Chapter 47: Motive and Reason

“Wait, what? Kimura-san lied because of Itō-san and Fujita-san? But… why?” Kana’s eyes widened, her face a mask of pure, uncomprehending confusion.

“Was Kimura trying to scare them? That doesn’t make any sense, does it?” Takada Shōji crossed his arms, his expression equally baffled.

Whether it was the motive for a murder or the motive for an elaborate lie, while initial speculation could often be a bit wild, if the underlying reason was too far-fetched, it would significantly detract from the credibility of any subsequent deductions.

However, it was clear from Ōgami Yōsuke’s calm, confident demeanor that he had given this considerable thought. He began to speak slowly, his voice calm and measured, like a professor laying out a complex thesis. “Kimura-san, Itō-san, and Fujita-san… the three of them were, by all accounts, incredibly close friends. That is the starting point, the fundamental truth, for all of this. But, because of their different personalities, as they’ve gotten older, their goals, their hobbies, their entire outlook on life, have gradually begun to diverge. And shared interests, as we all know, are a crucial, almost essential factor in maintaining friendships, especially during these formative years.”

“Remember what Itō-san told us before?” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the group. “He and Kimura-san had completely different views on their old secret hideout. For Itō-san, it was just a childish game from their past, a fond but distant memory. He told us he hadn’t been back to the hideout since his third year of middle school.”

“He didn’t know about Fujita-san’s current feelings on the matter, but he knew that Kimura still frequently went to the hideout to play. And for that, he even… teased Kimura-san about it.”

Kana’s eyes lit up with a sudden, dawning understanding. “So, you’re saying it was the accumulated resentment from Itō-san’s teasing that drove Kimura-san to do this?”

Ōgami Yōsuke shook his head. “I don’t believe so. Yesterday, when I went to see Fujita-san, I took the opportunity to ask him about his views on the secret hideout. Fujita-san said, and I quote, ‘We’re high school students now. It’s a bit pathetic to still be obsessed with that kind of game, isn’t it?’ He said he was planning to fully enjoy his youth in high school, to get a sweet, gentle girlfriend. So, as far as he was concerned, that place was just part of his embarrassing past, something best forgotten.”

“So, to summarize simply: now that they’re in high school, Kimura-san’s primary hobby is still to go and play at the secret hideout. Itō-san’s primary hobby has become soccer, and he has fully committed to the corresponding club. As for Fujita-san, ‘hobby’ isn’t quite the right word. His primary goal is to get a girlfriend.”

“Although they are still, nominally, good friends, the rift between them is already quite clear. Each of them is focusing their time and energy on different things. And so, their common topics of conversation have surely dwindled, and the amount of time they spend together has also, inevitably, decreased.”

Kana nodded slowly, a flicker of sadness in her eyes as she glanced at Junko. “That’s just how it is, I guess. Even the best of friends can’t have the exact same interests forever. And when we go to university, if we end up in different cities, the distance will only grow larger.”

Yomikawa Tsuko, who had been liítening quitely, gave a slight nod of her own. “The younger people are, the more their interests tend to align. But as they get older, due to personality, reality, and other external factors, their hobbies and common topics of conversation begin to diminish. By the time they fully enter adult society, for most people, just being able to get together every few days is already a rare and precious thing.”

Seeing that everyone understood this basic, human premise, Ōgami Yōsuke continued, his voice gaining a new confidence. “While that may be true in principle, for the person experiencing it in the moment, watching their closest friends gradually drift away… it’s natural to feel a sense of unwillingness to let go, isn’t it? And to then, perhaps, make a desperate effort to salvage the situation, to pull everyone back together. That, I believe, was Kimura-san’s primary motive.”

He’s not entirely clueless, is he? Kana thought, shooting him a surprised, sideways glance. Or is he only this articulate, this insightful, when he’s talking about other people’s problems?

Takada Shōji, however, was completely engrossed in Ōgami’s reasoning, following each logical step with a focused intensity. He added, “So, because he wanted to salvage their friendship, Kimura decided to start with their one remaining common interest – the secret hideout. Is that right?”

“Precisely.” Ōgami Yōsuke nodded, a faint smile on his lips. “I asked both Itō-san and Fujita-san. Before the ‘incident,’ Kimura-san had indeed invited both of them to go and play at the secret hideout. Unfortunately, as we know, both of them declined.”

“Disappointed, and likely feeling a bit desperate, Kimura probably realized that a simple, ordinary invitation would never be enough to achieve his goal. He needed… something more. Something dramatic. Something that would reignite their interest in the secret hideout, or at least, in the mysteries of Mount Karasu-Go itself.”

Takada followed the thread of logic. “And just then, the promotional material for that new TV drama, ‘Sleepwalker,’ caught his attention. He saw the ‘sleepwalking’ element and thought it had great… potential. And if he added in a few elements of classic urban legends, some spooky details about a cursed cave and a vengeful spirit, it would instantly become a terrifying, suspenseful mystery.”

“So, Kimura’s initial plan was probably to fabricate an urban legend, a ghost story, to get Itō and Fujita’s attention and, more importantly, their concern,” Takada concluded, a look of understanding on his face. “Then, using their concern for him as leverage, he would invite them to explore Mount Karasu-Go together. And when they got tired, they could all rest at their old secret hideout, just like they used to. That’s about the size of it, isn’t it?”

It was rare for Takada Shōji to come up with such a plausible and psychologically sound deduction. Ōgami Yōsuke gave him an appreciative thumbs-up. “My own theory is more or less the same. To achieve this goal, Kimura-san had to create the illusion of his own sleepwalking. But that, in itself, wasn’t too difficult. As long as he could successfully deceive his parents, then when Itō-san and Fujita-san came to visit, his parents would naturally, and unwittingly, corroborate his lie, making his story seem all the more credible.”

“And so, Kimura-san began to put his elaborate plan into action. He used the fact that he didn’t have school on Saturday to carefully plan his timing. In the middle of the night, he quietly slipped out of the house in his pajamas and slippers. At the appropriate time, he returned and rang the doorbell, startling his parents awake. Then, on Monday, he had his mother call the school and ask for sick leave, completing the illusion.”

Kana frowned, still trying to piece it all together. “But why would Kimura-san add that part about ‘knowing the full story will also bring misfortune’? That seems… excessive.”

Ōgami Yōsuke signaled for her to be patient, then continued at his own pace, laying out the final, crucial pieces of his theory. “As Kimura-san had expected, Itō-san and Fujita-san did indeed come to visit him, concerned about their friend. But what Kimura-san hadn’t anticipated was that, with its premiere just two days away, the drama ‘Sleepwalker’ had already generated a massive amount of buzz, a huge amount of discussion, especially among the student population.”

“In the timeline he fabricated, he had just been to the mysterious cave on Mount Karasu-Go on June 9th. On June 11th, ‘Sleepwalker’ premiered. On June 13th, Itō-san and Fujita-san came to his house but didn’t get to see him. And that night, both Itō-san and Fujita-san received a phone call from him, drawing them deeper into his narrative.”

“At this point, Kimura-san had two choices. First, he could proceed with his plan and invite Itō-san and Fujita-san to the mountain directly. Second, he could wait a little longer, creating a time gap for him to ‘fight’ against his supposed ‘sleepwalking,’ to make his story more plausible, more coherent, and more… terrifying.”

Takada Shōji analyzed the options. “Kimura definitely chose to wait, right?”

Kana asked, confused, “Why are you so sure?”

“Because it wasn’t the weekend yet,” Takada said, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “If Kimura had asked Itō and Fujita to skip school to go on some wild goose chase with him, the chances of them refusing would have been incredibly high. After all, this was supposed to be Kimura’s problem, not theirs.”

“Hmph…” Kana pouted, having forgotten that simple, practical detail.

“I believe there was another, even more important, reason for his delay,” Ōgami Yōsuke added, his voice dropping slightly, a new, more serious note entering his tone. “And this reason is also the key to understanding why the element of ‘knowing the full story brings misfortune’ was so suddenly, and so strategically introduced into the narrative.”

“Yes, yes! Please explain that part! No matter how I think about it, I can’t figure it out!” Takada Shōji urged, leaning forward eagerly.

His sudden, almost childlike enthusiasm made Ōgami Yōsuke scratch his head, a little uncomfortably. “To put it simply, Kimura-san had two primary objectives in doing this. First, to psychologically bind his own situation to that of Itō-san and Fujita-san. To create a sense of shared danger, a shared fate, thereby significantly increasing the chances of them agreeing to his later invitation to the mountain. And second, he hadn’t anticipated just how much attention the drama ‘Sleepwalker’ would receive. Because his fabricated story also contained the element of sleepwalking, there was a very high probability that it would be discussed alongside the popular TV drama. If he did nothing, if he let his story spread and ferment on its own, it was very likely that someone else, some other group of curious students, would go to Mount Karasu-Go to search for the spooky, cursed cave he had invented, even before he had a chance to act.”

“If that were to happen, his entire, elaborate plan would be ruined. And so, he needed a way to control the speed at which the story spread. He needed to put a brake on the narrative. And to do that, he had no choice but to add this… this curse, this limitation… to the story itself.”