The futon remained unfolded. Neat corners aligned. Evidence of sleeplessness arranged in perfect order. Sakakino Akira sat against the wall. White LED light surrounded him through the night. The light never changed. Morning or night—this verdict box, this concrete underground structure—always the same white. Always. The intake slot opened. Silent. Small sound. Twenty centimeters square. Water bottle pushed through. Food pushed through. Plastic container. Soft contents. Bread. Something paste-like. No hand visible. No presence. Only objects appearing. Then the slot closed. (Still watching.) A manager exists. Someone operating this device. Monitoring right now. The food delivery proved it. Silent proof. Keeping the subject alive. Cold management. Emotionless. But certain. Undeniable presence. Sakakino drank water. Cold. Still thinking about yesterday's vote. Click sound. That small sound repeating in memory. He voted for someone. Never met them. Didn't know their face. No basis. Just the instruction: "Abstention not permitted." He had to choose something. ——Calling that "voting" still sat in his chest. Resistance. Unresolved. Wall text entered his vision. You are the criminal. Black paint. Dried letters. Same as yesterday. But today the weight felt different. He had no memory. No basis to deny this accusation. He spent the night confirming that fact. Not being able to deny something differs from affirming it. Still, the blank space remained blank. Unfilled. Consciousness turned to the ventilation hole. Low on the wall. Three centimeters diameter. Last night, breathing sounds came through. Regular. But slightly disrupted. Sleeping? Awake? Couldn't tell. ——Not being able to tell was one reason Sakakino kept silent. Faint presence still comes from there. Reconsidering silence's danger. Reconsidering the danger of a memory-less person speaking first. Either direction disadvantages him. Structure unchanged. But breaking equilibrium——he should break it himself. Taking initiative and exposing information sometimes mean the same thing. Still, passivity costs more. The courtroom artist waits in the gallery. But now, no one to sketch. Nothing visible. Sakakino approached the ventilation hole. Knelt. Concrete cold transmitted through his knees. "……I'm Sakakino Akira." Voice kept level. Not emotionless. Not trembling. Careful. Calm. Years listening to voices in court taught him: first words determine impression. "I'm a courtroom artist." Two beats of silence. Long two beats. "……I'm Mizunase Misaki." Female voice. Not low. Not high. Calm register. But that calmness sounded intentional. Not emotionless—carefully controlled emotion. ——That kind of voice. Slight tremor mixed in before the final word. Even through the ventilation hole, reduced and echoing, that micro-vibration was audible. "I'm a fourth-year student at Tōhō University. In the criminal psychology seminar——" Brief pause. "——I was in that seminar." Past tense. Conscious correction. Should still be a student. But she said "was." Separating this situation from her daily life——or something forced that separation. Sakakino noted the correction. Didn't point it out. "I think we should organize the situation first." Practical voice. Logic over emotion. Sakakino received it with relief. Emotional confusion less useful than logical cooperation right now. ——But simultaneously, doubt settled quietly in his mind. Why so calm in this situation? "I agree." --- They compared memory fragments. Mizunase's memories were "fragmented." Attending Tōhō University's sociology department. Writing a thesis in the criminal psychology seminar——analyzing group psychology structure in false conviction formation, the theme——those memories remained. But how she arrived here. What she did before arriving. That gap existed. Sakakino stated his situation frankly. Only name, age, and profession remained. The place name "Naruzawa" caught from a diary fragment. But memory didn't connect. Conversation through the ventilation hole had physical constraints. Sakakino's professional habit activated reflexively. Analyzing voice tone. Mizunase's speech rhythm. Word endings. Silence placement——reading person's state from these. In court, he watched defendants' eyes. Posture at the witness stand. Finger movements. Forehead sweat. Sketching while observing what they hid. But now——no eyes. No face. No expression. Sound passing through the hole, exiting three centimeters, reduced and echoing. Critical parts deleted. (I don't understand.) Voice alone insufficient. Always incomplete judgment. That frustration accumulated with each conversation. "I've been wondering about this device's structure." Mizunase's voice changed slightly. Practical calmness unchanged. But something withdrawn inside. "The voting judgment system——voting daily at noon for six days, final highest vote count becomes the criminal——this structure resembles criminal psychology experimental design." Sakakino listened silently. "Artificially recreating the process of a group recognizing a specific individual as 'criminal.' Creating the criminal through voting——social process——not evidence——" Her voice stopped. One beat. Two beats. "Nearly identical to what I was writing my thesis about." Quiet voice. But the weight of those words wasn't quiet. Something made sound inside Sakakino. A person with specialized knowledge. Confined in a device embodying that knowledge. If the designer knew this——it wasn't coincidence. Does Mizunase intend to be here? Or is she also "positioned" by the designer's intent? Both possible. Both possible means judgment impossible. "You realize that contradiction." "……Yes." "Your knowledge might be why you're here. Or——your presence itself might be part of the device." Words came as calmly as possible. Silence came. Not long silence. But dense silence. "That's not just about me, I think." Quiet response. Not resistance. Not agreement. Just fact stated. Sakakino listened to that response's calmness again. Carefully. --- One hour before noon. Before the ceiling speaker announced anything, Mizunase posed the question first. "We need to think about voting now." Sakakino thought the same. "Two people we haven't heard from yet." Amemiya Tōma. Shibazaki Ayano. Names engraved on buttons. People existing beyond the ventilation hole. Still unheard voices. "Voting for someone without contact——" Brief pause. Choosing words, Sakakino heard. "——means suspending judgment about those with contact. Preserving possibility of relationship building." Logic held structure. Sakakino confirmed it quietly. Simultaneously confirmed another structure. This logic functions as guidance excluding Mizunase from voting targets. Rational words most require suspicion of their rationality's exterior——habit from hearing dozens of defense arguments in court told him reflexively. (But.) Sakakino himself reached nearly identical conclusion independently. That was the problem. His self-derived conclusion matched Mizunase's conclusion. That match——coincidental logical result or guidance result? ——No material to judge now. Material absent. Noon arrives. Abstention not permitted. Standing before voting buttons. Four buttons. Names engraved. Sakakino Akira. Mizunase Misaki. Amemiya Tōma. Shibazaki Ayano. Hand extends. Finger touches the fourth name's button. Click. Small sound. Echoed briefly in the sealed room. Disappeared. The smallness of that sound and the weight of its meaning didn't balance. The act of marking one person as "suspicious existence" produced such light sound. That imbalance traveled from fingertip through arm to chest. Unpleasant sensation. Undeniable yet unwelcome sensation. "I voted." Slightly later, voice came through the ventilation hole. Sakakino asked nothing. Who she voted for. Asking that becomes distrust expression——that structure, both shared without words. Not speaking isn't trust. Not being able to speak takes trust's form. That strange reversal, Sakakino confirmed quietly. --- After voting ended, Mizunase asked. "May I ask about the diary?" Sakakino paused slightly. "——You know about the diary?" "You told me yesterday, didn't you?" Memory searches. Day one. Intake slot. Buttons. Wall text. Found diary. Turned pages. After that——did he mention the diary? No memory of speaking toward the ventilation hole. But can't confirm. Memory gaps extend beyond yesterday. Maybe yesterday's conversation continuity too. (I don't know.) "My room had no diary." Quiet voice. "Probably placed only in your room. Intentional placement, I think." Sakakino considered the words' depth. Diary only in his room. Information advantage. But simultaneously——diary guides his interpretation. Possibility of manipulation. Information holder manipulated by information——if the designer intends this, the diary is a trap. "Memory isn't evidence." Finally, she said that. Words stabbed. Not physical stabbing. Quieter stabbing. His memory——name, age, profession, Naruzawa fragment——those were proof of being "Sakakino Akira." But memory isn't evidence. Memory rewrites. Memory gaps. Memory is unreliable witness. He'd seen that countless times in court. Yet trusted only his own memory. Trust only——that part most dangerous. When night seemed to come, Mizunase's voice ceased. Ventilation hole became quiet. Silence returned. White LED unchanged. Sakakino took the diary. Opened on his knees. First page. Four names. Mizunase Misaki. Amemiya Tōma. Shibazaki Ayano. Sakakino Akira. Read line by line. Court habit turned on himself. Listen to testimony. Where witness's words have force, where they weaken. Pen pressure. Ink density. Punctuation placement——three handwriting types mixed. Who wrote. When. Why. Fragmentary phrases surfaced. Testimony. False conviction. Naruzawa. Naruzawa false conviction case——eight years ago, strong robbery murder case in Naruzawa City, Kanagawa. Name scattered through the diary. Guilty verdict from eyewitness testimony and circumstantial evidence alone. Five years later, DNA re-examination confirmed false conviction. Defendant committed suicide in prison. Became social issue, he thought he'd read somewhere——but "read" or "saw"? In court. From gallery. Sketchbook on knees. Pastel in hand. (Was I in that courtroom?) Memory gains outline. But doesn't connect. Fog. Always stops beyond fog. Decided to read critically. Believe nothing in this diary. Question each line's logical consistency. From whose perspective written. Is this date correct. Does this name arrangement have intent. ——If the designer placed the diary here, the diary is also device part. Reading device-part information inside the device. That structure pressed quietly. Mizunase was calm. Logical. Cooperative. Could be trust basis. But simultaneously——too calm, too logical, too cooperative. This device's design resembles her specialized knowledge. Why is she here? No answer comes. Comes without answer, tomorrow's noon arrives. Click sound rings again. White light continued falling unchanged tonight. Day two ending. Unread pages remained in the diary. Ink smudging made passages hard to read. But one phrase, written in neater handwriting than others, Sakakino finally found. Haichu-kai. Unknown words. But somewhere——somewhere, he'd heard this word. Only that sensation existed. Nothing connected.