Romantic Troubles of Duanmu-kun

“…and then she never came out again.”

“Eh? EH?!”

The Class Rep, who had been drinking tea, nearly threw her cup in shock.

After all, what she had just heard sounded like some kind of kidnapping and murder case no matter how one interpreted it.

“W-wait a minute! What you just said… there’s such a dangerous person living nearby… Has Misao reported this to the police yet?”

Due to her excessive surprise, the girl’s words became somewhat incoherent. It was probably because her reaction was so predictably interesting that someone would tease her like this.

The Novelist cleared his throat softly.

“Class Rep, calm down. What you just heard was only a game.”

Fujishima-san seemed to be in a good mood after her successful prank, unable to hold back her chuckle.

Speaking of “games” as a domain, apart from sports competitions, video games, card games, and tabletop role-playing games, there was another common type of party game, such as Werewolf, which didn’t require preparation of props in advance. It only needed a certain number of people to start and emphasized thinking and interaction. The Novelist had participated in several writer gatherings organized by the literary discussion society. In more private settings, they would play mystery games that involved “storytelling.”

To give two examples, there was the Lateral Thinking Puzzle, commonly known as “Turtle Soup.” The rule was that first there’s the question itself, which might be a story or an event—sometimes with just the beginning and end provided. The player (reasoner) asks the questioner for clues. However, the questioner can only answer “yes,” “no,” or “irrelevant.” Through continuously obtained information, players combine guesses, eliminate other options, and finally approach the answer.

There was also “Once upon a Time.” This involved preparing element cards (usually people, places, events, or adjectives) and some ending cards (fixed ending tropes). Each participant drew a certain number of element cards and one ending card. Someone was chosen to start telling a story—all stories began with “Once upon a time”—and continued by incorporating elements, discarding cards, until the entire story was led to the ending in their hand. Of course, during this process, other players could “intercept”: once someone’s narrative mentioned an “element” in their hand, they could immediately show the card, interrupt the speaker, and continue telling the story themselves. This tested both immediate brain response and the ability to embed clues leading to one’s ending card without others noticing.

Similar thinking games weren’t suitable for nitpicking or being overly serious but required people with similar interests in reading, movies, games, and the like. Since the fun of story-relay games lay in “an interesting story” rather than utilitarian competitive spirit, they were more suitable for occasions like “writer gatherings” and less likely to create a confrontational atmosphere.

As for the earlier conversation, the reason the Novelist had mentioned Hitchcock’s “Rear Window” was to confirm Fujishima-san’s true thoughts. In this classic suspense film from 1954, the male protagonist, similarly confined to bed with a leg injury, began monitoring his neighbors to pass the time, peeping into their daily lives, only to discover a wife-murder-dismemberment case through small clues… That wasn’t the main point though. What was key was that recently the protagonist had brought trouble upon himself and was nearly killed by the murderer from the opposite window. However, Fujishima-san had unhesitatingly denied this possibility.

…Honestly, should I have gone home earlier? He glanced at the Class Rep sitting beside him and sighed slightly.

When browsing through Misao’s notebook earlier, the Novelist had realized her intentions. Fujishima-san had recorded the characteristics, personalities, and actions of the neighbors she had been peeping at. Since this was a game, these could be transformed into combinable story elements.

“Building One resident, a self-proclaimed mother and son.”

“Male aged fifteen to twenty, female aged seventy to seventy-five.”

“June 26th, 2:10 PM, an unfamiliar young woman entered Building One.”

Combining these records from the notebook formed the “story” that Fujishima-san had narrated as an example. However…

“What came after was made up, of course. The female visitor actually walked out quite normally. I was just giving Maho-chan an example.”

Fujishima-san provided a supplementary explanation.

“So, what are the rules?”

“Very simple. All the records above can be used, and then we make fictional narratives for the rest to deduce. During this process, others can raise questions about plausibility, and the story itself cannot contradict the records, so my previous example doesn’t count.”

“…Is it just storytelling?”

The Class Rep seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

“That’s right. Doesn’t Maho-chan feel this is just like last year’s forest school camp atmosphere? That’s why I thought of it. After all, everyone telling ghost stories together in the room during camp is definitely a staple activity.”

The Novelist took a sip of hot tea.

Outside was a stormy midnight. From an atmospheric perspective, it was indeed fitting. Plus, he quite liked these deduction-type party games. He just wasn’t sure about the Class Rep…

“Hmm, it seems…”

Itou Maho’s pupils began to sparkle. But she still turned her head to ask the Novelist’s opinion.

“What about Liang-kun?”

“…I have no objections. But I should warn you first, we’re using real people. Won’t Fujishima-san be left with psychological trauma?”

“Hmph, that’s exactly what makes it immersive!”

Misao thrust out her well-developed chest, looking completely smug.

“Think about it carefully—ordinary people who are close by, those seemingly unremarkable neighbors, might actually have hidden secrets… Isn’t that exciting? Everyone must have fantasized about similar things, right?”

It had this unique charm precisely because it was close at hand, yet you knew the danger you were imagining wouldn’t actually happen to you.

The office worker next door is actually a superhero with a hidden identity; the teacher at school is actually a man-eating monster that attacks humans as soon as night falls; the stranger you accidentally bump into on the street is actually a skilled assassin… Things like that.

…As for himself, there was no need for fantasy, the Novelist thought. Because he was indeed surrounded by such dangerous individuals.

“…”

The Class Rep’s expression became somewhat subtle. She probably remembered the incident with Niwa Takahito.

“If you agree, then I’ll start. You two get ready.”

She cleared her throat.