She lay on Fushimi Roku's chest: "Don't leave me... please..."
...
"Alright."
Fushimi Roku wiped the corner of his mouth, sat up nonchalantly, and pressed the tape recorder button.
Minamoto Tamako was stunned for a full five seconds, her little brain unable to process it. There was a smear of Fushimi Roku's 'black blood' on the edge of her mouth, which she instinctively licked off with her tongue.
It was jam.
"You, you——"
Minamoto Tamako was furious, her hair standing on end, the classic image of someone boiling with rage, grabbing a cushion and executing a 'tornado destroys parking lot' move, violently attacking the pretending-to-be-dead Mr. Fushimi.
Fushimi's skin was thick, making the pillow hits negligible. Shamelessly, he rewound the tape and started playing the recording.
"... Since you don't want to, I won't force you. Let's have breakfast first, and then talk."
"What's the clue exactly? Tell me first! We can discuss the other stuff later..."
...
