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"Oh, there was one more characteristic. The sound of a cell phone."
"That thing has a habit of reacting to electronic sounds like ringtones and approaching them. It’s to the point where I worry it’s mistaken them for its parent or something due to imprinting. So, if you ring a phone, it might come out."
"Huh. Well then, why don't you ring it, Tachikawa-san?"
"I don't have a phone."
He struck a 'hands-up-in-surrender' pose, his tone joking.
That's a lie. My years of... no, wait, how does he consult with his editor then? That question popped into my head, so I couldn't take his words at face value. Or rather, it's probably just a plain lie.
The question is, why tell such a lie... Is he trying to push the search onto me?
He does have an air of someone who finds things bothersome, so that's a definite possibility.
...Or, he doesn't have it on him. Meaning, he lost it, or it was stolen. Those are about the only possibilities. It's hard to imagine a cell phone he'd be embarrassed for anyone to see.
The corners of his eyes...
But.
Well, I won't press him too deeply for now. No need to exhaust all topics of conversation right here.
"Understood. I'll consult with the office first."
"Is it something worth consulting about? This seems within the scope of what you can do out of goodwill."
"I'll give you the price list later—"
"Bring it after you find the cat, something like that."
Shoo, shoo, he gestured with his palm to drive me away. I didn't resist and stood up to leave the room.
Come to think of it, just before I entered this room, I thought I saw a cat for a split second. I wonder if it wasn't just my imagination. But if it's on this floor, it should be easy to catch.
There's no way the front desk staff would issue a card key even to a cat. It must be in the hallway.
With my hand on the door, I turned around, just my head. For some reason, I felt like that was the detective's customary move. Though, that might be limited to detectives who are described as 'competent' in stories.
"One last thing."
"Columbo?" As he reached for a Lego block he'd tossed aside, his voice brightened with amusement.
"He's a police detective, isn't he? I'm a private detective. Does the cat have a name?"
"No. If you find it, I'll give you the right to name it. Before you bring it back to me, put a name tag on it or something."
"Well, thanks for that."
After a perfunctory thanks, I left the room.
".........A phone, huh."
I mulled over the information I'd been given and scratched the tip of my nose. Well, I'm more enthusiastic about searching for a cat than doing an infidelity investigation.
I guess I just like "searching for things." That's probably the motivation behind choosing to be a detective.
Besides, if I take this job and get closer to Tachikawa Eiji, the investigation will probably go smoother. If I can check his cell phone without permission, the infidelity investigation will be a piece of cake.
First, I decided to go back to my room once to get my own cell phone.
My phone even comes with a hefty 'extra', so it might kill two birds with one stone. That's a lie, though.
Putting aside what was white, I was red with embarrassment.

Tanetorii Hibiki (University Student)
3:00 PM
Maybe the muscles in my legs were exhausted from the load of constant tension, because I took a magnificent tumble.
I went head over heels like a rice ball in a fairy tale, landing hard on my butt on the floor. The carpet seemed to swallow only the sound; the pain was apparently outside its jurisdiction. "Ow-ow-ow," I muttered, rubbing my lower back and butt before quickly trying to stand up to escape my pathetic state. While I was at it, I checked to make sure my cell phone hadn't ended up under me or started creaking from an unexpected increase in grip strength. It seemed fine, so that was a relief for now.
"Oof... Right. So, uhm, well..."
The woman who had made me fall with just her voice gave the impression that her whole face was drooping, either because she was sleepy or because making expressions was too much trouble. She was small, and if she'd pushed me with her hands instead of her words, it didn't seem like she could have budged me an inch. I wonder if she's about the same age as me.
"I'm going to buy a juice, so please move," she said.
Showing me her wallet, she indirectly ordered me to move. Her voice and way of speaking were devoid of any sense of responsibility, airy and detached. Her behavior was so lacking in substance that I irreverently imagined this was the kind of person who might just up and commit suicide. Maybe she's a hotel ghost. Though you'd expect those in old-fashioned inns.
"Oh, is that so? Sorry 'bout that."
Consciously trying to sound friendly, I bowed my head and made way. "Heh, ha ha ha," an awkward laugh escaped me, and scratching my head, I fled towards the elevators. Putting a little distance between myself and the woman, I opened my cell phone and stared intently at the screen as if to cover up our recent exchange. No new messages, no calls.
Should I sigh in relief at that, or hang my head in dejection? Which reaction suits me better right now, I wonder? As I pondered such things, letting my feet decide my destination, I'd arrived at the elevators.
Left alone, I savored the sound of the elevator descending behind the doors, mingled with the nameless string music flowing from the ceiling speakers. The comfort level here seemed more guaranteed than in front of the vending machine. I leaned my back against the wall with the elevator buttons and was about to open my cell phone again. But that was interrupted.
A cat was at my feet before I knew it. The white cat from before had apparently followed me for some reason. I wonder if the creaking of my body or something sounded like a bell to it. It sat with the tip of its long tail on the floor, back straight, in a very un-cat-like posture. It still had the card key in its mouth. Its gaze was directed upwards, but not at me—at my cell phone.
"Hmm?" I tried bringing my cell phone closer to the cat's nose. The cat's eyes followed the body of the phone, but otherwise, it showed no particular reaction. Its expression remained sour, as if imaginary lines like, 'What's with you, punk? You're struggling with university exams, and you think you're hot stuff experimenting on a cat?' were about to fly out. It's not like cell phones are that rare these days, either.
This guy probably isn't a stray. Unless it's a cat belonging to one of the hotel guests, it couldn't have made it to the seventeenth floor.
Even when I pulled the phone away, the cat didn't stretch its neck to follow. The only change was the contraction rate of its pupils; it didn't do anything like pounce on it out of curiosity. Honestly, right now, I'm more interested in the girl than any cat. When I arrived, it was about a fifteen-minute taxi ride from the station to the hotel. Which means... I opened my phone to check the time, and it means she should arrive before three-thirty. Huh? So, ten minutes have passed since that call, and even including other travel time, that means there are only about five minutes left, right? Is it okay for me not to panic? Is it okay for me to be calm? Ah, just when I'd calmed down a bit, I'm right back to a mental state where I'm practically pushing myself over, curling up like a shrimp and rolling around.
My heart wasn't just pounding, it was more like I was worried my ribs were going to crack loudly and break. My whole body was so stiff, like a dress shirt fresh from the cleaners, that my skin felt tight. If I meet her in this state, I feel like I'll just be folded up. I doubt I'll even be given time to interpret that as 'how domestic and lovely.'
A female cleaning staff member, pushing a cart, was about to pass by the elevators in the right hallway.
Instinctively, I adjusted my position and crouched down, as if to hide the cat with my body. I didn't want to be misunderstood as having brought the cat in and get told off. The cleaning staff member tilted her head with a professional smile but passed by without any reprimand. After watching her go, I straightened my knees and returned to my spot by the wall.
On the way, I spotted the small woman from earlier walking down the hallway. She was rubbing a can against her wrist and deliberately dragging the soles of her feet on the carpet. She might have been a bit of a dangerous person, come to think of it.
I like the vibrations that run up my back through the wall every time an elevator passes. If it were a side-to-side, grinding kind of impact, I probably would have hated it, but a vertical rush was different. I don't understand it well enough to explain all the reasons, but the sensation of aiming for the sky is accompanied by a pleasant feeling. It means I prefer being above the sky to being under the ground.
I looked away from my cell phone and gazed up at the ceiling. I hated the idea of being buried under the ground after I die. I remember a friend who died of an illness about six months ago saying something rather strange about that.
"What was it again?" I muttered, but my heart was palpitating too rapidly for me to be in a state to remember. Sorry, my friend. After this storm passes, let me slowly reminisce about our memories together.
Just when I'd somehow managed to get through the longest ten minutes of my life—feeling the elevator's trajectory with my back, opening my cell phone, observing the cat that was glaring up at me as if to say, 'What the hell, you bastard, don't make me have a staring contest with you just 'cause you're bored,' and fiddling with my cell phone with my fingertips...
An electronic sound, like a saw blade being drawn across my nerves, pierced my ears. "Whoa, hey!" I almost dropped my cell phone again, but it didn't seem to be mine. It's bad for the heart; couldn't they spread a nationwide etiquette rule that all cell phones other than mine should be turned off for the next hour or so?
Somewhere in the hallway, another phone was ringing. And as if in response, the cat started running.
Surely it wasn't a sound signaling a call for the cat. And whether the cat was in a hurry or not, I'm not sure, but it dropped the card key it was holding at my feet and ran off. It seemed to head in the direction of the vending machine where I was just a moment ago, but I wonder...
For some reason, I bent down and picked up the card key. '1701' was printed on the ultramarine blue key. Did that cat pick up a card key dropped by a user on this floor?
Should I take it to the room? No, but if they're in the room, they'd normally insert the card key to use it as a power source, so maybe they're out. If they're out... they'd need it for the elevator too, wouldn't they?
Hmm, this feels fishy somehow.
Quite literally, what if this card key has been chosen to be the key to some grand story?
And by picking up this card key, the situation takes a sudden turn! The looming shadow of conspiracy! I, who have lived through mundane days dealing with trivial worries, am suddenly caught up in a dramatic, fast-paced adventure!
...
The malice lurking behind everyday life! And into a world of death and betrayal where only extraordinary values ​​prevail!
The smell of blood spreading in room 1701! The ever-twisting fate of the card key! What is the golden legacy sleeping in the room! And whose hand will insert the card key into that room!
...
Well, more than such a major incident, the worry about what topic to bring up first when I meet her is a much bigger deal for me. But still, it's true that I'm curious, isn't it?
A boy who doesn't get excited by the situation of being caught up in a major incident isn't a boy, right?
"Whose is this...?"
Twirling the card key, I tilted my head, and while I was at it, I wiggled my ankles too.
To me, who restlessly adds superfluous actions just by voicing every little question like that,
"Oh, so that's where you dropped it," a remarkably refreshing, yet somehow insincere line drifted over.

Shiina Kouji
2:50 PM
What if my life has completely changed while I've been holed up in this toilet?
For example, what if outside this closed toilet, a brutal murder is taking place, one where the victim can't even let out a groan? Or what if something that was supposed to guide my life in a better direction has been separated by the toilet wall and passed me by? Or what if a bomb exploded outside, and when I come out, it's all a burnt-out ruin? Am I perhaps the only one who frequently has such worries when I'm in the toilet?
It's not that I have obsessive-compulsive disorder, or anything. But while being still and calm in a place like a miniature garden is paradise, I'm also assaulted by the anxiety that 'maybe I'm not doing anything at all.' *What can you leave behind?*
Such a question surfaces in my mind. It's a passage from a novel my son was reading last. After my son's death, I found myself spending more holidays holed up in his room. My wife also cleaned his room every day and made no attempt to put away any of his belongings. My daughter started living alone soon after, so I don't know about her. We're in the middle of a fight.
Staring at the bookshelf in my son's room, 'I see,' was my first thought. I truly felt that a child dying before their parents is, just as one hears from the world, a considerable misfortune. I felt like my heart had turned into cotton candy. It was a fluffy, elusive feeling, and I couldn't resolve the pain in my heart. And then, my irritation grew, my hand reached for cigarettes again, and there was no one left to reprimand me for it.
"......Well now."
My thoughts have strayed quite a bit from the feeling that the toilet is too calming and thus makes me anxious.
Let's wrap this up quickly. Back to the main subject.
However, it's probably safer to rest in the toilet for now. The lingering scent of the bath that woman took, the steam that makes it like a sauna and fogs my thoughts, also plays a part in reducing my motivation to act. No... gradually, it's getting so hot I feel like I'm about to lose consciousness. I'm thirsty too. Even if the tap water in the hotel washroom is marked as drinkable, for some reason, I find it hard to bring myself to drink it. I wonder if it means I haven't changed at all since elementary school, when I'd deliberately run to the water fountain outside the shoe lockers to quench my thirst, instead of using the taps inside the school building.
A knock on the door from outside, and my butt lifts off the toilet seat. I felt a nasty twinge in my lower back, but I tried to convince myself it didn't hurt, wondering if I could just self-resolve it like that. Don't be ridiculous.
"Y-yes?"
...
I naturally speak deferentially. It's proof that I still haven't grasped the sense of distance with this woman. It doesn't seem like we'll have a long association, so enduring this awkward atmosphere will probably only be for a little while.
"Uhm—" A slight pause there. "Mr. Suspicious Person." She seemed to have hesitated on how to address me.
"No, uhm... well, I guess that's fine. Yes, what is it?"
We haven't introduced ourselves to each other, and it's unnecessary anyway.
"I'm just going to buy a juice."
"......Go ahead."
...
A juice? In this situation? Leaving an old guy alone in the room, for a juice.
I want to grill her, 'You're not planning to go out and call for backup, are you?' but if I tried to sound intimidating in this state with my lower half exposed, I feel like it would just be pathetic, so I let it slide.
Besides, I had a baseless confidence that she probably really was just going to buy a juice.
Assuming that things around me will move according to my convenience—was that a bad Japanese habit?
"Would you like something to drink, Mr. Suspicious Person?"
"Is that so?"
Putting that aside for a moment.
Alcohol. To quench my thirst. To dilute the fear, to release the pressure on my heart.
"......No, please don't worry about me." I restrained myself, thinking it was truly impudent.
The woman backed down easily, and I heard the sound of the room door opening. And then, the door closed. I waited a few seconds after that and decided to steel myself and leave the toilet. My stomach ache hasn't subsided yet, but I don't have the luxury of waiting for recovery right now. What if I'm seen with the dead body and the bag full of money in room 1701? No, in the first place, who on earth... Am I being deceived? But no, the dead body is 'real.' It's not an illusion. Unless it's a hallucination, I probably can't take the elevator down to the first floor. Alright, let's get out of this toilet, this paradise in a miniature garden. It's getting unbearably hot and stuffy, and the sweat is extremely uncomfortable.
I opened the bathroom door and slowly peeked my head out. It's possible that the woman leaving the room was just a sound effect, and she's still lurking in the room, aiming to secure me. So, I first stuck out just my head (if the door was pushed from the outside in this state, it would be a guillotine), but there was no sign of anyone.
Next, I put out my right foot and tumbled out. I slammed my body against the wall and mirror right in front of me, and a pain shot through me that felt like it could cause a minor injury. Still, I didn't stop moving, quickly got up, and swung my arms around wildly in an intimidating gesture. Though I thought that if the couple from the room I first fled into had been invited into the room as reinforcements, this would be an insufficient deterrent.
However, it was empty. Only I, striking a mock-martial arts pose, was breathing in the silent room, as if cut off from the world.
The mirror beside me honestly reflected my flushed face from my dramatic actions.
Did she really leave? Doesn't she think it would be a huge loss if I were a thief? Surely she doesn't actually interpret me as some local old guy who felt the urge to pee while playing Spider-Man, leaping from building to building, and just came to borrow the toilet. If she does believe that, I hereby declare that while I will respect youth culture in the future, I will never get involved with it again.
It's an infuriatingly precarious path, more so than a spider's thread, but I approach the window, my only hope. Scolding and encouraging my faltering legs, and for good measure, slapping them with an open hand as if whipping a horse, I inch closer.
I have to get out of here before that woman comes back, retrieve everything, and leave the hotel.
I placed my hands on the window and peered out at the scenery. The windows of the building opposite weren't open; I'm being helped in some ways by the fact that it's a holiday. The situation is a mass of misfortune, yet small details seem to be overflowing with good luck, allowing me to somehow stay alive. When I look back on today someday, will I be able to enjoy the process? I hope it won't just be wry smiles. Is it already too late?
I pulled my head back in for a moment, and when I glanced at the table beside me, something caught my eye.
A white piece of paper was neatly folded, forming a pure white rectangle. It sat perfectly in the center of the table, exuding an aura that made it seem like my fingerprints would be absorbed if I touched it. Somehow, it's *that*—I have a bad feeling.
Unfortunately, my fifty-three years haven't afforded me the opportunity to encounter those kinds of individuals. No, wait, is that fortunate? It's definitely fortunate, right? He lived to the very end... No, that's not relevant to now.
As I reached to pick it up, my fingertips hesitated. It's too much of that woman's private life. Would a normal person leave something like this out when they go out? I can't help but lament to young people about their ethics, their sloppiness in tidiness, and their lack of proper management.
Isn't this what they call a 'suicide note'? Though it's not written on the front.
My hesitating, stalled fingers touched the edge of the paper. Looking towards the room's entrance, I confirmed that no guilt was welling up and took the paper. This must be some kind of fate too. It's one-sided, but my justification was summarized by that. If there's anyone who doesn't feel a thrill peeking into the secrets of another person's life, they shouldn't read novels. That's an act of voyeurism using the difference in dimensions.
When I turned it over, '違書' (Violating Letter) was written on the back. True to the concise two-character declaration, though the kanji is wrong, is that okay? Since I'd touched it anyway, my interest in the contents grew. If it's not a suicide note but a 'violating letter,' then peeking wouldn't be irreverent, I reasoned, opening the 'Violating Letter.'
Ah, so that's why she said things like 'Won't you jump?' I thought, recalling the woman's remarks.
'Since he died, I've been like a dead person,
so I decided to end my life to become what I truly am.
I don't resent anyone. It's no one's fault. I'm dying for my own reasons.
I don't want to use anyone else as an excuse for my suicide.
It's just that my personal reasons will inconvenience the hotel staff, I'm sorry.
I plan to time my fall for when there's no one below, so I don't think anyone will get caught up in it.
It will also be a bother for the people who have to clean up the splattered body and blood, I'm sorry.
There's nothing else to write, so it's short, but I'll end it here.
Lastly, to my younger brother. If I see Sis, I'll tell her what you said at the funeral.'
...
The shock was greater than I expected. Was it because this was my first encounter with a suicide note?
For a while, I just stood there, holding the suicide note... ah, the 'violating letter.'
It might have been a surprisingly long time. It seems I'm still not used to being near death.
.....After a little while.
I folded it and carefully placed it back on the table, even minding its position. Well, shall I go out the window?
Pretending I hadn't seen it, I gripped the window frame. Placing my recovered, no-longer-trembling foot on the windowsill, I slid my body vertically out. It's poignant that I'm getting a little used to this. This kind of work, only burglars would do, so why on earth have I graduated from being a beginner? Because I'm acutely aware of the hardship, my stomach, burning with pain as if inflamed, is unbearable. I don't even have the strength to suppress my ragged breathing.
Again, I stand on the ledge outside the window. I try not to look down. It's okay, I made it this far, so I just have to reproduce that once more. On the way back, I can return to the first floor via a path with plenty of solid floor and walls. If I proceed, pouring all my strength and caution into my limbs, a path like this is nothing.
My stomach is always overreacting. Let's take it easy and go.
I swallowed and took the first step.
Still, it was a suicide note with only one point I could agree with.
In the end, I couldn't pretend I hadn't seen it, and I found myself recalling the contents of the 'suicide note.'
This lack of concentration, which casts out antennas in all directions, absorbs various information, and finds anxiety within it, is a fatal habit of mine that I can't fix even if I'm aware of it.
Well, if I think about having to live with it for only another twenty years or so, I can laugh and forgive it.
There was no way I could forgive it.
The situation. The state. The abnormality. The fact. I am forsaken, standing stock-still.
Standing stock-still outside the window, in a situation like that of a suicidal person, I, who continue to live, am still too stunned to even have the composure to appreciate my fingers' desperate efforts to maintain life. I can't help but suspect that the sunlight pouring down from the sky, even after summer has passed, is acting to create heat hazes in my eyeballs.
The window of room 1701 was closed. It was even locked from the inside, no way to open it. Who on earth? Someone must have gone inside for it to be locked, which means, in this room, then...
But how, the card key? Having come this far, breathless, it's painful even to maintain my posture, yet I still have to carefully bend at the waist and peer into the room through the window. There were no human figures of any shape, old or young, large or small. The bag I failed to retrieve was still there, and nothing had been moved. It didn't seem like the cleaning staff had entered either. Then, who just closed the window?
Clank, clank, disregarding the danger, I pulled at the frame I was gripping and shook the window. It won't come off. It won't open. It won't break. In this state with such tenuous footing, if I pull too hard, I'll blossom in red.
What's going on?
What does this mean?
What should I do?
My thoughts pile up, become a weight, and crush my heart flat.
Who is it, the damn fool who locked it!

Tanetorii Hibiki (University Student)
3:10 PM
"Huh?" I felt like someone had spoken to me, so I turned around. "Wha—?!" I was startled by the sight.
A boy was being possessed by a girl. To say he was 'carrying her on his back' would be inaccurate, so I can't use auspicious words. The girl had her arms wrapped around the boy's neck, hugging him tightly. The girl's feet were dangling, and the boy's lips were bluish-purple. He wasn't getting enough oxygen. His thoughts and common sense also seemed to be in short supply.
Moreover, the little fingers of the boy and girl were tied together with a bright red string, as if it had been wrung from the blood of fate itself. A hole pierced next to the little finger... so that's what it's used for, huh... Wow, I'm not getting one of those.
Their eccentricity was formidable enough to momentarily banish her existence from my mind. I wonder if that doesn't hurt. The boy's eyes were calmly dead, and the girl's expression was vacant.
These guys are that high-school-student-like couple I saw earlier. They're both good-looking, yet my feeling that neither of them is enviable... I wonder if my senses are normal. Somehow, looking at them makes me feel like my common sense is about to be overturned, and I get unsettled. They feel like residents of a world that isn't ordinary.
But still.
They seem shady.
It feels like I'm being played.
"Did you pick it up for us?" The boy approached, walking leisurely.
It seemed like he was trying to be friendly in his own way, but it was so awkward that it made me wary instead.
"Um, no, it's not like... it wasn't me, the cat... Is this... for your guys' room?"
I cut short my explanation of the circumstances and tried to probe. When I showed him the number on the card key, the boy nodded readily. Well, setting aside the speed of his actions, his movements were sluggish, as if he were also bearing the girl's share.
"Yeah, that's right. We came up here, went to our room, and then noticed, ah, we lost it. So we rushed back."
"......Huh." So the cat picked it up. But how did these guys go back and forth between the elevator and their room without passing by the vending machine? Are they going to say something like, 'We came out of a different room by walking along the outside wall of the window'? I can't imagine anyone with the guts and reasons to do something like that staying at this hotel. Even the staff would probably tell them to relax more.