The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and by the time the last few beachgoers had vanished from the shoreline, Inori Yuzuriha and her group finally retreated to the villa to rest.
After a full day of play everyone was exhausted, and cooking here would have been a genuine hassle — they hadn't bought any groceries, either. So Inori picked up the phone, called in an order, and personally footed the bill for a lavish barbecue delivery. Given the size of the group she ordered generously, and by the time dinner was over, everyone was so stuffed they could barely sit upright.
They'd spent the whole afternoon running themselves ragged on the beach, and with that much food sitting in their stomachs, nobody had the energy left to wander outside. After a brief post-dinner chat, the group migrated to the hot spring bath in the villa's rear courtyard — men and women separated, naturally.
The villa was built in traditional Japanese style, so a private hot spring was practically a given. By 2039, when technology had saturated nearly every corner of daily life, a villa coming with its own hot spring was hardly a novelty anymore.
Inori, of course, didn't pass up the chance to tease the two younger girls while soaking — though she only lasted about twenty minutes before claiming a mild headache and excusing herself early.
She slipped into a yukata embroidered with pale pink blossoms, made a loop around the corridor behind the villa, and glided into the men's bath changing room without a sound. Through the paper screen door she could faintly hear the two of them whispering to each other. Inori's lips curved into a smile so out of character it practically shattered her image — sly, sharp, a little wicked — and she quietly moved into the small adjoining room.
...
...
After emerging from the hot spring, the two boys had settled on the outdoor corridor to talk about things they couldn't say in front of the girls. Souta Tamadate rested his chin in his hand and stared up at the full moon hanging in the sky, his thoughts drifting — the pink-haired girl's smile from earlier that day kept floating back to him, and he couldn't help the dopey expression that spread across his face. Then it hit him: as of today, he still hadn't said a single word to her.
"God, I want to pursue little Inori so bad."
He was muttering to himself.
It was only when she couldn't hear him that he dared to call her that — the same way a hopeless otaku calls his paper waifu or favorite idol "my wife," chasing that hollow little thrill, mimicking the casual intimacy Hare Menjou used so effortlessly with her.
"That's the fifth time," said Yahiro Samukawa, brow furrowing without an ounce of mercy. "Know when to quit."
"Fifth time what?"
"Fifth time you've said that. I've told you already — that woman is not a good person. Don't let her looks fool you."
Samukawa genuinely couldn't stand watching his good friends fall one after another under that woman's spell.
He liked EGOIST's music well enough — he genuinely admired Inori as a vocalist, both her songwriting and her voice. But what he'd seen with his own eyes was also real: internet idol Inori Yuzuriha was secretly a member of Funeral Parlor. That was a truth most people couldn't bring themselves to believe.
He had originally planned to look the other way, knowing full well that if he reported the girl, he'd never hear another new release from her again.
None of my business — that had been his stance. But then Inori transferred into their class, and not two days later his best friend Shu Ouma was arrested by GHQ and never came back. By now Shu had been formally labeled a member of Funeral Parlor. That terrified Samukawa.
"Samukawa! How can you talk about little Inori like that?"
Having his goddess badmouthed was unacceptable, even coming from his best friend Souta.
"She paid for this trip — the accommodation, the food you just ate — all out of her own pocket! Don't you feel the least bit ashamed, talking behind her back like that?"
"You think I wanted to come?"
Samukawa snapped back, voice rising.
— If I wasn't worried about you getting played by that woman, I'd never have spent my day off staring at that scheming smile of hers.
"Then go home! Hmph. You're just too stubborn to admit it — you keep insisting little Inori set Shu up." Souta's personality ran straight and blunt; he wasn't about to go digging for whatever complicated truth lurked behind Samukawa's expression.
"And honestly? Shu had it coming. I can't believe that guy actually had the guts to join a terrorist group — that makes him a criminal!" Souta couldn't summon a single redeeming quality for Shu right now. The way he saw it, Shu was soft and antisocial, and on top of that, Shu had once ditched him to walk home with Inori and worn that smug look the whole time — a grievance Souta had nursed ever since.
"Little Inori was probably scared out of her mind when she reported him. Having a Funeral Parlor member sitting in our class is too dangerous, isn't it? I'd have done the same thing!"
Souta delivered this with complete moral certainty, and in doing so officially put Shu Ouma on his blacklist.
"...Souta. You really disappoint me."
Samukawa's expression didn't shift dramatically. He just looked at him, eyes gone a little cold.
He had long since stopped expecting much from this person, if he was honest. Samukawa was rational to the point of ruthlessness — the kind of person who weighed every action against its cost and benefit, and would never distort his own judgment over a girl he liked.
He couldn't stand watching Souta like this. But what he wanted even less was to see Inori Yuzuriha's schemes succeed again.
This time, he wanted to stay out of the line of fire while watching for an opening — a chance to see what Inori was actually planning. Because right now he was in a difficult position of his own: his younger brother Jun was critically ill, and the money needed for the vaccine was bleeding him dry. A broke student working and studying as hard as he could still couldn't fill that bottomless pit.
His instincts told him that this might be exactly the kind of opportunity that could solve his most pressing problem.
"I'm going to get something to drink."
Samukawa had heard enough. He stood and walked back inside.
...
...
There was a small refrigerator near the hot spring entrance, stocked with an assortment of chilled sodas and drinks. Samukawa exhaled slowly — every conversation with Souta left him on edge. That guy was probably beyond saving. And he still couldn't figure out why Inori had invited them here in the first place. Surely it wasn't just for a recreational trip?
— No. Absolutely not. Knowing her, if she only wanted to relax she'd never have included Souta. That idiot was too close to the situation to see it, but Samukawa knew: Inori had no romantic interest in Souta at all.
He took a long sip of ice-cold cola. The carbonation fizzed down his throat and left him feeling slightly more human.
"Samukawa-kun~"
The boy was mid-thought when he heard someone call his name.
The drink bottle nearly slipped from his fingers — but he caught himself quickly. That voice. It was Inori Yuzuriha. The woman he'd been dreading.
"What are you doing here? This is the men's bath!"
He turned. Standing there was the pink-haired girl in a yukata — pink-white base fabric embroidered with vivid butterflies, her hair still slightly damp. It was the kind of sight that sent hormones spiking without asking permission.
"I came to talk to you. Obviously." Her smile was sweet. Also completely fake.
"…?" Samukawa blinked, then scoffed. "I'm not Souta. Your tricks don't work on me."
"You seem to have a real problem with me. Mind if I ask why?"
Inori crossed her arms and regarded him with mild curiosity.
"Do you really need someone to spell out what you've done?"
Samukawa kept his words hard, but cold sweat was already prickling down his back.
This woman was genuinely unnerving. She was just standing there smiling, had barely said anything — and already he felt a pressure bearing down on him, as if at any second she might peel back her face and turn into a female ghost.
"So you did see me that night."
Inori pressed her fingers to her temple, closed her eyes in mild resignation, and sighed.
When she opened them again, Samukawa felt it — a weight in the air, dense and dark, like a killing intent that hadn't been there a moment before. The warm, laughing girl from dinner had vanished. In her place was something colder, something that looked at him through deep crimson eyes like blood pooled in the dark.
"...Are you going to kill me?"
But Samukawa held his ground.
"Why would I do something so scary?" The pressure dissolved as suddenly as it had come. Inori smiled again, voice soft and mild. "I'm just a helpless girl."
She had only released a flicker of King Crimson — enough to rattle him. Ordinary people couldn't see Stands, but some with a natural sensitivity could pick up on the wrongness, that prickling sixth sense.
"I have questions. For instance — why did you report Shu, your fellow Funeral Parlor comrade?"
"...This isn't a great place to talk."
Inori glanced to one side — a dim storage closet nearby. Then she smiled.
"Follow me."