The sky was beginning to whiten. Through the gaps in the shopping arcade's roof, a pale blue seeped through. August mornings came early. Sunrise was near. In front of Masuya's shutter, the sextuplets stood frozen. After listening to that recorder's voice all night, no one spoke a word. They sat on the concrete, hugging their knees, heads hung low. The morning dampness clung to their bodies, still chilled from the night air. The shutter of the closed tofu shop gleamed cold and silver. The sign reading "Thank you for your many years of patronage" was beginning to peel at one corner. Osomatsu fixed his bloodshot eyes on that sign. He had been like that for hours now. *(Dad was bowing his head.)* That was all he could think about. He hadn't known. No — he hadn't tried to know. While they had been laughing, their father had been pressing his forehead to the tatami. He had been covering their drinking tabs. He had been shielding his sons, all alone, when the neighborhood association had nearly ostracized them. Beside Osomatsu, Karamatsu kept his hand on the asphalt, head bowed. His sunglasses were off, shoved carelessly into his pocket. Choromatsu had buried his face in his knees. He was no longer clutching the job-hunting magazine. It lay at his feet, fallen. Ichimatsu leaned against the wall, the hood of his black parka pulled low over his eyes. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. Jyuushimatsu hugged his knees, slowly rocking his body back and forth. The usual figure that ran wildly about was nowhere to be seen. Todomatsu kept his fingers pressed against the bottom edge of the shutter, motionless. No one could bring themselves to say, *let's go home.* Only silence marked the passage of time. —*Flapflapflap.* A flock of pigeons took flight from the arcade roof. The morning light began to stream in from the eastern sky. Osomatsu slowly rose to his feet. His knees trembled. His legs had gone numb from sitting all night. Staggering, he braced himself against the shutter. His brothers lifted their faces. Osomatsu readjusted his grip on the file of victim case records that Iyami had handed him. A battered A4 file. The corners were bent, and fingerprint marks smudged the cover. With bloodshot eyes, he looked at each of his brothers in turn. Karamatsu. Choromatsu. Ichimatsu. Jyuushimatsu. Todomatsu. He opened his mouth to say something. But the words wouldn't come. His throat was dry, and no voice emerged. Osomatsu bit his lip. "……Let's stop running away." It was a hoarse voice. It wasn't the usual "well, whatever," or "it'll work out somehow." He was saying that he would no longer laugh it off, no longer shove responsibility onto someone else. It wasn't a speech, nor a cool declaration. His voice trembled, and tears welled in his eyes. Even so, those words were the first honest feelings Osomatsu had spoken in five days. "[serious]We're going to see the things we destroyed. Properly, with our own eyes." Karamatsu stood up. He said nothing. But his eyes were on Osomatsu. Choromatsu brushed the dust from his knees and slowly rose. He did not pick up the fallen job-hunting magazine. Ichimatsu pushed his back off the wall. Beneath his hood, his eyes moved faintly. Jyuushimatsu stood and lined up beside Osomatsu. His eyes, unlike their usual emptiness, seemed to be trying to see something. Todomatsu was the last to stand. He bit his lip, head hanging low. Osomatsu clutched the file to his chest and began to walk. His brothers followed behind. They passed through the shopping arcade and into the morning residential district. Six shadows stretched long across the asphalt. Their first visit was to the home of a former regular customer of Masuya, the tofu shop. An old wooden house. Flowerpots lined the entrance, where blue morning glories bloomed. Osomatsu pressed the intercom on the gatepost. His finger trembled, and he struggled to push it. At last, a click. "Who is it?" An elderly woman's voice. A guarded voice, through the intercom. Osomatsu swallowed. "[whispers]It's Matsuno. Um… about Masuya-san, I'd like to talk…" A long silence. Through the speaker, the faint sound of breathing could be heard. "……Please go home." The voice was cold, and yet weary. "[scared]Um, just for a moment—" "[angry]I said, please go home!" The intercom cut off. Only the mechanical *click* remained. The sextuplets stood rooted before the gate. The front door did not open. Beyond the curtains, there was no sign of a figure moving. They had been completely rejected. Osomatsu stood there for a while. He started to open his mouth, then closed it. He didn't know what to say. Todomatsu, hands still in his pockets, sniffled. "……Let's go to the next one." Osomatsu checked the next address in the file and began to walk. The second house. Kaori Nakazato's home was an apartment a five-minute walk from Akatsuki Park. A reinforced concrete building, about ten years old. The room at the end of the second floor. Osomatsu pressed the intercom. *Click.* "Yes?" A young woman's voice. "[whispers]It's Matsuno. Um, about what happened at the park…" The silence lasted about three seconds. The front door slowly opened. Kaori Nakazato stood there. Thirty-eight years old. She wore a thin beige cardigan, her hair tied back. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked over the faces of the sextuplets, one by one. Osomatsu. Karamatsu. Choromatsu. Ichimatsu. Jyuushimatsu. Todomatsu. "……Come in." It was a quiet voice. The sextuplets did not step up into the entryway; they bowed their heads outside. Osomatsu clutched the file and forced out his voice. "[crying]Um, we… that time, at the park…" Kaori Nakazato placed her hand on the doorframe and stared at them. "[cold]If you think it's over just by apologizing, you shouldn't have come." The sextuplets' shoulders all tensed at once. "[sad]Our child, for half a year after that, couldn't go to the park anymore." A voice suppressing emotion. But deep within it, an indelible pain seeped through. "She was playing with five friends. Waiting her turn for the slide. Then you all suddenly started fighting, shoved our child aside. And she fell from the slide, got a scar on her face—" Her voice trembled. She bit her lip and cut her words short. "……The scar healed, but her heart…" None of the sextuplets could lift their faces. In Osomatsu's hands, the file rustled dryly. "[cold]I wish you hadn't come." Saying that, she closed the front door. *Slam.* The heavy sound echoed through the morning residential district. The sextuplets remained standing before the closed door. No one could say anything. "……Let's go." Osomatsu stepped towards the next address. With each rejection, their steps grew heavier. Even so, they did not stop. When they entered Akatsuki Shopping Street, a few morning shoppers stopped in their tracks. "Oh my, the Matsuno boys." "I wonder what they're doing." Voices like gossip flew at them, deliberately loud enough to be heard. As they passed the bakery "Komugidou," the owner's wife stopped sweeping the storefront and stared at the sextuplets. A surprised face. Then, she furrowed her brow with a complicated expression. "[whispers]I heard those kids are going around apologizing." The hushed words of a middle-aged woman were carried on the wind for a moment. The sextuplets kept their heads down and moved through the shopping street. "[cold]Everyone says they feel sorry for their parents." Another woman's voice. Osomatsu's feet stopped. The center of his chest tightened sharply. It wasn't criticism of themselves. The words, delivered in the form of sympathy for their parents, vividly awakened the memory of their father's *dogeza* that they had learned about. Matsuzo pressing his forehead to the tatami. That single line from the written statement — "put his head to the floor" — repeated in Osomatsu's mind. Todomatsu, head still hung low, bit his lip. Karamatsu said nothing, just kept his head down. Choromatsu's eyes twisted with pain. Ichimatsu pulled his hood low, hiding his expression. Only Jyuushimatsu, standing still, gazed at the murmuring of the shopping street. His large eyes moved slowly, as if trying to understand something. Osomatsu stepped forward. He planted his feet on the asphalt. They passed through the shopping street. At the edge of the shopping street, Totoko stood. A white blouse, a light blue skirt. She held a small handbag. She seemed to be on her way back from shopping. She saw the group of sextuplets and stopped. Osomatsu noticed and halted. The other five stopped as well. Totoko looked at the six faces, one by one. Her eyes, which had screamed everything at the park that day, were now quiet. Not anger, nor disappointment. Just eyes that stared intently. Totoko took a step closer towards Todomatsu. Todomatsu's shoulders trembled faintly. "[gentle]If you're serious about changing, I'll believe in you." That was all. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a single sentence. But— Tears spilled from Todomatsu's eyes. No calculation, no ulterior motive, nothing. The usual him would have instantly figured out the most advantageous response here. He would have predicted the other's reaction and chosen words to secure his own position. And yet— The tears wouldn't stop. No voice came out. The back of his throat burned hot, and not even a fragment of a word emerged. "……Nn." Todomatsu hung his head and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. But the tears kept overflowing, one after another. The fact that he was being made to cry without any calculation of gain or loss — that fact itself surprised him the most. Totoko said nothing more. She just narrowed her eyes slightly, then turned her back and walked away. Her light blue skirt swayed in the morning light. Todomatsu simply watched her back through a vision blurred with tears. Osomatsu gently tapped Todomatsu's shoulder. "……Let's go." It was nearing evening. The last place the sextuplets arrived at was an old apartment in a residential area of the neighboring town. Gray exterior walls. Two stories. Laundry fluttered on the railing. Yukio Masuda's wife, Sachiko, was said to live here alone now. They had come this far relying on the address written in Iyami's file. Osomatsu pressed the intercom. His finger trembled, and he failed to press it twice. *Click.* "Yes." The voice over the intercom was the same as the one they had heard from the recorder that time. A voice utterly exhausted, as if all emotion had drained out of it. "[whispers]It's Matsuno. About Masuya-san, and Masuda-san…" The words wouldn't continue. After a long silence, the front door opened. Sachiko Masuda stood there. Mid-fifties. Thin, with stooped shoulders. Her hair was streaked with white, and deep wrinkles were etched around her eyes. In the room behind her, cardboard boxes were piled up. She probably hadn't finished unpacking all her moving belongings yet. Sachiko looked at the faces of the sextuplets. No one could lift their head. Osomatsu dropped to his knees on the asphalt. Just like that, he pressed his forehead to the ground. Karamatsu, Choromatsu, Ichimatsu, Jyuushimatsu, and Todomatsu too — all of them knelt and pressed their foreheads to the ground. The asphalt was cold. "[crying]We're sorry." His voice trembled. "[crying]We destroyed everything. Your shop, your husband's life, everything…" Tears fell onto the asphalt, forming stains. A long silence continued. Only the sound of cicadas echoed through the twilight residential district. Sachiko remained standing at the entrance, motionless. Her hand gripped the doorframe. Her fingers turned white from the strength of it. At last— "……That's enough." It was a voice that had crushed all emotion down. The sextuplets looked up with a start. A single tear spilled from Sachiko's eye. But she was trying to smile. The corners