The scriptwriter was interrupted by the ringing phone while he worked, and it annoyed him to no end.
He shoved his chair aside, strode to the landline phone, and picked up the receiver, just about to launch into an angry tirade.
But upon recognizing the voice on the line, the scriptwriter's tone softened. "Oh, it's you. Heh heh, don't worry. I think I know who that 'Red-Bearded Santa Claus' is."
"Huh? You finally changed your mind?—Only realizing my brilliance now? You really are slow." Hearing the words from the other end, the scriptwriter laughed delightedly. "Fine, I'll come over right away."
After hanging up, he could not be bothered with the new script he had yet to finish revising. Excitedly rubbing his hands together, he threw on his coat and strode out.
At the same time.
By the window of a room on the third floor.
Hashimoto Maya watched the figure sneak out of the building while avoiding the patrolling police, his expression grave. "What is that guy planning?"
Inozuka Saburo said, "No idea, but I have a feeling he won't live much longer."
The two exchanged a glance, then both looked away. Good, they could now be certain that the gaze of "that thing" had completely settled on this interesting theater troupe—they were safe.
"Brr, it's freezing." Wearing a dashing trench coat, the scriptwriter stopped beside a small lake near the inn.
He struck a handsome pose against the wind for a while, but before even a minute had passed, he was shivering and rubbing his hands together. "Why did she have to arrange a meeting in a place like this? Women are such a pain, always chasing after romance... Heh heh, but it doesn't matter. Soon, I'll take you to a warm bed."
Imagining the pleasant time