“…Well, no, four of the five were servants, so it wouldn’t be that strange for them to see her in sleepwear. And the other was a doctor, so that’s not weird either.”
“You should think a bit more about a woman’s heart.”
Shizuku smiled wryly as she brought the remaining chips to her mouth.
“It’s important. A woman only shows that side of herself to someone special.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. At least, that’s how I am.”
It was an interesting perspective.
Did she mean in relation to the case’s clues? Or was she suggesting she only showed that side to someone special?
Shizuku, who always wore a hood, kept her gloves on even while eating, and never allowed herself to be exposed.
“As for the locked room…well, I guess it doesn’t really matter.”
“Yeah, the locked room itself isn’t our job.”
That would generally fall under Harrison the detective’s duties.
Whenever an incomprehensible ‘Unlaws’ case occurred and caused an uproar, his job was to cover it up.
He might be better suited for detective novels than Norman.
“Still, dealing with the culprit is our job.”
“How diligent of you.”
He also wished she would be more serious.
“……. Come to think of it, your song should be finished soon, right?”
The motion of her trying to pick up a potato chip with her chopsticks paused for just a moment.
“…Rare for you to bring that up, Norman.”
“You started composing music as a self-taught student a while ago. I’m not an expert, so I’ve just been watching from the sidelines. But still, I’ve kind of had the feeling recently that you could finish it soon.”
Norman knows that completing her song means something significant to Shizuku.
“But, if your song is going to be completed, I want to be the first to hear it.”
“——I can’t help it, can I?”
And with those yellow eyes, Shizuku looked straight at Norman.
Those colors had a light they didn’t have before.
A dark shade of yellow.
“Then shall we hurry up and finish so we can get lovey-dovey?”
Though the words sounded quite weighty, they had only about the heaviness of a single potato chip.
That night, the culprit remained at the mansion because that’s what the police had told them.
Of the five people present at the crime scene this time,
four of them lived there to begin with, and the one outsider couldn’t refuse when the police told him to stay.
It had been a few days since Mary Wallwood passed away, or rather, was killed. In reality, all five of them had not left the mansion during that time.
To remain at a mansion where someone died—you couldn’t put it that way.
If you had to say it, they were in mourning.
All five of them held affection for Mary Wallwood.
The culprit’s footsteps entering the front hall in the dead of night were not prompted by anyone’s words.
They felt an unpleasant sensation.
Deep in their ears.
A creepy, scratchy feeling.
An indescribable sense of unease and discomfort.
As if someone was calling their name.
As if the woman they killed was calling out to them—that kind of voice.
Before they realized it, they couldn’t bear to stay put any longer, and following that calling voice, they had come to Mary’s private room.
“……Ah, you came.”
In the center of the room stood a hooded young girl.
With gloves covering her hands too, not an inch of skin exposed, and a violin case slung over her shoulder.
The pale silver hair peeking out from the hood caught the eye.
Half-lidded dark yellow eyes. Eyes devoid of any interest in the world.
Illuminated only by the moonlight filtering in through the window, her figure standing in the dark room was just like a flower.
Like a bud quietly blooming in the depths of a dark cave.
And she stood right in the middle of the desk split cleanly in two.
She was one of the mysterious duo who had suddenly appeared that afternoon to interview the culprit and the other four.
The interrogation was an odd affair.
Normally in such cases, they would ask the person for their alibi during the crime and their relationship with the victim.
But they—or rather, just the boy—only asked about her relationship with Mary and what kind of life she had lived until then.
Their nonchalant attitude, as if an alibi didn’t matter at all, was striking and even came across as careless.
At that time, the girl remained silent beside the boy.
“——”
It’s him.
An unpleasant sound echoing deep in my ear.
Instinct, a hunch, or perhaps something else prompted this feeling.
Called by this girl, I ended up coming here.
She gives me an uninterested look.
“——Hih”
Just that gaze was unbearably frightening.
I don’t know why.
She just looks like an ordinary girl, the same as when I first saw her.
But now, it’s different.
Something emanating from the girl is stimulating something within me.
My throat tightens, my body trembles, and I unconsciously take a step back.
“Whoa, you can’t run away.”
“!!”
Before I knew it, the boy was behind me.
With ash-gray hair tied back and a thick coat, the black felt hat oddly suits him.
His features are neat, but his droopy eyes and vague expression give him no impression of being a pretty boy.
He seemed more like a harmless little animal that might appeal to older ladies instead of peers.
Appearing without a sound or presence, he lightly walks past me to stand beside the girl.
And then,
pressing his hat with one hand, he points at me with his index finger and says:
“——You’re the culprit.”
READ THE ORIGINAL TRANSLATION AT LOCALIZERMEERKAT.PAGES.DEV
●
With a jolt, [butler-in-training] Alfred Curtis’ expression twists.
His eyes widen, his pale blond hair sways, and his face turns deathly pale.
“H-How did you…!?”
His voice comes out gasping.
“……”
Looking at Alfred, Norman has an oddly puzzled expression for some reason.
Shizuku shrugs her shoulders, exhales, and opens her mouth.
“You got it in one, Norman.”
During the interrogation, she had remained silent, simply sitting beside Norman.
Her clear voice sounded listless and indifferent.
“Yeah. Well, I’m glad we could skip the hassle. Honestly, if my hunch was wrong and the culprit wasn’t among the suspects, I didn’t know what I’d do.”
“The result is all that matters. What was his name again?”
“Alfred Curtis.”
“Right, right.”
“Wh-What are you saying!?”
His raised voice was a scream. Their tension-free conversation
made it seem like—
“Are…Are you messing with me!? Even though you don’t know I’m the culprit!”
“Who the culprit is doesn’t really matter, Alfred.”
Norman says flatly.
“Wh-What…You must be detectives!?”
“Not detectives. We get called that sometimes, but no, that’s overstating it. It’s just not a priority.”
“Then what—”
“It’s what kind of monster you are.”
“——”
A crack formed.
In the expression of the young man named Alfred.
Different from his excessive reaction to being called the culprit.
Past deathly pale to ghostly white.
Until then, he had felt agitation and doubt.
Now—there was clear fear.
“We call monsters like you ‘Unlaws.’ That rings a bell, doesn’t it?”
Anrou? No, Unlaws.
“There are quite a lot of ‘Unlaws’ in this Balldlum. We’re not exactly Unlaws-specialist detectives…or I guess I’m not an Unlaws myself.”
“——We’re from the same hole.”
Shizuku Teardrop laughs.
A girl like a flower bud that has refused to bloom, remaining closed in the dark.
But now, she is spinning words, laughing.
Laughing only at the same moles in the same dark hole.
“……Ss-Same hole?”
In an instant, Alfred makes an odd expression.
The shock hasn’t faded—he still looks stunned, his complexion still poor.
But there is definitely—joy on his face.
The same moles.
The same—monsters.
“Tell me, Alfred. Why did you kill Mary?”
“That’s…because…!”
The joy fades, and his face twists.
Memories resurface.
The words Mary Woodward said to him.
“That person…told me to!”
He shouts, the words spilling out.
“Lady Mary told me herself! That I must be hiding something! That she would accept me! So…So I…!”
“Showed her your ability.”
“Yes! And then…Then…!”
“She rejected you—and you killed her.”
“Uuuuuuhhh…!”
A groan rises as he grasps his head with both hands.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
“So? What can you do?”
“…Eh?”
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