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 - Public Execution, Zansu—Scattered Case Files of the Victims
Even when morning came, the six-mat room on the second floor of the Matsuno house remained steeped in night.
Through the gaps in the tightly drawn curtains, the fierce August sunlight pierced the tatami in thin lines. Inside those shafts of light, fine dust drifted slowly, unhurried.
The photograph of Yukio Masuda that Osomatsu had brought home still lay on the tatami where it had been since last night. White hair. Deep wrinkles. Vacant eyes. An old man who had lost everything stood before the shuttered tofu shop, staring into the camera.
No one could bring themselves to put the photo away.
They couldn't even bring themselves to touch it.
The sextuplets huddled on their respective futons. They weren't sleeping. They hadn't slept a wink. The dark circles beneath their eyes told the story of their exhaustion.
From downstairs came Matsuyo's voice: "Breakfast's ready—" The usual morning call. On any normal day, Jyushimatsu would have been the first to spring up, Karamatsu would have descended the stairs striking a pose, and Todomatsu would have followed sluggishly, fiddling with his phone.
But this morning, no one moved.
Only Jyushimatsu sat on his futon, hugging his knees and swaying gently back and forth. His eyes were wide open, but what they were seeing was impossible to tell.
"...Who's going to be targeted next, I wonder."
Todomatsu's voice fell into the quiet room.
It sounded like a mutter to himself, yet it was clearly a calculated remark. Someone other than himself should be the next target—that naked wish seeped through the edges of his voice.
Osomatsu lifted his head. He looked at Todomatsu with bloodshot eyes.
"Todomatsu, you..."
He opened his mouth to say something. But last night's whiskey still lingered in his head. His temples throbbed with pain, and his thoughts refused to cohere.
Todomatsu didn't meet Osomatsu's eyes. He gripped the edge of his futon tightly. His fingertips had gone white.
Choromatsu leaned against the wall, clutching a job-hunting magazine to his chest. The corners of the thick magazine were warped with sweat.
"...All of us are going to be targeted. One by one."
Choromatsu's voice sounded as if he were trying to convince himself.
In the corner of the room, Ichimatsu didn't move a muscle. He sat facing the wall, the hood of his black parka pulled low over his eyes, knees drawn up. His presence was so faint it was unclear whether he was even there at all. But Osomatsu could see it—the faint trembling of his shoulders.
Karamatsu removed his sunglasses and set them on the tatami. His usual pompous declarations had stopped coming.
"...What's going to happen to us?"
No one answered.
There was no one who could.
Outside the window, the cicadas began their shrill *min-min* cry. *Today will be another scorcher*—that premonition alone seeped into the oppressive air.
—The summons from Iyami that had arrived on everyone's phone the night before. *"You are all to assemble at Akatsuki Park tomorrow at noon, zansu. The third witness, and a full disclosure of all your crimes to date, will be presented. Absence will be considered surrender, zansu yo."*
Ever since seeing that message, the sextuplets had been unable to look each other in the face.
Who knew what about whom?
What witness would speak, and what would they say?
How many more bombs did Iyami still have in his possession?
Fear was transforming into suspicion and paranoia.
They wanted to trust their brothers. But they couldn't stop doubting. Someone else's fault might drag them all down—that animal wariness was steadily growing in the silence.
Osomatsu kept staring at the photograph on the tatami. Yukio Masuda's vacant eyes stared back at him, unblinking.
(*I have to do something.*)
He thought it. But the words that should follow wouldn't come.
Do something—about *what*?
*How?*
It had always been like this. He'd say he'd figure something out, and in the end, he'd just laugh it off. This time was the same. He couldn't actually do anything, yet the word "something" just spun uselessly in his head.
"...Sorry."
The word slipped from Osomatsu's mouth.
He didn't even know who he was apologizing to. His brothers? Mr. Masuda? Or his past self—the eldest son who had never been able to do a thing?
Karamatsu stood up.
"Let's go, brothers."
There was no trace of his usual affectation in that voice.
"We don't have a choice but to go."
Todomatsu looked up.
"...I was finished on the first day anyway."
*I'm no longer a target*—was that what he meant? But his voice was trembling. Perhaps remembering his own betrayal, exposed on that first day, he bit his lip.
Choromatsu rose slowly. He placed his magazine on the tatami and smoothed out the crumpled pages with his palm.
"...I'm going."
Still facing the wall, Ichimatsu drew a small breath.
Jyushimatsu stopped swaying his body back and forth.
Osomatsu hesitated until the very end. But *I'm the eldest—I can't be the one not to go*—that thought alone forced his body upright. A wave of dizziness hit him. Sleep deprivation, a hangover, and above all, fear made his footing unsteady.
The clock's hands pointed to eleven-forty.
Noon. Akatsuki Park.
The sky was a cloudless blue, and heat shimmer rose from the asphalt. The chains of the swings held the heat, and the metal plate of the slide was scorching enough to burn bare skin. Twelve cherry trees cast deep shadows, but even those shadows seemed shrunken, crushed by the oppressive heat.
At the park entrance, beneath a cherry tree—Chibita stood.
His usual oden cart was nowhere to be seen. His usual boisterous voice was absent. Arms crossed, expressionless, he waited. His small frame seemed far larger than usual.
And three steps behind Chibita—Totoko stood motionless.
Light makeup. Plain clothes. She looked like a completely different person from the flashy, aspiring idol they knew. Her face was pale, her eyes downcast. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, fingers white.
The moment the sextuplets stepped into the park, every one of them stopped dead.
"Totoko..."
Osomatsu's voice came out hoarse.
Totoko was the girl all six of them had admired. Osomatsu, Karamatsu, Choromatsu, Ichimatsu, Jyushimatsu, Todomatsu—each in his own way had harbored feelings for her. *I'll get serious someday*, Osomatsu had said countless times. Karamatsu had written poems. Choromatsu had tried to approach her earnestly. Ichimatsu had only ever watched from afar. Jyushimatsu had expressed his affection with full force. Todomatsu had calculated his every move.
And now she stood here, as a witness.
A different kind of pain stabbed through Osomatsu's chest.
(*What did we do... to Totoko?*)
Chibita's expression didn't change when he saw the sextuplets. A neutral observer—that was Chibita's role. He took no sides. He offered no defense. He simply watched. His silent gaze only added to the gravity of the moment.
Totoko slowly lifted her face.
Her eyes were red, and tear tracks remained on her cheeks.
Osomatsu tried to take a step forward. But his feet wouldn't move. Did he even have the right to stand before Totoko? The mere thought nailed him to the ground.
It was then.
At the center of the park, a man quietly appeared.
A worn white suit. Black hair parted seven-three. Pointed front teeth. An old silver ring on the ring finger of his left hand.
Iyami.
No one had noticed when he'd arrived. Soundless, presence-less, as if he had been there from the very beginning, Iyami stood at the base of a cherry tree.
"Right on time, zansu. I'm impressed."
His voice was different from his usual clownish tone. Quiet, composed, and strangely gentle.
That, in itself, was unnerving.
Without sparing the sextuplets a glance, Iyami slowly turned his gaze toward Totoko.
"Please tell them, zansu. In your own words, from your own mouth."
Totoko's shoulders flinched.
She bit down on her lip. Her clenched fingers grew even whiter.
The sound of the cicadas seemed unnaturally loud.
"...October, three years ago."
Totoko's voice was thin and trembling.
"The final round of the Kanto Region Idol Auditions was being held at the Civic Hall."
Osomatsu's heart lurched. He remembered. Of course he remembered. That day, the sextuplets had stormed the venue under the pretense of cheering Totoko on, causing a huge commotion in the lobby.
"I had made it to the final round... The staff had told me I was practically guaranteed the runner-up spot."
The tremor in Totoko's voice grew steadily stronger.
"But because you guys caused a scene in the lobby... security was mobilized, the venue went into a panic..."
A single tear traced its way down Totoko's cheek.
"The organizers said my companions had caused a disturbance, and I was removed from the premises too. By then, my turn in the final round had already passed."
All six of them stared at the ground. None of them could lift their faces.
"For six months after that, I couldn't leave my room. Just looking at my phone gave me heart palpitations. Just hearing the word 'idol' made me nauseous..."
Totoko's voice dissolved into sobs.
"To you guys, it might have just been a funny day...!"
Totoko screamed. It was a voice that tore at her throat.
"But for me... that day... everything ended...!!"
Her sobs echoed through the park.
Osomatsu tried to lift his face. He tried to look directly at Totoko. But the moment their eyes met—the moment he saw the anger, the grief, and the faint contempt in her eyes—all he could do was avert his gaze.
(*It's not that I couldn't protect her.*)
(*I'm the one who took it from her.*)
Totoko's dream.
Laughing, fooling around, they had wrecked her life.
"Sorry... I'm sorry..."
The words leaked from Osomatsu's mouth. But they didn't carry far enough to reach Totoko. It was a weak murmur, as if he were trying to convince himself.
Iyami watched Totoko collapse into tears without a flicker of expression. His deep brown eyes were neither cold nor kind—they were simply eyes that beheld the truth.
Then, slowly, he reached inside his suit jacket.
He pulled out a thick A4 file.
"Now then."
Iyami's voice altered the very air of the park.
"This is everything, zansu. All of it."
The next instant—Iyami turned the file upside down.
*Fwish-fwish-fwish!!*
Sheaves of paper scattered across the ground of Akatsuki Park. White paper, printed text, victims' names, dates, monetary amounts, witness statements—twelve cases' worth, spreading from the base of the cherry tree to the edge of the sandbox, carried by the wind.
"Everything you've always laughed off and dismissed—all of it, zansu."
The sextuplets looked at the papers.
—*Masuya Tofu Shop, total damages approx. 3.8 million yen, forced to close. Owner Yukio Masuda, currently working part-time.*
—*Izakaya Yamabuki, unpaid tab of 120,000 yen.*
—*Akatsuki Park, playground equipment damaged three times. Repair costs borne by the neighborhood association.*
—*Town Mart convenience store, three attempted shoplifting incidents.*
—*Voice King karaoke box, equipment damaged twice.*
—*Totoko, removed from idol audition final round.*
—*Eldest son (age 5 at the time) of Kaori Nakazato, caught in a fight at the park, right arm fractured.*
—*And so on, twelve cases in total.*
On every single sheet, the sextuplets' names were recorded. Dates were recorded. The details of the damage were recorded.
"...No way."
Choromatsu's voice was hoarse.
It wasn't that they hadn't known. They simply hadn't tried to know. What they had done, and what had resulted from it. They'd turned it all into a joke, shoved it beyond the horizon of memory, pretended it had never happened.
But it hadn't *not* happened.
It was all written here.
By cruel chance, several neighborhood residents passing through the park stopped in their tracks. They picked up the scattered papers, comparing the contents written there with the faces of the sextuplets standing frozen.
"Hey, aren't those the Matsuno
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