It didn't take long to put two-and-two together after Kubo was arrested. It was one police interview there, the testimony of one lost prince there ( and promptly rescuing him, what a bitter, stupid stunt that turned out to be), and Narukami Yu understood who he was staring down. Every hint was dry, every cover story a fraud, like the beginning pages of a pulp novel. Tripe as the story can be, he can admire a game when all the players are fucking idiots.
Hanamura had the envy for Konishi, but no connection for Yamano. Amagi had the wrath for Yamano, but nothing for Konishi. Kubo was a deluded boy, overdosed on apathy and wrung dry of compassion and purpose, and almost set them off their path ( anger, at the time, told Narukami to let him rot in the television screen, but a hivemind equals shared morals. and these stupid teenagers always wanted to play the hero. Pretending to possess morales let him kind of understand why Tatsumi demanded they hunt him down - death was too easy for a marked man ). He memorized each face in Inaba by the end of the summer, the tune sobbed into his shoulders and chest with each problem he listened to, how my family doesn't need me now that she's around and I'll never forgive that man and I am not truly death-he knew all those around him, he knew who he spoke to, and for a while, he didn't know who it was that was harbouring a disgusting, rotten core beneath smooth flesh and dainty smiles.
Adachi Tohru was smart. He knew how to twist his tie right, how to appear lazy and uncoordinated; oblivious to his surroundings. He knew how to be a fool, a man who was down on his luck but seemed to advance in life on it too - it's why Narukami's epiphany was a moment of surprise, followed by a period of silence, and a slow nod, as he stared down the half-finished plastic model across his room, sitting on a coffee table. He concentrated on his studies. He does not allow the shriving of a crime to distract him from his academics, his sagely intellect.
Adachi's smile is disgusting, a perversion of joy, and Narukami clutches a lighter still aflame and stares at the ash in the bowl, but he still sees his fists wring and his shoulder shudder from laughter. "Destroying evidence is a crime."
An ordinary man would bear a brutal burden. A boy his age should feel vomit burn his oesophagus and his bones tremble after made hollow, he should panic and feel terror crawl up his spine as he stares a serial killer in the eye ( Adachi's eyes are cold, and no fire could annul the permafrost over his iris ).
Narukami Yu turns the lighter off. He curls it into his fist, and the metal burns his skin.
"If you're trying to appeal to a sense of morality and honour, I'm afraid you won't reach it, Adachi-san."
The nephew of a police officer condoning murder, all because he found the culprit fascinating. If they found out, he'd sully Dojima's reputation in this small, small town.
Adachi begins to laugh. his repulsive, ugly laugh-the kind that starts in your stomach, where it's baptised in acid, and surges upward. "You fucking fool!"
He'll stay in Inaba. His parents won't even be back when he returned, anyway. He'd see his friends, because terrible as they are, he values them, the purposes they serve for his destruction of total self. He'd see Nanako, and he must be a child's book villain because his heart swells three times its size when he sits down with her and shows her how to turn a pencil into rubber. Moments that warm his gelid centre, because even accomplices aren't exempt from geniality.
He'd see Adachi. His blood would run cold, his steel exterior would turn to diamond and he'd speak to him with a steady tone. There would be no fear; for there is nothing about Adachi that he fears. There would be brevity in his tone, and understanding.
He smiles at the thought.
Quite the fool.