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I found myself staring, no, *appreciating* her so intently that I met the mother’s eyes. It’s truly regrettable, but just as Touki says, the world is harsh on people like me. If one were to delve into history without fear of misunderstanding, they’d find that Japan has been brimming with us lolita-loving types since ancient times. My assertion, however, is not accepted by society, and if I were to be seen as dangerous, it would be unbearable. I braced myself, but the mother, far from being wary, responded with a smile full of pride, "My daughter's reeeally cuuute, isn't she?"
Of course, I don’t underestimate girls enough to laugh that off as a doting parent’s delusion.
If I were allowed, I’d love to engage this lady in a flourishing discussion about her daughter, eventually hoping to call her “Mother-in-law” for several years, but I mustn’t forget that I’m in the middle of a date.
“Luigi, what about the girl next to us?” Touki, perhaps noticing where my gaze was directed, chimed in.
“Strike,” I whispered, careful enough that the pair next to us wouldn’t overhear if they strained their ears.
“Then what about the one further next to her?” A girl of about five, perhaps. Hmmm… I stretched my neck to get a better look.
“Strike two.” I lightly flicked the glass of water that had been served.
“What about the waitress?” Late teens, maybe.
“Demoted to the minors. And with you included, that’s batter out.”
“Still wonderfully striking out at life, as always.”
“Hehehe, well, detectives are best when they’re outlaws, you know.”
“It’s not your work that’s deviant, it’s you as a person.”
Just as I was enjoying this bittersweet conversation, a meddling hand reached out from the side.
“Perfect timing,” Tachibana Eiji said, thrusting a small dish with pickled shallots and *fukujinzuke* at me.
“Eat this for me. I hate it. Besides, I came here to eat curry, not to order pickles. If I wanted to eat them, I’d order them separately. This is the same level of idiocy as serving a mountain of cabbage at a tonkatsu place.”
“Um, sir…” I sighed, accepting the wet towel the waitress offered.
Is this guy a child? I like children (in a profound sense), but I dislike *that* kind of childishness.
“You can count this as part of the job.”
The novelist, who mistakes detectives for jacks-of-all-trades, let go of the plate with a satisfied smile. If I hadn’t caught it, it would have fallen to the floor, its contents ruined. In the end, I couldn’t just let that happen. Good grief, I placed a hand on my hat and sighed once more. A girl’s selfishness is the best, though, isn’t it?
Incidentally, that young couple sitting in the same direction, the boy and girl, had their hands on the table, showing off the red string on their pinky fingers to the waitress. Hmm, I’d rather steer clear of *that* girl over there.
Touki mouthed and gestured with her index finger, “Is this the person we’re investigating?”
When I nodded, she looked up from the menu with a “Hmm,” and stared at Tachibana Eiji. She seemed curious. Well, he’s a novelist, so if you live a normal life, he’d be a rare specimen, I suppose. It’s not a job where you trade on your looks, so he’s not a particularly interesting person, but his insides are… different, or rather, not sociable.
He doesn’t belong to anything, so his personality is detached from any group consciousness. To put it bluntly, he’s selfish.
“Aargh! So noisy!”
The woman who was the appendage to the girl sitting two tables away from us suddenly barked.
Apparently, she was venting her anger at her own ringing cell phone.
“My mistake. I can’t believe I forgot to turn off the power…” the woman muttered, looking as if she was about to destroy the LCD screen with her finger.
Sensing that the woman with the lovely daughter next to her was looking utterly astonished, I cleared my throat with a “Ahem,” and she, half in desperation or perhaps self-mockery, burst into a loud laugh, her voice ringing out.
“You see, I haaaaaate cell phones, ohohoho!”
“If it weren’t for work, who the hell would carry something like this around?!” she spat out her complaint with such force that if she weren’t in public, she might have spat on the ground. She then tossed the cell phone onto the table.
The girl, who looked to be around five, reached out with a “Mwee, mwee,” and grabbed it. She fumbled with the buttons with her chubby fingers and innocently requested, “Mommy, how to use, teacher please.”
Her mother, despite an irritated “Huh?” leaned forward and covered her daughter’s hands and the cell phone with both of her own. Hmm. Looking again, that girl over there is also quite good.
Her slightly large eyes and bob-style haircut aren’t bad either. If the girl closer is a tourist spot’s blue sea, the one further back is a local landmark. I can clearly sense her substance, which gives me a sense of security.
Still, that mother and child with the phone, they’re really two peas in a pod. The shape of their ears and eyes in profile match.
“Stupid Luigi, have you decided what to order? Just so you know, you can’t order girls.” Touki thrust the menu at me, glaring.
Ooh, goosebumps.
“Is that jealousy?”
“Fall from the sky like trash and be crushed to death, you self-absorbed pedo bastard.”
Hahaha, well now. Being insulted like that somehow reminds me of my student days.
Back then, my nickname was the “walking pedometer.”
A name efficiently derived from both a pedometer and a “No Longer Human” scouter.

Sakurayama Eko
2:40 PM

The Shinkansen, being utterly inflexible, arrived at the station, so I had to get off before I could connect with my husband on the phone. I unplugged the power cord, put it away, and holding the phone to my ear, I got off the Shinkansen and stood on the platform. I’d been pressing the phone to my ear for a little too long, so it felt like I was hearing a phantom *trrrring-trrrring* in my other ear. Ah, next time I’ll have my husband carry two phones. Then, if both of us hold phones to both our ears when we talk, it’ll be in stereo, and doesn’t that sound wonderful? Of course it does, anyone would think so. Yes, I’m sure my husband will agree with open arms. He’s usually quite playful, you know, though he’s apparently a stick-in-the-mud at work. It’s that expression he shows only to me, when he lets his guard down. Ooh-hoo-hoo-hoo. If he showed it to anyone else, I’d scratch ‘em out.

Leaving the phone ringing, I stepped onto the platform and hurried towards the ticket gates. I’d love to just kick one of those people spreading out across the stairs out of my way and push through. And those idiots on the escalator just stand there, it’s the worst. Without my husband, I have to go out of my way to restrain myself, which is such a pain. The phone won’t connect, to the point I want to smash it to bits; today’s just an unlucky day, isn’t it? I can’t believe that even in my honeymoon phase with my husband, there are occasionally times like a piece of rotten banana. Ah, it’s about to go to voicemail again. Hang up immediately, redial.
*Klack, klack, klack,* listening to my own footsteps, I barge ahead without caring if I bump shoulders with some baboon-like old geezer leading his grandchild by the hand or some crab-like old hag carrying a child. And after passing through the ticket gates, well now, where’s the hotel?
I go round and round and round, wandering the surrounding streets, and end up back at the station. When I asked my husband before what my only flaw was, he laughed and said, “Maybe that you have no sense of direction?” I wonder if he really meant it.
If my husband would just answer the phone, I could ask for directions, but you, my dense darling, aren’t being considerate enough to realize that, are you? That’s why you’re no good without me. This has been a good chance to reaffirm our marital bond, hasn’t it? So it’s fine now, just answer the phooooone aaargh sdv jhggh v gu qcgbq zu wcqvfh ba wdL!
“Excuse me, I’d like to ask for directions—” I say, sidling up to a horse-faced railway police officer with a beaming, superficial smile. Inside, I’m still screaming, so I can’t hear a word the horse-cop says, but that’s fine, I’ll just make it up. “Yes, how can I help you?”
“Um, actually, I just…”
“Excuse me! I want to ask for directions!” some damn brat cut in from the side.
What’s with this brat, who looks about six years younger than me? The insolent, ill-mannered pig-brat is standing in front of me, panting as she talks to the idiot cop. Should I grab her by the hair from behind, drag her back, and rip out five thousand strands?
The instant my hand reached for the back of her head, “…My name is, and, oh yes, about the hotel…” My hand paused.
Because her destination was the same as mine, a sliver of Buddha-like compassion was carved into me, like a sculpture. I lowered the hand I’d raised, as if to cover my face with that thinly peeled surface, and said, “I want to go there too, by the way.” Unlike my husband, the shits of this world value youth, so they’ll teach the way more kindly and politely if I use this sow, how truly foolish.
The ill-mannered female turned around and frivolously invited me, “Oh reaaally, you too? Theeen leeeet’s go togeeether.”
Internally increasing the number of hairs to pull out to six thousand, I managed a superficial conversation, “Oh, thaaat’s nice, leeeet’s gooo.”
Just as I expected, the idiot cop, lured by the pig whose only asset is her youth, suddenly started acting kind and even politely taught us the way to the bus stop. This is why all humans besides my husband are nothing but shit-bugs, and I wouldn’t feel a shred of guilt even if I crushed a million of them; it would just be refreshing. Collapse and crumble, humanity!

Since my husband, who always helps me when I get lost on the streets, isn’t here, I found something I could use and successfully managed to become a parasite. If this little pig-girl hadn’t been here, I would have been late arriving at my husband’s hotel, so I, who made effective use of her, am truly brilliant. But this piss-and-shit pig, for some reason, she smells like an inferior version of me. Ugh, she stinks. More unpleasant than meat that hasn’t been bled out.
Well, I don’t need to talk about the pig anymore, but since the phone still won’t connect, I’ve ended up coming all the way to the hotel where my husband is staying. I wonder if he’ll be surprised. No, surely, he’ll be overjoyed and spend a wonderful night with me at the hotel. That’s +3 wonderful points. If he’s betrayed me, it’ll just be 100 out of 100 points for butchering him.
“Aaah, pleeease wait a moment,” the fawning pig says, taking out her phone and starting to call someone. Why should I have to wait for her? I always keenly feel how truly worthless this world is, where I have to interact with a smile at some thoughtless shit-brat who doesn’t pursue efficiency like talking on the phone while walking or while riding the bus. And what’s more, the pig-gorilla’s call connects easily, and she’s cooing, “Ah, Senpaaai?” Don’t you dare make that fawning voice, do you want me to punch a hole in your throat, you?
“I’ll kill you, voicemail! I’ll smash you!” I hang up and redial. The pig-gorilla keeps chattering away in high spirits, doing nothing but harassing me. It seems she’s prepared to have her head bashed in with a vase right now. Ah, aaah, how unlucky for you, shit-pig, that there’s no vase. Retract your preparedness. I’m on edge here, so the fact that she can’t show the consideration to end her call quickly shows this world still hasn’t found the meaning in revolving around me and my husband. Just a procession of insects and their nests, acting all proud, barely surviving by inhaling insecticide. They should just die quickly.
“Aaah, sorry to keep you waaaaiting.” She started talking like a female cockroach-pig, well, she’s evolved, I’m so surprised. “Nooo, it’s fine. Well, shall we go?” Still, I have to keep up appearances. For my husband’s sake, I’ll detach myself, kill myself, stab myself, stir myself into a mess, and become the epitome of a good wife. Now, take me with you.
The white pig walked ahead on the path the idiot cop showed us, and I, treating her as my attendant, proceeded by the shortest route. Then, while waiting at the bus stop, riding the bus, and until we reached the hotel, she, in her pig-like way, used words to talk to me. Ugh, it’s such a shock that we’re using the same language, I really need to develop a language exclusively for me and my husband soon.
The mouth of the sow sitting next to me on the bus moves, getting carried away, like the squishy squirming of a slug.
“Miss, what business do you have at the hotel?”
“Heehee, you ask an adult that?”
“Eh, ah, ah… Right. How embarrassing.”
“Just kidding. I’m just a solo traveler. Weren’t you on the phone with your boyfriend earlier?”
“Y-yes, b-boyfriend, I guess… No, wait, maybe he is!”
“Oh my. Such a fresh relationship, I’m a bit jealous.”
“No, I was the one who invited him, for sure. That hotel, a long time ago… nope, it’s a secret.”
“Such a suggestive way to leave it hanging. Moo, now I’m curious.”
“…I’m worried that if a girl asks a guy out, he might get wary or something, you know?”
“It depends on how shy your boyfriend is. Well, just enjoy yourself.”
“Enjoy myself, moo, you’re too much, miss.”
The above was ten lines of oversized garbage in mine and my husband’s lives.

After enduring that barren time, I burst into the hotel we arrived at, and with my pounding heart, my world starts spinning. Annoyed by the slowness of the automatic doors, I end up running up the escalator. “Miiiiss, you’re too faaast!” “Oh reaaally? Sooorry.” If I matched your pace, my husband would die of loneliness, you damn pig! Shut up, get butchered, and line up at the meat shop.
After going up to the front desk, the little pig-girl uses her cell phone to call the male upstairs. This hotel, for a bunch of insects, has a thoroughly suspicious design where you can’t ride the elevator without a card key, so I decided it was best to wait for the male too. Ah, if my husband would just answer the phone and come pick me up, I could be a proper princess without my veins throbbing, but where on earth is my husband alive? I don’t mind if it’s a desperate situation, but if you’re neglecting me, either way, I’ll just *keshukori* (a beautified term for “twist to death”) you, so you just wait for me, worrying yourself to death ♪.
While waiting in the lobby, silently finding it amusing how the pig’s front paws were strangely tense and stiff, the elevator stopped and a man came out at a trot.
“Ah, Senpaawee,” called out the female cockroach, not with a lisp, but with a thought-deficient voice, leading the way for the bull-man who turned around with a smile plastered in shit.
That unremarkable man, with looks inferior to my husband’s pinky nail, as if he’d strung together a bunch of chopped-up flaws and insisted they were strong points, froze in a Saturday Night Fever pose. He should just die quickly.

Tanetorii Hibiki
(College Student)
3:30 PM

But showing up to a hotel accompanied by family, what’s up with that? For a second, the laws of the universe almost went haywire.
As I stood frozen, a couple—one with a brimmed hat and the other looking like a middle schooler—passed by me.
*Her* girl has a gentle, approachable face, while the older-sister type next to her is way too beautiful, more gorgeous than necessary, her looks are too perfect. Normally, saying something like that is limitless praise, I guess, but regarding that beauty, something felt unnatural. I can’t state a clear reason, though.
As I remained frozen mid-greeting, *she* grabbed my arm, pulling it down, and peered at my face up close, “Senpai, what’s wrong?”
I flinched back like a zebra in a cage with a tiger’s paw approaching, but since she was still holding onto my arm, we moved together. It was like we were dancing in the middle of the front lobby. “Whoa,” she stumbled, and I fell into the illusion that we were holding hands, making me want to instinctively put my arm around her shoulder.
She, on the other hand, was just wondering about my strange behavior, “What is it?” completely unaware.
“No, look, your elbow.”
“Hm? Oh my, excuse me.” She let go of my arm, giving a nod with an unfittingly affected air.
Not that anyone wanted her to let go, my heart’s hand clenched empty, lingering regret. I couldn’t grab her with my one arm, and she smoothly moved away from my side, taking two steps back.
“Oh, right, the older lady is staying over, so she needs to check in at the front desk, right?” She turned and called out to the “older lady” behind her.
From her tone and attitude, it didn’t seem like she was her actual older sister, and a warmth of relief spread through my chest. My cold sweat subsided, and I even had the composure to tilt my head, wondering what kind of relationship they had to be together. People’s connections are interesting when you look into them. Sometimes, strangers are connected to acquaintances in unexpected ways. Though, I doubt any of my acquaintances are directly here at this hotel. If there were… I’d just have to laugh.
And, that older lady is still smiling. It’s more accurate to interpret it as a fixed smile rather than genuine laughter. She also looks like she finds it too bothersome to use other emotions in conversation. Maybe I’m overthinking this. But somehow, this person is strange. My intuition is telling me so.
My college friends are all weirdos, and my apartment building is full of “those kinds” of women, so I admit my wariness might be extending its territory into my social life more than necessary, but… well, she’s a beauty, anyway.
That beauty opened her mouth to her. “That was a lie. I actually came here for work.”
She said, approaching her and me with sharp *klack-klack-klack* footsteps. Her glossy lips curved into a gentle, soft smile, which, combined with her elegant features, made her look like a painting displayed in the hotel.
Even though *my date* was right beside me, my eyes were momentarily captivated, and I felt dizzy.
“For work?” She widened her eyes, clearly taken aback.
“Actually, I… for now, shall we get on the elevator?” The older lady pointed to the elevator and offered me a smile. It was coated in friendly elements, but somehow, her words carried a sense of coercion. She seemed to be urging us, wanting to go up into the hotel.
“Is this okay?” I hesitated, but she was coming upstairs too, so there was no point in refusing over a momentary doubt and making things take longer, so I nodded. “Yeah, true.”
In response to my sign of agreement, the older lady gave no reaction and started walking with those sharp *klack-klack-klack* steps. Her demeanor is gentle, yet her footsteps have been harsh from the start. That part might be what’s creating this sense of unease.
“Senpai, I’m sorry for being late today.” The girl, who had readjusted her bag next to me, bowed her head with a *pekori*.
Is she bothered about being over an hour late for our meeting? This girl’s emotions are so loose; no matter which of joy, anger, sorrow, or pleasure she expresses, it’s like mochi picked up with chopsticks. Flat and without undulations, so I can’t get a full picture.
“Are you okay?”
“It’s totally fine now. Look, thanks to that, my thirst has been quenched.”
Oh no, the tension that had eased while I was distracted by the uncertain element of the “older lady” came rushing back the moment she was beside me. I’m trying to give an impression of being full of beans—no, full of pep—by rotating my right shoulder round and round, but the meaning of my own line is too unclear, it’s counterproductive.
“Hmm. Were you attacked by a ruffian who shoved a water spray into your mouth or something?”
“That sounds less like a ruffian and more like someone whose own brain is committing violence.”
“Hmmmm… Ah, so if such a person exists, then that situation could occur, right?” She refused to let go of her pet theory.
But what kind of idea is that? The world isn’t so flexible that any situation can occur just by forcing a consistency. Besides, the card key system acts as an elevator attendant precisely to prevent dangerous people from getting in.
“No, but really, don’t worry about being late or anything. It’s not your fault. It was the train, right?”
“That’s right. Apparently, the train sort of… steamrollered someone on the way.” After saying that, she covered her mouth and looked down as if regretting her words.
“Yes, perfectly. But it made me remember various things.” She stopped and took a deep breath. It came with movements like radio calisthenics, raising both hands up and then lowering them, so I, accompanying her, felt embarrassed as everyone’s gazes gathered on her.
In front of the elevator over there, the older lady called out, “I’m already here,” her voice calm but with an urging tone.
For some reason, she replied, “Okaay, coming noow,” and after finishing her third deep breath, like a breaststroke, she flashed me a grin, showing her white teeth.
“It might be indelicate since someone died,” she prefaced, then spun bright words from the dark fact. “Because the train I was on was late, I met that older lady. Life is interesting, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is,” I agreed on that point. Because I also like that kind of flow, or something close to fate.
“If you don’t try to see people’s deaths in a positive light like that, don’t you think you might eventually stop feeling like you’re alive? Isn’t that scary?”
“Umm…” The older lady was hurrying us, so I pondered my reply while walking. Could I view the death of a college friend like that? When I lived at home, the dog at the house I always passed on the way to elementary school died, and as a child, I felt a void.
“I don’t really get it.”
“Is that so?” She nodded, not seeming to mind much. Then she hurried towards the elevator.
The older lady was already waiting, and though her smile didn’t falter, her words, “You’re late,” were sharp.
The fact that her sharp lines seem more natural than her smiling… is it because my sensibilities are warped?
After inserting the card key, I spoke to the older lady standing in the corner of the elevator. “Which floor do you need, miss?”
“Me? Hmm…” The older lady looked around, her gaze circling the inside of the elevator. “For now, maybe I’ll try going to the same floor as you two, the seventeenth.”
I was a bit taken aback that she pointed out our room floor. She also went “Huh?” in surprise. The older lady chuckled, “Ooh-hoo-hoo,” and pointed at the card key. “I just saw the number on there.”
“Ah, I see.” Saying that, I pulled out the card key and pressed “77”.
“Actually, I’m a detective. So my powers of observation are pretty good.”
“Oh really?” Which of us, her or I, showed a reaction by pursing our lips? I can’t tell if her words are true or not, but a woman who goes through life with the title of “beautiful lady” asserts it.
“This time, I was asked to investigate an affair, that’s why I came to the hotel.”
The moment I heard it, the doubt “Really?” popped into my head first. It seems like she has some other business. But on the surface, I feigned surprise, “Oooh.”
While putting the card key in my pocket, my hand caught on something. “What’s this?” my thoughts spun for a moment, and then it hit me, “Ah, cigarettes.”
When the elevator started moving, the older lady changed her position. She slid from the corner on her side over to my side. She approached the wall that was a mirror and was trying to pick up a fallen eyelash with her fingers.
“As a detective, have you ever solved things like murder cases?” she asked the older lady’s reflection in the mirror.
The older lady denied it with a wry smile, “I’m not that cool of a detective. I’m just a rookie.”
She said, “Is that so? Hmm… Aren’t there any kids who look like a child and have the brain of a child but solve cases with a *zubabaan*?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the older lady retorted in an exasperated tone that sounded like her true self. I agreed.
Perhaps because she was engrossed in getting the eyelash, the older lady dropped the cell phone she was clutching. It rolled over to my feet.
When I instinctively bent down to pick it up, the older lady had apparently also crouched down, and her face was right in front of mine. The moment I registered that, my nose got crushed.
“We seem to have bumped heads,” the understanding came, delayed by the pain. The older lady was also holding her forehead, groaning an easy-to-understand “Ouch-ouch-ouch.”
While she rushed over, lightly shaking the unstable floor, asking, “Are you alriiight?” showing her concern, the elevator arrived at the seventeenth floor.
I rubbed my nose, and the older lady rubbed her forehead, and we both apologized, “Sorry.” Then we both grabbed her hands, and she pulled us up by our butts with a “Heave-ho!” Then, hunched over, we quickly walked out of the elevator. Once out, we bowed to each other again, saying, “Sorry.”
She watched us as if we were an amusing spectacle, her mouth curved like a cat’s.
When the older lady finished apologizing, she said, “Well then,” and turned towards the corridor in the opposite direction from us. “It’d be uncool to stick together forever, right?” she said, flashing me a grin.
Was there any appropriate response other than laughing it off with an “Yeah, haha”?
The older lady left, and it was just her and me. Just the two of us. Becoming aware of it, the blood vessels in my wrist constricted. My stomach did a basketball dribble. Thump-thump. Help me, Coach Anzai!
“Ehee. Th-this is kinda embarrassing, huh?” Her eyes narrowed into lines, and she gave an embarrassed smile, like a child unsuited to her age who’d just played a little prank.
Forgetting the pain in my crushed nose, I was planning to reply in Japanese, “No, no, it’s totally normal,” but it came out like “Ee-yahw ee-beh tsooh foo-tsooh yo-hw,” like an impression of a foreigner. A disgrace worthy of coughing up blood.
“Oooh, was that, like, a global pronunciation just now?” She seemed impressed for some reason, so it all worked out in the end.
“Saaaikoh,” I said, the pronunciation strung together like a single word, pointing forward and heading towards the room.
Every time the edge of my vision caught her hair tips swaying as she walked, I felt like my arteries were about to harden.
We’re about to go into the room… no, but it won’t be right away, will it? But eventually, I wonder if I’ll be… integrated with her? Yeah. …But, why did she suddenly invite me? That one little thing bothered me.