Witnesses Must Be Erased
“…You saw?”
Cleaning, huh. Where the hell do I even start…
I crossed my arms and surveyed this demonic den that looked as if it had taken a direct bomb hit.
Dizziness hit me. It wasn’t just the stale stench stabbing my nose.
Diogenes syndrome.
The compulsive act of neglecting oneself while hoarding trash and junk into mountains.
This colossal garbage heap was nothing less than the open wound representing her shattered mental state.
“……I’ll have to establish a proper treatment environment first.”
Of course, cleaning without the owner’s permission was a clear breach of etiquette. Under normal circumstances, getting thrown out would be the least I deserved.
But what she needed right now was shock therapy.
I had to make her realize that this filthy shell wrapping around her wasn’t a protective barrier—it was poison slowly eating her alive.
Besides, I had a solid backer.
Beatrice gave me full authority, so let’s just call this a bit of remodeling.
I finished rationalizing and opened my inventory in midair.
This wasn’t simple cleaning.
It was about creating a comfortable space for counseling.
I pulled out an item I’d been saving.
Price: 2,500 PT
Effect: Forcibly erases all ‘worthless byproducts’ within a 10 m radius.
Special Note: Objects imbued with the target (heroine)’s emotions or critical narrative are preserved.
2,500 PT.
Blood-earned points.
But the true value of this item wasn’t the cleaning—it was the appraisal.
To dig into the inner world of a girl with such strong hikikomori tendencies, grasping her past was the top priority.
An investment that reduced the risk of accidentally incinerating a vital clue to absolute zero.
“Alright. Let’s see if you’re worth the money.”
I tossed the orb onto the floor.
Crack────!
A crisp shattering sound.
Blue waves rippled out from the broken fragments, licking every corner of the room.
Hummm, uuuung─────.
The low vibration of an algorithm scanning the space.
Then the spectacle unfolded.
Whir, pop, shuuuuk.
The pizza boxes that had conquered the floor, the rotting food, the crushed cans, the unidentifiable wads of tissue—all of it dissolved into data fragments amid clusters of light and scattered into the air.
But.
Thud. Thud-thud.
Between the vanishing light clusters, “foreign objects” that refused to disappear rained down onto the floor.
The system’s judgment.
These weren’t trash. They were clues I absolutely had to examine.
“……What are these?”
Barely ten seconds.
The reeking mountain of garbage evaporated, and the air inside the room settled into a cool stillness.
And on the bare face that was revealed, the cruel traces the system had carefully sorted out lay scattered about.
I walked over slowly and picked up one crumpled ball of paper.
At a glance it looked like pure trash, yet the contents were anything but.
“Hmm. Nothing particularly important…”
The moment I started reading the print, a serpentine chill crawled up my spine.
“Huh…?”
— It won’t die. Why won’t it die. Why?
— Raised the voltage to 4,400 V. Only fainted. Screaming like its brain is burning, yet it still won’t die.
— Disgusting. This tenacious life force.
— Please just stop. I want to snuff out its breath, but it refuses to go according to calculation.
“…….”
My grip on the paper tightened.
The further down the page, the harder the pen had been pressed—hard enough to tear the paper.
Clear, unmistakable madness clung to every stroke.
This wasn’t idle scribbling.
It was a biological experiment log.
A record of endlessly torturing and attempting to murder “something that would not die.”
In that instant, the alias the gallery veterans used for her flashed through my mind.
Calculator of Slaughter.
So there really was a reason people called her that.
I lifted my head and surveyed the purified room once more.
With the junk cleared away, the room’s true purpose—long hidden—stood nakedly exposed.
The wall at the head of the bed.
Exactly at human head height.
A pitch-black scorch mark, as if something had exploded, stood out vividly.
And around it, dark, grimy splatters.
Bloodstains that had never been wiped away, baked into the wallpaper over long years.
Don’t tell me… this isn’t a bedroom—it’s an execution ground?
The image came easily.
This narrow, dark sealed room.
Her standing a test subject against that wall and unleashing every kind of attack magic.
The back of a mad scientist, expressionless, calmly recording data while the subject screamed in agony.
This place was no hikikomori’s hideout.
It was a slaughterhouse.
As if possessed, I approached the bed and lifted the pillow.
Clatter.
Just as expected.
Dozens of brown medicine bottles clinked against one another.
Disguised as a stabilizer.
Overdose melts the brain’s nerves—an extremely lethal poison.
She had been sleeping with this enormous quantity of deadly toxin tucked under her pillow.
As if it were the most precious treasure in the world.
“……Does this even make sense?”
A hollow laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
Goosebumps rose.
Was this really the same woman who had flushed red and grabbed my pant leg the moment I threatened to cut the magic network?
No. That might have been an act.
Pretending to be innocent and weak to lower my guard… then turning me into one more stain on that wall?
Suddenly Beatrice’s earlier warning echoed in my ears.
— Still, that child’s room is a magical hell, is it not? An ordinary mind wouldn’t last five minutes.
— More than ten disciples have already come running out screaming “Save me.” I fully expected you would join their ranks…
……So it hadn’t been mere exaggeration.
Those who fled screaming for their lives.
They hadn’t run simply because it was filthy.
They had smelled the slaughter and fled on pure instinct.
I took a step back, cold sweat sliding down my spine.
This was no counseling room.
I had walked into a real tiger’s den of my own free will.
With White’s Oath I could buy myself one escape from a fatal crisis.
But after that…
What then?
Should I leave right now?
But the contract?
My thoughts tangled into a knot.
Drip.
The sound of water from the bathroom cut off abruptly.
At the same time.
Click.
The lock on the bathroom doorknob released.
That dry, short metallic sound sliced through the silent room like a guillotine blade falling.
“……!”
I swallowed hard and unconsciously crumpled the experiment log still in my hand.
I had missed the timing to run.
Creeeak──────.
Perhaps the hinges were rusted.
The sound of the door opening rang out with an especially unpleasant scrape.
Thick white steam billowed out in clouds.
And from within that fog, a single silhouette walked forward.
“……Ugh. The water control valve appears to have an error of about 0.5 degrees…”
Black hair heavy with moisture, hanging limp.
Pale skin flushed pink from the heat.
All she wore was one of my loose white T-shirts that barely covered her hips.
The wet fabric clung to her skin, clearly outlining her slender waist and the bare flesh beneath.
A defenseless, provocative figure any man would swallow hard over.
But right now my eyes saw something completely different.
A beast.
A predator that had finished the hunt, washed off the blood, and was now lazily grooming its fur.
She roughly toweled her wet hair and lifted her head.
And then…
“……Huh?”
Her steps stopped dead.
“What is this… why are the refuse…?”
“Haha… I just tidied up a little. Figured we could sit more comfortably.”
Her gaze locked onto the biological experiment records on the floor and the bloodstains on the wall.
In that instant, every expression vanished from her face.
The clumsiness, the embarrassment, the shyness she had shown just moments before—
all those human emotions evaporated as if they had never existed.
She slowly, very slowly turned her head toward me.
The eyes revealed between strands of wet hair were empty to a spine-chilling degree.
“……You saw it, I take it.”
Her voice had no rise or fall.
A dry tone like a machine.
Her gaze remained fixed on the log on the floor and the stains on the wall.
I gulped dryly.
My spine was ice-cold, yet I forced myself to act as if I knew nothing.
As naturally as possible—trying to smooth this insane situation over as an everyday little mishap.
“Ah, that?”
I put on a deliberately calm smile and pointed a finger at the red stains on the wall.
“The wallpaper was a bit dirty. Looked like red paint… or maybe leftover strawberry syrup splattered while you were eating?”
I shrugged.
“Looks like you were doing some art. Be more careful next time—it doesn’t come off easily.”
Please.
Just say you were painting.
Or that you sneezed while eating strawberry jam. Make some excuse.
I inwardly prayed she would panic and blurt out, “Ah, right! It was painting!”
But.
“Paint…?”
She tilted her head.
A water droplet fell from the tip of her wet hair and hit the floor with a soft plip.
She looked up at me with hazy, murky eyes, as if she genuinely could not comprehend my words.
“What are you talking about? That is a byproduct.”
“……What?”
“The residual matter that splattered when the test subject burst. Not paint.”
“…….”
My heart plummeted.
An answer delivered with absolute nonchalance.
As if she were casually explaining kimchi juice that had gotten on her clothes—no malice, no guilt whatsoever.
“Of course it does not come off. High-concentration mana solution is mixed in.”
I was certain.
This woman… was the real thing.
Not some fashion-mentally-ill girl playing a concept, but a genuine mad scientist whose sense of ethics had been completely castrated.
— Zzzzzzt!
Tinnitus exploded in my ears.
A sharp, high-pitched whine loud enough to burst eardrums.
Psychological Insight Lv.3
Her keyword window displayed…
Clear, unambiguous will to kill.
Not anger.
Just the pure, explicit will to end a life.
“……You have done something unnecessary. I detest increasing variables.”
She took one step toward me.
The loose shirt slipped, fully exposing one white shoulder, yet she paid it not the slightest attention.
That bare shoulder only made the terror more grotesque.
“You have contaminated my laboratory.”
Ziiing──────.
A fine vibration stabbed my eardrums.
From her feet, purple mana haze began to rise.
The sticky, slimy mana of a murderer whose most secret crime scene had just been exposed.
“Is it not natural to delete data that has produced errors?”
A voice utterly devoid of emotion.
Like a child who had simply broken a broken toy—completely lacking in guilt.
Crazy bitch…
This was a congenital defect.
A disaster I needed to flee from right now.
Then it happened.
Clack. Click-clack.
Mechanical sounds rang out from every direction.
The firmly shut iron door, the windows, the ventilation ducts—
magic locking devices engaged on every exit, layer upon layer.
“……Where do you intend to go? The counseling has not yet concluded.”
She smiled.
Her eyes did not smile; only the corners of her mouth twisted upward in a grotesque curve.
“You may have entered freely, but leaving is not permitted.”
She extended her hand.
From her slender fingertips, mana undulated as if ready to sever my lifeline.
“Witnesses… must be erased.”
Heroine Mocca Mellow’s ‘Defense Mechanism’ has been activated.
The system’s crimson warning window blocked my vision.
Killing intent sharp enough to slice skin tightened around my throat.
Any ordinary person would have had their legs give out and collapsed on the spot.
But.
Bullshit… don’t make me laugh.
I clenched my trembling hand into a tight fist.
Run?
Thinking again—if I showed my back here, I would truly die.
More than anything, I was a professional who had already reformed two complete lunatics.
If I was going to chicken out and flee from this level of intimidation, I never would have started in the first place.
I called upon the legacy of the former heroines engraved deep in my heart.
The heroines’ privilege skills.
Ruby Scarlet’s skill that quelled frenzy.
And as long as Elara von Heim’s shield remained, I would walk out of this mad laboratory on my own two feet.
I gritted my teeth and stared straight at the hand reaching toward me.
Because the real counseling was only just beginning.