I heard the man out to the end. I didn't interrupt. I listened to every last word.
Then, once he'd finished, I spoke quietly.
"I understand what you're saying. Now, a few things from my side."
I didn't raise my voice. I just finished my sentences.
Normally, I soften the ends of what I say. "I suppose," "don't you think." That was gone. Every sentence stopped dead at the period.
"First. Being similar doesn't make it plagiarism."
"Wha...?"
"Ideas themselves aren't protected by copyright. A similar situation. A similar world. Legally, those aren't protected. What's protected is not the idea but the concrete expression. The flow of the dialogue, the panel layout, the artwork itself. Only when those match can you call it a copy."
Some of the force drained from the man's face.
"And—" I went on.
"She has a dated record of her work."
"A record... of her work."
"Drafts, roughs, storyboards. There's a record of when every one of them was made. Working files carry timestamps of every update. Cloud save histories, too, and posting records. Which of you gave that expression form first. That gets decided by evidence."
I glanced back at Ms. Makabe. She gave a small nod.
"It seems she was first."
The man didn't answer.
His two companions slowly began to lower the phones they'd been holding up.
"If you continue making baseless plagiarism claims to the public at large, that is an act that damages her reputation. Defamation. Damage to her credibility. Every single post remains as evidence."
"No, I was just—"
"The procedure for disclosing who's behind a post was consolidated into one process last year. It's faster than before. Did you know that? Even an anonymous account can be traced. Direct messages are covered too."
The man swallowed.
At the end, I said this.
"Shall we talk about evidence? Or—will you be leaving?"
I hadn't hit him. I hadn't threatened him. I'd only laid down facts, principles, and procedures, one after another, closing off his retreat.
It isn't me who passes judgment. It's the way society works. All I did was point out where that system is.
The man had nothing to say back.
"...Let's go."
He said it low to his companions and turned on his heel. The three of them walked out the gate, their backs looking much smaller than when they'd come.
The door closed.
I looked at it for a while. Then my shoulders relaxed all at once.
"...Phew."
I let out a long breath.
Somehow, I felt terribly worn out. It had been a very long time since I'd shown that "face." My palms had gone a little cold. I clenched them again so no one would notice.
Then I turned around.
"Oh, Rui. Are you hungry?"
My droopy eyes back to their usual look.
Ms. Makabe was staring blankly. Mouth half open, she kept looking back and forth between the men who'd just disappeared beyond the door and the gentle middle-aged man in front of her.
At the living room entrance, at some point, Rei, Mahiru, and Yume had appeared, all three standing there holding their breath. They must have heard the commotion and come down. All three of them were staring blankly, too.
"...Hey."
The first to speak was Yume.
"Who was that just now?"
"Huh?"
I blinked.
"Well, it was me."
"That's not what I mean. What was that? All that legal stuff just rolling off your tongue. Your voice was like a different person. Mr. Manager, you can talk like that?"
"...I only said ordinary things, didn't I?"
The four of them exchanged looks. Looks that said that was not ordinary.
"Anyway."
I clapped my hands. As if to bring the air back to the usual Nightlight.
"You haven't had lunch yet, have you? If everyone's here, I'll make something light."
I opened the refrigerator: rice I'd cooked earlier, salted salmon, pickled plum, kombu. I shaped them into small, bite-sized rice balls.
Ms. Makabe's right hand was on the verge of tendinitis from one deadline after another. So I made them easy to pick up with her left. I lined them up on the plate, round and small.
Ms. Makabe picked one up and popped it in her mouth. Chewing, she spoke quietly.
"...Mr. Manager."
"Yes."
"Thank you. For earlier."
"Not at all. It's not that I was angry. It's just that what you draw is yours. I wanted that much made clear."
Ms. Makabe picked up another rice ball.
Her cheeks were just slightly red. That she was looking at me while pretending to study a subject, but with something else, something more than that—I, as usual, didn't notice.
That night, the four of them stayed in the living room, talking in low voices for a long time.
"Hey," Rei said.
"We really don't know anything about Mr. Manager, do we."
No one answered. But they were all thinking the same thing.
Who on earth is that man?
In the manager's room, I sat alone, sipping tea from my cup. I slowly opened the fingers of my clenched right hand, then closed them again.
For the first time in a long while, I'd shown that "face." Just that much, and I was this tired. I really can't go back, I thought.
At my feet, Komugi rested his chin on my knee. I stroked his golden head.
"It's all right."
I murmured it to no one in particular.
The steam from the tea rose and wavered, then vanished into the lamplight.