Takamura’s response seemed pretty brazen to Seiji, and again, he wasn’t alone.
“Man, do I want to deck you,” Kaganuma grumbled.
…Just don’t get us blown up, please.
Tosu wasn’t done asking questions. “There were seven accusations made, and there are seven of us here now. Can we assume Godou’s crime wasn’t included?”
“No, one of the seven accusations was for Mr. Godou,” Takamura replied. “Originally, he should have been here to hear the recording as well.”
Hm. So the part about his disappearance being an unforeseen accident hadn’t been a total lie.
“In that case, our numbers are off,” Tosu said. He cocked his head, although his face stayed expressionless. “If there are seven accusations, including Godou’s, and eight passengers, that means one of us hasn’t committed a crime. Is that person the executioner?”
“No—they are a detective.”
…A detective?
“One was invited to join us on this train tonight. I believe one of you received an empty envelope; that person is the detective.”
Just then, there was a brief electronic noise.
Looking startled, Shiroshi took his smartphone out of his Shingen bag. Even though it was out of range, he’d gotten a text. The sender was Takamura.
If two or more of the sinners subject to execution are still alive when the train reaches its destination, as the detective, you will win. However, if only one survives, or if there are no survivors at all, you will have lost.
…Ah. In other words, this was the duel. Naturally, the detective was—
“Oh, I see. I’m the detective, then.”
“…Huh?”
Seiji thought he must have heard wrong.
After all, it wasn’t Shiroshi who’d spoken. When he followed the other passengers’ gazes, he found that everyone was looking at Tosu. He was holding a crumpled empty envelope.
…Wait.
Hold on just a second. Could this possibly mean…?
“S-so are there two detectives?” Seiji asked, dazed.
Shiroshi blinked, as if he’d been taken by surprise, too. “No, I believe Tosu is falsely assuming the role. He may have hidden the contents of his envelope somewhere. He is wearing that oversized hoodie; he could simply have slipped them into his belt.”
“Whoa, come on, is this any time to sit back and analyze?! You need to hurry and tell them you’re the real—”
Just as Seiji was trying to light a fire under Shiroshi, the other man continued.
“If I’m going to reintroduce myself, I should probably use this name instead.”
When Seiji saw what Tosu was holding, he froze, mouth agape.
It was a business card. An extremely familiar one, with affected gold letters on a black background that read Rindou Detective Agency.
“Fumihiko Tosu is my real name. I run a detective agency in the city under the byname Odoro Rindou. Some of you may have heard of me; I may not look like it, but I’m notoriously skilled.”
There was a dull thunk.
When Seiji looked toward the noise, Shiroshi was doubled over on the sofa, shoulders trembling slightly. Apparently, he’d been trying to hide the fact that he’d burst out laughing and had whacked his forehead solidly on the table.
What the heck am I supposed to do in this situation?!
“…E-excuse me. It’s just that the idea that he has impersonators throughout the land is such an exquisite—”
“So that’s the part that cracked you up?!” Understandably, Seiji’s voice had gotten loud.
Shiroshi cleared his throat, covering for himself. “Still, proving that he is an impostor will be rather troublesome. It would be simple if Takamura corroborated the real detective’s identity…but they may be in on this together.”
He glanced at Takamura. The man was wearing a cool smile, as if none of this had anything to do with him.
“For example,” Shiroshi continued, “let us say that I step forward as ‘the real detective’ now. It will be immediately clear to the other passengers that one of us is lying. The one they decide is the liar will be identified as the executioner by default.”
Whoa. Then if the other passengers believed Tosu, Shiroshi would promptly find himself with his back against the wall.
On top of that, since the other guy had produced a Rindou Detective Agency business card, he currently had an overwhelming advantage.
“So does that mean Tosu is actually the executioner?” Seiji asked.
“I think that’s the most likely possibility. However, there is another potential—”
Just then, Takamura clapped his hands, signaling for quiet. “Very well. Since that concludes my explanation, I’ll take my leave. Before I go, let me ask you: Will you confess or stay silent? Is there anyone who wishes to confess now?”
No one spoke up. A hush was the only response.
“Who the hell would…?” someone spat under his breath. Had it been Ishizuka or Kaganuma? Ms. Nomura looked down, biting her lip; she seemed to be in deep denial.
The only one whose expression held any hesitation was Mao, and she was looking at Tosu, the detective. There was hope in her eyes. She thought things might work out even if she didn’t risk confessing.
Oh, at this rate, none of them will.
“Very well. I will be waiting in Room 702. If any of you wish to confess, summon me using the phone in your compartment. Until we reach our destination, I will be available at all times.”
Takamura gave a beautifully polished bow. If no one did anything, this absurd game would begin whether they wanted it to or not.
Even though there was one way to stop it.
“Um, please wait!”
The second Seiji shouted, all eyes were on him, and he cringed. He wanted to say Actually, never mind and go hide in the bathroom.
But…
There was one thing he could do that Shiroshi couldn’t—because Seiji was one of the sinners.
“E-excuse me. I’d like to confess my sin; please listen.”
As soon as the words were out, his heart began to ache as if he’d developed an arrhythmia. His mouth went bone-dry, and he lowered his eyes, staring at his shaking hands.
Come to think of it, this was the second time he’d confessed his sin.
This isn’t the house, though, and I’m not talking to Shiroshi.
Back then, to Seiji, Shiroshi had seemed like a demon who would inflict Hell’s punishment on him. However, if you asked him which was more terrible now, humans or demons, well…
“…Lame,” Kaganuma scoffed after Seiji had managed to muddle through his confession. “That’s so pathetic, I dunno what the hell you’re even here for. But hey, good for you: You’re the first one out.” There was an unspoken You can go, now get lost behind the careless words.
Hungry for air, Seiji dragged in a breath, then exhaled. Then he raised his head, as if he’d made up his mind. “I’m sorry, but if possible, I’d like other people to confess as well—”
“Oh yeah?”
…N-not good. The guy sounded like a gangster who’d just had a drunk pick a fight with him.
“Listen, kid. You don’t really think you did anything all that bad, do you?”
“Huh?”
“If you did, there’s no way a twitchy guy like you could confess his sin. If it was the sort of nastiness that would get you arrested, you’d be running. You ran from the executioner just now; you were the first one out the gate. And yet you’re telling us to do the same thing? If you want to fake being a good guy, don’t go dragging other people along with you, coward.”
To Seiji, the words felt like a punch to the side of his face.
His heart hurt, as if it were being stabbed again and again by something he couldn’t see. It was probably because, in the end, Kaganuma had called it in one.
I want to run.
He wanted to look down, to turn away. After all, that was how he’d always gotten through everything before.
“But…,” he murmured.
Just then, a hand touched his back. He didn’t even have to look to know it was Shiroshi. Wordlessly, he patted Seiji’s back. He didn’t try to stop him, and he didn’t come to his defense. He just patted him once, like always.
And that was enough.
“M-my…” Seiji’s voice shook. He went on anyway, desperately forcing it not to crack. “My sin wasn’t leaving my friend’s body lying there after he’d killed himself. It was the fact that I pretended none of it had ever happened.”
Exactly.
The fact that Inokoshi, his only friend, had sold him out.
The fact that, one day, he’d had a massive debt shoved onto him out of the blue and had been targeted by loan sharks.
The fact that even though his friend had been cornered so badly he’d been considering suicide, Seiji had said something insensitive to him at the very, very end, and his friend had died before he could make anything right.
He’d pretended none of those things had ever happened, and he’d run.
I…did feel guilty about it, but…
Taking advantage of the fact that none of it felt real, he’d kept pushing it away into a corner of his mind. He’d justified his actions by telling himself that the other guy had landed him in a nasty situation first.
That was probably why Seiji’s sin had taken the form of an itsumade: It had been asking him itsu made, or “how long,” he was going to keep running.
Itsu made, itsu made, the voice had called over and over. He hadn’t even shouted for it to shut up and stop bothering him; he’d just plugged his ears and pretended not to hear.
Then, as he was wandering through Hell’s darkness, he’d encountered a demon-judge named Shiroshi Saijou.
“What I learned is that, in the end, it’s not possible to make a clean escape. As long as you keep running, you’re basically abandoning yourself. I was only faking that I was alive, when I was really just ‘not dead.’ But somebody was kind enough to tell me that wasn’t okay, and so…”
By now, even Seiji wasn’t sure what he was saying. Still, he kept groping for words, one by one, taking care not to lie. “…If it’s a choice between running away and living, I want to choose to live.”
When he’d gotten that far, his throat closed up. He choked and coughed, panicking a little when he couldn’t stop, and then…
“So you’re telling us to confess our crimes without running, too?”
Incredibly, Kaganuma was the one who finished his thought for him.
“Yes. But, um, that’s not really the part I wanted to emphasize… If confessing your sin means you can go home safely, I’d like you to choose to live. If you can avoid dying, please do. Please.” Seiji bowed his head very deeply.
Silence fell. When he carefully looked up, the other passengers were watching him. He almost locked eyes with a few of them—but the next instant, they all looked away.
In that moment, Seiji knew.
They were like people who’d just seen a dead dog on the street and averted their eyes as they walked past. They’d clearly decided to pretend they hadn’t seen a thing.
“All right; I’ll take my leave. Please enjoy the remainder of the night.”
With that, Takamura left the car.
The death game had begun.