New VTuber Ochiba Kareki Investigates the Murder of Her Group's COO: A Locked Room and a Director's Bonds with his VTubers."
I could clearly picture the title in my head. My Neighbor was acting just like a big-name detective. The culprits were in real trouble with her on the case. Everything she'd said was the truth.
After all, the perpetrator was the bureau member dispatched by Mr. Akutsu.
It had all started a little under an hour ago. After we finished watching my neighbor's event, the three of us left the secondary stage in Area B, chatting among ourselves as we headed for the staff zone set up in Area C.
"We've seen what we came for, hmm? Why not have lunch? My stomach is rumbling."
"The youngest daughter suggests that we take advantage of this chance to attend the event and spend our time enjoying the booths in the venue."
"I'm interested in the booths, too," I said, "but the food court here probably has really long lines. I skimmed over some posts on social media, and people are talking about how terrible the wait is."
"Ah, yes," agreed Ms. Futarishizuka. "I glimpsed the sign earlier, and it said there was a two-hour wait."
"Oof. Yes, I'd like to avoid that if possible."
After a moment, my bureau phone began to vibrate. I checked the screen and saw Mr. Akutsu's name. Today was supposed to be a day of rest, at least according to the calendar. Still, I couldn't afford to ignore it, so I excused myself and reluctantly answered the call.
If I'd known this would happen, I would have just left my phone at home. "Hello, this is Sasaki."
"I checked your location before contacting you. You're at the festival venue, right?"
"Yes, that's right. What about it, sir?"
"Sasaki, I need you to do something for me."
"…What might that be?"
I bet he's got another tiresome job for me.
Sure enough, mere moments later, I received a very tiresome job.
"A short while ago, our negotiations with a certain man with connections to a foreign terrorist group failed and we disposed of the target. You know this man as Kuga, the COO of Otherworld Productions. Our plan was to make it look like a suicide, but the terrorist group entered the premises and interfered, and at the moment, our operation has stalled."
"Um, what?"
"Normally, we would use a psychic capable of teleportation to get out, but said psychic has gone missing, along with their entire team, somewhere in the venue. Both our negotiation and cleanup teams are isolated on-site. I want you to recover them and handle the cover-up to make it look like a suicide."
"..."
Was this the reason they called in a fake bomb threat? I doubted Miss Inukai or her team had been informed about their dealings with Mr. Kuga.
"Excuse me, sir, but aren't there other bureau members here at the venue?"
"There are. And they have informed me that you're currently with Futarishizuka and Type Twelve. There are too many eyes inside the venue. We need certainty on this, which is why I decided to leave the task to you."
"Chief, today is supposed to be my day off…"
I thought that today, at the very least, I'd be immune to any unreasonable requests from the boss. And now that I had the details, I really didn't want any hand in this task—hence my attempt to decline.
But the section chief's next words sealed my fate. "You're required to keep your company phone on, even on weekends, specifically for situations like this. Didn't you learn that in training? And you know as well as I do that you're a part of this."
"…Understood, sir."
My neighbor's activities had probably led to them uncovering Mr. Kuga's background in the first place.
I never dreamed he'd be in cahoots with a criminal organization. But then I thought back to how well he'd treated her compared to the other talents ever since she joined the company. He'd probably wanted to get her on his side. Maybe he was even involved in the proxy war and hoping to get his hands on a reward.
That was probably exactly why the bureau had dealt with him.
Man, the entertainment industry is horrifying.
I felt like all manner of evil spirits were running rampant all around me, with only a thin wall keeping them out of view.
But then I remembered that two much scarier individuals were standing right beside me, listening intently.
"Sounds like another tiresome job has fallen into our laps," remarked Ms. Futarishizuka.
"Father," said Type Twelve, "the government has released statistics showing that fathers in Japan who don't pay attention to their families and instead prioritize their jobs are frequently pressed into a late-stage divorce as soon as they lose their income stream. If you consider the mid- to long-term happiness of our family, then you must remember to make time for your family, or…"
If I could get their help with this, it might just be possible to pull off the chief's ridiculous request. At any rate, I didn't have a choice. "I understand, sir. I'll do it."
"Listen to me, Father…"
"I knew I could count on you, Sasaki."
"I do have a question before we get started. Is there a psychic at the event who can go around undetected? One with an invisibility power, if possible—like the one who was with Ms. Futarishizuka at the bowling alley."
"Yes, one of the people involved in the cover-up. They're currently at the venue."
"If we could get their help, I think this will be possible."
"Understood. I'll have them contact you immediately."
"As for getting to the scene, would it be possible to send someone involved with the event there so that we can be the first people to discover him? One of the VTubers we're acquainted with should be easy enough to make use of."
"Sure. I'll do what I can."
"Thank you, sir."
Type Twelve could deal with the security cameras throughout the venue if we asked her. I could explain that it was to prevent Winterfest from being canceled, and so that my neighbor wouldn't lose her chance to shine. I was fairly certain she'd cooperate.
"Then I leave it in your hands, Sasaki."
"Understood, sir."
Our conversation only lasted a few minutes. Leave it to the chief to never waste time. I ended the call and put away my phone.
"What was it?" asked Ms. Futarishizuka. "More work?" She looked utterly disgusted.
I explained everything the boss had told me verbatim. Type Twelve listened closely. I felt guilty for involving her in all this while she was trying to enjoy herself.
"…And that's the story. Could I ask you to help me?"
"Help you? Hah. If those are the boss's orders, I can't exactly say no. Besides, I'm the one who pestered you for a ticket to the festival. Of course I'll help. Let's get this over with."
Thank you, Ms. Futarishizuka."
"Father, does this occurrence invoke rule six?"
Fake family rule number six stated that when someone in the family was in trouble, we all had to work together to help them. Type Twelve frequently found herself mixed up in our business due to that stipulation. But this time, nobody was in trouble, exactly.
"I don't believe it does," I replied. "That said, if anyone else at Winterfest finds out, the event could be called off. And that would be an unfortunate way to end things for my neighbor and Abaddon."
If someone discovered that there had been a murder, the second day would be called off for sure. But if the cause of death was suicide, then maybe we—and the management—could cover it up until the end of the event. A ton of money had gone into making Winterfest a reality. As long as there was no criminal activity involved, I doubted there would be any backlash from the public.
"Acknowledged. The youngest daughter will do everything she can to help her elder sister."
"Thank you, Type Twelve. I really appreciate that."
With the mechanical life-form's help, the job was basically half-finished.
A moment later, I got two messages on my company phone—one from the section chief and one from another bureau employee. Mr. Akutsu had sent the psychic's current location, a photograph of him, and a general plan; the other message had come from the psychic with invisibility powers; he was asking how to go about our mission. Once I'd sent the latter a time and place to meet, our preparations were complete.
"A word of warning for the youngest daughter before we begin," said Ms. Futarishizuka. "Mechanical life-forms can't lie, so be careful not to answer any questions without thinking. If you let the game slip, our carefully prepared locked-room murder will go right out the window."
"Acknowledged. The youngest daughter will be careful not to give away any important information."
Type Twelve must have been thinking of my neighbor, because she easily assented, even though the advice had come from Ms. Futarishizuka.
Getting the perpetrator away from the scene was simple.
While I stalled for time at the room's entrance, the other bureau employee used their psychic power to turn invisible and infiltrate. The perpetrator then stayed in the room. The plan was for them to slip out while still invisible, just as we came in, shocked at the sight of Mr. Kuga.
Everyone with us would testify that the room was locked, thus completing the perfect crime. Considering the circumstances, Mr. Kuga's death would likely be ruled a suicide.
While the culprits escaped, Type Twelve would handle the security cameras. Even after the psychic became visible again, it would be some time before the facility manager or the staff caught sight of them. In effect, the psychic would have just pulled off a locked-room murder.
Everything went off without a hitch.
After meeting up with my neighbor, we received a key to the conference room. Not only did we liberate the perpetrator isolated at the scene, the steps taken by the other bureau employees successfully made Mr. Kuga's death look like a suicide. All that remained was to contact the police. From there, people in league with the bureau would deal with the situation as necessary.
I'd mentioned the stench as we entered the room to give the invisible psychic a chance to slip in to the reception area.
I felt guilty about my neighbor's dismayed colleagues and the facility staff. That said, this was all to maintain public order and to keep Winterfest going—as well as to protect our social positions. And so I did my best to feign ignorance at the scene of the crime, acting like a well-intentioned first witness.
But then one among us daringly challenged our work.
Yes—my neighbor.
"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."
My neighbor looked around at everyone in the room as she spoke. For a moment, silence fell over the scene of the crime. Then someone gasped, and it rang in my ears, oddly loud. But even that only lasted a moment; her coworkers quickly began to speak up.
"Are you trying to say someone killed Mr. Kugaaa?" asked Miss Rolling.
"But this room was locked when we got here! I'm sure of it," insisted Miss Kihouin.
"Yeeeah, that's riiight. If this isn't suicide, wouldn't that make it a locked-room murderrr?"
With their boss dead, the two of them seemed to be at their wits' ends. The facility manager's face was a ghastly white as he stared at Mr. Kuga's remains in astonishment.
Meanwhile, my neighbor continued gravely, "The phrase locked-room murder comes up a lot in works of fiction, and there are all sorts of different ways to set one up. But I would say that in general, you can separate them in two categories: Either the scene wasn't a locked room at all, or the culprit committed the murder from outside the room."
Her gaze shifted to the window frame and the rope Mr. Kuga had been hanging from.
"It would be hard for him to wind up in a position like that by himself if he didn't intend to commit suicide, so I think it's most likely we've misjudged something, and this room wasn't locked at the time he was killed."
"Perhaps it wasn't, but this room only has fixed windows, darling." insisted Miss Kihouin.
"Sooo there's only one way innn!" Miss Rolling exclaimed.
My neighbor responded instantly. "In that case, the usual solution is that the culprit, or their friends, are still hidden at the scene of the crime."
"Wha—?"
"They're still heeere?!"
Upon hearing my neighbor's statement, her two colleagues and the facility manager suddenly started looking all around the room. Ms. Futarishizuka and I, who knew what had happened behind the scenes, couldn't afford to simply stand there; we began looking around the room, feigning concern.
A brilliant detective was about to unmask our evil deeds, and we criminals were now in quite a pinch.
My neighbor had been spending most of her time in libraries since she was an elementary schooler, so she must have read quite a few mystery novels. She might not even think of herself as a detective. She might just be saying whatever came to mind.
But everything she said was exactly right.
"Even so, the entrance was closed off. How could this be anything but suicide?" Ms. Futarishizuka jumped in to help, probably hoping to stop my neighbor before things got bad.
Type Twelve, unable to tell a lie, kept her mouth shut tight. A single casual remark from her could bring the whole charade crashing down.
"What about the reception space between the office and hallway? It's a separate room. After killing the target, the criminal could have hidden in there, then snuck past us to get out of the room. Everything would fit."
"But was there anywhere for them to hide?" mused Ms. Futarishizuka.
Everyone shifted their gaze to the adjoining room. There, separated from the office by a door, was another space of about thirty square meters. A rack of hangers stood right inside the entrance, and behind it was a private bathroom. It was the perfect spot for the culprit to hide.
"Yes, Miss Kareki is right. If the criminal hid in the bathroom, for example, we wouldn't have noticed."
"Yeeeah, we sort of came straight into the office from the hallway, huuuh…?"
My neighbor's coworkers quickly voiced their agreement.
Meanwhile, Ms. Futarishizuka kept objecting. She'd headed straight through the entry space into the office, and she was also the first one to discover the body.
"But look at all the security cameras in the hallway," she said, still trying. "There's no way they could have gotten past those. Of course, I suppose if the facility's staff all colluded, it's not impossible."
"They could have worn a mask," my neighbor pointed out. "Then at least their identity would be safe.
Fortunately for them, a lot of people are attending the event today. I think it would have been easy for them to blend in with the crowd and escape."
"Oh? Hmm? I—I see what you mean," stammered Ms. Futarishizuka.
She seemed a little put out that my neighbor had defeated her argument so quickly. But we could end things here pretty quickly.
I turned to the facility manager. "We should check the security cameras, then."
He nodded without a second thought and invited us to do so. The criminals, including myself, took this opportunity to press the detective into a corner.
"If nobody shows up on the cameras, then I think we can assume this was a suicide," I said. "I still have doubts about the messages on his laptop, but I don't believe that's enough evidence to point to murder."
Thanks to the mechanical life-form's rule-breaking super-science, we'd hung on by a thread.
If Type Twelve hadn't been here, we would have been in very hot water. I glanced over at Ms. Futarishizuka, who was looking at me as if to say, "good lord."
"Oh…"
At the same time, a little cry escaped my neighbor's mouth. It seemed she'd realized something. She looked taken aback.
And then, not a moment later, she turned to look at me. The words "Huh? Are you for real?" were written all over her face. She was more surprised now than she'd been when we discovered Mr. Kuga's corpse.
Was it possible she'd already figured out the real culprit?
I turned to her and asked, "Is something wrong, Miss Kareki?"
"No, um, w-well, it's just…"
If she had, then my neighbor truly was a brilliant detective.
(The Neighbor's POV)
We found the director of Otherworld Productions—or at least, we found his corpse.
Putting that aside, the message left behind at the scene bothers me. We found him hanging from a rope from the window frame, with a note on his laptop lamenting his incompetence. But was he really the kind of person who would take his own life?
No. The reason behind his suicide doesn't matter. The important thing is keeping the company going.
Our activities at OtherPro as Ochiba Kareki are an invaluable chance to earn a real income and end our dependence on Futarishizuka. I've been putting in a lot of work to cover the cost of my room and board. If the company is having problems, I want to alleviate their misgivings.
That's why I keep talking.
"They could have worn a mask. Then at least their identity would be safe. Fortunately for them, a lot of people are attending the event today. I think it would have been easy for them to blend in with the crowd and escape."
"Oh? Hmm? I—I see what you mean."
Now I'm saying this and that, like I'm some big shot who knows everything. But then, after thinking through it all, I come to a realization.
"If nobody shows up on the cameras, then I think we can assume this was a suicide," I said. "I still have doubts about the messages on his laptop, but I don't believe that's enough evidence to point to murder."
When I hear my neighbor's words, I'm sure of it.
"Oh…"
My neighbor and Futarishizuka must be the ones behind this.
When I make a noise, he turns to me and asks, "Is something wrong, Miss Kareki?"
"No, um, w-well, it's just…"
If that's the case, their most important piece of evidence will be the security camera footage. I bet it won't show anything.
Judging by how quickly my neighbor suggests we check it, there's a high chance they've gotten the youngest daughter's help. If they got assistance from their workplace, a psychic might even have helped out—maybe one with the power to turn invisible.
"..."
My attention automatically turns to Robot Girl. She hasn't said much of anything since we met up.
"…Elder Sister, why do you stare at me so?"
"Nothing. Don't worry about it."
I can't ask her. That would be careless. Mechanical life-forms can't lie—she would give everything away in an instant. The way she starts fidgeting with her fingers as soon as I speak to her deeply concerns me.
"I'm sorry. I got ahead of myself and started saying nonsense. What happened to Mr. Kuga is really unfortunate, but I think he probably did commit suicide. We don't have to check the cameras. I sincerely apologize for disrespecting the dead."
In haste, I recant all of my theories.
The director committed suicide.
It was suicide.
Even if it was homicide, it was suicide.
It can't be anything else.
"Hold on one moment, Miss Kareki," says Kihouin. "I, for one, believe your deductions were right on the mark."
Rolling agrees. "Um, yeeeah, me too! I believed the whole thing, you knooow!"
"I'm sorry," I insist. "It was all childish nonsense in the end. I hope you can overlook it."
I can't keep causing problems for my neighbor and Futarishizuka, so I continue to insist to my coworkers that it has to be suicide. It doesn't matter at all why he was killed.
Meanwhile, Abaddon floats into my vision. His arms are folded, and he looks at me with concern. His expression seems to say, "Now you've gone and done it." I wish he would've told me if he already knew what was going on.
As I think this through, the situation continues to develop. I hear a bunch of footsteps, then the door to the hallway flies open.
"Police! Nobody move!"
Makeup appears in the doorway. Well, well. What a coincidence. Now I'm absolutely certain my neighbor and Futarishizuka are behind this.
"I just got a report of a fatal accident! Who phoned this in?"
Makeup pulls her police badge out of her pocket and holds it up for everyone to see. She's made herself look older by wearing a suit and tie and by using thick makeup. I haven't seen her dressed up like this in some time. The fact that she asked who the first witness was right off the bat is pretty suspicious in and of itself.
But Kihouin, Rolling, and the facility manager all tense up when they see her police badge decorated with the Order of the Rising Sun. Apparently, they believe she's a real police officer. Everyone falls silent.
Several uniformed officers hurriedly crowd into the room after Makeup.
"I'm the one who reported it, Officer," says Ms. Futarishizuka.
"Where is the body?"
"In the room just beyond that door."
Even though she knows us, Makeup acts like she's meeting us for the first time, dispassionately confirming every aspect of the situation. My neighbor and Futarishizuka answer her questions, pretending to be innocent bystanders.
Futarishizuka volunteered to contact the police right after finding the body. Did she contact their boss instead? If so, the other officers might not even be real police. They're probably employees of this "bureau" my neighbor is always talking about.
"We'll need to do forensics on the scene, so let's move the questioning elsewhere. You three, please obey this officer's instructions. I'll handle the others. Please be patient; this shouldn't take too long."
In response to Makeup's instructions, the officers begin to move. By "you three," she was referring to Kihouin, Rolling, and the facility manager. "The others" are me, my neighbor, Futarishizuka, and Robot Girl. The former group is taken away by one of the officers and disappears into the hallway.
I hear several sets of footsteps steadily fade away. Once we can no longer hear them, Makeup breaks character. "Well, then. That should do it."
The way she makes it sound like she did actual work irritates me.
The only ones left in the reception room are people I know well. The rest of the officers Makeup brought are now in the adjacent room.
"I'm surprised," says my neighbor. "Why are you here, Miss Hoshizaki?"
"Why wouldn't I be? I'm a rank-B psychic, remember?"
"When did you even get here, child?" asks Ms. Futarishizuka.
"I got a message from the chief this morning."
"I see."
In other words, Mr. Kuga's death had already been decided on this morning. If the two of them are asking her about it, that probably means neither of them knew.
"Mister?" I ask. "This whole incident, it…"
"I'm sorry for springing this on you," he replies. "Mr. Kuga of Otherworld Productions was confirmed to have ties to a terrorist organization. The bureau tried to negotiate with him, but to no avail. Evidently, this is how they chose to deal with him."
"To put it bluntly, he was scheming to take advantage of you, dear," says Futarishizuka. "Sell you off, if need be."
So the director was killed—it wasn't a suicide. The locked-room setup was the work of my neighbor and Futarishizuka.
"Does this mean my identity has been leaked?" I ask.
"Not publicly, but I suspect a photograph or two of you is going around," says Futarishizuka. "Nothing you need to worry about, though. I'm sure all of our personal details are circulating alongside it." She glances at my neighbor and Makeup.
I bet there have been plenty of chances for someone to sneak a photo of my face, since I go to school every day. In fact, there were spies from various countries and organizations inside the school just the other day—we even heard gunshots in the halls.
"If he tried to do something as stupid as take advantage of you, it means he didn't get the warning from the Office involved in the death game. In that case, the man was likely a minor player in that world. It's even possible he didn't know about the existence of angels and demons."
"I agree with Ms. Futarishizuka on this," says my neighbor.
"You probably just fell into his hands, and he was trying to profit off you without really understanding who you were," Futarishizuka continues. "If he'd known what he was getting into with the bureau, he'd never have tried to pick a fight. He would have compromised during their negotiations."
"Oh, that makes sense. I appreciate the explanation."
"And before you jump to any conclusions, the true perpetrator is elsewhere. A little while ago, we got a message from the boss out of nowhere. The perp screwed up, so we were put on cleanup duty. All we really did was stop the rest of you for a few moments at the entrance."
Futarishizuka glances at my neighbor as she speaks. I bet she's trying to be considerate, since someone died here. My neighbor doesn't like hurting others; that's not who he is. This may have been part of his job, but I suspect having to take part in a murder has put a weight on his shoulders.
In fact, when I think about it, Abaddon and I have forced him to do much worse. Compared to what goes on in the proxy war, this incident is nothing.
"I'm sorry," I say. "It's my fault you two had to go through all this."
"We didn't 'go through' anything, dear. That was some fine detective work on your part."
"That it was. I felt like I was watching a mystery show on TV."
I think back to all the things I said earlier. I'm just as embarrassed about all that as I am about Misaki Hanano. What was I thinking, suggesting Mr. Kuga hadn't written those messages? The people at my neighbor's job probably wrote them. Just remembering it made my face flush with shame.
"No, all I did was get in the way. I'm really sorry."
"Detective work? What are you talking about?" demands Makeup.
"Don't worry about it. It's all in the past now," says my neighbor.
"Come on! Don't leave me out."
"Now, now. Great detectives only exist in fiction," insists Futarishizuka. "If someone actually went around solving all the cases the police have given up on, the next case would be the murder of the detective. And that one would be sure to go unsolved."
"That's a fine way to ruin a child's dreams, Ms. Futarishizuka."
"But I'm right, aren't I? Journalists are found floating in Tokyo Bay all the time—ones with a strong sense of justice who go chasing after cases just like that. Basically, that's just how great detectives die: by trying too hard."
Is she saying I'm the same? If so, I'm glad they won't have to find my body in Tokyo Bay.
"But if a terrorist organization has infiltrated the event venue, shouldn't we do something about it?" asks my neighbor. "Mr. Akutsu implied that some of our colleagues on-site have already been harmed."
"Yes, we probably shouldn't leave them be," muses Futarishizuka.
What could they be after?
I suspect Robot Girl is at the crux of the matter. To get to her, they've probably got their eyes on me and Abaddon, as well as on my neighbor, Futarishizuka, and Makeup. We've already been attacked during our pretend family time, as well as when Robot Girl was attending school.
As these thoughts swirl through my mind, a buzz comes from my neighbor's chest.
He takes out his phone, and all eyes turn to him. "Excuse me. Looks like it's from the boss."
"Ugh, how unpleasant," grumbles Futarishizuka. "I have a bad feeling about this."
My neighbor excuses himself and takes the call. Very soon, his expression stiffens. It makes me think he's been given another difficult task. He stays on the call for only a few minutes; then he lowers the phone from his ear.
He looks at us with a grave expression. "The terrorists at the venue are up to something."
"Of course they are. What on earth is the other team doing?" asks Futarishizuka.
"It seems they're working on the matter. But considering the group that already went missing, we should anticipate multiple enemy psychics of rank-B or higher. They need our help to deal with them."
"Do they plan to start a firefight right here at the venue? Are you serious?"
"The chief tells me they've taken bureau employees and event attendees hostage in order to negotiate with us. Depending on our response, they might do anything, so Mr. Akutsu is gathering people to prepare for the worst."
"Ah, then it's a 'no negotiating with terrorists' sort of thing?"
"That's the sense I got."
My neighbor explains everything calmly, but if attendees have been taken hostage, isn't the situation really bad? There could be thousands of casualties, or even tens of thousands.
"Father, the youngest daughter has something to discuss."
"What is it?"
"I would like to preserve my elder sister's big moment on the stage."
Robot Girl's remark is admirable. If the terrorist group makes too public a disturbance, they'll have to call off Winterfest. And that's not even the worst part. There will be debates and arguments about every other event going forward—a major disadvantage for Ochiba Kareki. That said, I don't need her worrying about me.
"We were thinking the same thing," says my neighbor.
"The youngest daughter would like to assist with Mother and Father's job."
"That's very reassuring," Makeup replies.
"Then we'd better get down to the venue right away," points out Ms. Futarishizuka. "Considering how crowded it is, just getting over there will eat up a good amount of time. If they start trying to blow us up while we're wading through a sea of people, we won't stand a chance."
"I agree."
"Then I'm coming with you! I'm a B-rank psychic, after all," Makeup insists.
"What should we do about things here?" asks Futarishizuka.
"We can just let other bureau people handle it. No problem!"
Apparently, Makeup is coming along, too.
She's always noisy, but today she seems even more boisterous than usual. It's almost like she's forcing herself to speak up. Is she trying to show off in front of my neighbor? Or is it something else? Not that I care what she's thinking.
And so we all rush back to the east exhibition hall.
Following the boss's orders, we left the conference tower and returned to the east exhibition hall. Our destination was Area A, the section containing the main stage. The venue was packed with so many attendees that it was difficult to get anywhere. It was now a little past lunchtime; more guests than ever were pouring in, and the venue had reached the height of its fervor.
It ended up taking us about twenty minutes just to get back from the conference tower. The section chief called me again while we were moving to update us on the situation.
Apparently, members of the terrorist group had already slipped into the main stage area. One of them had taken a staff member hostage and was holding them backstage and making demands.
"What are their demands, sir?" I asked.
"A direct negotiation with Type Twelve."
"Negotiation? I hope they haven't planted explosives around the venue or anything."
"We told them that she and Hoshizaki are in attendance. I doubt they'd be foolish enough to blow up the venue in this situation. Everyone became aware of the mechanical life-form's stance on humans back when Hoshizaki was kidnapped."
In the slim chance that we lost Miss Hoshizaki, it would be the end of the line for the whole planet. And that was no joke, considering Type Twelve's attachment to her. We'd definitely wind up with another crater on the Earth's surface.
So instead, they wanted to negotiate.
Their original objective had been to secure my neighbor as leverage to negotiate with Type Twelve. Unfortunately for them, before they could drag her away, their contact—Mr. Kuga—had died. Now it seemed they were prepared to use force.
"Given how much power they have on their side, you're the only ones on-site who can deal with them. I want you to take away their leverage and force them to withdraw without the attendees witnessing any supernatural occurrences."
"Any intel on our enemies' psychic powers, sir?"
"No, unfortunately. You'll have to play this one by ear."
"Chief, with all due respect, that is a very big ask."
"I believe I'll be able to give you substantial time off from your bureau duties if you can pull this off."
"I'll hold you to that, sir."
According to Mr. Akutsu, the stage events hadn't yet been affected, nor had the audience noticed anything wrong. The terrorists probably intended to drag us into negotiations by taking the event itself hostage.
And if we had to take action in front of others, it was time to change into our Masked Sailor and Demonic Middle Manager costumes. We dashed into the staff area set up behind the main stage and hastily threw on our disguises.
"I'm glad we thought to bring these just in case," I remarked. "I didn't think we'd actually have to use them, though…"
"Come, now, hold still. I can't get this makeup on you if you fidget."
At first, we'd only used these costumes as a last resort, but, somewhat worryingly, they were quickly becoming a regular work outfit.
Since Peeps wasn't present today, my transformation into the Demonic Middle Manager had to start from square one with makeup. I sat in a chair as Ms. Futarishizuka put on my foundation and eye shadow for me.
"I always knew you had a lot of hobbies, but you're quite skilled at makeup as well," I noted.
"What, did you forget I'm a woman? This is a basic skill."
"Maybe, but don't you go without makeup most of the time?"
"Why pretty up a face that's already so pretty?"
Her smugness wasn't unfounded—she had considerable skill. She'd soon buried my original face under makeup, making me look like a member of a visual kei band. Once I put on my horned hair band, the Demonic Middle Manager look was complete.
Maybe I should practice doing this to myself, I thought. There was no guarantee I'd always have my junior colleague around to help.
"Sasaki! Futarishizuka! Are you done yet?!" called Miss Hoshizaki.
"Perfect. Looking good!" said Ms. Futarishizuka, pleased with her work.
At this point, the terrorist group was repeatedly demanding negotiations through Mr. Akutsu. The latter wasn't at the venue but was dealing with them over the phone from the bureau. And apparently, he was also hounding Miss Hoshizaki to hurry things up. I'd lost count of how many times she'd urged us along, smartphone in hand.
Finally, we nodded, and the Masked Sailor and Demonic Middle Manager left the staff area. We passed through a staff-only hallway and moved behind the main stage. Our destination was a space reserved for stage workers; it was basically a walkway meant for actors to enter the stage from behind the audience. We were completely hidden from their view.
"What does the world think about these two characters, anyway?" I asked. "I know people were talking about them on the internet after that video of us in the city. But if there's been any pushback, we'll need to think carefully about what we say."
"We're internet memes now, like it or not," explained Ms. Futarishizuka. "Toys for the masses to do with as they wish. The Karuizawa locals filmed us, too, apparently. Specifically, the time with the pink magical girlie when you galloped in on the horse—that one's all over the place now."
"They're all just totally unscripted fragments of scenes, though."
"Yes, and that only gives the people using them even more freedom."
The two of us chatted as we ran toward the scene. We used the time to plan out the story for our little performance.
"Good thing we were both in disguise, then," I commented.
"I did a teensy little internet search of my own, actually. Do you know how many lewd pictures of the Masked Sailor there are? A lot. I even saw a few involving the Demonic Middle Manager. Very lascivious, no?"
"And you're telling me this why?"
"There's plenty of erotic images out there. But isn't one of a coworker more, well, useful than one of a complete stranger?"
"Sorry, but if anything, that would just turn me off."
Perhaps, to the general public, we looked like a couple of YouTubers who went around setting up impromptu flash mobs. We didn't have our own channel, though, so maybe we came off more like incomprehensible weirdos.
"Sasaki, I'm in position!"
"Understood. We'll be there in a moment."
Miss Hoshizaki's voice reached me over Type Twelve's translator earphone. We were all still wearing the devices, and they allowed for bidirectional real-time communication. They also meant that, if something went wrong at the venue, Type Twelve could pick it up from her terminals and pods and relay the situation to us right away.
Miss Hoshizaki was waiting backstage to support us if needed. Her main task was to serve as a go-between for us and the section chief. Since her picture had been broadcast on TV in the past, we decided it would be better for her to stay out of the limelight.
We'd considered getting Himegami's help to trigger an isolated space so we could resolve things there, but when we contacted him, he told us it would take around an hour to get to the venue, even if he rushed.
Type Twelve's terminal could have reduced that time to a scant few minutes, but the existence of mechanical life-forms was top secret even at the bureau. Either Mr. Akutsu or those above him refused to allow it, and we had to give up. Always with the red tape.
"We're here, esteemed senior," announced Ms. Futarishizuka.
"We'll head in when we see a good opportunity," I added.
"Right. Good luck to you both!"
The program was continuing on the main stage according to schedule. The screen showed several first-string members singing and dancing. We could see how things were going via the monitors set up all around the backstage area. The feeds covered the sides of the stage, too, and that was where we spotted the middle-aged man holding a gun—most likely one of the terrorists we were after.
"Ms. Futarishizuka, let's go."
"Aye-aye, sir!"
As the singing and dancing ended and gave way to an interlude, we headed out, throwing open the door to the standby area. Then we sprinted full speed toward the stage.
The first one to jump out was the Demonic Middle Manager, followed by the Masked Sailor.
"Hold it right there, Demonic Middle Manager!" she shouted.
"I will do no such thing, Masked Sailor."
Our voices boomed through high-output speakers all around the stage. Type Twelve's translators were picking up our voices and feeding them through the venue's sound system using her terminals and pods. The system was set up using IP-based network audio, so I figured it was now mostly under Type Twelve's control.
Naturally, the audience was shocked. Questions began to rise up here and there—people wanted to know what was going on.
"Huh? What's this?" "Hey, wait. Who are they?" "Oh, I've seen them online before!" "But why now?" "What's gonna happen to my oshi's concert?" "The helmet girl looks a lot shorter than in the videos." "Were they with Otherworld Productions all along?"
Ms. Futarishizuka ran parallel to me along another path through the audience seating. Once we were both at the front row, we leaped off the floor and onto the stage. Using just enough flight magic so that it wouldn't seem too implausible, I got up in one shot and glanced to the side. Ms. Futarishizuka climbed up after me a moment later.
Then I turned my gaze to the wings. I could see the psychic we'd glimpsed on the monitors earlier. He was holding a gun pointed at a few staff member hostages nearby. When he saw the Masked Sailor and the Demonic Middle Manager burst onto the stage, he looked dumbfounded.
He hadn't expected this and was clearly confused. What we were doing looked like just another performance, and we'd already convinced the audience.
"Demonic Middle Manager! You're an old man now. Don't you think you're getting carried away with those flashy moves of yours? You'll throw out your hip if you're not careful! Give up and submit to me before you startle yourself to death!"
Now, now, Masked Sailor. An ally of justice who uses her youth to assert dominance will be abandoned by viewers the moment they grow up. Nobody has lower back pain because they want it. Humans are not made to live sitting down!"
As we said our lines, the tune playing onstage changed to a fierce, up-tempo number. The VTubers, initially confused, began to sing along. We probably had Type Twelve to thank for this little bonus. On the giant screen, the 3D models started to dance energetically.
We, too, used the entire stage for our action scene.
"And yet, fiend, a job that keeps you on your feet is no more enjoyable!" shouted Ms. Futarishizuka as she struck a cool pose.
In response, a hologram appeared onstage. Reminiscent of a magic circle from the otherworld, it materialized before her palm as she held it out toward the Demonic Middle Manager. Light began to converge at its center, and a moment later, it fired something that looked just like a magical girl's Magical Beam.
We were combining our blocking with stage effects created from the mechanical life-form's midair displays. Just as the beam hit, another effect created a huge explosion with me right at the center.
The audience cheered. The whole thing must have looked great.
"Graaahhh!"
The Demonic Middle Manager shrieked and backed up, staggering toward the edge of the stage. I was completely unharmed, of course.
I moved to a spot behind the curtain at the side of the stage where the audience couldn't see me, right beside the gun-toting terrorist. I was able to get up close to the target, just as we'd planned.
The terrorist still seemed confused by what was going on. He couldn't seem to decide if this was part of the program, or if I was coming for him, or if I was some kind of unforeseen intruder. In the meantime, I got close enough to exchange words with him.
"The mechanical life-form is quite attached to this event," I said. "If you interfere with it, there will be no room for negotiation. Any further contact will only be disadvantageous for us both. Would you mind leaving the venue?"
I removed the gun from my pocket and leveled it at the psychic. I'd borrowed it from Miss Hoshizaki.
"If you do as I ask, I can guarantee your safety."
"..."
He thought about this. I could hear him muttering. He probably had a transmitter and was communicating with some other party. I tried to listen in, but the booming speakers drowned out his voice.
My own lines had stopped being transmitted to the speakers. Type Twelve was managing the situation so anything I said offstage couldn't be heard by the audience. Having a mechanical life-form around sure was handy.
The terrorist only hesitated for a moment. Then he dropped his gun, raised his hands above his head, and took a step forward, as if to follow my advice. Not only was an A-rank psychic waiting nearby, but several other bureau employees were also in the facility. I assumed he'd decided escape was impossible.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about the man's psychic power. But there was no point in using that as an excuse to hesitate. We didn't have the time to mull things over.
Having secured the terrorist, the Demonic Middle Manager took this chance to shift his attention back to the stage. The Masked Sailor was out in the middle, looking toward the wings. I gave her a small nod and got another in reply. Seeing that, the Demonic Middle Manager headed back out.
"Masked Sailor! If you value this man's life, then you will do as I say."
"Taking a hostage after all that?! What a tired plot point!"
I'd brought the terrorist along, and I made a show of pointing my gun at his head.
By now, we had this in the bag. The Masked Sailor would defeat the conceited Demonic Middle Manager. The fallen demon would exit the stage. Ms. Futarishizuka would recover the hostage, then take him away with her incredible physical abilities. That was how I saw things going.
But as I was thinking about how to proceed, I noticed my coworker acting strange. No sooner had she whipped out her animated comeback than she appeared to shudder.
"Indeed. Very, very dull. Things like this should be put to a stop quickly."
And then, suddenly, the intonation was gone from her voice.
Her face was hidden behind her helmet. I couldn't see anything past the mirrored visor. But I got the impression her voice wasn't the only thing that had suddenly changed.
"Sacrifices can be tolerated for the sake of justice. Destroying the false believers takes priority over all else."
"..."
What she was saying sounded oddly like her, and yet also not. Either way, her words concerned me.
I didn't want to consider it, but if my guess was correct, our lives were in danger.
Just to be sure, I fired my gun. The bullet struck her in the leg.
She ignored it, and with a ghastly expression, closed in on me. She moved more slowly than usual, dragging her injured leg. And yet her superhuman physical abilities were intact, and a moment later, her fist was right in front of me.
"Ngh!" I immediately bent backward, putting up a barrier spell. Her fist brushed the tip of my nose, and I heard a whoosh of air. "Masked Sailor, don't you see the hostage in my possession?!"
"Death to heretics. Justice will be executed."
"Justice? Don't you care if all these good people die?!"
"They are not victims. Not sacrifices. You must understand; they are offerings to our god."
Now what? The Masked Sailor's personality had just taken a dangerous turn.
With the Demonic Middle Manager in a daze, my gun no longer trained on the hostage, the terrorist took a few steps away from me. The Masked Sailor didn't react at all.
Was Ms. Futarishizuka's change related to his psychic power?
I'd previously met psychics capable of influencing other people's minds. One had targeted a bunch of bystanders in Miss Hoshizaki's neighborhood and caused a riot. Compared to that, this power seemed a lot more polished. Ms. Futarishizuka was still talking, after all.
For the time being, I assumed his power could hijack the mind of his target and bend them to his will.
But just then, I sensed danger from somewhere else—a sudden bang went off behind the stage.
Argh. Now what?
(The Neighbor's POV)
We part ways with my neighbor and Futarishizuka in the staff area beside the main stage and stay behind to wait. Our job is to provide backup if something goes wrong.
Abaddon is with me, as are Robot Girl and Makeup. In front of us, one of Robot Girl's semitransparent displays floats in midair. It shows the main stage from above the audience seating, allowing us to keep an eye on the proceedings. Thanks to it, we have a vivid understanding of the situation even from backstage.
"Hold it right there, Demonic Middle Manager!"
"I will do no such thing, Masked Sailor."
The two of them burst out from behind the audience and run toward the stage. As they move, the display shifts from the cameras positioned at the wings to one behind my neighbor, who stands in the middle of the stage.
A man is visible behind the curtain off to the side. He's holding a gun. Next to him are staff members, probably the hostages. He must be the terrorist.
"Sasaki did a good job getting close to the guy," remarks Makeup.
"Abaddon, can you go and back him up?" I ask.
"I can't leave my Disciple's side. Not in a situation like this."
We all discussed what would happen onstage beforehand. As planned, my neighbor uses the fake laser beam effect to withdraw to the edge of the stage.
Suddenly, Robot Girl speaks. "Mother, Elder Sister, Elder Brother, I'm detecting a disturbing response in the motion of atmospheric particles. Something optically indiscernible is traveling in our direction from a two-o'-clock position relative to the youngest daughter. As a mechanical life-form, I recommend we immediately assume alert status."
"Huh?" Not a moment later, Makeup floats up into the air.
Considering the situation, it has to be a psychic attack.
"Abaddon, intercept whatever's heading toward us!"
"Sure thing, buddy!"
Could it be some kind of telekinesis? My neighbor told me psychic powers that make things float are relatively commonplace. If the psychic is of a high rank, they will be extremely hard to deal with, and considering they're venturing into enemy territory, they almost certainly are.
"Elder Sister, the youngest daughter wishes to aid you."
"If you're willing to help, then go for it."
"Acknowledged."
Robot Girl nods, and a moment later, there's a loud bang followed by a flash of light. A beam strikes down like a lightning bolt. It shocks us all. But what is it?
Immediately, people appear out of thin air.
"Rgh!"
There are three of them, hands joined, huddled together with us backstage. One of them falls to his knee and collapses—a man of medium height and build, probably in his twenties. His looks are ordinary, and he's wearing jeans and a black down jacket. I don't see any wounds on him. He seems to have lost consciousness; he lies on the floor facedown and doesn't move at all.
Apparently, Robot Girl did something.
"Shit, I knew it wouldn't work!" spits one of the other two. "Let's get outta here!"
A moment later, they disappear, leaving the one who collapsed behind. They must have decided it would be too hard to take him along and abandoned him.
"Target signals have disappeared from our coordinates. They have moved elsewhere."
A person can only possess one psychic power at a time. Applying that rule to our situation suggests the intruders had three powers: telekinesis, camouflage, and teleportation. Considering the situation, the one Robot Girl struck must have been the one using camouflage.
When our enemies withdraw, Makeup falls back to the ground, landing skillfully on her feet. "Hey," she says to Robot Girl. "What was that flash just now?"
"Mother, that was a nonlethal directional energy weapon. It is designed to disable medium- to large-size mammals, such as humans. During normal usage, it delivers a nonlethal wound. It also leaves very little in the way of aftereffects. I developed it to help fend off Grandmother."
Apparently, it was a weapon loaded onto one of the terminals she brought to the event. The grandmother sure had it rough dealing with such a naughty granddaughter.
"Motives aside, that's a super handy weapon. You really caught me by surprise!"
"Elder Brother, your younger sister feels joy at your continued high appraisal of mechanical life-forms."
The fallen psychic is completely still. According to Robot Girl, he's not actually dead. And if we want to find out who these terrorists are, it'd be better to capture them than to kill them. I glance at Makeup; she's already talking to someone on the phone.
"I'm sorry to make you do all the work, but do you know where they ran?" I ask Robot Girl.
"Elder Sister, I have detected something via the onstage cameras." As she speaks, the midair display moves in front of us as though gliding along the air itself. It's almost comical.
On the screen, I can see the two psychics who just fled at the sides of the stage. Are they trying to recover the one my neighbor is dealing with?
But in that case, why did they abandon the camouflage-using psychic so easily? I bet it has something to do with the power of the man onstage.
The shrill noise from backstage only lasted a split second before two people appeared in the wings. The others contacted me via my earphone to update me.
"Two psychics are heading your way, mister!"
"Sasaki, they're a teleporter and a high-ranking telekinetic!"
They must have tried messing with the girls, then had the tables turned on them. Albeit fragmentary, I'd heard some of their exchange backstage via the earphone, helping me put together what was going on.
"My guess is they're trying to stay in front of the audience to keep us from attacking them," suggested Miss Hoshizaki.
"Please let me go over there, mister!"
"You all stay where you are, please. It seems the psychic on the stage can influence people's minds. I suspect he can knock you out with just a glance."
"Wait, then are you going to be okay, mister?"
"I believe there's an upper limit on how many targets he can affect at once, so I think I'll be fine by myself."
Otherwise, he would have hijacked my mind at the same time as Ms. Futarishizuka's. In fact, it was possible he was already in my mind—but then he wouldn't be setting her against me like this.
My guess was that the enemy had decided that, as a psychic, I was inconsequential. After all, everyone in the world was treating me as the fake family's weakest link.
But if the girls showed up now, I didn't know how he'd react. If he somehow took over Type Twelve or Miss Hoshizaki, we'd have an even bigger problem. And if the terrorists took them away, we'd lose all our leverage.
"This way!" the hostage psychic called out, launching into a run.
He had escaped the hands of the Demonic Middle Manager, thanks to the actions of a renegade Masked Sailor. I wouldn't be able to fence him in with my gun—not while dealing with her assault. If I carelessly pulled the trigger and hit an audience member, that would be the end of Winterfest.
The two who had just shown up in the wings joined the hostage and made to flee the stage. It would look to anyone else like the Masked Sailor had just liberated the hostages.
Incidentally, I recognized one of the two newcomers. He was a bureau member I'd been told was kidnapped at today's event and had gone missing. His psychic power was teleportation—he could warp to other locations within a set distance, capping out at a few dozen meters. But in a crowd like this, that was incredibly handy. A few warps, and I'd lose sight of them.
"Found the target backstage," said the telekinetic. "Can you do anything with your power?"
"Don't be stupid," barked the mind-stealer. "We don't even know if my power works on mechanical life-forms. Why the hell do you think we were asking to negotiate? Engaging her in combat now would be suicide."
Both of the men were speaking in a foreign language I couldn't identify. I wouldn't have made out their conversation at all if not for Type Twelve's translator device.
Unfortunately, I had no time to deal with them. I had my hands full with Ms. Futarishizuka. Capturing them now would be impossible.
"Futarishizuka's coming at you for real, isn't she? Are you sure you'll be all right, Sasaki?"
"I'm managing to hold out. If they throw anything else at me, though, I won't be able to handle it."
I dodged and used my barrier spell to block her punches and kicks. It probably looked like a scene from an action film, where the actors stopped right before making contact. Good thing my colleague's psychic power lent itself so well to stage acting.
I heard Type Twelve mumble something. She was probably watching us via the cameras.
Then, a moment later, I heard my neighbor speak up. She sounded confused. "Huh? Wait, what's this?"
"You handle the voice and motions. I will handle coordinate translation and attacks."
"You're putting her onstage?"
"I will utilize the directional energy weapon from before. Your physical form does not need to be present."
I could hear them talking through the earphone, though I wasn't sure what they were doing. It sounded like they'd come up with some kind of plan.
"…All right. I'm ready when you are."
"Thank you for your consent, Elder Sister. Now deploying Ochiba Kareki."
Deploying? What does she mean by that?
The question lingered in my mind for only a moment before the event venue underwent a remarkable change. Something flew onto the stage from behind and began to fly over everyone in the audience.
It was partially transparent from behind—a 3D model projected with midair displays, perhaps? It showed a pretty girl I was now quite familiar with: my neighbor's VTuber persona Ochiba Kareki. It seemed as though Type Twelve was projecting her into the venue with the help of her terminals and pods.
"Wait, what the heck?!" "Are you seeing this?! It's crazy!" "Oh, it's that girl, right? She made a stir online." "Couldn't they have gone with someone else?" "Uh, this is kind of incredible." "How are they projecting her up there?" "Look at how smooth her movements are!" "Isn't it, I don't know, bad that we have a full view of her panties?"
The audience began to cheer.
You might expect something like this at an amusement park attraction, but this was a makeshift stage set up in an exhibition hall. There was no equipment visible nearby capable of projecting images like this. The performance was made possible only by the mechanical life-form's super-science, and it was producing a lot of excitement.
I had a feeling we'd be excusing this as a climactic unveiling of some cutting-edge technology developed by OtherPro.
As the crowd watched, Ochiba Kareki—flitting around in the sky like a bird—eventually stopped in midair a few meters above the audience.
She turned back toward the stage and glared at the terrorists.
"You depend on the goodwill of others but don't offer anything in return. Fools like you are not virtuous—you are nothing more than parasites, hungering insatiably for what personal gain can be had from the disputes of others."
My neighbor's voice boomed over the stage speakers. Her words were bizarre. Meanwhile, I could still hear their conversation backstage through my earphone.
"Elder Sister, I would like you to strike a slightly cooler pose."
"You mean that wasn't enough?"
"I have seen data on the internet suggesting that some exaggeration is suitable in a situation like this. If you wish to truly convince the audience of the story, then I recommend you adopt more flamboyant gestures."
"…Fine."
After their exchange, the floating 3D model seemed to change position slightly. From what I'd heard, it seemed my neighbor was in charge of Ochiba Kareki's movements and voice. After their exchange, the 3D model took action once more.
"For the sake of my beloved Demonic Middle Manager, I, Ochiba Kareki, will end this farce. Scurry away in fear like the insignificant insects you are. But know that wherever you run, you remain dancing in the palms of our hands."
She held her arms out in front of her, straight all the way to her fingertips. The pose reminded me of a dictator or religious leader giving a speech. She was clearly playing a villain here; otherwise, she wouldn't have said those things to hostages.
Despite her villainy, her act was pretty cool. She was like an evil female general from some TV show.
Just then, her entire body shone with light—and a moment later, her outfit changed. Before, she'd been wearing a student uniform. Now she was dressed flashily in a black getup with a lot of exposed skin. Essentially, it was bondage gear.
"Um, I can see you changed Ochiba's outfit…"
"Yes. I have adjusted it to be more appropriate to your lines and the situation."
"Huh. Well, I think it does a good job of showing who you are on the inside!"
"You be quiet, Abaddon."
Now her appearance was also giving off the "evil female general" vibe. The audience let out more cheers.
The terrorists seemed shocked at this series of events. They'd been trying to get off the stage disguised as hostages, when a 3D model had stopped them in their tracks. They seemed to realize that the 3D projection was no act.