The glass door of the dessert shop swung open with a soft chime.
Inspector Megure marched through, followed closely by Officer Takagi and two junior detectives.
Trailing at the very back, looking thoroughly exhausted, was Shinichi Kudo, who had just trudged up the escalator.
At a nearby table, Tōhō Getsukai remained perfectly still, a porcelain cup of black tea resting delicately in his hands.
What was bound to come simply could not be avoided.
The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department operating within this detective-centric world possessed a rather bizarre quirk.
After wrapping up a murder case, they always insisted on exchanging pleasantries with the civilians involved, treating it like some mandatory after-sales customer service routine.
Megure crossed the café floor in a few heavy, purposeful strides.
He cast a glance toward the table, froze for a fraction of a second, and then the entire muscular structure of his face underwent a miraculous transformation.
The iron-faced judge persona he had worn just moments ago while cornering a killer on the first floor shattered completely.
In its place bloomed an excessively radiant, doting smile.
“Oh my goodness!
If it isn’t little Yuekui from Lawyer Kisaki’s household!”
Megure snatched the trademark hat off his head, exposing his thinning hair to the café air, his face crinkling with absolute delight.
“It has been far too long!
You have grown more beautiful than ever!
I imagine you have a whole line of boys chasing after you at school, do you not?”
Tōhō Getsukai lowered his teacup to the saucer with a quiet clink.
‘Inspector, first of all, I am a boy.
Secondly, while there is indeed a horde of people chasing me, they are overwhelmingly female.’
“It is wonderful to see you again, Inspector Megure,” Tōhō replied, keeping his voice smooth and polite.
“But there are no boys chasing me.
Because I am a boy.”
“Hahaha!” Megure threw his head back and roared with laughter, his heavy hand coming down hard on Officer Takagi’s shoulder.
“Listen to that!
This child has loved making that exact same joke ever since he was little.”
Takagi stumbled two steps forward from the sheer force of the slap, a bitter, pained expression flashing across his face as he swallowed his complaints.
Megure planted his feet firmly by the table, raised a hand to adjust the brim of his hat, and managed to scrape together a fraction of his professional composure.
“We really must thank you for the insights you provided downstairs.
Setting spray, foundation shade mismatches…
I have been a detective for thirty years, and I have never seen a homicide cracked through cosmetics.”
“It was nothing grand, Inspector.
Just basic common sense.”
“Then the common sense database of our First Investigation Division is in desperate need of an update,” Megure said, adjusting his hat again, looking genuinely moved.
“As expected of a child raised by Eri Kisaki.
So incredibly sharp and sensible.”
‘Ah, there it is.
Right back to Aunt Eri.’
Tōhō Getsukai released a quiet, internal sigh.
Every single time this inspector crossed his path, he delivered a progress report on Tōhō’s upbringing as if seeking Eri’s approval.
“Oh, by the way—”
Megure lowered his gaze to the mountain of shopping bags taking up half the table space.
“What exactly are all these?”
“They belong to us!”
Ran and Sonoko leaned out of their respective booths in perfect unison, proudly shoving the glossy paper bags closer to the inspector.
“These are the swimsuits Sister Tōhō helped us pick out!
And the sunscreen!
We are heading to a beach training camp this weekend!”
Sonoko dug into one of the bags, retrieving a sleek, high-end packaging box, and thrust it right under Officer Takagi’s nose.
“Officer Takagi, look at this!
This sunscreen milk is a brand-new physical barrier formula released just this year.
Sister Tōhō said it is the absolute best match for Ran’s skin type.”
Takagi politely lowered his eyes to inspect the box.
Then, entirely against his own will, his line of sight slipped downward by two inches.
Tōhō Getsukai sat gracefully in his chair with his legs crossed.
The hem of his pleated skirt rested just above his knees.
His slender calves were perfectly aligned, and the straps of the black Mary Janes on his feet hung slightly loose, exposing a delicate stretch of bare ankle.
Because he wore the shoes barefoot, there was not even a sliver of fabric to break the view.
The skin was blindingly, flawlessly white.
Blood rushed to Takagi’s face in an instant, turning his cheeks crimson as he whipped his head toward the café window.
The two junior officers standing behind him fared no better.
One suddenly found the scuff marks on his leather shoes utterly fascinating, while the other tilted his head back to intensely study the ceiling’s smoke detector.
The three grown men stood rigidly in a row, resembling terrified recruits on their first day of boot camp.
Tōhō Getsukai uncrossed his legs.
The heel of his shoe tapped against the floorboards, producing a soft, crisp click.
The three officers shivered in unison.
Sonoko slapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she fought back a burst of laughter.
Ran, completely oblivious to the silent warfare happening around her, continued to enthusiastically present her spoils to Megure.
“And this one was chosen by Sonoko!
Sister Tōhō said the color makes her complexion look the fairest—”
“Good, good, excellent.
You young people should absolutely go out and enjoy yourselves more.”
Megure nodded along, listening with rapt attention, showing zero inclination to leave the café.
Watching the entire spectacle from the sidelines, Shinichi Kudo felt a muscle twitch in his jaw.
The so-called elites of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department’s First Investigation Division, the very men who had just tackled a murderer to the ground, were now huddled around a cross-dressing male high schooler, eagerly listening to a lecture on UV protection.
Did public safety mean absolutely nothing anymore?
Tōhō Getsukai caught Shinichi’s sour expression from the corner of his eye.
A faint, mischievous curve touched his lips.
He tilted his head a fraction of an inch, his gaze sweeping smoothly from Megure, to Takagi, and finally to the two stiff rookies in the back.
Reaching into the side pocket of his backpack, his slender fingers retrieved a handful of small packets.
Individually wrapped wet wipes.
Tōhō extended his hand, offering a packet to Megure and another to Takagi, before passing the final two to the rookies.
“Thank you for your hard work today, Officers.”
His voice hovered at the perfect pitch, carrying a soft, slightly lazy cadence that melted into the air.
“It is terribly hot outside.
Please, wipe your sweat.
Do not just push through the exhaustion.”
Megure froze, staring down at the small square of plastic in his palm.
It was thin, yet a distinct, soothing coolness radiated through the packaging.
He tore the seal open, extracted the moist cloth, and pressed it against his forehead.
The crisp, refreshing bite of mint seeped directly into his pores, and the dull, throbbing ache in his temples miraculously began to fade.
A low hum of relief vibrated in Megure’s chest, his rigid shoulders slumping as the tension drained away.
In his three decades with the First Investigation Division, he had seen more corpses than boxed lunches.
He had received countless envelopes of condolence money, framed commendation letters, and long-winded speeches from the top brass.
He had grown entirely immune to all of it.
Yet, a single wet wipe and a gentle ‘do not just push through it’ from a junior struck far deeper than any official medal.
Megure removed his hat, carefully dabbing the cooling cloth along his hairline.
“Good child.” He placed the hat back on his head, his voice turning thick and raspy.
“Eri Kisaki has raised you exceptionally well.”
Beside him, Takagi had already torn his packet open and was scrubbing the back of his neck.
Once finished, he carefully folded the used wipe into a neat little square and tucked it into his breast pocket, completely unwilling to throw it in the trash.
The two rookies took it a step further.
One had his eyes squeezed shut, taking deep, dramatic breaths of the minty air, while the other was carefully sliding his unused wipe into a sterile plastic evidence bag.
Wait, an evidence bag?
Tōhō Getsukai blinked slowly, pretending he had not seen that.
The First Investigation Division, the most hardened, gritty collection of men in all of Tokyo, had officially been subjected to a flawless gentle kill.
There were zero survivors.
Shinichi Kudo leaned his weight against the dessert counter, witnessing the absolute massacre.
‘…This guy is using his face to play these men like fiddles again.’
Shinichi had known Tōhō Getsukai since they were children.
This person was born with a terrifying, innate talent for inflicting maximum emotional damage with the lowest possible effort.
A single wet wipe and a breathy sentence were infinitely more effective than a parade in their honor.
Sensing the hidden, malicious intent radiating from Tōhō’s direction, Shinichi shoved his hands deep into his pockets and prepared to subtly shuffle his way out the glass door.
Megure suddenly pivoted on his heel.
“Oh, right, Brother Shinichi.”
‘Here it comes.
Here it comes.
He finally remembered I exist.’
“Why on earth did you leave the things these young ladies bought sitting on the floor?”
Megure pointed a thick finger at the cluster of heavy shopping bags abandoned near Shinichi’s sneakers, his brow furrowing in deep, paternal disappointment.
“Pick those up this instant!
Are you truly going to make them carry all those bags themselves?
You are a young man, have a little gentlemanly spirit, will you?”
Shinichi opened his mouth to defend himself, the realization hitting him like a freight train.
This was exactly why Tōhō had handed out those wet wipes.
It was all a calculated setup to deal with an unfortunate scapegoat like him.
He desperately wanted to shout, ‘I am a guy too, and I am the only publicly recognized guy standing here!’ But after running that specific sentence through his head, he realized just how pathetic it would sound out loud.
He swallowed the words like dry sand.
The Great Detective of the East silently bent his knees and gathered the dozen or so shopping bags into his arms.
The thin paper handles immediately bit into the webbing of his fingers, cutting off the circulation.
A few meters away, Tōhō Getsukai rose gracefully from his chair to clear the table.
His long, silver hair cascaded over his shoulders, swaying with a hypnotic rhythm as he moved.
He cast a glance back at Shinichi.
The gaze was soft, encouraging, and utterly devoid of any visible malice.
It was the textbook, picture-perfect expression of a loving older sister watching her younger brother grow up.
Shinichi wrenched his face away, his teeth grinding together.
‘…Thanks, but I really do not need that kind of encouragement.’The corner of Tōhō Getsukai’s pink lips curled upward in silent victory.’Alright, Kudo.
You just keep on being your Great Detective.
We certainly do not need your help with the sunscreen and swimsuit matters anymore.’
[Akarin’s Note:
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