That night, Hachiman sat at his desk in his room, flipping through the math textbook to the chapter on derivative applications that Mr.
Tsukada had taught today, while Hachiman had been stuck on one problem for nearly half an hour.
The rain outside hadn’t stopped; instead, it had become heavier than in the evening at school.
Although it had begun to let up during dinner, the raindrops continued to tap against the window, making a continuous dull sound, like someone knocking with their knuckles.
Hachiman pushed back his chair, then stood up and walked to the window.
Rainwater gathered on the glass into streams, blurring the view outside.
On rainy days like this, Hachiman felt as if the entire city was stuffed into a sealed gray box — stifling, damp, and a little suffocating.
“Bro.”
Behind him came the sound of the door opening, followed by the soft sound of light footsteps on the wooden floor.
Hachiman didn’t turn around, but through the reflection in the glass, he saw the figure of Komachi, not particularly strange.
She was wearing cute pink loungewear, hugging a pillow doll about half her size, and a few stray strands of hair were stuck to her forehead.
“What’s up?”
Hachiman asked, but his gaze remained fixed on the rainy night outside the window.
Komachi didn’t answer immediately.
She hugged the pillow and walked into the room, then sat down on Hachiman’s bed.
The mattress creaked softly.
Then Hachiman and Komachi both looked out the window at the rainy night, silent for a few seconds.
The Hikigaya house was a standard detached home with average soundproofing.
The rain was especially loud on such a quiet night, as if all the background sound in the world had been filtered out, leaving only the white noise of a rainy night.
“What are you looking at?”
Komachi finally spoke, her voice slightly softer than usual, less energetic, and this gentleness wasn’t sleepiness — it was a kind of concern.
“I wasn’t looking at anything, just wondering when the rain would stop.”
Komachi tilted her head, hugging the pillow tighter.
“Bro, you’ve barely talked since dinner.”
“I usually don’t talk much.”
“Silly big brother, that’s completely different.”
Komachi said immediately, her voice very certain — it was the kind of judgment that only a sister who had spent over a decade with her brother could make.
“Usually you don’t talk because you don’t want to, but today you’re not talking because you’re thinking about something very important.”
Hachiman turned his head to look at her.
Komachi was sitting on his bed, her legs tucked under her, the pillow on her lap, her chin resting on the pillow.
In Komachi’s eyes was the concern that family members couldn’t hide — a look that was stronger than any comforting words, because this worry didn’t necessarily have to be there.
Hachiman turned back and looked out the window again.
Komachi’s words hit him right in the heart.
The rain outside seemed to be getting heavier, and the sound of raindrops hitting the glass changed from a dull thud to a thick crackling.
The wind picked up, and through the glass, he could hear the howling of the wind, like the deep groan of some giant.
“I wonder, if this rain keeps falling until tomorrow morning, will someone never see the rain stop before it does?”
Hachiman spoke slowly, his voice unhurried.
Although his words were a bit roundabout, he knew Komachi would definitely understand what he meant.
Although Komachi was only in her third year of middle school, she was still very smart — not only in studies but also in social skills — far better than him.
Komachi didn’t ask what Hachiman meant.
She just buried her face in the pillow and said gloomily.
“Bro, I saw everything about your school on the news.”
“Two victims in a row, less than three days apart, but the news said the police are currently investigating at full speed. I saw comments saying the police are useless, and even now we don’t know what the suspect looks like.”
Komachi spoke, her voice muffled and muted from the pillow.
“Of course, that’s all they say in the news, and that’s all they know.”
Hachiman replied, tidying up the things on his desk.
“What about you?”
Komachi’s question made Hachiman pause for a few seconds; for a moment, he didn’t quite understand why she was asking.
Hachiman’s gaze passed through the rain curtain outside the window and looked at the streetlight across the street.
Under the light was a small patch of puddles, illuminated by the glow, with raindrops constantly falling on them, creating ripples like an endless countdown.
Hachiman thought, if the killer really had some pattern — whether it was the time of the attack or the characteristics of the target — if there was a trace, everything could be tracked.
But not every serial killer obediently follows a once-every-two-days cycle, nor do they announce they want a week’s rest after killing the second or several others.
That’s the plot of novels and TV dramas, specifically designed to give the protagonist time to investigate.
Perhaps there were dangerous clues left at the scene, but reality isn’t a TV drama.
In reality, such a serial killer could choose any time and use unexpected methods to target someone they would never recognize.
Perhaps the only limitation was their motive and possible criminal plan, and what if that plan didn’t require intervals at all?
What if the so-called patterns were just a desperate search for peace of mind amidst the chaos?
At this moment, the killer might be in a black raincoat, quietly heading toward the next target under the night rain, and then quietly taking them away.
“Bro.”
Komachi’s voice pulled Hachiman out of his thoughts.
Komachi had somehow gotten up from the bed, walked over to him, and stood beside him at the window.
She wasn’t looking at Hachiman, but at the rainy night outside the window, just like him.
But one of her hands was tightly gripping the edge of his sleeve, as if she could lose him at any moment.
“No matter what you’re thinking.”
“Don’t swallow it all by yourself.”
Hachiman glanced at the sleeve she was pulling, then at her particularly serious face.
Hachiman reached out and gently patted Komachi on the head.
“Got it.”
“By the way, your score was very high for Komachi just now. Good night.”
After these words, Komachi also laughed and returned to her room.