May 17th, 2018

"Ahh...! I'm exhausted..."

Yamaka Mika shoved her head into her arms, stretched across a WacDonald's dining table. Opposite her, her boyfriend—Daishou Suguru—chewed on a soggy fry. Giving her an arch look that she didn't see, he prodded her cheek with one greasy chip. "Heyy, Mika-chan. Do you wanna eat something? Maybe you'll feel less tired. It's not good to walk around on the city on an empty stomach."

Irritably, she batted his hand away, a pout on her lips. "Sorry, Suguru, but I'm not feeling that well."

Instantly, Daishou came to several horrifying conclusions. Oh, god! Is she sick?! C-cancer?! What if she's pregnant?! Morning sickness?! She's looking a little green! I should've never asked her to go out today! Mika-chan needs some rest! And the baby! What if there's a baby? "A-ah, Mika-chan..."

Mika lifted her head, blinking owlishly. "Suguru? What's wrong? You have this constipated expression on your face..."

"I promise I'll look after you and our child! I will work seven days a week to support you!"

"Suguru, are you insane? I'm not pregnant."

Daishou visibly sagged, breathing a sigh of relief. "Stomach flu, then? You look kinda nauseous. Do you want me to take you home?"

"I'm fine, Suguru, really." Mika offered him a crooked smile. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Every time I go on my phone, I just get attacked with an endless barrage of news updates."

Ah. So this is what it's about... Daishou rubbed her head, sympathetic to her plight. Of course Mika-chan would feel like this, considering she was a first responder on the scene that day. Though interest had slowed a little in the past few days, the suicide of Goshiki Tsutomu and everything surrounding it—the director's confession to a formally closed case, HNN Foundation's involvement, and the exposure of corruption in the justice system—had been at the forefront of every Japanese citizen's minds. Unease filled him. "Try getting off social media for a few days," he suggested. He wasn't sure if that was very helpful—it wasn't like Mika was being bombarded with questions due to her relative anonymity with the current situation—but it was all he had. "Tell you what—we'll both take some time off and go to Kusatsu Onsen."

"I can't do that," Mika groaned, regretfully. "I'm in the middle of doing my transfer applications, not to mention I have to undergo formal nurse training." Guilty she looked away. "We already missed our anniversary dinner because of me... I complained so much about you not having time for me back in high school, but now I'm just doing the same thing..."

"Hey, hey." Daishou leaned over the table gripped her shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. "This is totally different, m'kay, Mika-chan? You're out here saving lives and helping others. I was just a volleyball-obsessed freak. We can always have dinner another time—in fact, I've saved up enough for a fancy meal at Tokyo Tower."

Mika laughed as their foreheads bumped. "I guess. Thanks, Suguru. If it's not too much, will you come shopping with me? We can get some bubble tea, too."

"Of course!"

Mika excused herself to the bathroom, then, and Daishou finished the rest of his fries before wiping his fingers off and grabbing his phone from his pocket. True to Mika's word, Japan was still fussing over what Daishou had now dubbed the Rooftop Incident. Not very creative of him, but it got the message across. Wow, she wasn't kidding, Daishou thought, awed by the amount of attention that the incident was still receiving from the media. It'd already been nearly two weeks since Goshiki had plunged off the building. Daishou didn't normally spend a lot of time browsing the news, and it was a shock to him. Poor Mika-chan must feel awful seeing this every day... I should do something special for her. I'll buy her the most expensive dish at Tokyo Tower!

He paused in his scrolling, taking in the names of those mentioned in a particular article.

Kindaichi Yuutarou, the newest hero of Japan... Huh... I wonder how he's doing now?


For the first time in a long time, Kindaichi felt like a child again. Exhausted and more than a little miserable, Kindaichi sat in the back seat of his parents' car. Tadayuki was driving in accordance to the GPS navigator while Hisa had fallen asleep in the front passenger seat. Kindaichi, too, was close to nodding off, but the golden afternoon was making it difficult.

Only a month ago, he and his roommates had been driving down the same road, headed back to Sendai for a brief vacation—some time back home without the hustle and bustle of the big city. It hadn't been long since then, but the nostalgia gnawed away at his bones, leaving a deep ache in him. So much had happened since then.

Eventually, he did manage to fall into slumber, and only woke up when he felt the familiar turns that led back to his childhood home.

"We're here," Tadayuki declared, pulling into the driveway.

Moaning softly, Kindaichi cracked open his eyes, mouth dry and throat parched. We're home? He blinked a few times, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, before taking in the sight of his home through the windscreen. Even after all these years, it still looked exactly the same. Middle-class. Suburban. Nicely clipped lawn with some traditional Buddhist decorations. Their front yard was bigger than their backyard.

"Time to get up," added Hisa, thinking that her son was still asleep. She fixed her hair in the visor mirror before getting out.

Hisa went straight into the house, fumbling with her keys, while Tadayuki offered to help Kindaichi take his luggage out of the boot. Kindaichi declined—he had only packed one suitcase and he wouldn't be staying long anyway. There was no way he would allow Kunimi—who was still back in Tokyo and busting his ass on his latest thesis—to spend the May Festival, which would be held two days from now, by himself.

He ended up taking up his father's offer anyway, when he remembered his left arm was in a sling.

Kindaichi opened the door to his bedroom. The first thing he observed was the yellow sunlight hitting the carpeted floor, curtains drawn. His bed had a fine layer of dust on it, which he brushed off before climbing onto the mattress. Suddenly, he was fifteen again, and hunched over at his desk—also layered with dust—and studying like his life depended on it. He blinked. He was still on the bed. Sighing, he flopped down on his back, staring blandly at the ceiling.

I'm home. The thought was comforting, but it also made his heart twist. Home...

He didn't know how long he spent up in his room, but when he checked his phone, it was already past five o'clock in the evening. Outside, however, it was still bright and lovely. The coming summer meant longer days and shorter nights. Kindaichi sniffed. His mother was putting on soup.

With a grunt, he sat up and padded down the hall. The walls were scuffed—scuffed from sibling fights with Yuuki, who had had a bad habit of purposefully misplacing his things.

To think, he smiled to himself, That that brat somehow got herself accepted into Harvard... Of course his sister would study abroad at the first opportunity. She had always been like that—curious, worldly, and looking to expand her horizons. Never anchored to a place or time or sentiment... Kindaichi envied her, in that sense. No matter how glum his past had been, he would always catch himself looking back with dangerously fond lenses.

Even now, Kindaichi couldn't escape it.

"Mom," he ducked into the kitchen briefly, "I'm going out for a walk."

"Be back by six-thirty," she replied, sternly.

"I will."

Kindaichi grabbed all he needed—keys, wallet—and slipped on his shoes before heading out. A sudden wind slapped him in the face as soon as he stepped out to the porch, sending the hem of his plaid over-shirt flapping back. But it soon died down to a gentle breeze, and Kindaichi made his way down the driveway and the street.

He had no destination, no particular place to be, but the fresh air was much needed after being confined to the hospital for so long. His arm wasn't hurting anymore—if it was, the pain was too faint for him to notice.

Although he hadn't set foot in it for years, the neighborhood was hauntingly familiar. He still knew every crack in the pavement, every dent in every stop sign. So perhaps it was only inevitable that he would end up there.

Kindaichi regarded Aobajosai High with world-weary eyes. There were still a few students milling about in the courtyard, students allowed to stay at school until six o'clock. He checked his phone. That was fifteen minutes from now. The students disappeared from his line of sight, and Kindaichi found himself noticing something else instead. Namely, a collection of flowers and presents at the front gate. Curiosity getting the better of him, he approached the colorful pile of trinkets. Were they for Oikawa? Six years later, they were still leaving gifts for his departed soul? It was sweet, bitterly so.

He was right—but he was also wrong.

Kindaichi sucked in a breath, air hissing around his teeth.

They were for Oikawa. But...

Iwaizumi's name had been written several times on cards and scraps of paper. Not the disparaging, degrading messages his family had found spray-painted on the side of their house every other week before moving to Akita, but...

Tears sprung to his eyes, and Kindaichi wasn't the least bit ashamed of them.

We are sorry, Iwaizumi Hajime

Forgive us, Iwaizumi-san

We were wrong

Justice for Oikawa and Iwaizumi

We will fight for you now, Iwaizumi

We will fight for your freedom

They were signed by vaguely familiar names. And Kindaichi realized—these hadn't been left by the current students of Aobajosai. No, they'd been dropped off by alumni. The students who had been around back in 2012 and 2013 to righteously condemn Iwaizumi for Oikawa's murder. Who had mourned the death of the most beloved boy in school, who had frothed at the mouth for punishment to be meted.

He wasn't quite sure why he was so affected. But it moved something in him, struck a chord in him—after six years of misguided hatred, those who had been helpless to watch on were finally admitting how wrong they had been. How they would now strive to amend the situation as best as they could.

We're on your side now, they were saying, and Kindaichi nearly choked. Maybe, if he were more resentful, he would speak bitterly of their hypocrisy and their change of allegiance, but it felt so good. At last, people were beginning to open up their eyes. This was proof.

It was proof that his efforts hadn't been for nothing.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Behind him, the sun began its descent.

Lighter than before, Kindaichi went home.


Although the sky was clear in Sendai, it was a different story in Tokyo. There was a light drizzle today, and Kunimi was working on his dissertation paper at his desk in the counselling centre, Mitsuhara Otome peering over his shoulder occasionally.

She was not an unwelcome presence. Though naturally extroverted, Otome knew when to keep to herself. Her glances were not distracting in the least.

But she wants something from me today, Kunimi surmised, editing a clunky paragraph. She'll break soon. Three... two... one... Nothing. Kunimi counted down again. Three, two

"Hey, Kunimi-kun?"

And there it is. Kunimi glanced up from his laptop. "What is it, Mitsuhara-san?"

"You're in your first year of graduate school..."

"Mmhm."

"So I was wondering... What are you specializing in?" Otome laughed sheepishly from her desk, which had a plastic plaque on it that read T.A. Mitsuhara. "I realized I never asked you. Based on my impression on you, though, I'm guessing clinical psychology?"

"Ah." Kunimi had suspected for a while that she would ask him this. Otome respected boundaries, but she was a curious woman. "There aren't many labs for it, but I'm specializing in counselling psychology."

Otome straightened in her chair. "Wait, really? That's awesome, Kunimi-kun! I thought for sure you would be going into clinical."

"Is that what you want to do?" Kunimi asked, casually. "Clinical psychology."

"Actually, I'm looking more into social psychology. I've always been interested in how people interact with one another. But," Otome rest her chin one palm, "What makes you want to do counselling? Not that it's a bad thing," she swiftly tacked on, "Nakamura-sensei is also a counselling psychologist, after all."

Kunimi's eyelids drooped, and he copied her position. One hand reached for the open bag of caramel candies he kept beside his laptop. It was a bit of a personal question, but it wouldn't hurt for him to answer. "It's kind of complicated," he answered. "But to sum it up... There's someone I care about a lot. Someone I want to help. He's been through a lot, and there was this huge, life-changing event for him... I want to help him heal his mind. And maybe... Even find things out about myself on the way. So... Hey, what the hell? Mitsuhara-san, are you crying?"

Otome sniffled, her eyes suspiciously damp. "No!" she denied, lifting her round glasses to brush away her tears. "Why would I? In all honesty, though, that's... That's really sweet. I wish I had a friend like that. You're one of a kind, Kunimi-kun. Whoever this friend is, he's very lucky to have you."

"I'm lucky to have him." Kunimi chuckled. "He can be a huge pain-in-the-ass, but..."

"He's your pain-in-the-ass?"

"Exactly."

Otome left him alone after that, for which he was grateful for.

My pain-in-the-ass, hm? Kunimi thought, idly, as he worked. There was a small smile playing on his lips. Yeah. That sounds about right.

Outside, the skies cleared up.


May 18th, 2018

Truth be told, although it was quite the opposite of what she was, Okazaki Hana often felt like she was a secret agent of sorts. This was especially true when she was doing a job for Sakusa, whether it was collecting and organizing information on a case or cleaning his office.

So when Sakusa had called her yesterday, requiring her services, she had stayed up until one o'clock in the morning fulfilling her duties. This morning, she had gotten up bright and early and now stood outside her dingbat residence, waiting eagerly for Sakusa to arrive.

She didn't have to wait long—Sakusa was always on time, and today was no exception.

As his car rolled up to her, he drew down the window. He was wearing his polarizing sunglasses. "I didn't make you wait, did I?"

"Not at all!" chirped Okazaki. It was like going on a date, but more exhilarating. Not that she would ever date Sakusa. Not only was he gay, but he also wasn't her type. Inspector Sawamura on the other hand...

Sakusa tilted his shades down, brows raised. "Are you thinking of something lewd?"

"What?! No, of course not!" Blushing, Okazaki went around the front of the car and got into the passenger seat. The first thing she did as Sakusa did a three-point turn to exit the dingbat courtyard was take out her compact mirror from her purse. Her makeup looked fine, but she had done her hair a little hastily this morning. Luckily, there didn't seem to be a hair visibly out of place. She had dressed up a little more than usual today, wearing a form-fitting black blouse and a pencil skirt. Her hair was styled in a low bun, her side fringe curling around the left side of her face.

"What did you find?" Sakusa asked her.

"Enough," Okazaki said, smiling. "The owner of the building is named Itabashi Emon. He's forty-eight years old and he inherited the building from his father. Prior to his death, Osamu had been a tenant with him for three years. He's also married with no children."

"What's his wife's name?"

"Kuroo Rina." Okazaki frowned. "I couldn't find any pictures of her, though. It seems she really likes her privacy. I dug a little into her family. Parents are divorced—her mother got custody of her and her father got custody of her brother. Not much on her mother, but her father is a lawyer. Kuroo Musashi. Her younger brother's name is Kuroo Tetsurou, and he teaches chemistry courses part-time at the University of Tokyo. Neither of them are particularly noteworthy or suspicious."

"That's fine. I just need to ask Itabashi-san a few questions. You did request to set up a meeting, right?"

"Of course, sir. He was very open to being questioned. It doesn't sound like he has anything to hide..."

"Guess we'll just have to find out."

The rest of the drive went smoothly, and they found themselves outside the home of Itabashi Emon. Okazaki rang the doorbell, and a short, portly man greeted them.

"You must be Prosecutor Sakusa and his assistant," Itabashi said, warmly. "Please—come in. I've boiled some tea for us!"

"Thank you," Sakusa replied, coolly polite. "We won't take up much of your time."

They sat down on Itabashi's couch (Sakusa reluctantly so) and Itabashi brought them their tea on a tray before taking a seat in his armchair. "So," said Itabashi, intertwining his fingers on his lap, "What would you like to ask me about, sir?" Now that Okazaki got a better look at him, she could deduce that he had probably used a whole tin of hair wax today. She giggled quietly. He seemed like a very silly man to her—an upper-middle class boy who had never had to work a day in his life; a man who had inherited his fortune and success from his sire.

"It's about Miya Osamu," Sakusa started. "One of your tenants. He passed away recently."

"Ah, yes! Such a shame that was. He was too young." Itabashi shook his head sadly. "Too young..."

"Yes, well. I wanted to ask: How many key cards to his room have you distributed?"

"Why, just the one," claimed Itabashi. "Well, that and a spare. I remember—he'd lost his, you see. I had to go through the trouble of ordering a new one for him. What a great fuss that caused with the card-making company..."

"And the original was never recovered?"

"Not to my knowledge, no."

"May I get a copy of your records, please?"

"What for?"

"So I can have physical proof that you're not lying to me," Sakusa said, bluntly.

"Please," Okazaki emphasized, knowing just how abrasive Sakusa could appear to others.

Itabashi was quite upset at being disbelieved, but got up and ambled to his office anyway. He was even more upset when Sakusa and Okazaki followed him inside to make sure he didn't do anything like tamper with the records.

"Here," Itabashi gruffly held out the records after spending five minutes searching through his files, "All of my transactions with the card-making company from the beginning of March to the end."

Sakusa snapped on a pair of disposable gloves, ignoring Itabashi's offended spluttering. Taking them from the landlord, he began to skim it, eyes darting across the paper.

Okazaki peeked around his shoulder. "See anything, sir?"

"... It all checks out."

"I told you," huffed Itabashi, placing his hands on his hips indignantly. "I am an honest man. I would never violate a tenant's privacy by producing another card for someone else!"

"My apologies." Sakusa didn't sound at all sorry. "It appears you were telling the truth after all. I have only one more question for you: Is the name Shō Shinya familiar to you?"

"Why, of course! He's been all over the news—"

"Sorry, let me rephrase. Was Osamu's apartment under his name or Shō Shinya's?"

"... Let me check."

Another five minutes later, Itabashi was closing his drawer with a troubled expression on his mien. "Shō Shinya's," he confirmed. "It was under Shō Shinya's name. Yes, of course... Miya Osamu-san was only a minor when he first started living here, under the age of twenty. Shō-san signed the lease as his legal guardian."

"Is it possible that Shō would have had access to Osamu's key card?"

"If he did," Itabashi said, reluctantly. "Then I don't have anything to do with it. I gave the card to Miya Osamu-san, not Shō-san. If Miya Osamu-san let Shō-san have it... Then I'm afraid I don't have anything to do with it. Once I give out the card, whatever happens to it is out of my hands. Literally."

There was a crease in Sakusa's brows, and Okazaki could guess what he was thinking easily enough. Osamu had been sleeping in his room when he died, meaning that he had had his key card with him. The original one was missing in action, so the killer would have had to use that one... But that meant Shō would have had to pickpocket Osamu somehow. A very important item like the only key card to his room... Would Osamu really have been so careless with it? Or had Osamu trusted Shō enough to leave the card unattended when he was around? And could Shō have gotten the key card copied somehow?

Unless it wasn't Shō. But, then—

Something hit Okazaki.

"Thank you for your time," Sakusa sighed, prepared to accept that this was mostly a dead lead. "You've been very helpful today, Itabashi-san."

"Wait," Okazaki interjected, both men turning to her. "I also have a question for you, Itabashi-san."

"Oh?" Itabashi was taken aback. "And what's that?"

"Where's your wife?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Okazaki shivered, wondering if she had hit a nerve. But she was just curious about this one thing—was it possible Kuroo Rina could have duplicated the card? She did have access to all of Itabashi's things.

"My wife..." Itabashi heaved a great sigh. "She's much, much younger than me—thirty-one years old—and a bit of a free spirit. She's a freelance actress but she's currently busy fulfilling a very long contract, so I don't get to see her a lot."

"A contract?" echoed Sakusa. "With who? An agency?"

"What was it again?" Itabashi scratched his cheek. "I'm getting old... Ah, yes! I remember. The company was called Future Match. They specialize in romantic dramas, I think? I'm not sure."

"Quickly," commanded Sakusa, turning to Okazaki, "Look that up."

"On it, sir." Hastily, Okazaki did a search, scrolling through Mikipedia until she struck gold. "Aha! It's a subsidiary of HNN Foundation. They've got their claws everywhere." So much so that this could all just be a coincidence. But we have to make sure it isn't. Hmm... "Isn't it strange? That Kuroo Rina hasn't debuted? She's thirty-one—that's super old in the entertainment industry. Nobody would debut an actress that old—they all want teenage starlets nowadays."

"She's not old," mumbled Itabashi. "You're around the same age as her, aren't you, Okazaki-san?"

Okazaki cleared her throat loudly. "You digress, Itabashi-san. It's also unusual that Rina-chan hasn't featured in any romantic dramas in the past ten years." They stared at her. "What? I'm a sucker for any romance."

"Of course you are," muttered Sakusa. "Can you confirm that on the internet?"

Okazaki did with just a few taps with her thumb. "Absolutely nothing connecting that name with any movie or episodic drama."

Itabashi was shaking his head. "You lot are too suspicious. You can just ask her yourselves—today is one of the few days she even comes home. My wife is my wife. There's nothing odd or unnatural about her. You'll see for yourselves, when she—" his eyes widened when he heard a faint knock from the front door "—She's back!"

"Great timing," remarked Okazaki, she and Sakusa following Itabashi out of his study room.

"Honey!" Itabashi threw out his arms after opening the door for her. "You're home!"

"Yep!" a girlish voice giggled before Okazaki saw a slender, long-legged goddess of a woman launch herself at Itabashi. "I missed you, Emon-cutie."

"Oh, fucking hell," Sakusa swore under his breath, looking mildly repulsed by the interaction.

Okazaki hid her mouth with one hand as she tittered. "You'll be eating those words soon when you snuggle up with your own honey-bunny."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm talking about your blond boytoy."

Sakusa choked on his spit. "My—?!"

"Oh, we have guests!" exclaimed Kuroo Rina, side-stepping Itabashi and approaching them. She bowed to them politely. "How do you do?"

As Okazaki and Sakusa bowed back, the former realized that Rina was not dressed as she thought she would be based on her voice. She had been expecting a sexy, sultry femme fatale, not... A stylish businesswoman with respectable and appropriate black hair and side-swept bangs. Because that was what Rina looked exactly like in her feminine, classy pantsuit. Her surprise must have been evident on her face, because Sakusa shot her a questioning look.

"Ah, dearie," Itabashi said, catching up to them. "These nice people have something to ask you."

Rina blinked, innocent as a lamb. "Sure! What is it?"

"I'll keep things as short as possible," Sakusa said, staring intensely at Rina for some reason. "Rina-chan—do you have access to all of your husbands things? Including his business records?"

"Hm? Oh, yep. Sometimes we even do our finances together."

"Right. And have you ever handled transactions and clients?"

"Yep."

"Did you give Shō Shinya a key card?"

Rina thumbed her lip. "That name... Oh, yes. Yes, I see now. I did, actually."

"What?!" cried Itabashi and Okazaki.

"I'm sorry, dear," she apologized to her crestfallen husband, "But I had to."

"What do you mean you had to?" demanded Sakusa. Okazaki knew why he was displeased. Kuroo Rina's actions had gotten Osamu killed.

Rina shifted, uncomfortable. "It's part of my contract. If I didn't, he would've..." She glanced at the ceiling momentarily, humming in thought. "Well, it's not illegal for me to talk about it, so why not? I'm an actress. And I've been playing the same character for... Ten years now?" She shrugged. "More or less."

What? Ten years as the same character? I don't understand... Okazaki watched as Sakusa scrutinized her, unable to pinpoint his thought process this time. Does he know her somehow?

His eyes widened. "No," Sakusa abruptly blurted, backing away from Rina. "This can't be... You... You're..."

"Oh!" Rina lit up, pointing at Sakusa and totally oblivious to the dawning horror on his face. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere! You're the little Sakusa boy! You've sure grown up fine!"

Okazaki waited for Sakusa to have some sort of smart, witty reply to her silly statement, but there was none. He was stunned. Stunned into silence. At last, he uttered only a single word—a name.

"Hirakawa Shion."


In light of these revelations, is it really fair for us to hand out premature judgement on a man who has nobly built his career upon the ashes of loss and tragedy?

By SARUTA KAITO

COMMENTS (782):

Shina9814
WTF STOP TRYING TO DISTRACT US WITH LIES! WE WON'T FALL FOR IT!

kawaiicookie29
I did some research on this company, Media Star World. It was recently bought by HNN Foundation CEO HIRAKAWA DAIZEN! He tried to cover it up through name changes and reshuffling employees, but we know the truth! Just search it up!

Bokuto Koutarou
Not cool! You shuldnt try to blame the victim like this! He was a respected volleyball player get it right!

Furui Yumiko
My condolences to his family, they do not deserve to see trash like this...

Mrs. Esashi
Take this down. This is absolutely disgusting. I have two children around the same age as Oikawa Tooru. No matter how much they misbehave or rebel, this NEVER justifies MURDER. This is SLANDER. Absolutely DISGUSTING. It seems the pigs are Media Star World have nothing better to do than to blame victims who can't defend themselves. But we are here. We will be his voice.

Debbie Kent
I would like to speak to your manager.

flowergirl18
What the hell? I went to the same high school as Oikawa Tooru and he was NOT like this. My best friend actually dated him and he was the sweetest to her. He had the best grades in the year and all the teachers liked him. This is actually total bullshit.

Hamada Yoshino
Don't you dare speak of loss and tragedy like you understand. This is the worst take on the situation ever!

Oishi Ryoka
If justice cannot be dealt out through organic means, then we will demand it.


A/N: Will say it now. Kuroo and his sister ARE estranged. Kuroo was very young when his parents got divorced, and he rarely saw his sister as a result of this and the considerable age gap between them.