---

---

And so, the mystery is dismantled, the intent exposed—all according to Keiko-san's script.
The only difference is that the one handling the mystery is me, not Yuna.
"How... could..."
A whisper from below.
Looking down, Fushimi was mouthing the question, the words barely formed.
"For something like *that*... you can kill your family?"
Her tone sounded almost as if she were blaming me.
"It's healthier that you *can't* understand, Fushimi."
Please, stay my source of healing. Just kidding... maybe not.
"You should cover your ears. This will go on a little longer."

Fushimi obediently complied. She leaned against my left leg, shutting out not only the sound but the sight as well. The fact she didn't insist on sticking it out till the end earned her high marks in my book. But why wasn't she afraid of me, speaking so matter-of-factly? I couldn't shake the feeling she'd just grown numb from being too close.

Right, then. Since Yuna and Natane-san were requesting the continuation with their eyes, I suppose I should answer without abandoning my post.
"For the re-enactment, the 'mother,' Keiko-san, had to die first. Next, her son Takahiro-san had to commit suicide. The tricky part started from there. Before anyone else died or was killed, Touka *had* to be the victim."
For example, she might slip on the stairs and die accidentally.
Or Kouzou-san, his self-preservation instinct pushed past its breaking point, might start killing.
In a mansion where slashers, thrill killers, or predators could emerge at any moment, death was always lurking. Anyone dying would have been within the realm of possibility. That's why Keiko-san took such pains with her preparations.
I secretly hoped someone might challenge that, but seeing her [Natane's] stunned expression, I reconsidered – demanding that of her would be cruel.
"Early on, Touka, playing the 'sister' role, had to die. That's where you came in, Natane-san."

This is finally where the earlier matter of the food comes into play.
I looked at Akane again. Our eyes didn't meet, so I quickly switched my gaze back to Natane-san.
"It really was for the sake of that obsession, wasn't it? Even without dumping the food, you'd all perish if the order wasn't considered. To stage the perfect play, you need actors who fully understand their actions. And the reason she tampered with the kitchen situation was because she trusted *you*, Natane-san. Keiko-san was convinced that if she stoked your survival instinct, you would *definitely* turn on Touka first—your own blood-related daughter. That's what she believed."
That's the complete opposite of normal values.
Because she's your daughter, you'd exhaust every human effort, pray to fate as if smearing blood on it, try to ensure her survival.
The human dignity that *person* never lost, even in that basement space filled only with violence and curses.
It was precisely *because* Saka Natane possessed the opposite of that, that Ooe Keiko singled her out for this crucial role.

"Um, excuse me a moment?"
Contrary to her humble words, Natane-san's expression was packed with dissatisfaction.
"There's just one thing... it really annoys me when people don't understand this."
"Go ahead. Explain it yourself."
"Well then," her displeased lips moved as usual, and her expression became gentle again.
"Society concludes that a mother should save her own daughter first, right?"
"Ninety percent of the time, I suppose."
"Exactly. But I've always thought that's backwards... Because she's family, because she's the daughter I bore, shouldn't she be the *first* one sacrificed? I mean, wouldn't it be ruder to kill someone you're *not* close to?"
At Natane-san's soft-spoken, alien values, the sensible Fushimi clutched my leg tightly. Apparently, the earplugs weren't very effective. Since I couldn't lend a hand, I opted to mostly ignore it.
"Because Keiko-san understood that was your nature, she hired you, and eventually realized she could use you, didn't she?"
Sounds tenuous.
"I suppose that's how it was."
What's the point of getting all sentimental? Still, I sensed a trace of feeling for the late Mistress in Natane-san's tone. It wasn't like she bore a grudge; having complex feelings for the deceased is only natural, I guess. Towards her husband, whose knife wounds to the chest and head were relatively fresh, she likely felt no guilt, given her unique priorities.
"By using Natane-san, Keiko-san could dictate the order of death up to Touka—the Amano family's sister stand-in... correction, the Ooe family's. Once that was done, she could consider her objective mostly achieved. Unless you're actually present at the scene of a crime, there are limits to re-enactment. Keiko-san had no way of knowing the order in which my father, my sister's mother, or the kidnapped girl's parents died. So, total annihilation was good enough."
Left alone, they'd starve. Even if they killed each other, it would only postpone the end.
However, in *that* incident, there were three survivors.
How many will survive this time, I wonder?
Keiko-san probably hoped for two, but I can't keep paying respects to the dead. Just kidding, though.
But this whole mess... if Kouzou-san hadn't obtained the gun, or if he hadn't become unemployed the day before, or if Keiko-san hadn't learned about the confinement case from the news, or if Ooe Yuna hadn't been kidnapped, or if Natane-san had found another job, or if Fushimi and I hadn't visited the mansion as a pair... if even one of these hadn't happened, no one would be dead yet. To take it further: If Ooe Kouzou, Ooe Keiko, Ooe Takahiro, Ooe Yuna, Ooe Akane, Ooe Touka, Saka Kiyoshi, Saka Natane, me, Amano Minami, Amano Misa, Amano Shiba, Amano Iruka, Amano Batsuoto, Misono Mayu, Nagase Tooru, Sugawara Michizane... if even *one* of us hadn't been born, this incident wouldn't have occurred. Seriously, everyone, you've all cooperated so pointlessly and lazily with this murder spree. Crime isn't a solo act, it seems. You should all get arrested (except Mayu).
But still, looking at it objectively, none of this connects at all, does it, Yuzuyu?

Truly, she's too precious a talent to rot away as a corpse in this mansion.
"And that concludes the explanation regarding the mystery..."
No one asked any questions, and Yuna had already declared it the end, so... should I just leave the one remaining, trivial problem unresolved and exit the stage? My trivial worries won't reach any of you, busy as you are grappling with your own conflicts. Guess I'll just make a silent exit.

And then, as if taking over, Kouzou-san ascended the podium.
It was his first time taking the lead role, and he was overly enthusiastic.
"Fzafzafzafza..." After letting out a strange cry like some imitation of a toothless old man...
"Don't... screw... with me!"
He spun around, banging his ankle on Akane's chair leg, roared, and lunged at Natane-san. Natane-san wasn't necessarily caught off guard, yet she was easily overpowered. Her shoulder crushed, she was knocked over, chair and all, ending up pinned beneath Kouzou-san. Her lungs compressed, hindering her breathing, her arm strength fading—Kouzou-san wouldn't fail to exploit that. He straddled her and put his hands around her neck.
"Why?! Why didn't you say anything?! You butchered my son, Takahiro, in silence, and... and fed him to us! What the hell are you?!"
I wish he'd consider our position just a little when he says things like that. Natane-san's eyelids fluttered open. The emotion visible on her bewildered face, so close to death, seemed solely that: bewilderment. Any guilt must have been nibbled away by the mansion itself.
Her body bound to the chair with clothesline, her struggling legs took on the sole burden of survival, kicking desperately to fend off her attacker's hands. Repeated knee strikes to her lower abdomen—even pushing her body to its limit couldn't turn the tide. Given the size difference, that was inevitable, something Natane-san likely understood.
Though his spirit was in decline, Kouzou-san was the cat, and Natane-san, the plump, well-nourished field mouse. That was their current dynamic.
For now, at least.
"You murderer! Scum! Idiot! Trash!"
Lost in his childish tirade, calling her less than scum of the scum, the Master conveniently ignored his own murderous actions. What convenient anger he’s filled with.
Akane wasn't paying any attention. She probably has a lot on her mind, so best to leave her be.
In the corner of my eye, someone detached from the cluster of chairs and ran towards the dining room wall, then vanished.
"Stop... We have to stop him!" Fushimi pleaded, pulling at the hem of my yukata. A stranger, a woman who uses those close to her as sustenance, is being attacked by a kidnapper. Considering what comes next, focusing solely on 'survival,' it would be more convenient if one, or preferably both, took each other out. Yet Fushimi's first thought is rescue.

She's so damn wholesome it makes me feel inadequate. How can I even belong to the same species as Fushimi?
I'm starting to want to quit being human.
"It's okay," I sighed, expressing my faith in outside help with a single word.
"There's someone else like me here."
If *she* were to say it, it'd probably be something like, "Another fake version of me showed up? Gross."
Yuna's flying kick, launched with a running start, slammed directly into Kouzou-san's flank, where his defenses had grown lax.
Her toes dug in with the impact of the 'Intrusive Wife, Bug and Knife Wielding Edition,' and Kouzou-san's eyes rolled back. A man who prioritizes himself above all else had no mental capacity to spare for strangling someone; he writhed in agony, tried to scramble away, but collapsed halfway across the floor. Freed from her makeshift collar, Natane-san desperately tried to put distance between them, dragging the chair still attached to her back like a snail, overcome by coughing and tears.
"Oh dear, raising a hand, even kicking my own father. I'm definitely destined for hell next season, yes indeed."
Yuna lamented, pressing her hands to her cheeks and doing a little jig.
While she was at it, she told me with her eyes: since she'd handled the physical labor, the mental labor was all mine.
This time, I had no objection to accepting that role.
"This is why I didn't want to say anything,"
Watching the two of them writhe like a poked pill bug and a mayfly with moments left to live, I stepped up again as the explainer regarding Natane-san's secrecy.
Kouzou-san had asked *why*. Therefore, I had an obligation to give the correct answer.
"Natane-san is the smallest person in this mansion. In a physical struggle, she wouldn't even stand a chance against her own daughter, Touka." At that assertion, Natane-san, still coughing, frowned slightly. Maybe her size is a sore spot. "For example, suppose Natane-san had been foolishly honest and declared there was no food in this sealed mansion. What would you have done then, Kouzou-san?"
"Agaa, agaa..." Since his tongue and lips weren't working properly, I'll fabricate his response.
"For a few days, you'd probably hold out, believing in rescue, surviving on water alone. But after a week, once the days exceeded what you could count on both hands, if you were still forced to live in this mansion, someone capable of action would inevitably resort to cannibalism to get food. In that scenario, Natane-san's chances would dwindle. Combined with her low status within the Ooe household, she'd surely become prey. Even if Natane-san had a gun, if she were caught off guard and put in a stranglehold, it'd be over. That's why she kept quiet, so no one would be alarmed, fed everyone human flesh, ate it herself, and tried to survive longer."
And one more thing—a value system I find hard to grasp—perhaps she feared losing her position as the one in charge of meals, becoming useless.

To survive, she'd stoop to anything.
How wrong is that, exactly?
Knowing Natane-san, though, it seems more likely that her motive wasn't so much clinging to life, but rather indignation at abandoning her post—being unable to provide satisfactory meals—and the crimes were her ultimate act of defiance.

"And finally, regarding the trivial mystery of the handgun... Since Natane-san felt the most threatened from multiple directions in this mansion, she was fixated on obtaining a gun. That was the only basis for my reasoning."
I shrugged, as if to gloss over the fact that it hadn't been a certainty.
I couldn't even manage to be a deliberate perpetrator of truth.
After the two had recovered enough to kneel, I imposed less than a minute of overtime on my mouth.
"And now, knowing everything, I wanted to ask all of you."
My role as detective finished, I stood up. The next question held meaning only because it came from me personally.
"Was what Natane-san did wrong in some way? Let's say we lock Natane-san in a room. The murderer is no longer in the mansion. Fine. What then? The reality that there's no food isn't just Natane-san's problem, you know."
'Man shall not live by bread alone.'
But humans trying to live without bread either have no choice but to die quickly.
And the only food... is us.
Hard walls, deserted land. A front door whose function has become far too one-sided. Just being placed in this pseudo-sealed room where air circulates easily is enough to make people's view of others transform—from precious beings to precious *things*.
The dining room falls silent. The kitchen eagerly awaits the next cooking time.
The mansion slowly savors and digests us.
A man trembling at his own ignorant actions and the conscious acts yet to come.
A girl staring at me with a steadfast gaze.
A girl searching the ceiling for something.
A person unable to sense the abnormality of the situation.
A woman aware of everything, exposed, yet defiant.
For each of them, the fear of the unknown vanished.
And what surged in its place was a despair where only struggling was permitted.
The detective doll's turn is over now.
Just a sad bow, leaving a final address as I exit.
Well, everyone, I have solved all the mysteries for you.
Now then, what kind of solution will you provide for the problem?

---

**Chapter 5: In a Certain Locked Spring Mansion**

One Mii-kun (person), one Mii-kun (small animal), one Mii-kun (large animal), one Mii-kun (general thing), one Mii-kun (small round thing), one Mii-kun (flat thing), one Mii-kun (bird/rabbit), one Mii-kun (bound volume), one Mii-kun (long cylindrical thing), one Mii-kun (drop), one Mii-kun (time/occurrence), one Mii-kun (degree/time), one Mii-kun (flower/wheel), one Mii-kun (bunch/cluster), one Mii-kun (fragment/slice), one Mii-kun (glance/stitch), one Mii-kun (cut/everything), one Mii-kun (corner/part), one Mii-kun (point/item), one Mii-kun (rebellion/uprising), one Mii-kun alone.
I have to find Mii-kun. Anything, whatever, whichever is fine.

---

**April 5th.**

On my seventh attempt at waking, I finally decided to greet the new morning.
Sleep on an empty stomach is shallow. Since falling asleep around 1 AM, I'd woken up once every hour until 8 AM. My eyes met Fushimi's each time, so maybe she didn't get any sleep at all. Twice, she asked me to accompany her to the door when she went to the adjoining toilet.
The room wasn't locked, and the arms of her male housemate—the one she should rely on for strength—were twisted uselessly. Her anxiety was in full bloom, making severe insomnia inevitable. Rather, even if restful sleep had become a luxury due to my body's condition, perhaps I was the thoughtless, insensitive one, snoring away oblivious to the environment.
The problem of escape was still crawling across the mansion's ceilings and refrigerator like it owned the place.
If I recommended Fushimi hole up in the toilet and sleep Hanako-san style, would she feel a bit safer? But even if the lock on a Western-style toilet held off an attacker for a few minutes, there's no way to escape during that time. It's not like she's a vegetable she can chop herself into pieces and set off on a wandering journey. Compared to that, if she's in the room with me, she could use the 'sacrificial pawn' strategy to evade danger just once. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, I guess.

'G'morning.'
Fushimi, the dark circles under her eyes now extended into full-blown 'Kuma Farms' near her cheeks, greeted me with that versatile notebook, capable of everything from club recruitment flyers and love letters to sticking close by her side while she slept. Her hair showed almost no signs of bedhead. Though her cheeks were sunken, her chest remained ample; if she took up residence in the toilet, she might be mistaken for that famously well-developed torso ghost.
With that, I'd used up my quota of morning greetings for the day. Was she thirsty? She held off on the supplemental action.
"Morning. Couldn't sleep after all?"
Fushimi nodded emphatically, lowering her head. She looked at me, who had slept so well, with eyes full of envy and resentment.
"Yeah... Sorry for being so useless."
Saying that, I stood up, ending the chair's service as my bed. Since I couldn't turn over, I'd slept sitting in the chair. Because of that, the smoke from Urashima Taro's box seemed to have spread exclusively to my lower back, making it creak, and my back felt dilapidated enough to be demolished. But I had zero inclination to file a complaint about the sleeping conditions. Last night, before sleeping, needing something suitable for splints for my arms, Fushimi and I had cooperated to destroy a wooden chair and used its legs. So, even less reason to complain. If anything, *I* was likely the one resented.
I rotated my hips and did a few stretches before speaking to Fushimi again.
"First off, why don't you go wash your face?"
Makeup... I think Yuna or Natane-san might lend her some... but Fushimi might not want to meet them.
At my suggestion, Fushimi nodded obediently again, tossed aside the pillow she'd been hugging or folding, and got off the bed. Then she grabbed me by the scruff of the neck— "Hm?"—and forcibly marched me to the washroom.
"Gonna wash your face. Bend over."
With about as much care as washing a dog or cat, she even took care of washing my face. Imagining how easily she could kill me if she had the intent, I decided to accept her kindness. Though not quite enough to part the waves, she splashed water vigorously, and my face was quickly soaked. Unlike me, who would just wait to air dry naturally like something left out in the sun, Fushimi was modern. She scrubbed my face roughly with a towel and dried it instantly.

Next, Fushimi finished washing her own face in about a third of the time it took her to wash my shabby epidermis. The vast difference in base materials necessitates different levels of effort; someone like me requires that much work just to look somewhat presentable, making me feel slightly bad that it was free—a lie I hastily developed. Not applying for a patent.
Wiping her wet hands on a towel, she readied her notebook. Despite having no index, her fingers navigated the pages efficiently, spelling out: 'While' 'we're' 'at' 'it,' 'drink' 'water'?
Fushimi cupped her hands, filled them with water, and offered it to my mouth. How very attentive. Like a devoted lover, or perhaps a home helper paid to care for the elderly.
"Let's start the morning with a glass of water."
"That's from the last health newsletter, isn't it?" Was she on the health committee or something?
That exchange used up the considerable stock of the word 'Water' she had. Since that word was clearly necessary, she quickly stockpiled about twenty more instances of it.

Around noon, we decided to show our faces in the dining room. At first, Fushimi refused, wearing the expression of a friend asked to go hiking in mountains roamed by bears before hibernation, so I killed time fantasizing about Mayu outside the window for a while, but eventually, Fushimi herself suggested we go.
Conversely, the uncertainty about everyone else's movements seemed to fuel her anxiety. If everyone was gathered in the dining room, even if one person decided to start hunting safari-style, the odds of being targeted first were only one in five. There was no reason *not* to go—though it's definitely impossible Fushimi calculated it that way.
Before leaving, I almost blurted out, "We still have plenty of provisions today, so no need to worry about being attacked," but I hastily slammed on the brakes, pulled them, pushed them. I considered that Fushimi probably had no immunity to describing people as 'provisions'. I don't either, but I seem to have a high aptitude for it, so I need to be careful when interacting with normal folks.
We proceeded cautiously towards the dining room and arrived without incident. Kiyoshi-san's body, which should have been noticeable on the carpet by the entrance, was gone. Seems he's been processed for consumption and exported.
Otherwise, Natane-san was eating, while Yuna and Akane were relaxing at a distance from the table. Kouzou-san was nowhere to be seen. If he's around, he's probably in his room or the kitchen.
"Oh my, good morning."
Natane-san put down her knife and fork with a clatter and flashed us the same gentle smile as last night and the first day.
"You slept well, didn't you?"
"We were up late like adults last night."
"Indeed. I also slept until just before noon, so this is brunch for me."
"I see... Oh, by the way, the power is back on. Who fixed it?"
I asked, my eyes drawn to the glittering chandelier and electric lights on the ceiling.

"I did it. I learned how from Kiyoshi-san, so..."
Natane-san boasted of her skill, her lips curving into an innocent smile.
Meaning, if we factor in physique into the equation, the one who beat me to a pulp was almost certainly Kiyoshi-san. Either way, I'm the one who took the beating for nothing, so I don't have the energy to bring it up.
The knife and fork resumed their role as tableware instruments. Clatter, clatter. She deliberately made noise as she stabbed the tip of her fork into a chunk of meat. She cut off a piece of the tough, stringy-looking meat and popped it into her mouth without hesitation. She chewed slowly, then swallowed with an audible gulp.
Then she took a sip of water from her glass and interpreted my gaze as hunger.
"Um, if you'd like to eat, I can prepare some?"
"I'm a locally-sourced vegetarian who likes persimmons, so I'll pass," I declined. Fushimi just hid behind her partner [me] without replying.
Just managing not to run to the toilet and vomit stomach acid is proof she's developed an abnormal tolerance.
Whether she'll develop trauma after this incident ends is anyone's guess.
"Ah, this isn't Master Takahiro, it's Lady Touka... Hmm, ah, I think the nutritional value is about the same, though. I provided meals for both of them in this house."
This explanation of how the 'ingredients' were raised tortured Fushimi's spirit. She pressed her face into my back, her body heaving as she fought back the flood of nausea. ...Starting tomorrow, even if we leave the room, let's avoid the dining room at mealtimes. Bit tricky since the times are irregular, though.
My eyes reacted mechanically to Touka's name. My gaze met Natane-san's, and I looked down slightly.
"I asked the young ladies [Yuna and Akane] if they wanted to eat too, but they declined."
Natane-san's tone held a slight dissatisfaction towards Yuna and Akane. She must know the answer already. Is she being malicious, or just too devoted to her duties to see the path ahead?
"My doctor has put me on a calorie-restricted diet."
Yuna lied smoothly, despite her gaunt frame looking more likely to be warned about anorexia and told to get more nutrition. Both she and I waste too much energy on our tongues, I think.
And Akane, her voice firm, glared defiantly at Natane-san.
"I won't eat that."
"I can't eat her. Touka wasn't something to eat, she was my playmate. So, I can't eat her."
She firmly declared she wouldn't put her sister in her mouth... I wonder in which sense she meant that?
Is she resisting the proper course to avoid letting go of something within herself?
Natane-san apparently interpreted it as refusal. Stabbing Touka with her fork, she declared pleasantly,
"Then, you should just die."

The walls are hard and cold, like a heart resolved against an email that will never arrive.
The windows, on high alert, permit not even a small bird's entry.
The front door, like Natane-san, fulfills its one-way duty.
Rescue and rest both cut off, still inside this cage, we push each other away.