Vampire and His Pleasant Companions: Volume 6 - Part 1

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With a small jolt, the bus—about the size of a van—came to a stop. Albert Irving stood up from his seat and made his way to the front exit. Ever since the elderly woman had gotten off three stops ago, he’d been the only one on board. It felt like having a private taxi all to himself.

When he reached the touch panel to pay the fare, the driver glanced at him. Their eyes met.

“This place… Four Building… no mistake?”

There had been an automated announcement, but just to be safe, he asked again. The driver, who looked to be in his fifties and had eyes that bulged slightly, suddenly burst out laughing.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha! I don’t speak English!”

“I… I speak Japanese.”

“I said, I don’t understand English.”

But he was speaking Japanese—wasn’t he? Why wasn’t it working? Was his pronunciation that bad? He’d used this exact phrase—“This place, no mistake?”—with plenty of people before reaching this point, and it had always worked.

“This place… Four Building… OK?”

He tried mixing in a little English and offered the driver a slip of paper. The driver peered at it and nodded. “Getting off? Then OK, OK.”

It was strange, but if the message got through, that was good enough. Reassured, he tapped his transit card and stepped off the bus.

But there was no big building to use as a landmark. There was a sign that looked like it marked the bus stop, but that was it.

Behind the stop stood a low mountain. Across the road—another mountain. He was completely surrounded by them. It wasn’t narrow, and yet the air felt tight, pressing in. A stifling sense of being boxed in. In Nebraska, even the rural areas were mostly wide, open plains—there was a freedom to that kind of emptiness.

He tried pulling up his location on his smartphone, but the signal was weak and it was taking forever. With no other choice, he took out the map from his daypack. Nukariya had kindly made him a copy, with both English and Japanese printed on it—it was a huge help.

Up ahead, the road split in two. As long as he didn’t mess that part up, he’d be fine. On foot, it would take about an hour to reach the village. He could get there instantly if he turned into a bat and flew, but until he found a proper base, carrying clothes and luggage meant staying in human form was the only real option.

It had been six days since Akira—the boy who’d been cared for at the orphanage—was arrested as the suspect in the murder of a staff member named Ishimoto. Nukariya, being a friend, had been removed from the case and couldn’t speak to Akira. So Al had transformed into a bat, snuck into the holding cell, and spoken with him directly—but even Akira didn’t seem to fully understand what had happened, and Al hadn’t learned anything new.

Though he was only a suspect, Akira’s real name had been broadcast in the news. Somehow, Richard had found out and called Al the next day. “Akira’s not the killer. He was framed,” he’d insisted, clearly relieved. “How much is bail? I’ll pay whatever it takes.” But Nukariya had said Akira was still being interrogated, and that murder charges made bail extremely difficult. Since the legal systems in California and Japan were different, Al told Richard he’d get in touch again if and when it became necessary.

Why had Yonekura killed Ishimoto? Why choose Akira to take the fall? Everything was a mystery. Almost caught red-handed, and yet there were too many oddities—no blood on Akira’s clothes, no fingerprints on the knife. The investigation seemed to be proceeding with caution because of those inconsistencies.

Al had heard Nukariya muttering to himself: “If only I could talk to the relative who took Yonekura in… but I’ve been pulled onto another case and I can’t take time off…”

And when he heard that, Al had stepped forward.

“That… I go.”

If he could learn more about how Yonekura had lived at his grandmother’s house after being taken in—what kind of child he had been—he might find a thread that could lead to the motive behind this case. He couldn’t sit still. Even if it ended up being a wasted effort, Al wanted to do something—anything—to help Akira.

Since he’d be traveling alone, Nukariya had arranged everything for him: the map, flights, accommodations, and all the rest. Even if something went wrong, Al could understand spoken Japanese, and his own speech was usually enough to get his point across, so he wasn’t too worried.

The house where Yonekura had been taken in by his grandmother was in a small village on Kyushu, one of Japan’s larger islands. First, he flew to a place called Fukuoka, spent his mandatory bat-time in a private room at a manga café, and then made his way here by transferring from train to bus.

The trip was long, and with the bat-time factored in, there had inevitably been a lot of wasted time. By the time he got off the bus, it was already past 5 p.m. June had the longest daylight hours, or so he’d heard, but even so, he wanted to get to the village’s sole inn as soon as possible.

With his daypack on his back, he walked along the side of the road, next to the white line. There was no center line, and the road was just barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other. In the ten minutes or so since he’d started walking, only one truck had passed him from behind—and that was it.

No people, no cars. A lonely road. It was evening, and though the sun was tilted low in the sky, the surroundings were still bright. Even so, a faint, indescribable sense of solitude hung in the air.

After a while, he heard the rumble of a car approaching from behind. A black boxy van passed him—then, just a little ways ahead in an empty stretch, it came to a stop. Al wondered if it had broken down. Since it was along his path, he continued walking toward it. As he drew near to its rear corner, the passenger-side window lowered with a mechanical whir.

“Um, excuse me!”

A man around the same age as Al looked, with a little goatee under his chin, called out from the driver’s seat. And the moment he saw Al’s face, his expression changed—surprised, and then, “Ah!”

“What… is it?”

The goateed man looked visibly relieved. “Oh, thank goodness, someone who speaks Japanese.”

Then he asked, “Uh, are you here on vacation? Or are you local?”

There was no way Al could say, honestly, that he was heading to the home where a murder suspect used to live to investigate the motive behind the crime.

“I… travel now.”

“Ah, I see. Your Japanese is really good. If you're just traveling, then you probably don’t know much about this area, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, makes sense. So, where are you headed?”

“Yontate Village.”

“Oh, same here! Then I guess we’re on the right road after all. My GPS is acting up, and wouldn’t you know it, I forgot my phone today of all days. No signs out here either, so I started worrying I might’ve taken the wrong turn at that fork earlier.”

“This way… I think OK.”

The man gave him a friendly smile.

“Hey, if you want, I can give you a ride to Yontate Village.”

Walking was a pain, and he did want to get there sooner. “I… happy… ride, please,” Al said.

“Hop in through that door,” the man said, pointing to the passenger seat.

Al opened the door and got in. The van had three rows of seats, but the back two were piled high with equipment. Only the front row was free.

“Excuse me for the intrusion.”

As soon as Al sat down, the vehicle began to glide forward.

“I’m Shimizu. And you are?”

The man with the little goatee spoke casually from the driver’s seat while keeping his eyes on the road.

“I am… Al.”

He’d carelessly used the nickname from his real name. A slight panic rose in him—but it should be fine. This was just someone he was meeting on the road; there shouldn’t be any issue.

“Shimizu-san… you are film… person?”

“That's right! Good eye.”

The cameras and sound equipment stacked in the back seats were things Al had often seen during the filming of BLOOD GIRL Mahiro.

“Wait a second, Al-san—are you in the entertainment business or something?”

“I… little… in drama.”

“Ah, I knew it. You’ve got the look. I work on food report shows. I'm on the filming crew for Kousuke Tatsuno's Country Gourmet—you know, the kind where they use local ingredients to make meals, and then Kousuke eats them and gives his commentary. I handle the audio.”

“Sorry… I don’t know. I don’t watch TV.”

“Haha, no worries! Don’t worry about it. It’s a BS station show anyway. I think it’s fun, but even my wife won’t watch it!”

Shimizu was cheerful and easygoing—he seemed like a nice guy.

“That reporter, Kousuke, gets grumpy if he doesn’t have his favorite brand of cigarettes. So I usually stock up for him, but we ran out, and the director asked me to go buy more. The village shop doesn’t carry them, so I checked with Google-sensei, and it said the nearest convenience store is thirty minutes away by car. I thought that had to be a mistake—but nope, it’s real.”

Al had heard similar stories back in America about celebrities with particular tastes. They had specific brands of food and drink, and even their trailer furnishings had to be just right. It seemed Japan was no different.

“It’s getting late—where are you staying tonight?”

“Hotel… name is ‘Village Inn’.”

“Ah, same as me. It’s the only place around, really. I mean, I’m just glad there is a place to stay—it’s basically a dying village.”

As they chatted, a square building appeared on a distant hill. The houses they’d passed along the way were all small, so this large building stood out all the more. Al watched it, wondering what it was. The car drew closer and closer, until it finally pulled into a wide open lot in front of it. The space looked big enough to fit three tennis courts, and at one end, there were monkey bars, a swing set, and a basketball hoop.

“Is… this a school?”

Al asked, and Shimizu nodded.

“Looks like it. It’s pretty common. Schools that shut down due to declining student numbers get repurposed into inns or shops.”

He hadn’t expected this building to be the “Village Inn” he’d booked. Getting out of the car, curiosity took over as he wandered into the open lot. He saw a few people climbing into the van. The engine roared, and it drove off again. Right—Shimizu had mentioned earlier, “We’ve got one more location to check after this. Gotta do it before the sun sets.”

Thinking that must be tough, Al cut diagonally across the open lot toward the boxy two-story building. There was a red weathercock mounted on the roof.

He nervously slid open what looked like the entrance door and stepped inside. The entrance hall was bare, with only shoe cubbies lining both walls. Nothing else. His “Hello” echoed in the stillness.

From the right came a rattling sound—there seemed to be a small room there.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming!”

A person emerged. She looked to be in her mid-forties, a woman with her hair tied back in a ponytail. “Welcome,” she said with a nod. Her build was soft and marshmallowy, and she wore blue work clothes with a matching apron.

“I am… Kane Roberts with reservation.”

The woman placed a hand over her chest and let out a small sigh of relief.

“Oh good, you can speak Japanese. I’m so glad. There’s no one at this inn who can speak English.”

“I… can speak… can listen… but kanji… very bad.”

“Kanji is hard for foreigners, isn’t it? Oh! That’s a stylish T-shirt.”

He was glad she noticed. The one he wore today was printed with the kanji “佐賀” — “Saga region,” which he’d bought at the airport. He’d liked it the moment he saw it and put it on right after buying it.

“This kanji… cool.”

They chatted like that while he checked in.

“Kane-san, your reservation doesn’t include meals—are you sure that’s okay? There’s only one small shop in the village that sells food and daily goods, and it closes around six in the evening. If you don’t get there in time, you won’t be able to buy anything.”

Even if he ate food, it wouldn’t cure the hunger. Only blood could truly fill his stomach. Honestly, he was starting to feel the need. It had been about two weeks since he left America, when Pat had given him plenty of blood. The hunger was beginning to creep in. That said, it wouldn’t kill him, and he could probably last another week or two. Even if he could use his fangs now, he was still too scared to try biting someone directly to feed. He and Kyiv had talked at length about how to secure blood, but they never reached a real solution. Well… if worst came to worst, he could still resort to licking and sucking raw beef.

“I… okay.”

Even so, the woman seemed concerned. “My name is Nonoshita. I’ll be staying tonight in the staff room in the back, so if you need anything, please come talk to me.”

Al was shown to a room on the second floor—tatami flooring, and surprisingly huge. Easily big enough to fit twenty people. His eyes widened. It really did feel like a classroom had just been left as-is and repurposed into one large guest room when the school became a lodging facility.

After dropping off his bag and catching his breath, he messaged Nukariya to say he’d arrived safely and was heading out to check Yonekura’s old house. The reply came back quickly: “Good work. Please don’t do anything reckless. Contact me immediately if you run into any trouble.”

That kind of backup made Al feel like he wasn’t alone—and it gave him courage.

He slipped his phone into the pocket of his jeans and stepped outside the inn. From the map, Yontate Village appeared to be a small village surrounded by mountains, with a river running through the middle. The few scattered houses clustered along both sides of the river.

He’d been able to see the river from his room, so he knew which way to go. After walking for about five minutes, he arrived at his target: a river roughly ten yards wide. From there, he followed the embankment southward. The house where Yonekura had been taken in by his grandmother was supposedly upstream, at the foot of the mountain.

There was only one road, so it wasn’t hard to follow. Using the map as his guide, he crossed a bridge and turned right, where a small house came into view in the distance. That must be it.

When he finally reached the house, Al stood there, stunned.

He’d had a bad feeling all along. Even from far away, he’d noticed the wild weeds surrounding the property.

Vines had taken over the house, crawling up the walls as though trying to swallow it whole. It hadn’t been maintained in a very long time. What’s more, the entire structure leaned noticeably to the right. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him—but no, it was clearly tilted. A house wouldn’t just lean like that from twenty or thirty years of weathering alone. This one had to be very old.

The windows were shattered, the front door swung wide open as if to say “come on in.” No signs of anyone living there. In Japan, it was common for homes to display the family name at the entrance, and sure enough, a placard beside the door bore the same kanji as Yonekura’s surname. This had to be the place.

Al cautiously approached and peeked through one of the broken windows. He saw tatami mats and torn wallpaper. Deeper inside, a kitchen sink.

Even setting aside how ruined it was, the house was small and cramped. The grandmother who took Yonekura in probably hadn’t been very well-off.

Even if he wanted to find some kind of clue, entering a house that looked ready to collapse was dangerous. He had no food—no blood—so if he got injured, it would take a long time to recover. Arms crossed, Al let out a low groan. He didn’t want to have come all this way only to return empty-handed. He looked around in a slow sweep. On the walk here from the inn, he had only passed two people. No other homes in sight, and not a trace of human presence.

The leaning house was scary, but… it probably wouldn’t suddenly collapse in the next hour or two. Probably. Just in case, he sent a message to Nukariya: “Found Yonekura’s house. It’s abandoned. I’ll look inside.” Then, carefully, hesitantly, he stepped into the house.

Between the evening light and the condition of the house, the interior was steeped in gloom. From the entrance up to the edge of the living room was concrete, and the living room itself—a raised tatami area—was about knee-high. In Japanese homes, it was typical for the hallway and living spaces to be elevated a step up from the entrance, but here there was no hallway—the raised living room led directly off the entrance.

Even though it was an empty house, Japan was strictly no-shoes indoors. He hesitated, but then saw that bamboo had broken through the tatami flooring—and that decided it. He stepped up into the living room with his shoes still on.

Every step on the tatami brought a creaking groan underfoot. The inside was a mess—clothes and newspapers scattered about, cups and plates left in baskets in the kitchen. A low table still had dishes flipped upside down on it, dust piling over them like snow. Traces of daily life, everywhere. It made him imagine—maybe whoever lived here had been called outside in the middle of a meal… and never came back.

He stepped toward the room at the back, beyond the living area, and the moment his foot landed on the tatami where the bamboo had pierced through, a loud crack split the air.

Huh? he thought—then his body tilted sideways, and with a jolt, he fell on his butt as the floor gave way. The tatami collapsed with him, dropping him straight down. Dust burst into the air, and Al coughed violently, choking. Since he’d landed on his waist, his lower half was covered in filth.

Did… did I just destroy the house? If so, he’d probably have to pay for it. But still—the whole place was tilted, and there was bamboo growing right out of the middle of the living room. Would fixing the floor really change anything?

Still, he couldn’t just leave it like this. He figured the gap between the ground and the tatami was about one and a half feet—or roughly forty-five centimeters. Maybe he could prop it up temporarily, with an empty box or something underneath, and rest the tatami on top. It’d be a makeshift solution, but it might work.

Curious about how the floor was structured underneath, he peered down—and froze.

About eight feet ahead, under the floor… something was there. A dark, small lump. A dog? No… maybe a cat?

He whistled softly, Fweee, but got no response. It was too dark to see anything clearly. Al pulled out his phone and shined its light on the black shape.

In the faint illumination, something began to float into view—and he screamed, reflexively: “GYAAAHHH!!”

Bamboo had broken through the floor—and at the base of one of the stalks, there was a person. No—human, yes, but not alive.

A skull.

Only the head. The skull still had tufts of white hair clinging to it.

The bamboo's base—right where it broke through the floor—cradled the skull, which lay turned to the side, its hollow eyes gazing straight at Al.

His body began to tremble uncontrollably. Terrified… he wanted to run. The fear gripped him, and tears welled in his eyes, but even so—a part of him urged him to look properly. This was the house Yonekura had lived in. Once the police came, he wouldn't be able to get inside again.

He needed to confirm what he was seeing. But he didn’t want to get closer. So instead, he stretched his arm out as far as it would go, holding his phone’s light toward the shape and observing from a distance.

Only the head was visible. From the neck down—nothing. Just the skull.

Had someone placed only the head there? As he looked closer, he noticed something under the skull. Fabric—partially buried. If it was cloth… then maybe it was clothing? Clothing buried underneath?

Could the body be buried beneath it?

Why was the skeleton buried from the neck down while still wearing clothes? Maybe they’d been doing some kind of work and were accidentally buried alive? But if so, it was too partial. Not convincing. Or had someone buried them on purpose?

As Al’s mind spun with possibilities, he noticed the thick, swollen roots of bamboo pushing up beneath the skull. The head was resting on top of them. Maybe the body had been buried underground, and then, from beneath it, bamboo had grown. As the roots expanded, they forced only the head above ground.

That had to be it.

People didn’t bury corpses under houses—not normally. He was sure now. This was a murder. Someone had killed this person.

He took a photo with his phone and sent a message to Nukariya: “I found a skeleton under the floor of Yonekura’s grandmother’s house. Please tell me what I should do.”

But… the message wouldn’t send. No signal.

The house creaked with a long, low groan. Something like dust trickled down from the ceiling.

For a moment, the image of the collapsing house crushing him to death filled his mind. He bolted, stumbling out of the tilted structure.

Nearby, the sharp caw, caw of a crow pierced the air. His body jerked in surprise. Normally he wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but now the sound sent chills down his spine.

It had already been close to sundown when he left the inn, and now the darkness was deepening by the minute.

He didn’t want to lose his way in the dark. For now, he just needed to find a spot where he could get signal and started walking.

Sorry. Please wait a little longer, he said silently, to the remains he'd just left behind. Maybe he should just call the local police—but then, of course, they’d ask him questions too. If they pressed him about trespassing in an abandoned house, that would be a problem. Worse, if they started digging into his past and uncovered his previous indecent exposure charge…

There was a limit to what he could do right now.

He made it back to the old school that was now the inn. Lights glowed in several windows. The sense of people nearby gave him a deep sense of relief.

As soon as he entered the front entrance, the old man at the reception desk opened his mouth in surprise.

“Whoa! What happened to you? You’re covered in dust!”

Al glanced at his reflection in the mirror by the counter. His cool T-shirt was filthy, and his pants were caked with dirt. Well, he had fallen through a floor in a house full of dust—it was no wonder.

“If you go straight to your room like that, the whole inn’ll be a mess. Sorry, but could you take a bath first?”

The old man’s voice was a bit intimidating. Al had been about to try contacting Nukariya again, but—

“You understand me, kid? Bath first,” the man insisted, grabbing Al’s arm and marching him away.

“That’s the bath. I’ll bring you a yukata to change into later,” he said, pointing at a curtained entrance.

Al gave in and decided to take the bath first. But this part of the building also had no signal. Before he’d left, he’d been able to send messages from his room. Apparently, even in the same building, signal strength varied by location.

Just as his hand touched the bathhouse’s sliding door—

“Hold it right there!” a voice called from behind.

He turned around.

It was Shimizu, the friendly TV crewman with the memorable goatee.

“Shimizu! Thank you… for car ride!”

Al smiled brightly.

Shimizu waved it off with a shake of his head. “No, no, don’t mention it. But—uh, that’s not the problem. That’s the women’s bath.”

“Women… bath?”

“Ahh, I figured you didn’t know. That bath is for women only. If a man goes in, it’s a big deal. You’d get reported and the cops would come.”

The word police sent a shiver down Al’s spine.

“I’m sorry! I… I get arrested?!”

“Nah, you’re good—it was just a near miss.”

Shimizu gave a thumbs-up, thrusting it toward him.

“The men’s bath is over here.”

Thanks to Shimizu’s help, Al safely made it into the men’s bath next to the women’s bath, marked by a blue curtain. Thinking about it, it made sense—just like in America, men’s and women’s shower rooms were separate. Same idea.

As soon as he entered the bathing area, he headed straight for the shower and began washing the dust and dirt from his hair and body. Once he felt refreshed, he told himself just for a little bit, even though I’m in a hurry, and slipped into the bath.

Back in America, he hadn’t had the habit of taking baths. But after coming to Japan and living in that cramped apartment with Akira, he’d started to like it.

Big baths were nice. Comfortable.

Soaking in the water, he found his thoughts drifting back to the body beneath the crumbling house. Who had that skeleton been? Maybe the resident had been murdered and buried under the floor. Or maybe, after the house was already abandoned, some stranger had snuck in and buried someone else there.

But realistically, the second possibility seemed unlikely. There were plenty of other places in this area—secluded mountain paths, for instance—where someone could secretly bury a body without choosing the floor of an empty house.

It seemed more natural to think the person had been connected to that house—either the resident, or someone close to them—and had been killed and buried right there. Inside a house, you could deal with a body without anyone seeing.

“Hey, Al-san—where are you from?”

Shimizu’s voice came from across the bath, breaking into Al’s thoughts, which were still full of the skeleton’s ghostly image.

“America.”

“Ah, so you came to Japan and started acting?”

“Yes… but now… not acting.”

“Yeah, the entertainment world’s rough,” Shimizu said, placing his folded towel on top of his head.

“We in sound don’t get paid much either. Oh, speaking of, when I brought back the cigarettes, the reporter— Kousuke-san—suddenly got sick and was rushed to the hospital. The director totally freaked out. They’ve got a stand-in talent coming, but they won’t arrive until tomorrow afternoon, so filming’s delayed half a day. Everyone’s on edge—like cats right before giving birth.”

Shimizu sank further into the water until it reached up to his nose, looking like a ninja. Al found it amusing and tried to copy him. It was warm, but he couldn’t breathe and quickly came back up for air.

“Just between us, Tatsuno-san had a really short temper. Celebs who treat staff like dirt—once their popularity dips, they disappear fast. Me, I’m a fan of one of the younger actors, Mitani… um, what was his first name again? Anyway, that guy’s great. Polite, friendly, always nice. He’s been getting a lot of drama roles lately—like that vampire one, the one that got attention when the lead actor was murdered.”

That Mitani—he could only mean that Mitani.

“Mitani… I know! He my friend!”

Shimizu splashed halfway out of the water in surprise. “Wait, seriously? You’re friends with him?!”

“This industry’s small, huh…”

Even though there were only two of them in the bath, Shimizu suddenly glanced around as if making sure no one else was listening, then lowered his voice.

“If you’re friends, maybe you know this. Is it true Mitani-san likes horror?”

It was true—but Mitani’s manager had kept that quiet to protect his image. Al wasn’t sure if that was still the case…

“Why you… ask?”

Al’s voice dropped along with Shimizu’s.

“A screenwriter I know loves mysterious creatures and horror. If it’s true, he wants to invite Mitani to be a guest commentator on this paranormal show he’s planning. You think he’d take the offer?”

Honestly, even without making it about work, if the timing worked out, Mitani would probably be thrilled.

“He join. I think.”

Al let the secret slip quietly. Shimizu gave a fist pump, muttering, “Yes!”

“Actually, I love mysterious creatures’ stuff and horror too. That’s how I hit it off with the screenwriter in the first place.”

Al listened silently, not nodding. He didn’t particularly care for those topics. He really wished he knew why the people who liked him always seemed to be the ones obsessed with niche stuff.

“Back in college, I joined a club like that. We used to go hunting for UFOs and tsuchinoko together. My wife thought I was an idiot, though.”

Shimizu was full of curiosity. Even if someone begged Al, he had no desire to go looking for UFOs or tsuchinoko. Still, there were people in the world who genuinely chased after things like that.

Yes, it was Mitani who’d taught him about the tsuchinoko—one of Japan’s mysterious legendary creatures. Al hadn’t asked, but Mitani had eagerly gone on about how it looked like a snake with a swollen belly, had eyelids unlike normal snakes, could leap incredibly high, tunnel through the ground, and was said to live in deep, dense forests.

“This inn that used to be a school? I’ve got really high hopes for it. I mean, come on, a shut-down school? That’s the kind of place where spooky stuff is bound to happen. I’m kinda excited to see if something shows up tonight.”

…He’s a good person, but Shimizu’s brain works just like Mitani’s—like they’re twins. And still, Al wished he hadn’t joked—even in passing—about creepy things appearing in an abandoned school. That was exactly the kind of thing that would keep him up all night.

The house once lived in by Yonekura, which Al had visited that evening, was the real deal—a true horror house. A human skeleton under the floorboards... That house was the only one tucked away so far from everything else. A place like that did seem like the perfect habitat for an unconfirmed creature like the tsuchinoko. Maybe—just maybe—he could use this situation to his advantage, and have Shimizu be the one to discover the body.

“I walk… found empty house.”

“Oh yeah, I hear this place is practically a ghost village. Tons of empty houses. I’m really grateful this inn exists, though. Otherwise we’d have had to stay in the city, and that would’ve been a nightmare.”

“Empty house… I saw… big snake. Maybe tsuchinoko.”

Shimizu’s eyes lit up, wide like a predator who’d spotted prey.

“Wait, what?! Seriously!?”

Al hadn’t seen any snake, of course. But right now, a lie was justice. Shimizu, with his interest in tsuchinoko, would surely agree to go see the empty house tomorrow. He had a free window in the morning, so going early should be fine. If he could get Shimizu to discover the body instead, Shimizu could report it to the police. Unlike Al, Shimizu had clear ID, and it was confirmed he was here for filming—he wouldn’t be suspected.

“That house… tomorrow morning… we go together?”

“Hell yeah, of course I’m going! Honestly, I’ve got nothing going on tonight either—let’s go right now!”

Al shivered in the warm bath.

“W-what… n-now? At night?”

“Snakes are nocturnal, right? Tsuchinoko too—way more likely to show up at night.”

Seeing that corpse again at night was the last thing he wanted. Too scary.

“I took bath… now clean… night is sleep time.”

Shimizu laughed. “You’re not staying out all night or anything. Wait—are you one of those people who can’t stay up late?”

Al nodded. Emphatically. If Shimizu knew he slept early, maybe he’d be considerate and give up on the idea.

“Then let’s go as soon as we’re out of the bath! Man, this is gonna be great—I’m pumped!”

The idea of “not going tsuchinoko hunting at night” did not seem to exist in Shimizu’s brain. Al couldn’t bear the thought of going back to that ruined house—especially not at night. But if he let this chance pass, he’d lose the best, most natural way to get the skeleton discovered and reported. And that discovery might be key to deepening the case against Yonekura—and possibly freeing Akira.

…Tears almost in his eyes, Al steeled himself.

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