Because ceru inadverdantly made me feel guilty. I really should thank her (thanks!), because otherwise I would never have gotten this done, haha. Also, I'm going to start using "Yuushi" instead of "Oshitari" from now on. "Yuushi" suits him more, I think.

Just a note: If anyone's interested in an image of the gun I'd imagined Niou to have, search up "mother of pearl pistol" on Google Images. All the images that show up with a mother of pearl handle can suffice. (I spent a full hour debating over whether a revolver or a handgun was cooler, and I can proudly say that most of my friends are now either scared of me, or think I'm a bit weird in the head.)

"Hey, this is Mukahi Gakuto. Uh, I'm not picking up right now so leave a message after the beep."

Yuushi sighed and hung up again. He reached for his glasses, for the little red cloth he always cleaned them with. Twice a day—once in the morning, once in the evening.

Gakuto was avoiding him.

Doesn't take a genius to figure that out, he decided, a bit wryly. But what had happened last night that'd made Gakuto do this? As far as he could recall (for as Gakuto was true to his word, Yuushi'd had a bit of trouble remembering after all the alcohol), they'd danced, then Gakuto had asked to leave.

"Why?" he remembered asking, slightly breathless. It'd been such a long time since he'd done anything requiring physical strain, after all. Or maybe it'd been the loud music, the reek of alcohol, the sight of Gakuto's face, so close, so close to his.

"I'm not feeling so great," Gakuto mumbled. His hair covered his face, and his dark blue eyes were downcast. "It's getting late, anyway."

So they'd left. Nothing had happened, not really. Yuushi frowned in irritation. Gakuto was the one who had suggested visiting a club. And now—?

He didn't even remembering why he'd decided to call Gakuto, but it didn't matter much, anymore. Gakuto wasn't picking up.

His phone could have just been turned off.

He might not have heard the ringtone.

He might still have been asleep.

He could have lost his phone.

He might have been killed.

Yuushi's head shot up at that realization. Oh God, he's dead. It's my fault, I invited him out, if he'd stayed home then the murderer wouldn't have followed him, I killed him, I killed him . . .

His phone buzzed, alerting him of a text message.

Mukahi Gakuto: Morning, Yuushi. Hung over?

A smiley face accompanied the statement, and Yuushi smirked. It was so like him to bring that up.

Suddenly, he felt silly for going to such crazy conclusions. He was a detective, meant to be calm, cool, level-headed and even. But it was difficult to remember what it was like to be calm, to be cool and level-headed around Gakuto.

And it was all too easy to remember the overwhelming sensation of dancing with him. Yuushi wished the night had lasted longer. He wished the dance had lasted longer. Yet there were only sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, and twelve hours in a night. Too late, too late.

Too late for a lot of things.

---

Yuushi had been aware of the funeral—Niou's funeral—for some time now, but had never thought of going. It was Hiyoshi who persuaded him in the end.

"It's a good way to see people's reactions," his colleague pointed out. "Won't it help you in your detective work and stuff?"

Yuushi had to admit, he had a point.

So there they stood, handed folded before them and dressed in dark suits. There was an enormous amount of people at the funeral, but it was eerily quiet. Yuushi took the opportunity to look over the crowd. The RikkaiDai graduates were gathered near Niou's family, looking particularly devastated. Yagyuu was a little off to the side, dazed. Seigaku seemed mournful, but much less so; however, Fuji in particular looked grim. Eiji was fidgeting nervously, darting suspicious glances left and right.

As for Hyotei . . . Well. Choutaro appeared stricken, as did Shishido, though Yuushi noticed that the latter kept sneaking looks at his companion. Atobe, naturally, had come with two butlers, a set of body guards, and three maids, and appeared almost indifferent, Kabaji likewise. Jiroh was awake for once, and frowning. Gakuto stood beside him, whispering something darkly.

Hiyoshi had taken off his policeman's hat, for once, and had his eyes closed, mumbling prayers for Niou under his breath. Yuushi felt a stab of pity—it wasn't easy for Hiyoshi to get attached for someone, and he imagined that he must have been quite fond of Niou.

The funeral itself was an odd mix of traditional and Western. Friends and family members were dressed in the customary pitch-black suit and tie, and the condolence money had been collected. On another note, there was a Western priest as opposed to a Buddhist one, and he was currently uttering words in English, words Yuushi doubted anyone at the funeral understood. The casket was opened, and Niou's pale, ghostly face matched the glaring silver of his hair.

Niou's father was the only family member to speak; the women of the family seemed barely able to stand.

Yukimura and Marui each spoke a little about their experiences as teammates, about how Niou was a talented individual and how he was meant to accomplish great things. However, there was a look of dissatisfaction in both their eyes, and Yuushi suspected they'd wanted to say something more.

Yagyuu's speech was short, to the point, stating that Niou would be missed, that he went through life as only he could, and, in a darker voice, that the murderer must be caught. Yuushi knew those words were directed at him, and met Yagyuu's stare evenly.

The priest asked if anybody wanted to say a few words before the funeral came to a conclusion, but everybody remained silent.

"It's unfortunate; the Niou family has lost both sons. Don't you want to give a speech?" Yuushi murmured to Hiyoshi, who was standing stiffly the entire time, his miserable gaze never leaving Niou's coffin.

Hiyoshi shook his head. "I wasn't that close to him," he whispered back, sounding deceptively casual.

The detective let the matter drop and focused back in on the funeral. Niou's family and the RikkaiDai members were carrying his coffin—now closed—and putting it into the grave dug. Niou's sister had turned away, her eyes puffy and red. Marui glanced at her, distressed.

Niou's father placed several white paper cut-outs on the coffin; Niou's former teammates each placed a small white carnation and a photograph on it, per the actor's request.

The funeral ended quickly. People were forced to push back the reporters, clamoring for a photo or a statement. Yuushi wondered why Niou had wished for a private funeral instead of a public one—he always did seem like the type to want attention. Was it sentimentality, perhaps? Or maybe he simply didn't want to be in the public eye all the time. Maybe he appreciated the conventionalism of a private funeral; maybe it'd been decided by a coin-toss.

Nobody really knew him, in the end, Yuushi mused.

"You're Niou-sama's manager! Please, you have to answer my questions!" a reporter was exclaiming, and all of a sudden, paparazzi were crowding around Yagyuu while calling out questions, each louder than the previous.

Yagyuu snapped, with uncharacteristic venom and impertinence, "I will do no such thing, and I demand you leave at once."

Following his example, the other players began retorting. Nobody was in a particularly good mood after the funeral—that said, most of their tempers were short to begin with.

"Get out of my way, or ore-sama shall sue you until you're homeless."

"Man, you guys have no lives if all you do is follow us around. Lame!"

"You can't even begin to list the amount of blackmail I have on you. I suggest you leave before I announce it to the nation."

"Would you like to try my Inui Juice? Taste unadjusted, of course. Let's see now; we have the Special Golden Inui Juice Remix, the Blue Vinegar Version Two, the . . ."

"You do realize that I can kill you with my bare hands, about five different ways?"

"Tell your viewers they can go screw themselves."

"Not following my warning? Very well; you had an affair with the mayor at age sixteen, two timed him with the president of Hallen Corp, had to start working because you failed to complete high school, your father disowned you when he found out about your disgraces, your current fiancé is actually one of the leaders of a Tokyo gang. . ." Fuji was counting off his fingers, looking delighted. The reporter was turning redder by the second, and was barking orders at the cameraman to stop recording.

One hiss was all it took for Kaidoh to scare off the paparazzi. Similarly, Akaya pulled out an ever-present tennis ball and a random twig, and began handing out Knuckle Serves and black eyes. Yuushi took one look at the chaotic scene, chuckled, and made to leave.

"Wait," a reporter pleaded, catching up to him. "You're the one who's on the case, aren't you? Just one statement, please."

Yuushi was tempted to say, "No comment," or something as badass as the ones his friends were saying, but settled for smiling archaically before turning away.

---

"Russian roulette," Yuushi murmured to himself, fiddling with Niou's pistol. There were no fingerprints on it at all; he assumed the murderer had wiped it clean before leaving.

Of course. It wasn't a crime committed by a simpleton. He scolded himself for thinking any less of the killer.

Honestly, he almost admired the murderer. It had to take gumption to commit a crime at a party, where all his friends and acquaintances were present. It had to take gumption to kill Niou Masaharu in general; he was a flashy, intimidating man, and Yuushi doubted anyone else present at the party could hold a candle to the charisma the late actor had.

An unfortunate loss, it was.

Yuushi had done some research online. It was Hiyoshi who brought it up, Hiyoshi who noted that the pistol was a revolver. "And there're no bullets left," he added. "Maybe Russian roulette?"

Needless to say, he was rather startled when Yuushi jumped up in surprise, grabbed the gun, and dashed toward his computer.

Russian roulette. It was a game, supposed to have originated in Russia—but Yuushi wasn't all too sure about that. In any case, it was played with at least two people, though typically six, as well as one revolver, one cylinder, and one bullet.

The revolver held one bullet, only one, because only one person was meant to be killed.

The cylinder, holding one bullet, was meant to be spun, and whomever it pointed to had to take the gun and aim it at himself. If it so happened that he'd had an empty slot when he shot, then he was lucky. If he wasn't lucky . . .

If he wasn't lucky, then he was a dead man.

The game explained much, actually. It explained why Niou seemed completely prepared for his death, why the revolver he'd been holding contained no bullets.

Hiyoshi had brought him the gun with which Niou was killed at Yuushi's request, and as he turned it over now, he noted a slightly worn spot on the cylinder, probably where it'd been spun. It all added up, then.

But why would Niou go along with it? He wasn't the sort to be blackmailed, to be forced into anything. He must have agreed to it.

And how exactly did Fuji know about it? It couldn't have been because he was the murderer, surely—he wouldn't have given himself away. Fuji was clever; he wouldn't have done anything rash.

Then again, if he did know something (which was extremely likely), why did he refuse to elaborate?

Typical of Fuji, he thought, rankled.

---

Yuushi was sorting through his notes when Hiyoshi entered. "No gifts this time?"

"Interrogations again?" Hiyoshi asked sympathetically. "That's too bad. There were almost thirty people at that party, you know."

"I know," Yuushi said. Pastime

"Who are you starting with? Not Atobe, I hope?" Hiyoshi cringed at the thought.

Yuushi gave an amused chuckle. "I'm not foolish enough for that. No, Gakuto is first."

Hiyoshi frowned at him. "Mukahi-san? I don't know . . ."

Two rapid knocks followed his comments immediately. "Hey, Yuushi. Can I come in?"

At Yuushi's nod, Hiyoshi opened the door and gave his former senior a friendly smile. Gakuto stared, surprised. "Hey, Hiyoshi. Didn't know you were here."

"He usually is," Yuushi commented. Gakuto's mouth twitched downwards, but he refrained from commenting. "Shall we get started, then?"

"May as well," Gakuto replied, and sat abruptly. "So. My name's Mukahi Gakuto, I was born in Tokyo, Japan, and my parents are—"

Yuushi began to laugh. "Not like that. I'll ask a few questions, and you answer. That's it."

Gakuto folded his arms. "That's boring. But I guess it's not really a big deal; it's just us, right?"

Yuushi nodded in the affirmative before asking, "Where were you on the day of the reunion?"

"I went straight there. Unless you mean before that—then I stayed at my hotel all day, listening to music." He smiled faintly. "Wieniawski, Polonaise Brilliante, for the violin."

There was a hint of a frown on Yuushi's face as he jotted down the notes—Gakuto didn't have a proper alibi. "And what'd you do there?" he inquired. "Who did you speak to?"

"I don't really remember," Gakuto admitted. "I wasn't really early, but I wasn't late either; I think I saw Ohtori and Shishido first. Then I started talking to Eiji from Seigaku—did you know he's a dancer? I can dance so much better than him—but anyway, after that, I went to the bathroom to fix my suit. That acrobat spilled wine all over me! I'm lucky Atobe had a spare," he fumed. "And then I just looked for Hyotei people. I'm pretty sure I talked to everyone from Hyotei at least once, and a few people from Seigaku and RikkaiDai. Niou, too. And then I saw you, and yeah."

Yuushi nodded briefly. "Did you know Niou personally? What was your impression of him?"

Gakuto looked annoyed. "No, I didn't know him personally. I was in France, smart one. And besides, when I talked to him, it was just the typical 'how've you been since I saw you seven years ago?' stuff. As for the second question . . . I don't know. He seemed pretty sly if you ask me. Kind of rushed when I talked to him."

"Did you speak to Fuji?"

"Yes, I did. He was pretty affable." Gakuto tilted his head to one side. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

Yuushi gave a barely audible sigh. "Nothing. That's all. Thank you, Gakuto."

"Is something wrong?" Gakuto asked, worried. "You look really upset."

"No, it's fine. I'll escort you out," he offered, and stood. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew into the room, and his notes were scattered off the desk.

"What a draft," Gakuto commented, bending down to gather the papers. "This is the third floor, right? I heard the strongest winds are always higher up." He glanced at the files. "They're a mess. Do you want me to—" He broke off abruptly, his eyes widening and still fixed on the papers. "I . . ." He handed back the notes without meeting Yuushi's eyes. "Here."

Yuushi took them back and was about to put them away when he took note of the page Gakuto'd had accidentally seen.

Mukahi Gakuto:

Confident, not at all apprehensive.

Didn't arrive with anyone, wasn't at any particular spot prior; no alibi.

Left the party abruptly for the restroom. No alibi.

Claims his memory of the reunion is vague.

Spoke to Fuji and Niou; Niou was in a hurry.

Had no alibi as to his whereabouts prior to Niou's reunion.

---

Silence loomed over them as they took the elevator downstairs. "So how's the case going?" Gakuto asked awkwardly.

"I'm not at a position to tell you," Yuushi replied, apologetic.

"Oh." Gakuto was quiet for a moment, then said, "But you can tell Hiyoshi, can't you?"

"Hiyoshi's working on the case with me."

"You'd tell him anyway."

"Excuse me?"

Gakuto shrugged. "Whatever, Yuushi. Stuff's different now, I get it. Tell me, don't tell me—it doesn't really matter." He looked up for a second. "Sorry you can't trust me."

Yuushi wasn't quite sure what to say to that, and Gakuto took that opportunity to disappear.