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.”