Yahiro Samukawa followed, uneasy.
Logically, the whole situation made no sense — it looked like Inori had some kind of designs on him. But that possibility hadn't crossed his mind, not even for a fraction of a second. He reached into his pocket. The folding knife he always carried was still there.
Good thing he'd changed into regular clothes in time. Samukawa made up his mind: the moment she showed genuine killing intent, he'd strike first.
Inori, of course, knew his every move. King Crimson was observing him from just behind, and as she'd suspected, he possessed that particular quality — a "jet-black will."
A jet-black will wasn't about ruthlessness toward the innocent. It was something more specific: the resolve to show no mercy when facing a true enemy.
That kind of person had value. Without it, Inori wouldn't have bothered with him at all — she'd have let him "accidentally" drown in the sea during the afternoon and been done with it.
The storage closet was tiny — the kind of space used for cleaning supplies around the hot spring pool, though those had been cleared out for now. Aside from a battered cabinet there was nothing, and while a sliver of moonlight filtered through the small window set high in the wall, visibility was nearly zero. There was something vaguely familiar about this setup that Samukawa couldn't quite place.
"Can we talk now, Inori-san?"
Samukawa's voice came out cold.
"Of course. What do you want to know?"
Inori felt a new plan taking shape — one that could accomplish two things at once. Her tone lightened noticeably. She leaned slightly toward him, voice dropping.
"Why did you betray Shu? He was your comrade."
"That was part of a strategy."
Inori answered simply.
"We had him go deep cover to steal intel from the enemy. It ended with us successfully extracting him, and using what he provided to deal a serious blow to GHQ."
"...That guy actually joined Funeral Parlor. I can't wrap my head around it." Samukawa exhaled, genuinely at a loss. "Can't picture it at all — a guy like him actually having the guts to do something like that."
His mental image of Shu Ouma was of someone gentle, introverted, the type to agonize over every decision. Shu Ouma as a terrorist was a cognitive impossibility. Had everything Shu showed at school been a performance?
"Naturally, because I told him to."
— Because Inori told me to.
"...I see. You transferred to our school for this as well, didn't you? But I still don't understand — why choose Shu?"
"That's not something you need to concern yourself with, Samukawa-kun." She let out a quiet laugh, then stepped behind him, her voice dropping to ice-cold. "Now that you know all this — what are you planning to do?"
"Funeral Parlor gets labeled a terrorist organization. Do you honestly think I'd let you walk away unharmed, knowing what you know?"
"..."
Samukawa's whole body went rigid, as if something had paralyzed him. Cold sweat bloomed across his forehead. His hand inched toward the knife in his pocket — Inori was with Funeral Parlor, she had to know how to fight, but if he could just land one clean strike before she reacted…
He was still working up his nerve when Inori's next words gutted him completely.
"That toy of yours — leave it where it is."
"...Just kill me then."
Samukawa's eyes were full of bitter resignation. He knew he'd already lost. There was no angle left to play against this woman. If he'd known it would come to this, he'd have played dumb like Souta and acted like he hadn't seen anything. He'd underestimated Inori. That was the whole of it.
"I'm not going to kill you."
Inori laughed — a low, strange sound — and then she raised both hands and pressed them onto his shoulders.
Samukawa felt a force surge through those hands that he couldn't begin to explain. Pain and pressure hit him at once, his legs buckled, and he sat down hard on the floor. What was happening? That slender pair of arms — how was she this strong?
He gritted his teeth and fought back with everything he had, but it was pointless. Inori's strength was something else entirely.
What Samukawa couldn't see was that Inori herself was simply standing there, doing almost nothing. The force holding him pinned to the floor — that was King Crimson.
"You have a younger brother who's seriously ill. Jun, if I remember right."
"What are you going to do to him!"
Samukawa's voice cracked.
"Killing you would be boring — it'd be over too quickly, no suffering to speak of." The grin on Inori's face deepened. "But making you watch your little brother suffer? The sound of your helpless grief would be something worth hearing~"
"You monster!"
Samukawa was soaked through with cold sweat. He fought with every bit of strength he had, but an ordinary teenager stood no chance against King Crimson. All he could do was seethe and curse, powerless.
"You really only have yourself to blame, Samukawa-kun."
Inori's tone was almost sympathetic.
"You could have looked away and stayed out of it. Instead you had to push your luck." She clicked her tongue softly. "Tsk tsk."
"And you think doing nothing would have kept me safe? Don't make me laugh!" Samukawa was terrified of dying, but what frightened him more was the thought of his brother being hurt. His voice had stopped obeying him — it shook, cracked, came out ragged with grief. "You came here this time to use Souta, didn't you? I can see it. You can't stand him."
"You're right. I can redirect the force inside a person's heart and turn it into a weapon — and Souta-kun is exactly the kind of instrument I need right now."
"...So in the end he dies too, and you tie up the loose ends!"
"But that means he's the one who dies. You live."
Inori was quiet for a beat, then continued in that practiced, persuasive cadence of hers.
"You don't have to die for an idiot like him. Do you?"
"..."
Samukawa said nothing. But the wavering was obvious. Souta had chosen a girl over his friends more than once; no matter how many times Samukawa had warned him about Inori, Souta had tuned him out, treating Samukawa and Shu like furniture the moment a girl entered the picture.
"I admire you, Samukawa-kun — you're a real man, do you know that? If you'd dropped to your knees and begged instead of reaching for that knife just now, you'd already be a corpse."
"...Are you trying to recruit me into Funeral Parlor?"
"Mm-hm~" Inori let out a short laugh. "Shu is soft — unlike you. Whatever you put in front of him, he simply cannot bring himself to kill. But you can. I saw it in your eyes — that jet-black will." She paused. "So. Swear your loyalty to me."
...Join Funeral Parlor. Become a terrorist.
It wasn't that he wasn't tempted. But Samukawa hesitated. It wasn't out of some principled patriotism he didn't feel. It was the fear of what this would mean for his future — and for Jun's health. Could following Funeral Parlor really get him what he needed?
"I'll only say this once. You know what happens if you refuse."
Quiet. Unhurried. The cruelest kind of threat.
Still, Samukawa couldn't force out a "yes" — not easily, not when his brother's life was the stake on the table.
"Hey, you in there? Samukawa?"
The voice came from outside the door. Souta Tamadate.
He'd come back from the corridor and couldn't find Samukawa anywhere — until he heard the raised voice from inside this small room.
— Souta. That idiot. Of all the timing…
Souta had no idea that danger was closing in over his head, step by step. He pushed the door open directly; the moon outside had been swallowed by thick clouds, and visibility inside dropped to nothing. All he could make out was the rough silhouette of Samukawa sitting on the floor.
Inori had already crouched down, using the height difference between herself and Samukawa to melt into the shadows.
"Say, Samukawa-kun — call him in now."