IYAMI's Seven-Day War: The End of the Counterattack Against the Sextuplets
"This is my final battle, zansu."
IYAMI, always the laughingstock of the Matsuno sextuplets, was never just a comical antagonist. He was once a respected gentleman in Parisian high society, a man who lost everything in a single, abhorrent incident.
The sextuplets' innocent cruelty awakens a genuine darkness within IYAMI. One day, a casual insult from Todomatsu ignites his fury. With a sinister grin, he declares, "For seven days, I'll fight you seriously, zansu. If you win, I'll disappear forev
IYAMI's Seven-Day War: The End of the Counterattack Against the Sextuplets - The Day the Clown's Mask Comes Off
On an August afternoon, Akatsuki Park was empty.
A swing creaked back and forth with a rusty *kii-kii*. There was almost no wind, and the heat haze rising from the asphalt warped the scenery into wobbly distortions. The metal plate of the slide was hot enough to burn bare skin, and the sandbox had dried out to a pale, whitish gray. Twelve cherry trees cast their shadows, but even those shadows seemed to be shrinking away, unable to escape the heat.
Osomatsu sat slumped in one of the swings, his limbs dangling lazily. His close-cropped hair was a mess of bedhead, plastered to his forehead with sweat. His eyes were half-closed, his face on the verge of sleep.
"So damn hot... It's hot again today, and there's nothin' fun goin' on..."
On the bench beside him, Karamatsu sat with his sunglasses on, arms crossed, striking a pose. The glint of his sunglasses was painfully try-hard. His jet-black hair was slicked back and stiff with wax, hardened into place. He looked completely out of place, and yet he was the only one convinced he looked cool.
"Brother, one must not confuse the aesthetics of revelry with the aesthetics of destruction. However, today I may be willing to entertain the aesthetics of destruction."
No one was listening.
A short distance away, in the shade of a tree, Choromatsu had a thick job-hunting magazine spread open. Every time he turned a page, a sigh escaped him. His hair was neatly parted in a precise seven-three split, his round eyes earnest and serious. Jeans and a polo shirt — a safe, unremarkable outfit. But the fingertips holding the magazine were trembling, ever so faintly.
Ichimatsu sat huddled at the base of a tree, hugging his knees. His bangs were so long they almost completely hid his face. He was still wearing a black hoodie, even in the height of summer. Every so often, he unconsciously rubbed at his own wrist. He met no one's eyes, and no one spoke to Ichimatsu.
Jyushimatsu was in the middle of the plaza, repeating some incomprehensible motion. Not quite a kick, not quite gymnastics — just a strange movement. His eyes were laughing, but it looked like that was all they were doing. The cuffs of his yellow T-shirt were frayed. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, but he didn't seem to care at all.
Only Todomatsu sat on a bench a little apart from the others, fiddling with his smartphone. His black hair, slightly longer than his older brothers', was parted down the middle and stylishly set. His eyes were large, but there was something cold in them, and he had a habit of staring intently at whoever he was talking to. He tilted his head as he gazed at the screen, scrolling with slender fingers.
"Something fun, huh. So you're gonna break stuff and cause a ruckus again, right."
Todomatsu spat the words out without looking up from his phone.
Osomatsu made the swing creak.
"Well, yeah! That's what we're good at. I mean, c'mon, that time at the tofu shop — that killed, right? We knocked over the shelves and the old man's face went bright red!"
"That was a masterpiece. The tab ran up to 120,000 yen, too. But well, I'm sure it was no big deal to them."
Choromatsu looked up from his magazine.
"...That tofu shop ended up closing down, you know. Wasn't that... pretty bad?"
Ichimatsu muttered quietly.
"We never even apologized."
His voice reached no one.
Jyushimatsu bounced up and down, shouting.
"Tofu! Bwoom-bwoom! Bwoom-bwoom!"
Todomatsu snorted.
"Well, that tofu shop had terrible taste anyway. It's like it was destined to fail, and it did."
Osomatsu stood up from the swing and clasped his hands behind his head.
"Right, right, it was their fault. Oh, and Totoko-chan's audition was hilarious too. Just 'cause we made a little noise, the whole judging panel went to pieces — but she was gonna fail from the start anyway!"
Karamatsu placed a hand over his chest and spoke in a theatrical voice.
"But Totoko always makes my heart shine. She is a star. That audition failure was surely a trial sent by God."
No one called him out on it.
The cicadas buzzed *min-min*. Beside the park's sandbox, a single drop of water fell from the drinking fountain's tap with a *plink*.
These guys truly had no idea what they had done. Knocking over the shelves at Masuya Tofu, running up unpaid tabs at the Yamabuki bar, causing a disturbance at Totoko's audition venue. To them, every single one of these was just a funny story. Because no one ever got angry, and no one ever confronted them directly.
But.
That was only because the other side was too appalled to even speak.
These boys' innocent malice, every time it was laughed off, kept piling sin upon sin. Without even realizing it, they were wasting away another day, just like today.
*Click, click, click.*
From the park entrance, the sound of footsteps approached.
"Bonjour, *zansu*! The sextuplets are all NEETs and looking as bored as ever today, *zansu* ne!"
The owner of the voice was a middle-aged man with gleaming buck teeth. A worn-out white suit, a red bow tie. There were frayed spots all over the suit, but his back was ramrod straight. His black hair, parted seven-three, was streaked with white, and his sideburns tapered to distinctive points. On the ring finger of his left hand was an old silver ring.
Osomatsu turned around, cackling.
"Whoa, it's him! Iyami-ossan! Here for money again? We're sick of that routine already!"
Karamatsu took off his sunglasses and looked at Iyami.
"What's the scam today? French lessons? Or fake brand-name bags?"
"How rude! I am Monsieur Iyami, once of Parisian high society—"
As Iyami began to speak, Jyushimatsu ran up to him innocently and tugged at the hem of his suit.
"Iyami! Iyami! Do something fun!"
"Now, now, you'll stretch the hem, *zansu* yo!"
Choromatsu dropped his eyes back to his job-hunting magazine. Ichimatsu didn't even look up.
Only Todomatsu was staring at Iyami with cold eyes.
Iyami gently fended off Jyushimatsu and continued in his usual tone.
"You boys remain children forever — I worry about your future, *zansu* yo. It's about time you grew up and lived decent lives..."
In that instant.
The expression vanished from Todomatsu's face.
Just like that. Like a balloon with the air let out.
He put his smartphone in his pocket and slowly walked up to Iyami. With a voice like ice, he thrust each word out, one by one.
"Hey, Iyami... looking like *that*, you've got some nerve lecturing people. You're 47, no steady job, running borderline scams, and in this shitty heat you're just hanging around a park bothering NEETs. Getting told off by a total loser in life has zero persuasive power. You're garbage to society, you are."
The words stabbed into the air, already warped and muddled by the heat.
Osomatsu caught his breath. Karamatsu's sunglasses slipped down. Choromatsu dropped his magazine. Ichimatsu looked up. Jyushimatsu's movements stopped.
Iyami changed.
The mouth that had been comically twisted closed into a straight, tight line. The back that had been bent low slowly straightened.
His brown eyes took on a deep, cold light.
The dignity of a gentleman once respected as Monsieur Iyami in Parisian high society, usually hidden behind a clown's mask. The heavy gaze of a man who knew deep despair and pain.
Iyami quietly looked down at Todomatsu.
"...I shall administer to you boys a final education, *zansu*."
It was a low, calm voice.
Osomatsu let out a strained shout.
"Oi, Iyami-chan, what're you talking about?"
Iyami slowly looked over all six of them. Meeting each one's eyes, one by one.
"Starting today, for seven days, one person each day — I shall expose your true natures, *zansu*. The ugly selves you normally hide behind laughter and pranks — no, the ugly selves you don't even realize you're hiding — I shall drag them out into the light of day, *zansu* yo."
Only the sound of the cicadas echoed through the park.
"If, by the seventh day, you reflect upon your actions and truly regret the things you have laughed off until now, you win, *zansu*. If you do not reflect... then, you shall receive a fitting recompense, *zansu*."
"Hah? What the hell are you saying! Don't get cocky with me!"
Osomatsu took a step forward, but overwhelmed by the force in Iyami's eyes, his feet stopped.
Iyami turned back to face Todomatsu.
"The first target is the youngest brother — Todomatsu-kun, it is you, *zansu*. Tonight, I shall make it an unforgettable night for you, *zansu* yo."
Saying only that, Iyami turned his back and walked away.
In that retreating figure, there was not a trace of the usual buffoonery of a petty crook. Only an eerie, oppressive presence, fading away beyond the heat haze.
Jyushimatsu said in a small voice.
"...Osomatsu-niichan, what was that? Isn't this kinda bad?"
Osomatsu forced a smile.
"No, no, no! That's Iyami we're talking about! It's his usual bluff. What could that guy possibly do? He'll definitely be back tomorrow asking to borrow money!"
But his voice was shaking.
No one laughed.
All of them, carrying an indescribable unease, headed home separately.
Even as dusk approached, the heat didn't let up at all.
That night.
On the second floor of the Matsuno house, all six brothers were sprawled out in the six-tatami-mat room.
Several faded posters were stuck to the walls. From the pile of laundry in the corner, a faintly damp smell drifted. The window was wide open, but no breeze came in at all.
Osomatsu stared up at the ceiling and spoke.
"It's gotta be a bluff, right. I mean, it's Iyami. What could that Iyami possibly do?"
Karamatsu answered with his face buried in his pillow.
"Fufu... Let not your heart be disturbed by that man's bluff. We are six souls, mirror images of each other. As we have been, so we shall be."
"Shut up, Karamatsu. Say something that makes sense for once!"
Ichimatsu, still facing the wall, muttered quietly.
"...I've got a bad feeling."
Just then.
Todomatsu's smartphone buzzed briefly.
*Vvv.*
A LINE notification. Todomatsu looked at the screen lazily — and his complexion changed in an instant.
"...What?"
The sender was unknown. An attached audio file. The title: "Second Year of High School, June 3rd, Lunch Break."
Osomatsu peered over.
"What's that?"
With trembling hands, Todomatsu put his earphones in. The finger pressing play shook faintly.
What played was his own voice from high school.
*"That guy's super lame, right? Those clothes. I heard his family's poor. His mom does part-time work, lol."*
*"Seriously? Better not get involved. You'll catch the poor germs."*
*"You think so too? Yeah, I'm cutting him off. Honestly, I never thought he was useful from the start."*
The color drained from Todomatsu's face. The smartphone fell from his hand and bounced lightly on the tatami.
"Todomatsu? What's wrong?"
Todomatsu couldn't answer. His high school self flooded back into his mind. Classifying friends as useful or useless, cutting off without mercy anyone who no longer had value. Laughing while doing it, without a second thought. He didn't even know what had become of those friends now.
"That guy... he's serious."
Todomatsu's voice was hoarse.
"He's seriously coming... to destroy us."
The air in the room froze.
Jyushimatsu began to tremble, just a little. Karamatsu's sunglasses fell to the tatami, and no one picked them up. Choromatsu hung his head and bit his lip.
Osomatsu shouted.
"What was in it, Todomatsu!"
Todomatsu didn't answer. Instead, he curled up, hugging his knees. His fingers clenched until they turned white.
Outside, the summer night cicadas continued their grating, deafening cry.
After a while, the lights in the room were turned off.
Each of them, carrying their own unease, slipped under the futons. But no one could sleep. They held their breath, listening to each other toss and turn.
Only Osomatsu stared at the ceiling.
(*As the eldest, I've gotta do something.*)
It was something he'd always thought. It had always been that way
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