Chapter 44

"You couldn't throw away something you might use again. Plus, you were so arrogant you thought you'd never come up in the investigation. That's why the rope you used to attack Senior Murayama must still be in your house! If the police get a warrant and storm in, they'll find it!"

Once the police know you attacked Senior Murayama, they can search your home. Then her movements will surface on their own.

When you killed Kanbara-senpai, you probably still haven't thrown away the blood-stained clothes either. Burning them would draw attention, and you can't risk tossing blood-soaked clothes at the dump.

No, not just clothes.

The night you killed Kanbara-senpai, think about how Kitsunesaki got home—indisputable evidence will appear.

A car. You couldn't walk around drenched in blood, so you used a car. No matter how careful you were, the blood on your face and arms must have touched the steering wheel or the door.

Blood is a stubborn thing; even after wiping it away, it refuses to vanish completely.

It must still be inside that car. And the police, who already have you marked, will be able to detect it.

I told Kitsunesaki that very fact.

"The werewolf has been hunted down. Kitsunesaki, you lose."

I fold my arms and watch her reaction. For a moment she slumps against the wall in her chair, showing me how drained she is.

"Ah..."

"If you go to the police right now, it'll count as turning yourself in. Whatever you did by abandoning Kishi, you were also a victim of Kanbara's bullying."

Kitsunesaki nods at my words and stands up. She staggers once. When I reach out a hand, she looks about to take it, only to swat it away. Before I can wonder what she's doing, she grabs the chair.

Wha—!? By the time alarm bells ring, it's too late.

Pain shoots through my arm, my body—she's smashed me with the chair as hard as she can. Of course I can't stay standing; I double over.

Seizing that opening, she slips past me.

Where does she think she can run!? The police already know the truth. Escaping now is pointless.

That's what I alone believed. Kitsunesaki bolts straight for the home-economics room. Understanding dawns, and cold seeps to my core.

"Aaaa...!"

Kitsunesaki bursts through the home-economics door with the chair—and returns looking like her soul has fled. In her hand, no longer the chair, but a kitchen knife.

This is bad...!

By the time the thought forms, it's far too late. All the students who'd silently watched us now scream in unison. Until now they'd stayed indifferent, treating it as routine, but once a blade appears, screams are inevitable.

That noise will only fuel her frenzy. The commotion will irritate Kitsunesaki further. Her mental state is anything but normal.

"I'll kill them... I'll kill everyone who killed me..."

And she still believes she's Kishi. She can't be herself any longer. She'll stab someone, no question.

So I dash out, trying to stop her.

Terror makes sweat pour from my feet. I drove her to this state—my miscalculation, my carelessness.

"Stop!"

I stretch out my arms to block her in the hallway outside the home-economics room and try to seize the arm without the knife. But her strength easily knocks my hand aside—or rather, the pain from the chair blow hasn't faded.

My powerless arm is flung back. Her kick sends me sprawling, every option gone.

Still, I have to stop her now!

I can't let the victim count rise any higher! As she tries to slip past the me she just subdued, I leap onto her back.

But she's too quick. My grasping hand closes on empty air—I can't catch her.

I have to stop her no matter what!

Knife in hand, she barrels down the hallway. Everyone dives aside, sparing themselves, yet she spares no one a glance.

Who is she planning to kill!?

Just then, Vice-Principal Kanou appears in front of Kitsunesaki. He can only stare, eyes wide at the scene.

"Wh-what... ugh!?"

He can't dodge—he's stabbed. And it doesn't end there. She thrusts into his chest, pulls the knife out, then plunges it into his shoulder, then his arm, again and again.

The hallway painted in blood becomes a living hell.

A male student panics and smashes a hallway window. A girl vomits on the spot.

It feels like witnessing the end of the world.

Able only to crawl, I whisper.

"What do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do!? How can I save them!? Think think think think think think think! Why can I chase people into corners with deductions yet can't come up with a single way to help!? Useless, utterly useless!"

As if answering me, Kitsunesaki turns back, face smeared with blood. She pauses the stabbing and smiles sweetly, like a child—like a mischievous little kid.

"I did it... I finally got to kill someone. This annoying teacher...! Always, always chasing only me—so annoying..."

Rarely have I known greater terror. Her crimson grin won't leave my face. Even with eyes shut, the image burns itself in.

Madness threatens to take me too—I can only scream.

"Uwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Perhaps my scream fans her anger.

"Detective-kun, I want you to die too. You've been spewing nonsense about me and Professor Kitsunesaki. You could die, and it wouldn't be a problem, right?"

Knitting her brow, she yanks the knife from Vice-Principal Kanou's arm with a wet sound. Staggering, she raises the bloodied blade to bring it down on me.

...I'm coming now, Miiko.

At last we can be in the same place, Miiko.

No, Miiko is in heaven, and I am in hell.

Hell. Complete hell. Because of my mistake a victim has fallen. That death is my doing. And Miiko—if only I'd been stronger.

Yeah. Once I reach hell I probably won't inherit your memories either. It's a painful place.

So while I still remember, I'll say it: Miiko... thank you.

As your childhood friend, I've had fun since kindergarten. Curious about everything, you dragged me into exploring mountains and forests. In elementary school we played constantly—hunting for a classmate's lost item, investigating fights.

By middle school we'd stepped into rather dangerous cases.

Honestly, it was a pain. I hated being a detective.

Deep down, though, maybe I enjoyed it.

Sorry for lying, saying it wasn't fun.

"I'm so, so sorry... every...one..."

Warm, bright-red blood splatters across my face.

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