Romantic Troubles of Duanmu-kun

I witnessed a murder scene.

This isn’t a joke, nor is it an exaggeration.

I’m not someone who would foolishly mistake a motionless body lying in a pool of blood for a murder victim without proper cause. What my eyes captured—what was reflected in my pupils—was a decapitated human body. There was no possibility of survival, and this wasn’t some naive trick where someone had simply tucked their head into their collar. Given the decapitation, suicide was completely out of the question. Anyone standing in my position would recognize this as an undeniable murder scene.

Blood splattered across the curtains, tablecloth, and floor. The crimson liquid gushing from writhing organs and open wounds painted the entire room in a translucent red, as if layer upon layer of paint had been applied, reflecting thick strokes of color in my half-transparent pupils.

It was incredible how such a small human body could contain such an enormous volume of fluid.

I couldn’t help but recall times when I had severe colds, expelling so much mucus that I wondered if my body had been completely drained of fluids.

At that moment, in the corners of my mind where some rationality still lingered, I found myself dwelling on topics completely unrelated to “murder,” “corpse,” or “killer.” Ah-haha, how silly—such trivial memories.

…

The memories of what happened after—or perhaps before—became less clear.

Let me try to remember.

That day, when I woke up, it was already noon. My throat was dry. My head was foggy.

I tried to reach for the water glass on the bedside table but accidentally knocked it over, spilling water everywhere. When I tried to get out of bed, I nearly rolled off. Then, attempting to support myself with a crutch, I ended up sitting on the floor due to the slippery surface…

“Ouch!”

My anger rose.

With no one to vent to, I ended up pulling out all the cotton from my pillow, throwing it everywhere. In the white-flecked room, I stood barefoot on the deflated pillowcase.

The sunlight streaming through the window had never felt so annoying. I called out for Mom repeatedly, but she didn’t seem to be home. Strange, shouldn’t she be here? This house clearly had only me left in it.

Supporting myself with the crutch and holding onto the railing, I slowly made my way downstairs. Carefully bearing my weight, making sure not to fall.

Garden, kitchen, living room, bedroom, backyard.

Mom was nowhere to be found. No note left on the table either. It was as if she had vanished into thin air.

“I’m so tired…”

If only Maho-chan could come keep me company.

I set down my crutch and sank into the soft sofa. How strange—despite sleeping until well past dawn, exhaustion and drowsiness were creeping back from every corner of my body…

The memory stops there.

Between “waking up” and “the murder scene,” only hazy impressions remain. Like a damaged film playing in stuttering rewind.

I wonder, how did things end up like this? Maybe when I witnessed the murder scene, I decided to investigate—just kidding, don’t glare at me like that. No ordinary high school girl would do something so dangerous.

Besides, I couldn’t have done it anyway. My legs don’t even feel like they belong to me anymore. Even running a marathon wouldn’t tire me out this much normally.

So what should I do?

Should I call the police?

Though I had that thought… no, that should have been any ordinary high school girl’s first reaction. But in the end, I never made the call.

Fujishima Misao remained silent and motionless, quietly observing the murder scene.

The telescope in the room served the same purpose as her pupils at that moment, clearly reflecting the hidden side of people’s hearts.

What exactly happened that night?

The street lights went out.

At night, each Western-style house fell into darkness one by one, like giant lightbulbs being switched off, the buildings silently dimming.

All I can tell you is that that night, the residents of the other five households in this area all appeared in my field of vision.

A middle-aged man in a suit. A young woman in a dress. A married couple who looked similar. A round-faced middle school girl. A gaunt elderly person with thin limbs. A handsome young painter. A shabby-looking high school student. An elderly woman with a perpetually troubled expression. …

Like actors taking their final bow on stage after a play, their expressions resembled the distorted figures from Edvard Munch’s paintings, screaming chaotic and unclear lines.

To my ears, their voices were like tiny insects frantically beating their wings against my eardrums—

“Thud! Thud!”

I strained my eyes and ears.

Compared to the neighbors’ earlier shouts, the monotonous sounds now echoing in the murder scene were easier to distinguish.

“Thud! Thud! Thud!”

The sound was close by.

My sluggish brain took several minutes to process before arriving at an answer.

“Are they dismembering the body?”

The sound of a sharp tool repeatedly cutting into flesh. The floor served as the killer’s natural cutting board. Feet soaking in blood, each time they lifted their shoes, sticky threads clung to the soles, reflecting a lurid and manic sheen in the dim moonlight through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Crack!”

Wow, who knew human bones could make such a sound! When struck with a hammer, it’s hard to say which instrument’s timbre that crisp echo most resembles. Amazing! I’d never thought about it before… Perhaps realizing this, in the crimson room, the repeating echoes formed a melody, the dead body softly singing along to the rhythm of the strikes.

An ordinary high school girl should be violently throwing up her undigested food right now, retching with enough force to empty her stomach completely! But I only wanted to yawn. I really just wanted to go to sleep.

Let this end quickly!

Why, you ask…

Right now, I…

‘My head must be broken’

Hehe.

Hahahaha.

After realizing this.

My mood lifted strangely.

Let all this end quickly—

If I get home too late, Mom will nag me again.