September 21st. Overcast.
Nail length: 2cm.
Summer is fully over. The weather has turned cool. The sky is a little heavy today, though my fingernails haven't grown much—a sign my mood has been steady of late.
Nearly a month has passed since the Goodwill Event ended. The auction has finally begun.
Auction is perhaps generous. It's more accurately a private collectors' meeting—low-profile, with invitations extended only to the top collectors around the world.
With the invitation Yaga handed me, I'll depart tonight.
The venue is a mansion in the countryside. About three days by car from Tokyo.
I had a faint sense of unease before leaving. I have always trusted my intuition.
I've always disliked business trips, but this one I cannot miss.
Fortunately, Done Again's cooldown has ended. As a precaution, I've set the timer for ten days. Ten days should be enough.
September 22nd. Clearer, though the clouds haven't broken.
Nail length: 2.1cm.
Spent the entire day in transit. An academy car.
The Start of Autumn has passed. The view through the window has taken on a scorched-yellow tint, the wheat fields swaying in the wind, mostly dead stalks and fallen leaves.
September 23rd. Overcast.
Nail length: 2.3cm.
The air is stifling. Looks like it will rain before long. Autumn rain is always a thing to resent.
The wheat fields outside the window are gone, replaced by empty wasteland—little greenery, the occasional patch of shrubbery, mostly yellow, huddled in the autumn wind like malnourished old men.
Should arrive tomorrow.
September 24th. Overcast, raining.
Nail length: 1.5cm.
Trimmed my nails yesterday. The rain has started. A soft, persistent drizzle.
It kept on until dusk. Rain at dusk is never quite like rain at other hours—patter, patter, slanting against the dim sky. Up close you could make out the drops. Farther out, only a curtain of darkening evening—rain indistinguishable from no rain at all.
I reached the mansion toward evening, just as the rain eased, the clouds still hanging low.
The mansion is not large. Three stories, perhaps. Visibly weathered, visibly aged. Beside it rises a small tower, narrow and slanting and pointed, like a thin human figure in silhouette.
A black-haired maid came out to meet me. Her name is Mari. An odd name.
She wore something like a Gothic maid's dress, the hem edged with lace. I cannot recall her face. By human standards, presumably, she is beautiful.
None of that concerns me. What is worth noting is that her hands were beautiful.
I turned the front doorknob into a bomb, and followed her in.
By her account, I am among the first guests to arrive. The master is not yet home.
"Please forgive the poor hospitality." Her exact words.
Irritating. Anything outside the plan is irritating.
The rain started up again in the night. I fell asleep to the sound of it.
Something about this place doesn't sit right.
September 24th. Overcast.
Guests have been arriving one after another. All strangers. Men and women both. A small group—seven of us, myself included.
I've toured some of the mansion's collection. I must admit the pieces are genuinely priceless. There is even a Special Grade cursed tool among them.
Per the maid, the master should return in the afternoon.
I dislike tardiness.
September 25th. Light rain.
Nail length: 3cm.
I forgot to measure my nails yesterday. That is a bad thing.
Also, the master did not return yesterday.
The maid apologized to us repeatedly, though the look in her eyes carried no real apology.
One of the guests has already lost his temper—a lady in an elegant dress. Her hands were beautiful.
"We're sorry. Our apologies."
These were the only words the maid said all day.
September 26th. Light rain.
Nail length: 1.5cm.
Mari died in her own room.
Her death was an ugly one. Her chest had been run through. Collapsed in a pool of blood, white maid's uniform stained scarlet against the crimson carpet, like a swan's feathers.
Beside her, the fireplace burned warm.
The master has still not returned.
The rain outside continues. The little tower outside the window sways in wind and rain. The lamplight inside is a smudge of warm gold.
We cannot leave. A Curtain has been thrown up around the mansion—a Curtain restricting entry and exit both—and even my own cursed energy cannot break through.
I have not yet found the Curtain's anchor.
By the principle of equivalent exchange, the stronger the Curtain, the greater the sacrifice it demands. Given that its sole restriction is keeping us in, the anchor is almost certainly somewhere inside the mansion.
September 27th. Rain.
Nail length: 1.6cm.
Still haven't found the anchor. My mood is deteriorating.
The sky is growing darker these days.
September 28th. Rain.
Nail length: 1.5cm.
Three dead. One of them was the lady in the elegant dress.
I've been dragged into an irritating game.
September 29th. Rain.
Nail length: 1.5cm.
Damn it. Wrong. Wrong.
How dull, how dull. The balance inside me slips a little more.
September 30th. Rain.
Nail length: 1.5cm.
A man lay dying in front of me today. He looked to be a well-bred old gentleman. Even on the threshold of death he strained to contain his pain. I admire that quality of restraint, so I ended his life cleanly—sparing him the suffering.
Additionally, I've been leaving coded messages. All these days I have carefully left clues.
The game has only just begun.
October 1st. Rain.
Nail length: 1.5cm.
I have failed.
But I will be reborn, because I have not yet died.
Grateful beyond words for that bomb buried ten days ago. The goddess of fate still stands at my shoulder—I, Nanami Kira, am blessed with remarkable luck...
Though the memory of these past days will be lost. That is the most irritating part of the game...
In fact, as I write this, I am already drenched in blood. My intestines are spilling onto the floor.
Lying in this pool of blood, I trimmed my nails. Trimmed them carefully. These past days I have trimmed my nails daily. It keeps me calm...
The mind grows dim. Time is nearly up. That will do.
A new round, then. Let us play properly.
September 21st. Overcast.
Nail length: 2cm.
Summer is fully over. The weather has turned cool. The sky is a little heavy today, though my fingernails haven't grown much—a sign my mood has been steady of late.
Nearly a month has passed since the Goodwill Event ended. The auction has finally begun.
Auction is perhaps generous. It's more accurately a private collectors' meeting—low-profile, with invitations extended only to the top collectors around the world.
With the invitation Yaga handed me, I'll depart tonight.
The venue is a mansion in the countryside. About three days by car from Tokyo.
I had a faint sense of unease before leaving. I have always trusted my intuition.
I've always disliked business trips, but this one I cannot miss.
Fortunately, Done Again's cooldown has ended. As a precaution, I've set the timer for ten days. Ten days should be enough.
But—to my astonishment—
Done Again's cooldown
has not yet ended.