The "monsters" the Room 3 neighbor described almost certainly included Hirota-san. No — judging from the man's reactions, she might rank among the most dangerous of the lot. If everyone else in Bunkyo District were slimes in a video game, Hirota-san was at least dragon-tier. Ma En wasn't sure why the comparison had come to him in gaming terms, but once it had, he found it oddly apt.

Though the fact that he'd reached for a game metaphor proved he hadn't truly accepted the "monsters" claim. He pinched the cigarette butt and thought it over; before Hirota Masami's gaze could swing toward him, he shifted his footing slightly — just enough to make it look like he hadn't been facing Room 3's door. Despite weeks of close contact revealing nothing remotely monstrous about Hirota-san — she was, by every observable measure, an ordinary, beautiful, warmhearted working woman — Ma En was certain the Room 3 neighbor wanted absolutely no sign of their exchange to reach her.

Hypersensitive? Or justified?

Ma En couldn't dismiss the neighbor's claims entirely, even if they were far-fetched. In his mind, the bizarre and the rational sat on a delicate scale, and until the truth was settled, he wasn't going to mention Room 3 to Hirota-san.

"Ma En-san...?" Hirota Masami closed her door, turned, and found him standing in the center of the hallway. Surprise crossed her face. "Weren't you on your way to work?"

"Mm — got a call just now. I've been pulled onto an off-site assignment." The cover story was out of his mouth before he'd chosen to tell it. A lie, but he genuinely did have things to verify; he was planning to take the day off from the school.

"Off-site? Where to?" She came closer and glanced at the cigarette butt in his hand. "You're smoking again. Is something bothering you?"

"Nothing much. Just need to meet with an educational equipment vendor. I'm only tagging along — a colleague's handling the actual business." He answered smoothly, watching her expression the whole time. She looked merely surprised. Nothing more.

"How long will you be gone?"

She'd asked how long, not where. Ma En couldn't decide if this meant anything. If you followed the Room 3 neighbor's logic, it definitely meant something. But did he really need to be this guarded and sensitive with Hirota-san? He wavered. He didn't want to sabotage what they had on the strength of one clearly unstable neighbor's claims.

"Not sure yet. If things go smoothly, I'll be back today. But if something comes up, it might be a few nights away." His hesitation never reached his face. In fact, the testing lie assembled itself and left his lips before his conscious mind had finished deliberating.

He was still wavering internally. His brain and his mouth had started moving on their own.

"A few nights... somewhere far?" Hirota Masami pressed. Ma En thought he detected a note of concern.

But the relationship is still in its upward phase. Concern is perfectly normal.

The thought flashed through his mind — and precisely because it did, he noticed that he kept converting these observations into questions rather than conclusions. He couldn't stop noticing. He was absolutely certain it wasn't deliberate; he had no desire to distance himself from Hirota-san.

Just get to the truth of the Room 4 Ghost Story. The sooner the truth comes out, the sooner she's cleared.

Ma En made his decision. He would restart the investigation. Never mind that he'd decided to abandon it just minutes ago — decided, in fact, to abandon the pursuit of the bizarre entirely. Today was absurd from every angle: his relationship with Hirota-san, his relationship with the Room 3 neighbor, and his relationship with himself all felt threaded with something indescribably off.

But the motivation had shifted. Before, he'd investigated Room 4 because the bizarre called to him. Now it was about ending it — giving Room 3 a resolution, clearing Hirota-san's name, and making sure he was still alive when August came.

The Room 4 Ghost Story was no longer an urban legend. The factors behind it were complex and lethal, and they reached far. Whether purely human or genuinely strange, he could only act alone for now. And he knew — despite what he'd told the Room 3 man so lightly — that he was one person against a collective of thousands, possibly tens of thousands. The ghost story's dark underbelly was layered with risk; one wrong move, one miscalculation, and the whole thing would avalanche.

And if I cross a political line — even if I don't go to prison, I'll lose a layer of skin.

The thought was sobering, but it didn't shake him. Four years at the postal service: if you couldn't walk a tightrope by the end, you might as well go home and sell sweet potatoes.

"Just a trip to Kanagawa." He answered in that steady voice of his.

Hirota Masami paused. For an instant — barely a heartbeat — she thought she saw the Ma En from a month ago, the one she'd met on his very first day. Over these weeks the relationship had deepened, and she'd grown used to the changes in him. Change was natural, expected. But the first impression he'd made on her had been indelible — something she knew she would carry for the rest of her life.

That singular, deep quality — at once vivid and desolate — as though the scenery around him had drained to black-and-white photography and only his solitary figure remained in full color; only the deep-red tie at his throat held any warmth. Standing in the same sunlight as everyone else, the light falling on him seemed somehow dimmer.

Just his tone of voice was enough to make her lose focus for a second.

Then she blinked, looked again, and the Ma En in front of her was the one she'd spent the month with. Nothing strange at all.

"Oh — of course. Work things always go smoothly." She smiled warmly, stepped close, rose on her toes, and straightened his collar, retying the loosened necktie. "Be safe."

Her breath grazed his neck. A faint, intoxicating fragrance — like a flower that opened only at night — and no matter how he tried, he couldn't name what flower it was. Even so, he found his breathing deepening involuntarily.

"I'll be back as soon as I can." He nodded — warm, serious. He remembered the decision he'd made before leaving the homeland: he would rather die in a foreign country than return home like a stray dog.

Kamishima Kousuke had introduced Room 4, yes. But the decision to move in had been his own.

Whether the ghost story was human or supernatural; whether he was sane or already caught in a trap; whether the enemy hiding in the dark was something he could name or something that would change him beyond recognition —

This was his choice. His burden to carry.

Having made no promises, having settled nothing, and then casually trying to walk away from all of it into a "normal life"? When had he become that naive? That sweetness tasted nothing like him. What had this past month done to turn him into someone so unfamiliar?

Even setting aside the bizarre — even wanting to live as an ordinary person — there were things that had to be done.

If before, he'd taken on the Room 4 Ghost Story for himself, then now there was one more reason.

He stepped into the elevator and turned to press the button. Hirota-san hadn't followed; she stood outside, sending him off with a gentle smile.

The memories of the past month played through his mind like slides — the school routine, Hirota-san's affection accepted passively, the quiet domesticity.

The hallway narrowed as the elevator doors closed. In the last instant before they met, Ma En drew a deep breath and slipped the cigarette butt into his pocket.

Then let the game begin again.

This time, I win.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them, the vivid colors from the hallway — the conversations with Room 3, with Hirota-san — had drained away. He flexed his wrists out of habit, then registered again: the black umbrella was gone. He allowed himself a quiet snort at the version of himself from fifteen minutes ago, then adjusted his tie. It still carried Hirota-san's warmth.

On the ground floor, several tenants stood before the elevator watching the numbers descend. When the doors opened, they saw a dark figure brush past them.

Afterward, when they tried to recall what they'd seen, they found that the first thing that came to mind was not a face, not clothing — but an indescribable streak of deep red.

Even in June, they shivered.

"That was a person just now, right?" one of them asked.

"I... think so," the other said, uncertain. "Felt like a ghost."

"Do we even have someone like that in this building?"

"No idea. Ask the manager?"

They said this, but all of them ducked into the elevator as though something behind them needed avoiding. Only after the doors sealed shut did their shoulders relax.

"Oh, come on — of course it was a person. Broad daylight. What, you think there are monsters running around?" A woman let out a nervous giggle, though she didn't feel as confident as she sounded. She couldn't picture the man's face. Maybe she just hadn't paid attention — but not paying attention shouldn't feel this strange.

"Who's scared? You're the one who's scared. Obviously it was a person. But... you have to admit, that man was a little weird." A slightly younger woman spoke up.

"...Anyway, let's not overthink it." A man in his thirties — dyed blond hair, dressed in a way that didn't inspire confidence — leaned in with a half-teasing grin. "You're new here, right? Have you heard? The Room 4 Ghost Story."

"What? Ghost story? The one where people die?" Both women perked up instantly.

"Every August, same day, someone dies. Thirteenth floor, Room 4. I heard someone moved in just last month."

"It's been empty this whole time?"

"The last tenant moved out. But someone took it right away. Hey — what if that was him just now?"

"If people die there, the rent must be cheap, right? Lucky. I'd take it if the rent was good enough." The younger woman paused. "But why bring up that guy? How do you know he's in Room 4?"

"I don't. Just a feeling. Doesn't it seem... right?"

"Since you're so curious, go ask the manager. Or better yet — knock on Room 4's door yourself. I mean, if the place is famous for being haunted, the person who moved in has to be pretty interesting, no? Doesn't anyone in this building keep an eye on them?"

The conversation gathered momentum, each person feeding the next's excitement. The Room 4 Ghost Story made their pulses quicken.

"I just had an idea," said a young man who'd been riding up with them. "What if we document Room 4 and the new tenant? If something happens, we could sell the story for a good price."

"Oh, you sneaky bastard." The blond man slung an arm around the younger man's shoulders. "I like it. Let's do it. Bet we're not the only ones thinking this, either. The ghost story says people die in August, right? Come by my place tonight — I'll show you something good."

The younger man looked uncomfortable with the arm but went along with it. "It's already June — perfect timing. I know a few editors at paranormal magazines. I've submitted pieces before. I think the Room 4 situation would definitely get their attention."

"Wonderful. The only worry is whether the Room 4 tenant cooperates. Nobody would agree to this willingly. And if it really was that man from the elevator..." The older woman trailed off.

"We'll be discreet. If enough people are interested, we'll bring more on board." The blond man draped his other arm around the older woman's waist and shot a look at the younger one. "How about this — tonight, let's go up for a test of courage. Thirteenth floor, Room 4. The number alone gives me chills." He said this with a grin, as though none of it bothered him in the slightest.

The others hesitated, but between the two women egging them on, they agreed before the elevator doors opened again.