William Baker: "...I'll just recite it."

　　Old Baker had the typical flaw of traditional parents—when there were a lot of people around, he wanted his child to perform like a monkey: "Did you think of anything? Say it out loud?"

　　William Baker rolled his eyes. "No."

　　Everyone looked disappointed and went back to rummaging through boxes and cabinets.

　　Only the tattooed guy wouldn't let it go. He eyed William Baker suspiciously: "Really nothing? You're not hiding something, are you?"

　　William Baker: "Why would I hide anything?"

　　The tattooed guy stared into his eyes for a while, making him feel very uncomfortable.

　　"Alright then, you'd better not be."

　　This little punk was probably used to threatening people—every word was unpleasant. After speaking, he turned back to searching through the hunting gear.

　　William Baker silently stuck out a middle finger, thinking: idiot.

　　This classmate had just come of age before the college entrance exam, at the peak of his narcissism, convinced that everyone in the world was an idiot—even his own dad wasn't exempt. The only exception was Brian Baker.

　　Actually, he only got to know Brian Baker well in the past two years. Old Baker said Brian Baker had been abroad recovering from illness, and would occasionally come back to the country. Every time he returned, he'd stay at their house for a couple of days.

　　All those two-day stays added up, but it wasn't really that much time.

　　But with the kind of dedication he'd never applied to studying, William Baker still managed to learn a few things.

　　For example, Brian Baker had some memory issues—he had no recollection of things or people from certain years. The reason he was abroad recovering was also because of this.

　　Also, several elders in the family seemed a bit afraid of him.

　　This really baffled William Baker. He'd asked Old Baker about it a few times, and Old Baker said he was just daydreaming instead of doing anything productive.

　　After a while, he started to think it was normal.

　　After all, even the little punk they just met in this room seemed a bit afraid of Brian Baker.

　　Relying on his cousin being nearby, William Baker had planned to pick a fight with the tattooed punk and annoy him a couple of times. But when he turned around, he realized Brian Baker was already gone.

　　William Baker: "...Where did he go?"

　　The pregnant John Baker asked, "Who are you looking for?"

　　She couldn't move around much, so she couldn't help search the whole room.

　　William Baker: "My brother."

　　John Baker: "He went over there."

　　She gestured with her mouth toward the other end of the room.

　　...

　　This room actually wasn't small. The first floor, including the living room, had three rooms, and in the shadowy corner there was an old wooden ladder leading up to a small attic.

　　It was just that there was so much stuff piled up, and so many people crammed in, that it felt dark and crowded.

　　The bedroom doors on the first floor were all locked, the locks rusted and oddly constructed.

　　Stranger still, one door had a rooster hanging on it, another had a hen.

　　The two chickens had been drained of blood, but their feathers were neatly groomed, and their heads were twisted to face the same direction, giving off a weird, creepy vibe.

　　When William Baker came over, Brian Baker was standing in the shadow by the door.

　　Scarier than the chickens.

　　"Bro, what are you holding in your hand?" William Baker rubbed his goosebumps.

　　"Never seen an axe?" Brian Baker lazily lifted his eyes.

　　"I've seen one..."

　　William Baker thought, that's exactly why I'm freaking out—why are you holding an axe for no reason?

　　And not just holding it, Brian Baker was loosely gripping the small hand axe, while his other thumb casually stroked the blade.

　　"Did you think of any clues after walking around the room?" he asked without looking up.

　　"Huh?" William Baker was a bit lost. "Was I supposed to think of something?"

　　Brian Baker looked at him.

　　He was tall, and always looked at people with his eyes half-lowered. His eyes were a clear, light brown, and his eyelids were thin. Good-looking, sure, but when expressionless, he gave off a cold, distant vibe.

　　Whatever else you could say, there was definitely no sense of familial warmth.

　　William Baker chickened out: "Give me an example."

　　Brian Baker: "What kind of questions are related to snow mountains?"

　　William Baker: "...I don't really know."

　　Brian Baker: "Didn't you go to school?"

　　William Baker: "I did..."

　　Brian Baker: "Did you go for the dogs?"

　　William Baker: "I learned some tricks... If there are three long and one short, pick the shortest; three short and one long, pick the longest; two long and two short, pick B; if it's all uneven, pick C. That's basically how I get through physics."

　　Brian Baker: "..."

　　William Baker: "And there's one more crucial thing."

　　Brian Baker: "..."

　　William Baker: "Learn to give up."

　　Brian Baker: "Get lost."

　　William Baker suspected that if he kept talking, the axe would end up in his forehead, so he shut up awkwardly.

　　His dear cousin finally looked away, not bothering to look at him anymore.

　　After a while, William Baker couldn't help but squeeze out another question: "Bro, what are you doing with that?"

　　"Looking for a pen." Brian Baker finished, let out a cold, slightly disdainful snort, and tossed the palm-sized hand axe into a trash bin.

　　William Baker stared at the axe: "Looking for what???"

　　Brian Baker said, "A pen."

　　William Baker was sure that one of them had to be crazy.

　　But Brian Baker didn't bother with him any further. After speaking, he climbed up the wooden ladder to the attic.

　　...

　　As they picked through things, time seemed to pass especially quickly.

　　The red-painted numbers on the wall kept changing shape when no one was looking, from 6 to 5, then to 4.