Entry 2
Have I just arrived in a ghost town? A quick stroll through the shopping district left me disconcerted. Shops closed or barely running, a general air of dread. The few citizens of scattered throughout spoke in hushed tones. I stuck out here. My button-up shirt and tie signified a certain professionalism and urbanity the rustic town hardly sees.
Toward the end of the unsettling street, I came across a general store, where a boy around my age took discolored outdoor displays inside. He had shortcut, wavy blonde hair and wore cynicism on his face.
"Excuse me," I said.
He shot me a glare. He didn't welcome me, all the more reason to speak with him.
"Do you happen to be a Konishi?" I said. Those eyes. That hair. He was a male incarnation of Saki, the second murder victim.
His lip quivered and his nose twitched like he smelled something awful. "I already said hundreds of time I'm not talking to the media. Get the hint already."
"You see," I continued anyway, "I am going to be starting at Yasogami soon, so I thought-"
Slam. He locked himself in the shop. I watched as the 'open' sign flipped to 'closed'.
I am in Inaba for one purpose: to be undercover at Yasogami High, to get a perspective the police otherwise wouldn't have. But I can't do it. I am not an average high school student. I've never been in a club, or had a close friend. My presence is alien, especially to a small town. How many seconds will I need to count before they realize I'm a detective? How many more before they slam the door and put out a closed sign?
I accept I won't make a single friend at this school.
Entry 3
"You already spoke with Naoki Konishi?!" said Detective Dojima, slamming his coffee mug on the conference room table.
"That's overzealous, wouldn't you say?" said Dojima's sidekick, Detective Adachi.
"I meant no disrespect," I said, deliberately telling myself to be slow and be cool. Lesson #1 in my line of work: don't let others know you can be shaken. "Forgive me for assuming it wouldn't be a problem."
Dojima-san leaned back in his chair with a groan, then he lit another cigarette. I could tell what he was thinking: a kid, a kid, a kid, a kid, a kid…
"Look, we already have detailed reports, interviews, everything you need. I could have told you myself that Konishi kid is torn up and has a short fuse. You should have waited. Talked to us."
"I understand, Dojima-san," I said without even a small bow. Adachi starred too, giving me a full-body scan. Now I had two people's inner thoughts screaming at me: a kid, a scared little kid.
"And I should perhaps let you know," continued Dojima, planting his face in one hand. "It wasn't my idea to hire you on. You're even younger than my nephew, for Christ's sake. I worry about him. I hope he's just being a good kid and not getting into trouble. I can't imagine what your folks think."
"My late parents were detectives themselves, as you're likely aware," I said.
"Well! Aren't you a special snowflake?" quipped Adachi.
I may have come from a lineage of detectives, but Dojima looked like a detective. He had the stubble, the smoking habit, and those restless, tired eyes. He stays up and worries. Unsolved cases age him. He's the type of rugged, established detective who will be fighting with me - the kid - the whole way.
They left me alone in the conference room to look at the case file. As Detective Dojima promised, it was detailed. No crack went unpaved. For an instant, I understand Dojima's pain. Some higher authority brought me here. I'm a trump card, the last resort, and the living reminder of his failure.