There was silence. Oshitari was staring at Atobe, rather dumbfounded. He was dead? But he'd seen the actor merely hours ago . . . Then he flinched at the naïve thought. Hours—minutes, even—were more than enough time to commit murder.

Judging by the looks of the partygoers, however, no one else seemed to feel the same way. Most people looked disbelieving, gaping like fish with their jaws on the ground. Had the situation not been so grim, he might have laughed.

Gakuto, Oshitari noticed, wasn't doing much of anything. "Something like this actually happened in a case, once," the lawyer murmured.

Then someone choked on his wine, and that one miniscule sound was enough to start an uproar.

"What? That's impossible!"

"What sort of twisted joke is this?"

"He's dead? Isn't this building secure?" Momoshiro demanded, and Atobe fixed him with a glare.

"Of course it is, commoner," the young businessman huffed. "Don't you see? Nobody aside from us and the workers could possibly have entered the building. Atobe Corp. has the best security in the country."

There was more commotion, but one voice rose above the rest. "I want to see him," Yagyuu said, his voice firm and assertive. Claims that Atobe's statement was a lie ceased immediately.

Atobe himself seemed numb, and nodded slowly. "Yagyuu, come with me. Hiyoshi, Oshitari, you two as well. The rest of you, follow Kabaji into room 3041." He pierced the tension with an icy glare. "Not one of you will be leaving without my consent."

The room fell silent again, and Oshitari began to follow Atobe to the exit. "Don't cause trouble," he whispered to Gakuto, who gave him an indignant look. For a moment, Oshitari saw his doubles partner in the man standing before him.

Then Gakuto exhaled, and his expression cooled. "Of course not," he answered calmly. "I'm not fourteen anymore, Yuushi." And just like that, the look was gone.

Oshitari couldn't decide if he was confused or disappointed as he left.

"Oshitari-san," Hiyoshi said, pushing him along. "Don't just stand there."

"Right," he murmured, and picked up his pace. "I can walk for myself, thank you."

"It didn't look like it." They kept up the mild banter until they reached the elevator, Oshitari casting one glance back before disappearing from sight.

---

The first thing Oshitari realized was that the murderer was either very careless or very deliberate.

The room in which Niou's body supposedly laid was the central room, the largest and the most extravagant. It clearly stood out from the other rooms on the floor, and would definitely be the first thing anyone would look at.

"This guy's stupid," Hiyoshi blurted, looking annoyed. "Why would he leave the body in that room?"

"Think about it," Atobe replied, before Oshitari could say a word. "There are several possibilities; he either wants the body to be found, or he didn't have the time to move the body, which is unlikely, because Niou's obviously been dead for some time now." He glanced at Yagyuu, perhaps to see if he was offended by his choice of words, but the man remained unmoved.

Hiyoshi, however, was offended. "Well, it's not like you described the shade of his skin or gave us an autopsy."

"We can see for ourselves," Oshitari pointed out, and walked inside the room.

At first, nothing seemed to be out of place. The room was still perfectly organized. The carpet wasn't bloody, the windows weren't shattered.

Next, he saw the body.

Oshitari was only assigned to the biggest cases, the ones that attracted the most attention. In Tokyo, those cases were rather gruesome, and as a result, he'd gotten used to the sight. As odd as it was to say it, Niou's murder was—for lack of a better word—tidy. It was a swift kill, as Atobe had said: a bullet to the head. He doubted Niou had felt any pain.

The pistol with which Niou had been killed looked like nothing but a small toy. It had a mother-of-pearl handle, and had Niou's initials engraved on it. It must have been Niou's gun, but why would he bring it to a reunion?

The actor's face lacked expression. His eyes were closed, and he was neither smiling nor frowning. His hand was gripping the pistol, and for a moment Oshitari wondered if it was suicide. Then he noticed what Atobe's infamous insight had seen, and realized that the hand was wrapped too awkwardly around the gun for it to have been Niou who'd been holding it. Somebody must have placed the pistol in his hand to make it look like suicide.

But then, why didn't that person fake a suicide note?

The silence was growing to be unbearable, so Oshitari began walking around the room. "I can't find anything," he said needlessly.

"You won't find anything," Atobe confirmed, arms folded across his chest. "There's some blood on the desk, but not a trace of anything else. At least, as far as ore-sama can tell."

"Do you think the murderer was going for suicide?"

Two sets of eyes turned to Hiyoshi, who shrugged. "Whoever he or she was, the gun was placed into Niou's hand," he said defensively. "It's not a very far-fetched idea."

Oshitari shook his head. "You're right, it isn't. It's just . . ."

"There wasn't a suicide note," Atobe finished. "The murderer could have done without it, that's true, but to be able to kill someone like Niou, he must have understood Niou's psychology."

"And Niou was the type to go out with a bang," Hiyoshi concluded, rather dryly.

All the while, Yagyuu had remained silent, staring at Niou's body with an unreadable expression on his face. "You idiot," he said at last, softly—almost affectionately, but Oshitari knew better. His voice rose, then, and he repeated, "You idiot. Too reckless, that's what you are; you thought you knew it all, didn't you? Do you think I didn't know what you were doing?"

Then his voice dropped to a whisper, and Oshitari thought he heard a "thank you." It was only when the doctors and the police came that Yagyuu left, and he wondered how it felt, to be so close to somebody.

---

Most of the other graduates had left, and those who hadn't were steadily filing out. Reporters and paparazzi clamored outside the hotel, begging the alumni for statements, information—anything.

Niou is going to be well-missed, Oshitari thought, looking for his coat. The closet Atobe had insisted he put it in was incredibly large, and there were several other people looking for their jackets as well. What a bother. He checked his pocket for the list Hiyoshi had given him—a paper with the names and contact information of all the people at the reunion.

He blinked as someone shoved his coat in his face.

"Hey," Gakuto said, handing the coat over and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

For a moment, he just stood there—until he realized he was obligated to give a reply. "Thank you," he said, and took the jacket. "Why are you still here?"

There was no change in his expression as he said, "I thought I'd wait for you. You know, it's been a long time and all, and I figured we could catch up or something." His voice implied that Oshitari was slightly idiotic for not understanding that, but his eyes remained guarded.

Oshitari couldn't say that he particularly liked that expression. "That's fine. Where would you like to go?"

"I don't know, a coffee shop or something. How about Camille's Café?"

Camille's Café had opened only a month ago, and was one of the most high end shops in Tokyo. Of all the places he'd expected Gakuto to pick, Camille's Café was certainly not one of them. "You . . ."

Gakuto faltered, and for a moment, Oshitari thought he could see something in those eyes. But then he turned away, tilted his head downwards, and his hair covered his face. "If you don't want to, I could . . ."

"No, it sounds great. I just didn't think you liked those types of shops; porcelain teacups, satin and all." He walked outside, and Gakuto followed. When had things gotten so awkward between them?

Silence loomed over them like a storm cloud, searching for someone to rain on, and at last, Gakuto mumbled, "Get it through your head, Yuushi. I'm not fourteen anymore." He looked up and smiled, his eyes carefully guarded again. Oshitari knew the words weren't meant to sting, but they did, and he wasn't sure why. "Hey, it's not like you're still the same." He paused, then laughed. "Actually, no, you are. You acted twenty-one when you were fourteen, anyway, so I guess there's really not a difference.

"I get it, you know," he added quietly. "Maybe it's hard to get used to, but you will eventually, right? I mean, it's not like it's a huge change or anything." He laughed again, though this time, it sounded bitter. "I still look exactly the same."

"That's not such a bad thing," he reminded.

"It is if you get mistaken for a girl on a weekly basis," he huffed.

"Really, now?"

"Just yesterday, on my way to La Boutique du Livre, this guy stopped me on the streets and asked for my phone number. If he were gay, then whatever—it's not like I would have given him my number anyway—but then he called me a Barbie, and the most adorable doll he'd ever seen," he fumed.

"Isn't La Boutique de Livre a stationary shop?" Oshitari interrupted.

He gave the detective a pointed look. "Way to state the obvious, Yuushi. Didn't you take French in high school? Yes, it's a stationary shop."

He must have looked confused, for Gakuto explained, "Most people at the law firm have personal stationary; it's kind of like a tradition, in a way. Weird, right?" He didn't wait for an answer, which might have been the first Gakuto-like thing he'd done all day. "And none of the stationary shops in Japan personalize stuff the way I prefer them, so I went to the only French one I could find. I didn't think Tokyo would have so many French stores, actually—the café, the stationary shop, the boutique . . ."

"You're really acquired a taste for the European," Oshitari mused, wondering how the feisty redhead, who'd once been completely against the high-end and refined, could have made such a turnaround.

"Living in France for three years does that to a person," he said wryly. "I didn't expect to get so used to Europe, but I did." He shrugged. "The stuff there is so classy that you kind of adapt, I guess." He sounded proud of it, but Oshitari couldn't say that he felt the same way.

They arrived at the café and chose a table for two, which happened to be the last one left. "Guess Japan has a taste for the French, too," he said idly, fiddling with the menu and gesturing to the crowd of people in the shop.

"There are people like Atobe everywhere," Oshitari replied, resisting a smile.

"Nah, we're not all stuck up brats." There was definitely a touch of mirth in his voice, and Oshitari had to chuckle at the indirect insult.

"He appears to have mellowed out," he noted.

Gakuto murmured his agreement. "Someone died in his hotel. It can't be good for business. I almost feel bad for him."

"He's an Atobe, he'll figure it out. But 'almost'?"

"He's an Atobe," Gakuto repeated. "He doesn't like pity. You of all people should know that."

More silence. A waitress came by to take their orders. Oshitari requested dark coffee, and Gakuto asked for the same. He turned to the young lawyer in surprise. Wasn't hot chocolate his favorite drink?

Gakuto caught his stare. "I picked a bad day to catch up, didn't I?" He laughed humorlessly. "I should have waited till the whole thing blew over or something."

"But who knew when I would have seen you again?"

"You say that like I'm the one who's been distant," was the calm reply.

Oshitari began to protest, but Gakuto cut him off. "It's okay; I didn't mean anything by it. It's just . . . been a pretty melancholic day."

"That's what a death does."

Gakuto nodded and rose from his seat, not bothering to wait for his drink. He placed five thousand yen on the table. "Even if some people deserve to die."

He glanced back and gave a casual wave. "Bye, Yuushi," he added, "We can catch up some other time." With that, he left the shop.

And Oshitari was left staring after him.

---

The dim November light had long since died out, and once again, Oshitari was sitting at his desk, lamp lit and files in hand. He'd taken to reading and rereading the autopsy, though there wasn't much present that he didn't already know.

The cause was the bullet wound, of course—not so much loss of blood as the location to which it was placed. He'd been dead for approximately two hours by the time the body was initially found. No toxins had been found in the body, nor was there any evidence of a natural death. There were no traces of fingerprints—aside from those of Atobe's, which had been on the door handle.

Why was he there, anyway? Oshitari wondered. Spur of the moment? Atobe's not that type. He shouldn't have had any reason to go to that floor, and even less to enter the room.

Then there was the fact that some people hadn't been surprised, at all. Yagyuu seemed to expect it, as did Yukimura and Marui. The people who barely knew Niou were overemotional, and the people who did know him were stoic.

No, none of this made sense.

And no matter how many times he tried to focus on the autopsy, his mind kept trailing back to that one afternoon conversation, the one that was supposed to have nothing to do with the case.

"If you don't want to, I could . . ."

"I'm not fourteen anymore."

"The stuff there is so classy that you kind of adapt, I guess."

"I almost feel bad for him."

"Even if some people deserve to die."

Something about the way he said that—it was strange, it was secretive. But nevertheless, it'd been a strange, secretive day. In the end, there are two types of secrets; the type you can't wait to tell, and the type that forces you down.

There was a slow, firm knock. "Come in."

Hiyoshi entered, a cup of coffee in hand. "Really, Oshitari-san. You need to get this place remodeled." Oshitari didn't answer, so he continued, "You've got the whole department worried. What happened today?"

"You were there," he replied, not really knowing how to describe it. At least, that might have been part of it. The truth was, he wasn't sure if he wanted anyone else to know. There were two types of secrets, after all, but there were too many to classify.

"Not for all of it. Did something happen with Mukahi-san? Could I help?"

Oshitari smiled sardonically. "Thank you for the offer, but no. Nothing happened; I just need to . . . to think for a bit." He hesitated. "Can someone change? Can he change so much that you don't know who he is anymore?"

Hiyoshi didn't comment on the peculiarity of the question, and for that, Oshitari was grateful. "I guess so," he said slowly. "But sometimes, it turns out you never knew who they were to begin with."

Thanks again to Shibataea, who totally went out of her way to help me with this (and spotted quite a few embarrassing mistakes on my part). And if you guys have any guesses as to who the murderer might be, feel free to PM me. I might put a poll up there eventually, if I get the chance. It's kind of hard to tell who the murderer is at the moment, considering I really don't give him much - if any - screentime, but hopefully you guys will have some more educated guesses by, say, the fifth chapter.

As always, feedback is appreciated, but only if you have the time.