Maybe I'll be able to use them one day. At the very least, I doubt she'll mess with me again in the future. For her sake, I hope she stops now rather than going from idol candidate to convicted felon and falling into desperation.
"A-are you threatening me?" she stammers.
"How rude. Please don't assume I'm anything like you."
"Then what—?"
"But I hope you'll remember what happened today, no matter how successful you become."
"Ngh…"
After that, Noriko Satou is speechless. This must be how adults form relationships of trust with one another.
Just then, the staff announces the end of our break and asks us to reenter the recording booth. Everyone files back in, and I follow them, as if nothing has happened.
"Wow. You've really gone bad."
"..."
That's all your fault, Abaddon.
After that, the live stream proceeds without a hitch.
Knowing I got second place gives me time to think through what I'm going to say. In that sense, Noriko Satou's attempted kidnapping came with a silver lining. In fact, I think I gained more than I lost.
"To everyone who cast their vote for Ochiba Kareki, thank you so much." This may be only a small step compared to what my senpai have accomplished, but as a gloomy introvert who messed up her big high school debut, the result could have been far worse." I chuckle to myself as I speak into the microphone. "I want to repay everyone for the kindness you've shown me, so I promise to do my best at the festival. I may be a bit of a failure, but I hope you will all keep a small piece of me in your hearts."
Kihouin and Rolling, the hosts, are standing right next to me.
"Miss Kareki, you sound as stiff as a politician. Who are you trying to impress? We are here as entertainers, remember? I've explained this to you many times as your senpai—but it seems I haven't yet gotten through."
"I apologize. Would you show me an example, then?"
"An example?"
"Please put yourself in Ochiba Kareki's shoes and show us how she should thank everyone for getting second place."
"If you insist, darling. Very well. I will show you a wonderful example of—"
"Kihooo, you're letting her twist you around her little finger againnn!"
"I… I am doing no such thing! This is all for my own benefit. Purposely joining my kouhai's conversations, pining for any extra opportunity to speak! I act out of unbridled ambition! I'm the one benefiting here. She certainly does not have me wrapped around her little finger!"
"Geeee whiz. Listen to youuu, talking a mile a minute. Your desperation is pathetically obvious."
And so Ochiba Kareki is officially taking part in Winterfest. What's more, the festival is shaping up to be one long date with my neighbor.
After my neighbor and Abaddon made it into Winterfest and the recording was over, we headed to a hotel in the city. There was a rehearsal the very next day, so the company reserved a hotel near the venue for us. It seemed the major players in this industry took good care of their talents.
To avoid being seen, we simply stayed in the hotel that night, though we hopped over to the UFO to eat dinner with the rest of our pretend family before coming straight back. Our little trip only lasted about an hour. Everyone saw my neighbor and Abaddon off with a smile, cheering them on and encouraging them.
Type Twelve still seemed relaxed and confident, which made me curious how many views she'd gotten so far. I was even more concerned about Miss Hoshizaki, however. She was acting even more suspicious than the previous day, but she still insisted nothing was wrong.
The following day, we took a taxi straight from the hotel to the venue for the rehearsal. Winterfest would be held near the water in a large exhibition hall famous for its unusual look. The upper part of the structure was composed of four inverted pyramids. I recalled visiting it several times for product exhibitions while at my former job.
They told us they'd reserved the entire eastern side of the building for the event. From the map they'd given us, I could see that the venue was largely split into three different areas. The main stage was in the center of Area A, with a food court, a café, and product sales booths. Area B comprised another smaller stage, a variety of displays, and hands-on projects. Area C was a staff-only area, and they'd asked us to meet there.
We made our way to one section of the expansive hall, demarcated by high partitions. The space was probably over a hundred square meters, with plenty of folding chairs and long tables set up. I could see vending machines and a commercial hot water dispenser in one of the corners. This was probably a space for staff members to eat and take breaks.
"The hall is huge, but I didn't realize the backstage area would be so big, too," said my neighbor as she looked around.
Staff members crowded the area, wearing a myriad of different outfits depending on their roles. Some wore work clothes—they were probably in charge of installing and maintaining equipment—while others, evidently directors, wore suits and ties. Everyone had a lanyard around their neck, listing their job.
I saw people slumped over the long tables napping, others eating, and still others conducting meetings. And that was only a small fraction of those in the room. Including even the lowest-ranking staff members, I surmised there must be a few hundred people here. I wished I could have come to such a lively, prosperous company straight from graduation.
"This company is famous for its substantial employee benefits, you know," I said.
"Employee benefits?" my neighbor asked.
"Oh, sorry. That's only for regular employees, so I guess it doesn't have much to do with you."
"No, I know the term. They're conspicuously absent from the angel-demon proxy war."
"Thank you for your feedback!" Abaddon said earnestly. "I promise we'll take it into consideration for next time!"
Apparently, this hall contained several other staff areas, too. Each project was assigned a space in accordance with its scope. The people behind the 3D models would hop between these spaces depending on their individual schedules.
But the ones doing most of the activities were the first-string members and the staff supporting them. The second-string members with less fame hadn't been given much to do. That went for Ochiba Kareki, and by extension, my neighbor as well. We'd probably have a lot of free time to hang around backstage during the festival.
"There's still time before we're all supposed to gather," I said. "Want to sit down?"
"Yes, let's do that."
"I'll go buy drinks. Would you like anything?"
"Oh, actually, I'll just go with you…"
"Yeah. If possible, I think we should get a lay of the land while we have the opportunity."
My neighbor and Abaddon followed me to the vending machines.
I'd been noticing something about this place ever since we first arrived—security personnel were omnipresent. They all wore uniforms emblazoned with the logo of a major security firm. I figured they were necessary, considering the scope of the event, but there sure were an awful lot of them standing all throughout the room. I couldn't help wondering if they really needed so many.
"Do you have a moment, Mr. Sasaki?" someone asked from behind me as I was picking something out from the vending machines.
I turned and found a familiar face looking back at me.
"Miss Inukai? What brings you here?"
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."
Ensign Inukai was a career member of the Maritime Self-Defense Force. Her short hair reached only down to her ears, and she had sharp, beautiful features. She still seemed young; I doubted much time had passed since she'd graduated from the National Defense Academy. Still, her calm tone and brisk words betrayed her origins.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied. "Let's head over there."
"Thank you for understanding."
However, today she wore the uniform of a security company. Was it possible she'd transferred into civilian work? I'd heard high-ranking officials in the SDF or police force tended to find good jobs at security firms, but it seemed a little early in her career for something like that.
I made sure to buy her a drink as well; then we made our way to a corner of the meeting space. Miss Inukai, my neighbor, and I sat down at one of the long tables. Abaddon was floating over it, bobbing up and down.
"The company that manages this facility received a bomb threat a few days ago," said Miss Inukai. "An event for Otherworld Productions was scheduled for the day in question, but the police told us they'd still allow it to go forward as long as the management company arranged for proper security."
This news was quite stimulating. In fact, it made me want to turn right around and flee the building.
But at the same time, something bothered me about the situation. An irritating bomb threat set for the worst possible day. Miss Inukai's choice to talk to us now.
"I hope this isn't rude," I said, "but is it possible the bureau sent the threat?"
"Yes. At least, that's what my superior officer told me."
"..."
This was indeed how the bureau usually did things. Or rather, it was how Mr. Akutsu did things.
It appeared that Otherworld Productions hadn't been informed of anything. The only ones who knew were probably the police, the upper echelons of the security firm, and a few extras on-site, like Miss Inukai.
Was the bureau up to something? Or was this simply their way of protecting and investigating my neighbor?
"In that case, are you sure it was all right to tell us about it?" I asked.
"My superior officer instructed me to ask for your help, in the event any problems arise. I'll be acting as your point of contact in case of emergencies."
"Ah. I see."
The section chief's secretiveness was nothing new, so I figured there was no point in worrying. He'd probably say something like, "I didn't tell you because you never asked."
"As far as we are concerned," continued Miss Inukai, "there is still a non-zero possibility of a disturbance unrelated to the bureau's threat. Considering everything that has happened in the past, we believe this is a risk we cannot ignore."
"I agree with you there."
"That said, I didn't think you would see through the facade so easily. Were you informed in advance?"
"No, I just learned of it now."
"Why didn't you think the threat was real?"
"Because you made contact with me beforehand, I assumed the goal wasn't to suspend the event itself but was something to do with us or the mechanical life-form. But if it was a terrorist organization or organized crime, it wouldn't make sense to call in a threat."
"..."
"If someone did want to bomb us, they wouldn't let us know in advance. That wouldn't benefit them. So terrorist groups and crime syndicates were out of the picture. The bureau was the next most likely culprit, so I settled on that."
"Why did you consider the bureau at all?"
"It's only a few days after the threat, and various government organizations have already made arrangements and called in this big a security force. It's all too well-coordinated for an event of this scale."
"…I'm in awe. I never imagined you'd be able to figure all of that out in an instant."
"Well, our boss is something of an oddball. He keeps us on our toes."
We'd just dealt with a situation at my neighbor's school the other day. Type Twelve was staying at home this time, but the fact remained that my neighbor and Abaddon were now key individuals in the angel-demon proxy war. What's more, I—our weakest link—had come along with them.
It'd be great if we could snatch up our enemies by the scruff of their necks, but there were too many hostile groups and organizations to round them up wholesale. In this situation, we'd just have to deal with individual problems as they arose.
"That was all I had to tell you," said Miss Inukai. "I apologize for springing all of this on you."
"No, not at all," I insisted. "Thank you for taking the time to tell us."
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," she said, before quickly heading off.
The rehearsal went as planned; nobody interfered. As I watched my neighbor confidently go about her tasks, I could only pray that this peaceful streak continued through the actual festival.
Winterfest began in earnest the following day. My neighbor and I traveled to the venue from our hotel, then I left her to perform her morning duties. While she was busy, I had nothing to do, and I ended up taking a stroll around the hall, checking the place out.
"Just think of how much money went into this thing, eh? It must have taken three whole days to set it all up. I'd heard they were raking in the profits, but this is truly magnificent. Makes an old woman feel good just watching."
Ms. Futarishizuka was beside me. During dinner with the pretend family the night before, she'd pestered me about tickets to the event, saying the company must have given us extras to invite friends. I admitted they had, and now she was here with me.
"Didn't you say you've known about this event for a while now?" I asked.
"I knew about it, but this is my first time attending as a guest."
"I see."
As the hall around us buzzed with energy, Ms. Futarishizuka admired all the exhibits and hands-on experiences set up in Area B. Just as she'd said, everything was very grand in scale; each one felt like its own amusement park attraction. They had it all, from traditional installments like a haunted house, to more social ones like a mock school classroom. There was even a video game arcade and a traditional festival. Each area was manned by a VTuber who interacted with guests in real time.
Naturally, it was their 3D models on the screen, with the talents streaming from behind-the-scenes studios set up all around the venue. Dozens of video signals filled the hall; I was stunned by the technological prowess of the engineers involved.
"Didn't they get one hundred fifty thousand attendees over both days last year?" asked Ms. Futarishizuka.
"That's what I heard."
Plenty of guests were flooding into the venue. In fact, they were already starting to limit entry.
At first, we'd gone to the main stage set up in Area A, but not only did that require a separate ticket, the line to buy one on the day of was over two hours long, so we gave up. In my head, I knew how many people were here, but experiencing the crowds myself was overwhelming.
Type Twelve was with us today as well.
"The youngest daughter senses possibilities for soothing my wounded heart all around us."
"Girls like you always wind up at offline meetups with doting guys who just want to get in your pants," remarked Ms. Futarishizuka.
"Please don't go with anyone you don't know, even if they ask you to," I warned her.
I suspected she was interested in the event because they were using the 3D model she designed. When Ms. Futarishizuka mentioned the tickets the night before, she'd immediately asked to come with us. I figured she'd do what she wanted regardless of how I answered, so I agreed to take her.
"Father, I cannot make any guarantees with regard to your suggestion."
"Then would you mind at least contacting us beforehand?"
"Acknowledged."
Miss Hoshizaki was absent, however, and that unnerved me. Type Twelve always exercised her freedom more fully when the mother wasn't around. Though her face was impassive, I could see her fidgeting every time there was an announcement or the sound of cheers. She looked like she might run off without us at the drop of a hat.
This was precisely why I'd asked our senior colleague to come along, but she'd declined. In addition, she was looking even worse than she had before. But every time we asked her what was wrong, she stubbornly said she was fine. Type Twelve offered her help again and again, but Miss Hoshizaki turned her down every time, telling her there was no cause for concern. I figured I'd send a message to our boss about her once Winterfest was over.
As for Peeps, Lady Elsa, and Prince Lewis—they'd stayed behind to mind the Karuizawa villa.
"Father, I would like to go see what my elder sister and elder brother are doing."
"Not to rain on your parade, but they'll be performing on the secondary stage a little later, and they aren't manning any of the booths, so we'll have to wait."
We had about an hour of free time until my neighbor's performance began. In fact, that was the whole reason I was out here with the others. My neighbor and Abaddon were probably holding their last rehearsal backstage at that very moment.
"The people tailing us from a distance ever since we arrived—are they from the bureau?" asked Ms. Futarishizuka.
"I think so. I heard that people from the bureau and the SDF would be here."
"I've located several individuals observing us. Three at nine-o'-clock, two at four-o'-clock. I've also witnessed similar behavior from security personnel at their posts. After intercepting their voice transmissions, I judge there is little threat; their hostility level is low."
"Wait just a minute, girlie. You mean you have one of those terminals here at the venue?"
"Grandmother's viewpoint is correct. I have deployed several small terminals both inside and outside this structure."
"I don't mind you bringing them along—just don't hit anything, all right?"
"A mechanical life-form would never make such a childish mistake."
"Don't forget your little glitch problem, child."
Ms. Futarishizuka and Type Twelve continued badgering each other as we made our way through the hall.
Eventually, we reached a particularly lively area. A group of people with cameras surrounded another group dressed in resplendent clothing and striking poses. The specific way they were clustered made it immediately obvious what was going on. I didn't even need to look for a sign. This was the cosplay space. Long ago, such things were considered a niche hobby. These days, however, they seemed to have gained complete social acceptance.
"Mm. Cosplay has become a mainstay for events like these, eh?" mused Ms. Futarishizuka.
"Think about it. Just adding a changing room can liven up an event for almost no cost. I've heard a lot of people show up just to show off their costumes in front of a big gathering, even if they have no interest in the event. It's an easy way to attract more guests."
"Wow, you sure know your stuff."
"I participated in a few such events at my former job."
"Oh? Hmm."
I'd heard there was a dress code for this particular event, and you were only allowed to wear costumes related to OtherPro. Nevertheless, I could see a wide variety of outfits, from ones based on the VTubers' costumes to ones based on famous memes from their videos.
The stars of the show, as expected, were popular characters portrayed by attractive men and women. Some had drawn so large a throng of people that you couldn't even see them.
This scored a critical hit on Type Twelve.
"Father, the youngest daughter would like to cosplay as well."
"Anything but that. Please." I spoke unintentionally quickly. The whole idea seemed like a disaster in the making.
You did not even consider my proposal. Do you hate me?"
"No, of course not. But it's not so easy for a minor to start cosplaying. Even if you are able to clear them, as this family's youngest daughter, I feel it is appropriate if you remain under a parent's supervision."
"Father, your concerns are premature. Mechanical life-forms have existed for a very long time. Even if we use the date of the unidentified flying object's production, I have existed far, far longer than any adult in this land. Therefore, the category of 'minor' cannot be applied to me."
"But if that's true, wouldn't it make my neighbor the youngest daughter?"
"Father, you must not suggest such things. I will lose my identity."
"Could you stop trying to form your ego around our pretend family relationship?" cut in Ms. Futarishizuka. "It's really freaking me out."
Even as we spoke, Type Twelve's attention remained fixed on the cosplayers. Despite having a wealth of other options by which to observe them, she used her point of contact to personally stare.
Nothing new showed in her expression, but her body seemed to be trembling slightly.
"The only way I can see this ending," said Ms. Futarishizuka, "is with you being publicly stripped, and the resulting photographs circulating all over the place."
"If it would soothe my heart, I would be forced to judge it permissible."
Her interest was completely aimed at cosplay now. At this point, it would be difficult to talk her down.
"Then why don't you ask your mother?" said Ms. Futarishizuka. "If she were with you, your father would be more likely to agree. Of course, if she says no, then I think it best not to force the issue."
"Acknowledged. I will discuss this with Mother upon our return to the house."
Miss Hoshizaki would probably give her a very firm no; she hated stuff like this.
More importantly, considering our work with the bureau, we couldn't allow photos of Type Twelve to start circulating. I suspected that was why Ms. Futarishizuka had made such a suggestion. Besides, even if we did let Type Twelve give it a try, I'd rather she calmed down a bit first.
We kept walking, continuing our trivial chatter. After a while, it was finally time for my neighbor's performance, and we made our way to the secondary stage in Area B.
We handed over our tickets, then settled into some chairs. Ms. Futarishizuka sat to my left, with Type Twelve to my right. The audience seating was packed; there were no empty chairs anywhere around us.
A few minutes later, the performance began. We could see a huge screen onstage. It showed the second-string members of OtherPro, all standing in a line in virtual space. Most of them weren't 3D models but illustrations with only a few moving parts. My neighbor was the only one in 3D, which set her apart from the others.
In the center of this virtual space was a TV on a stand, showing the head and shoulders of a first-string talent.
"Welcome, everyone. I'm Kuon J. Glen, and I'll be hosting this event. I may be the only one on a TV, but there's nothing to worry about."
I recognized this talent's 3D model—it was the VTuber my neighbor had mentioned the other day, one of the company's biggest earners, and apparently controlled by Himegami. It seemed he would be our host.
"Here on the second stage, our second-string talents will be competing in a little quiz show."
As an angel's Disciple, he couldn't come within a certain distance of my neighbor, or they'd trigger an isolated space. Because the latter had insisted on attending Winterfest in person, Himegami had been forced to participate remotely. I figured that was why he was the only one relegated to being a head on a virtual TV screen.
"But this isn't just a quiz show. For getting more right answers than anyone else, the winner will receive a 3D model from management, since second-strings are generally a bit flatter. Everyone, this is a great chance to strut your stuff!"
The quiz started right away, and the image on the large screen refreshed. The display split into several smaller tiles, with the face of a second-string member in each one, and one larger tile in the middle showing Himegami.
Then the host read out a question. Whoever pressed their button the fastest was allowed to answer. The border around that person's title would sparkle, and a high-pitched ding-ding sound effect would play. It was a little different from the quiz shows on TV, but it was easy to follow and entertaining enough.
The questions were general, drawing from categories like literature, science, history, and the arts, with the show slated to run for about an hour.
After about half of that time had passed, Himegami began to sound slightly panicked.
"And here we are, folks, at the halfway mark—and Ochiba Kareki has answered one-third of the questions. She's pulled away from second place with a five-point gap. At this rate, she'll win before we even get to the last question!"
"Is this an instruction for me to stop answering, Kuon?"
"No, that's not what I said at all."
"Then there should be no problem simply continuing the quiz."
"She's the only second-string talent with her own 3D model, and yet the greed, the avarice—can nothing be done about it? Right! Here's my decision, based on my own judgment and biases. All questions from here on out are worth double the points!"
Himegami wasn't holding back toward my neighbor. He was probably still upset about not being able to attend Winterfest in person and was using this chance to exercise his authority as her senpai. It wasn't very effective, though; she was pushing right back, and she was winning the fight.
"Second-string talents are uncertain investments. If I win, OtherPro won't have to create a 3D model for any of them. I believe I'm being much more considerate toward management than the others. Don't you agree?"
"W-wow, she's even gloomier than I'd heard. We can't let her win! We can't let her take home the prize! I'm asking all the other second-string talents to step it up and take the lead back from Ochiba Kareki!"
A cheer went up in the hall. I used my phone to check the streaming site and saw quite a few comments about my neighbor's behavior. It seemed even the cold treatment she received from Himegami was going over well. To be blunt, everyone simply saw it as part and parcel of Ochiba Kareki's character.
In the end, my neighbor won the quiz contest. It was all thanks to spending so much of her life hanging around in libraries.
I heard a few audience members make negative comments. Most of them were female, probably fans of Himegami. The men, however, were praising her. The stark split in opinion along gender lines seemed unusual for VTubers.
But my neighbor, still up onstage, parried it all in her flat, disinterested way—proof of her mental toughness. I doubted any of her viewers would believe she was actually a thirteen-year-old girl. On the streaming page, I could see several comments effectively telling the "old lady" to retire.
Once the event was over, Ms. Futarishizuka, Type Twelve, and I decided to head back to Area C, the same backstage area we'd visited the day before for the rehearsal.
I brought Ms. Futarishizuka and Type Twelve with me as a test, and we found Miss Inukai manning the entrance. Normally, they wouldn't have been allowed in, but since Miss Inukai already knew our situation, she gave the two of them guest lanyards, and we were all able to go in together.
My neighbor and Abaddon were already in the staff area.
"You did good," I said to her. "I think the audience really enjoyed your event."
"Huh? Oh, um, you saw all that?"
"Of course. We had front row seats."
"You certainly stand head and shoulders above the other second-strings, dear," added Ms. Futarishizuka.
We settled down at one of the many long tables. The room looked the same as it had the day before, with people slumped over tables sleeping, and others eating or conducting meetings. A good number of people were dressed in costumes, too, so the silver-haired Type Twelve and kimono-wearing Ms. Futarishizuka didn't stand out all that much. Thanks to that, we were able to chat without attracting any attention from those around us.
"I only stand out so much because of the wonderful model the younger sister made for me."
"Elder Sister, your evaluation warms my heart greatly. I hope you continue to make full use of it."
"We'll have to thank you for real at some point!"
"Yes. Although I'm not sure what we can do for you."
"In that case, I would like your assistance persuading Mother in the near future."
"Persuading her? I suppose I can help you with that…"
Type Twelve was still eager to try cosplaying, it seemed.
In the meantime, two familiar faces approached us.
"Oh, Miss Kareki. Friends of yours? They don't look like they're from OtherPro."
"Geeeez! They're so cute! Can you introduce me? Pleeease?"
Miss Kihouin and Miss Rolling had come backstage a little after we had, and they came over the moment they spotted their kouhai. They were acting very friendly.
"Calling them my friends would be misleading," said my neighbor. "They're more like acquaintances."
"I see they're wearing guest lanyards," said Miss Kihouin, turning a suspicious gaze on Ms. Futarishizuka.
"Yes, we have something of a connection to OtherPro's management, dearie," she replied casually. "They were very accommodating."
Type Twelve watched their exchange without saying anything. She didn't seem too interested in the people behind the VTubers.
"Anyway, did you need something from me?" my neighbor asked Miss Kihouin, as if to draw her attention away from us.
"Might you have seen Mr. Kuga anywhere, darling? If you have, I'd like to know where."
"The director? No, I haven't seen him since I got here."
"Well, nobody has seen him in a while, and quite a few people need to find him."
"Yeeeah! We even got a message telling us to look for himmm," Miss Rolling chimed in.
A conversation began between my neighbor and her senpai, while the rest of us maintained our silence. I turned my ear to the other conversations in the room and found I could hear Mr. Kuga's name here and there. These two ladies must not be the only ones after him.
"Didn't the higher-ups have a room in the conference tower?" asked my neighbor.
Yes, but it's locked from the inside," Miss Kihouin responded. "And we've been knocking for ages without hearing a peep."
"I see."
"As I'm sure you're well aware, the plan was for Mr. Kuga to go on the main stage first thing in the afternoon and give a short speech."
"Yeeeah, so everyone's getting really worried," said Miss Rolling. "We were wondering if you knew anything, Karekiii."
"Could he have passed out inside?"
"Yes, the director is terribly worried about that, too."
As Miss Kihouin spoke, I heard her phone buzzing inside her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen, then excused herself from the group. The call lasted only about two or three minutes. Soon, she lowered the phone from her ear and filled us all in.
"I've just spoken with the director. He says he wants us to go and take a peek into the conference tower, since everyone else is busy at the moment. He'll contact facility management and have them bring us a duplicate key."
This seemed like the perfect job for our group, since we were sitting around with nothing to do.
After hearing Miss Kihouin's explanation, I took the opportunity to speak up. "If it's all right with you, we'd like to help as well. If something has happened, it'll be better to have people with free time to help you out. You're two of the day's big stars, and we don't want you to get caught up in something time-consuming."
"That is perfectly fine with me," said Miss Kihouin. "Miss Kareki, may we borrow your manager, darling?"
"If he's going, then please let me come along as well."
"Yaaay! Let's all go hunting for Mr. Kugaaa!" exclaimed Miss Rolling.
With everyone in agreement, we headed for the conference tower to find Mr. Kuga.
(The Neighbor's POV)
We leave the east exhibition hall where the backstage area is located and head for the conference tower. The tower is located in the middle of the facility's four inverted triangle structures, sandwiched between the east and west exhibition halls. The area features the large international conference hall at its center, as well as a reception hall and several conference rooms of various sizes.
OtherPro's management is borrowing several of these conference rooms for VIP use, and the man we're searching for was using one of them.
We quickly find the room we're after. The facility's map calls it the "special reception room." We head straight there, and everyone begins calling out and knocking on the door. There's no response. Normally, that would mean he isn't inside. The only things we can hear are our breathing and the whoosh of the air conditioner.
Unlike the east exhibition hall with its endless noise, the conference tower is quiet. It seems there are no other events scheduled today, and the area is utterly deserted. We haven't bumped into a single person walking through the halls.
"How long has it been since you lost contact with Mr. Kuga?" I ask.
"We haven't seen hide nor hair of him since right before the festival began," says Kihouin.
Rolling agrees. "Yeppp. Since we saw him this morning, he must be here sooomewhere."
Aside from me, my neighbor, Abaddon, Ms. Futarishizuka, Robot Girl, Kihouin, and Rolling are here, along with our contact from the facility who came to deliver the duplicate key—though Abaddon is hiding himself so that nobody but our inner circle can see him.
"I'm afraid we don't have much time to waste," says Kihouin. "Shall we check inside?" She takes a step toward the door and uses the spare key.
The lock unlatches with a click. At the same time, my neighbor—who is standing next to her—speaks up. "Excuse me, but would you allow me to take the lead here? If there's some kind of situation, I can't allow either of you to be harmed. You still have a lot to do at the event. Not that I think it's likely, of course."
"Your manager is very sensible, Miss Kareki," says Kihouin.
"He is. Sometimes I feel like he's wasted on me."
After having my neighbor act like my manager for the past few days, his respectful attitude makes me feel warm inside. Unsurprisingly, my head is full of delusions of forced sexual intercourse.
"Thank you," he replies. "Then, if you'll excuse me…"
As Kihouin backs away, he goes up to the door and firmly grasps the knob.
The door opens toward us, and we can see a bit of the room's interior past my neighbor.
"…Does anyone smell that stench?" he says immediately, taking a half step back. His hand leaves the doorknob and covers his mouth.
At that, the rest of us stop in our tracks and tense up. Even Kihouin, who was waiting right behind my neighbor, takes a step away from the entrance.
"You don't say," muses Ms. Futarishizuka. "I smell nothing at all."
"You must be congested," my neighbor replies.
"I think you're just smelling your own boogers."
The two of them stand side by side in the doorway, and their banter only lasts a few moments.
"Well, if you insist, then I'll go in first," says Ms. Futarishizuka.
"Oh, wait. At least let it vent a little…"
Futarishizuka ignores my neighbor and eagerly heads inside, and he follows her. If he's going, then there's no reason for me to hesitate, either. Abaddon and I make our way into the conference room next. My partner glances at me, as if he has something to say, but there's no way we can have a discussion in front of everyone else.
The room is divided into two sections. A reception space waits for us right inside. It's about thirty square meters and features a clothing rack, sofas, and an exclusive restroom. Farther back, a set of double doors leads into the second section.
"Back here, perhaps?"
Futarishizuka, in the lead, pushes the door open with hearty enthusiasm.
The interior is suddenly right there, before our eyes.
The room itself has a simple design. A set of black sofas set in a sea of white. Between them is a low glass table, with a few more side tables located around the sofas. The decor is very spartan.
"…Ah. Found him."
There, by the window, hangs the director.
The large row of windows spans an entire wall of the room, providing a nice view of Tokyo. High up on the window frame is a series of hooks used to operate openings for ventilation. From one of those hooks dangles a rope with a loop at the end.
And there, hanging from the rope like a coat, is the director.
The room has a fairly high ceiling, and the window sashes are quite tall. The rope holds his body suspended well off the floor. Near his feet, a short distance away, is a sofa that appears to have been kicked away.
He hanged himself. We stand witness to the aftermath of a suicide.
Kihouin and Rolling enter the room a moment later and cry out in anguish.
"Wha…? Wait, what is going on here?!"
"How did…? But why…?"
The facility manager arrives last and has a similar reaction. The sight has brought us all to a standstill only steps into the room.
"Mr. Kuga!" My neighbor is the first to act; he runs over to the director.
He gets his arms around the man's waist, then lifts, as if carrying him. I follow, rushing over, and help him with what meager strength I have. Through his clothes, I feel the man's skin; it's still warm. The rope slackens and slips from his jaw.
We lay his body down underneath the rope, faceup, without changing his position. He doesn't move at all.
My neighbor bends down and puts his hand to the man's neck. He's probably checking for a pulse.
"…He's dead," he concludes.
That doesn't surprise me. I knew he was in bad shape; his face is sheer white, utterly devoid of life. His eyes are dim and unresponsive, half-open as he stares into the distance.
Kihouin and Rolling are in shock.
"How…? How did this happen to Mr. Kuga…?"
"He never seemed the type to do this…"
Both of them are always in character, but now they seem to revert to their true selves. They can't seem to believe what they're seeing.
Futarishizuka, however, is calm as she assesses the situation. "The room was locked. Judging by the situation, it's probably a suicide."
She's right; there's only one entrance to this office. And that door was locked from the inside. We weren't able to get in, either, until the facility manager brought us a spare key. I even watched Kihouin undo the lock.
"Yes, that seems likely, given the state of the room," says my neighbor, looking around the office. Everyone else follows suit, glancing about.
There's no incriminating evidence. Unlike the east exhibition hall, which was filled with various equipment for the event, this room is only for high-ranking staff; there are only a few coats and bags.
"Well, in any case, I'll call for the police and an ambulance."
"Oh, right. Thank you, Ms. Futarishizuka."
One thing does grab my attention, though—a laptop on the glass table between the two sofas. It probably belongs to the director. The screen is open and shows a desktop. I peer at it and see it's still logged in to his account.
"..."
His email is open and shows prominently on the screen. Behind it are sub-windows meant for composing new messages. In fact, no other programs are open. The whole screen is full of windows related to the email program—and every single one of them has text in it.
"What's up? You look troubled. Something wrong?"
As I begin to move, Abaddon floats over to me. He puts his face next to mine and glances at the screen with me. Then he looks between me and the laptop a few times.
"Don't tell me you're put off just from seeing a dead body."
I might have been once, before I met Abaddon. Now, though, this is an everyday occurrence. No different from peeking into an alley and seeing a stray cat. I'm not sure that's a healthy attitude, but if I let every little thing shock me, I won't make it through a week.
"..."
A mouse rests next to the laptop. I pull down my sleeve, so it sits between my hand and the device. Then, ignoring my partner's banter, I move the cursor around and look at the text in the smaller windows. Every single one has the exact same message in it.
It's a suicide note.
It looks like he addressed it to a number of different people. They're only drafts; none of them have a destination. Instead, the subject lines contain names of people and organizations—likely who they're intended for.
One of them is meant for us. The subject line reads, "To SC Industries." My name and my neighbor's name are both written in the message, so there can be no doubt.
The message is as follows:
To Miss Kareki and Mr. Sasaki of SC Industries,
I am sorry things turned out like this so soon after we began to work together.
My incompetence is to blame for everything.
I have no apprehensions about taking my own life. But if I have one regret, it's that I wasn't able to be present for the moment Miss Kareki's talents bloomed.
I will pray from the afterlife that her future is bright.
Regards,
Kuga
As I read it, my neighbor calls out, "Is there something on the laptop, Miss Kareki?"
"Just something I'm a little curious about."
"…Curious?"
Everyone comes over to me, and I move out of the way, gesturing for them to take my spot.
Kihouin and Rolling scramble over, followed by Futarishizuka, Robot Girl, and the facility manager. After a few moments, my senpai speak up.
"Is this…? My goodness! Could this be this a suicide note addressed to us?"
"This can't beee! I can't believe he reeeally did this…!"
Kihouin gingerly gazes at the display, her face tense. Next to her, Rolling is crying. It seems the director was well-loved by his subordinates. He certainly wasn't disliked, at least.
Even so, something about this note bothers me. I'm no doctor, so I can't examine the corpse. I can't tell if the rope matches the mark on his neck, or when rigor mortis set in, or any of that other stuff you hear people talk about in detective fiction.
But there's something off about this suicide note.
"I feel like something's off about Mr. Kuga's suicide," I say to my neighbor casually.
"What on earth?! Do you mean to say it might not be a suicide?!" exclaims Kihouin.
Rolling joins in. "Wh-what do you mean, Karekiii?"
My two senpai are instantly interested in my remark, despite the fact I was clearly talking to my neighbor. His response is subdued, perhaps out of consideration for the two of them.
"Can you explain your reasoning?" he asks.
"Look at this message here."
I bring up the email to SC Industries and wiggle the cursor around some of the text to show where I'm looking.
"You mean the suicide note for us?" he asks. "Or I suppose it's more like an apology."
"That's what it feels like to me, too. And it's written out to the company on the business card you gave him. But I can't help but wonder if Mr. Kuga really wrote these messages."
"…What are you getting at?"
"If you remember, Mr. Kuga has used boku to refer to himself in every email conversation we've ever had with him. There hasn't been a single exception. But in this note, he uses watashi."
Once everyone's attention is on the text, I highlight some of it—a short sentence near the middle.
"Are you sure he's not just being more formal?" my neighbor asks.
In Japanese, a man can refer to himself in various ways. Boku isn't exactly rude, but watashi is certainly more formal.
In response, I bring several other sub-windows into the foreground. "Well, this message here basically says the same thing, but he uses boku instead. And in this one, he uses ore. It really seems like he's consciously making a distinction about how to refer to himself."
In all the messages going to people outside the company, he uses boku. In messages to coworkers, he uses ore—a rougher and less formal pronoun.
"Yet he only breaks the pattern in the message to us. That's what's suspicious."
"It hasn't been long since we met him. Maybe it doesn't mean anything."
"I agree that's likely, but it still bothers me."
I let go of the mouse and move away from the laptop. I can't explain why this bothers me so much, but it does. My neighbor is right—we did essentially just meet him. Maybe he forgot to stay in character for a moment. I have no way to prove otherwise.
But after hearing our conversation, the others begin to respond.
"Karekiii! Wait, wait, waaait. That's it!" exclaims Rolling in her high-pitched child's voice. She sounds hysterical as she reaches for the mouse and pulls up one of the windows. She grasps the device barehanded and starts clicking. She's going to leave fingerprints; I bet the police will be angry.
"Seeee? Look at the message for me and Kihooo!"
"What about it?" I ask.
"Whenever Mr. Kuga emails us, he uses oira insteeead! Even in text messages, he usually uses oira. But thiiis message says ore!" Rolling's face has gone pale. Combined with her poorly enunciated child's voice, it gives her words a strange intensity.
Kihouin is back in character, too. The fact they're able to keep it up even now is proof that it's become part of them. They're the real deal.
"You may be right," I say. "If he'd just used watashi for all of them it could make sense, but choosing ore when he's never even used it before seems odd. And using a rough pronoun like that in a formal suicide note is even weirder."
"Karekiii, you don't meeean…," says Rolling.
"There could be other reasons, though. If Mr. Kuga was distressed enough to consider suicide, perhaps he wasn't composed enough to think any of this through. But if that isn't the case, it's possible someone else wrote these letters."
"W-wait just one minute, Miss Kareki! Doesn't that mean…?"
"Or it could be that Mr. Kuga wrote these specifically to imply someone else was involved. In either case, he probably didn't intend to wind up like this."
From my point of view, I'm just pointing out the facts.
But at that moment, I hear everyone around me gasp.