strength, her nails occasionally dug in painfully.

"Yuzuyuzu," she murmured occasionally, as if savoring a citrus fruit.

...Hmmm, looking back at how she's acted and spoken up till now, could it be that Yuzuyuzu... actually likes me? *Nah, that's just the typical self-consciousness you get during puberty, especially for guys, right?*

But if that *were* true, it would just put us both in more danger. It's already decided that Mayu will soon be back to her lovely, super-jealous self. Because I decided it.

*But yeah, it's not like I'm happy about it at all.* *That's a lie, though, kind of.*

I put on a show of bashfulness against the gazes gathering from those around me, easing my awkwardness.

Someone who likes me.

Until the day Tooru first told me she liked me, I never thought someone like that could exist. ...Well, maybe there was one girl like that back in elementary school, but she was a special case, so let's exclude her. Despite the name being such a common word floating around everywhere, I'd thought it was a word completely unrelated to me.

I'm the son of a criminal, and my personality, without false modesty, is terrible. I'm a living creature, sure, but the 'human' seasoning is pretty slapdash. Bugs, birds, and fish. If asked which they dislike the most, most people would probably choose bugs.

But I learned that even among them, there are people who can grow fond of the bug.

It's something to be grateful for, that even for a few hundredths of my entire life, there's time when someone feels favorably towards a guy like me. It makes me appreciate that there are people who can come to like me. Misunderstandings, compromises... I'm sure there's a mix of joy and sorrow involved.

That's why I hold no grudge against Nagase; I'm even grateful to her. Even though we parted ways with me essentially repaying her kindness with betrayal.

Maybe I only fell for Nagase because I was happy someone liked me. Even now, the thought fills me with guilt towards Tooru-chan. What a horrible reason, even I can see that. *The fact that it's a lie just reinforces my position at the bottom rung of humanity. Whatever, too late now. Let's lean into it.*

I gave a respectful nod towards Natane-san, who currently maintained a cold attitude, adopting a posture of valuing my own life.

Come to think of it, aside from the day we first talked, there was one day I called Nagase "Tooru." I think it was the day I first told her I liked her. As if getting revenge, Nagase started calling me by my real name over and over with a mischievous smile, making me run to the bathroom—ah, the bittersweet days of youth. My mouth really was sour from stomach acid back then.

"When we get out of here..."
"Hm?"
It was the first time Fushimi had said something forward-looking in this mansion.
"Let's... do club activities together again."
*Gyuu,* she pressed her whole body against me, hugging me from behind.
I felt her breath on my neck, and something soft pressed against my shoulder blades. ...Seriously, now?
"Yeah. First, maybe we should recruit some members?"
"...Oooh, no way."

My suggestion was rejected with a slightly sulky tone. Does this club president have no intention of keeping the club alive? I thought I'd entrusted it to her just the other day.

Still, having hope is a good thing. We also spent our first week living underground believing we'd be rescued the next day. Good grief, memories of distant days aren't sepia-toned; they're blood red.

While we were playing the roles of a high school girl and an old man receiving care, the dining room remained steeped in silence.

Why was everyone waiting for Ooe Yuna?

Since grasping others' hearts is difficult, let me offer my own case as an example.
I was waiting for the results of the corpse search, just to kill time.

The reason for Yuna's late return was obvious to everyone.
She wasn't trailing the scent of men's cologne or anything remotely related; rather, she reeked of blood. Her footsteps dragged, *zuru zuru*, her pace seemingly matched against the world's fastest slug.

"Sorry, I'm late..." Yuna gasped out an insincere apology, releasing her grip on Kiyoshi-san.

Yuna's "souvenir" was Kiyoshi-san, blood streaming from his chest and forehead. She had apparently stuck her hands under his armpits and dragged him all the way here. Yuna herself was drenched in sweat, her malnourished legs tangled, looking ready to collapse any second.

Yuna brushed her hands off and wiped sweat away as she looked around.
"What should we do with Kiyoshi?"
Everyone looked at each other, but no lips opened.
"Ah, I found Kiyoshi dead inside his room's closet, so I brought him here. I couldn't find any weapon... Ah, for now, can I assume you'll trust me when I say I'm not the culprit?" she declared, brushing blood specks from her arm and defending herself with a feigned innocence.

"Did you do it?" Kouzou-san asked, doubting his daughter in a flat tone, as if his tongue were numb. It was a conversation utterly parallel, showing no concern for the relationship between the speakers.

"Which answer would grant me the gift of your trust?" Yuna replied, her breath evening out,余裕 returning full force as she toyed with her father.

I overtook Kouzou-san's hesitant pursuit and interjected my own question.

"Why did you bring Kiyoshi-san here in the first place?"
"So we wouldn't be lonely, obviously."
"Mutually, for both Kiyoshi-san and us?"
"I've learned from many people that using each other, just enough not to get hurt, is the friendly way."
"That's a lie, though."
"Oh, thank you for adding that so expertly."

During this pointlessly barren exchange, I glanced at Natane-san's face. Natane-san, who should have been conducting the search on her own two feet, was looking down at her husband, whose activities had been seized, with an inorganic expression, as if her tearful reunion had dried up.

"Well then, let's leave Kiyoshi as he is." Summarizing the scattered state of opinions, Yuna abandoned Kiyoshi-san and sank into the nearest chair. No one even furrowed their brow at the unsettling sight of the corpse anymore. Even fear had attenuated. Everyone had grown somewhat accustomed to seeing corpses, and factoring in the bloodiness, the lack of manpower, and Kiyoshi-san's large build, leaving him be became the best option. Once things settled, they could think about it again—that was the conclusion reached by decadent thoughts in the stagnant air.

Only Fushimi seemed pained, averting her eyes from the body, trying not to look. That gesture was proof she remained within the bounds of normalcy, which was a small relief. *Me, relieved? That's... rare.*

"Well now, it seems *his* story hasn't begun yet, has it?"
"Story...?" Yuna fixed her gaze on me with a smile like oversized trash. Since both our eyes lacked luster, any sparks wouldn't be from flint, but more like trying to start a fire with a Hinaidori chicken. It looked painful.
"Yes. The detective's nice little story."
"Detective...?"
Before I could retort to Yuna, Akane tried to satisfy her own curiosity.
"Onii-chan, was Touka there?"
"Unfortunately, no," Yuna shook her head. "But that should become clear shortly." She thrust her hand, sticky with blood and sweat, towards me, guiding Akane's gaze.
"Kiyoshi's corpse, Natane's gun, Touka's disappearance. Takahiro's corpse, and Mother's death. You seem to understand it all, so shouldn't you explain?"
Yuna's tone was flat, devoid even of pleasure. She had stopped even formally pretending she wasn't an insect.
"You will solve the incidents that occurred in this mansion. And with that, yes, let's call it a day."

During this silence, Yuna and I yawned almost simultaneously—let me note that first. Then, I grasped the situation.
It seemed Ooe Yuna was trying to force the detective role onto me.
...........I don't think it's impossible. It's something I tried to do on my own once. However, while I might be able to unravel things, resolving them would likely be difficult.
"Right. Honestly, my head's about to explode with all these mysteries..." Kouzou-san lamented, glaring at me resentfully. Well, he probably couldn't admit that his deductions were mostly wrong, he'd only falsely accused people and stirred up the stage. I had no words of comfort.
Without any particular sarcasm, I refuted Kouzou-san's murmur.
"There aren't any mysteries here. Just a mountain of problems."
"Then, would you perhaps tidy up these mysteries for us?" Yuna interjected shamelessly. She wasn't asking me to solve them, just to confirm if her own answers were correct. You probably have them ready already, you homework-done-in-the-first-week-of-summer-vacation type.
Fundamentally, what influence would that have on solving this problem? It's like trying to grow taller by getting a perfect score on a math test.
Still, is comparing answers really necessary for a blank answer sheet?
On the second day, Keiko-san was murdered. On the third day, Takahiro-san died. On the fourth day, Touka went missing, I had both my arms blockaded, Natane-san was hiding a gun, and Kiyoshi-san died.

This problem is so simple, it's doubtful it would even be worth any points next to Fushimi-san (in the manga title sense). Looking at her, she was just blankly watching my actions. How ridiculous I was, worrying about what to do if she pleaded 'Tell me, tell me!' *That's extremely untrue, though.*

"...........Well, I guess I did sound pretty high-and-mighty earlier." Can't exactly pull a "Continued on the web" escape now.
"Still, that appearance suits you quite well." Yuna mocked and sneered at me.
"What kind of sarcasm is that? Your yukata looks like a costume on a packhorse, though."
"I was referring to your *form*." At the same time, she gave her honest assessment.
Like an elementary schooler's failed arts and crafts project with badly made arm joints. Awkward, doll-like, clownish.
Words imbued with that meaning cruelly tore at the hangnails of my heart.
"Well, I am deeply honored by your praise." I skillfully cut the puppet strings and bowed my head.
"But if we're evaluating based on suitability for the role, you're the better fit."
A detective must not deny murder, not even slightly. Since I saved Fushimi, I'm disqualified.
But Yuna just scoffed at my recommendation. What a boring way to laugh, really. Shirking her duties, the actual detective figure here.
Alright, I get it. Trying to revive Mayu for free is pushing shamelessness too far. Guess I need to put in a bit more labor.
Shall I volunteer for the Ooe family, downcast after losing half its residents?
"Man, I'm sleepy..."
*That's a lie, though.*
I guess this is where I take center stage. Unfitting, but I've been chosen as the understudy. Well then, can't be helped.
Time to put on a brave face.
"Ooh-" Ah- "Hah-"
Bring on U.N. Owen, or a host club guy, or Yasu, whatever. I'm not afraid of anything right now. Which, more than anything, proves my ignorance, but I don't care.
Because right now, I'm playing detective to the max.
Just for once, I'll pretend to be omniscient and omnipotent.
I'll look at things with the eyes of God.
"Ask me anything you like. I will answer every question correctly."

"It's hard to explain when we're so spread out. Shall we move the chairs a bit?"
Everyone silently complied with my suggestion, their feelings secondary. Everyone wanted to wrap up this tedious talk quickly and get some sleep since they had an early morning tomorrow. *That's a lie, though.* Their nerves were probably frayed, unable to even generate the energy to resist every little thing. Maybe a calcium supremacist would argue their rebellious spirit hadn't been nurtured because they hadn't drunk milk.
Akane and Fushimi in the front row. Kouzou-san in the middle. Yuna at the very back, and Natane-san positioned at a distance from everyone else. And sitting isolated before them, like at some screening event, was me. I was really being put on a pedestal. Shame and appearances were long gone.

"Alright, send your questions flooding in."
"Haaai!" Akane-chan, oblivious to the atmosphere with her space-ready specs, raised her hand without a shred of deference.
"Yes, Akane-san," I prompted her.
"Where is Touka?"
Oof, a difficult question right off the bat.
Natane-san, meeting my eyes, smiled with downturned eyes. *Yeah, thought so.*
"I'll explain the location later, but for now, just the conclusion: Touka is already dead."
With only five people listening, there wasn't exactly a stir. ...Oh, right, Kiyoshi-san's here too. But corpses are obligated to be silent, so he probably won't get mad if I don't count him. Fuhaha.
While I was gloating at my silent audience, Akane wore a solemn expression. Surprisingly, she didn't lash out in anger like "What—?!" because her playmate had gone somewhere, nor did she accept the death matter-of-factly with a "Hmph"; she seemed genuinely downcast.
"Touka... died...? I see..."
She wasn't crying, but her tone showed she was properly dejected.
*So she doesn't perceive life and death in reverse, huh? That's probably why she's harmless, though.*
"...You don't have any other questions, right?"
"Un..." Akane nodded with a difficult expression. Perhaps her circuit for pessimism was malfunctioning, as she also looked bewildered.
"Um, anyone else, please?"
My gaze shifted from focusing solely on Akane to surveying the wider space. The five people兼 listening and questioning had various ways of sitting. Fushimi wouldn't abandon me, her thumbs intertwined, while Akane's feet and attention dangled mid-air. Yuna was exercising her big toe on her crossed leg, looking boredly towards the dining table. Natane-san sat politely, ignoring the surrounding flow, not even complaining about the uncomfortable treatment of her bound arms. Kouzou-san looked like he wanted to say something but was struggling mightily to find an opening.
.................. While waiting expectantly, unable even to scratch my cheek, I opted for some mental housekeeping as a pastime to fill the proxy silence. Going solo felt bland (and since my brain lacked nutrients right now, the taste would likely be unsatisfying, lacking salt and pepper, like a sophisticated city joke). I tried drawing Yuna's attention away from her toes and into a dialogue format to pull the boredom-killing into a conversational style.
"Yes, the basics are important. Even if you only get the applied problems right, you gain very little." While agreeing readily, her words also carried the illusion of delivering a scathing critique against my eighteen years. Because I grew up facing nothing but problems of application and misuse, far removed from the shonen basics of Friendship, Effort, and Victory... Anyway.
"Ooe Keiko-san was murdered in the mansion's garden. That was the beginning of the incidents."
"First, as a premise, what about the possibility that an outside perpetrator killed Mother?"