I can’t keep causing problems for my neighbor and Futarishizuka, so I continue to insist to my coworkers that it has to be suicide. It doesn’t matter at all why he was killed.
Meanwhile, Abaddon floats into my vision. His arms are folded, and he looks at me with concern. His expression seems to say, “Now you’ve gone and done it.” I wish he would’ve told me if he already knew what was going on.
As I think this through, the situation continues to develop. I hear a bunch of footsteps, then the door to the hallway flies open.
“Police! Nobody move!”
Makeup appears in the doorway. Well, well. What a coincidence. Now I’m absolutely certain my neighbor and Futarishizuka are behind this.
“I just got a report of a fatal accident! Who phoned this in?”
Makeup pulls her police badge out of her pocket and holds it up for everyone to see. She’s made herself look older by wearing a suit and tie and by using thick makeup. I haven’t seen her dressed up like this in some time. The fact that she asked who the first witness was right off the bat is pretty suspicious in and of itself.
But Kihouin, Rolling, and the facility manager all tense up when they see her police badge decorated with the Order of the Rising Sun. Apparently, they believe she’s a real police officer. Everyone falls silent.
Several uniformed officers hurriedly crowd into the room after Makeup.
“I’m the one who reported it, Officer,” says Ms. Futarishizuka.
“Where is the body?”
“In the room just beyond that door.”
Even though she knows us, Makeup acts like she’s meeting us for the first time, dispassionately confirming every aspect of the situation. My neighbor and Futarishizuka answer her questions, pretending to be innocent bystanders.
Futarishizuka volunteered to contact the police right after finding the body. Did she contact their boss instead? If so, the other officers might not even be real police. They’re probably employees of this “bureau” my neighbor is always talking about.
“We’ll need to do forensics on the scene, so let’s move the questioning elsewhere. You three, please obey this officer’s instructions. I’ll handle the others. Please be patient; this shouldn’t take too long.”
In response to Makeup’s instructions, the officers begin to move. By “you three,” she was referring to Kihouin, Rolling, and the facility manager. “The others” are me, my neighbor, Futarishizuka, and Robot Girl. The former group is taken away by one of the officers and disappears into the hallway.
I hear several sets of footsteps steadily fade away. Once we can no longer hear them, Makeup breaks character. “Well, then. That should do it.”
The way she makes it sound like she did actual work irritates me.
The only ones left in the reception room are people I know well. The rest of the officers Makeup brought are now in the adjacent room.
“I’m surprised,” says my neighbor. “Why are you here, Miss Hoshizaki?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m a rank-B psychic, remember?”
“When did you even get here, child?” asks Ms. Futarishizuka.
“I got a message from the chief this morning.”
“I see.”
In other words, Mr. Kuga’s death had already been decided on this morning. If the two of them are asking her about it, that probably means neither of them knew.
“Mister?” I ask. “This whole incident, it…”
“I’m sorry for springing this on you,” he replies. “Mr. Kuga of Otherworld Productions was confirmed to have ties to a terrorist organization. The bureau tried to negotiate with him, but to no avail. Evidently, this is how they chose to deal with him.”
“To put it bluntly, he was scheming to take advantage of you, dear,” says Futarishizuka. “Sell you off, if need be.”
So the director was killed—it wasn’t a suicide. The locked-room setup was the work of my neighbor and Futarishizuka.
“Does this mean my identity has been leaked?” I ask.
“Not publicly, but I suspect a photograph or two of you is going around,” says Futarishizuka. “Nothing you need to worry about, though. I’m sure all of our personal details are circulating alongside it.” She glances at my neighbor and Makeup.
I bet there have been plenty of chances for someone to sneak a photo of my face, since I go to school every day. In fact, there were spies from various countries and organizations inside the school just the other day—we even heard gunshots in the halls.
“If he tried to do something as stupid as take advantage of you, it means he didn’t get the warning from the Office involved in the death game. In that case, the man was likely a minor player in that world. It’s even possible he didn’t know about the existence of angels and demons.”
“I agree with Ms. Futarishizuka on this,” says my neighbor.
“You probably just fell into his hands, and he was trying to profit off you without really understanding who you were,” Futarishizuka continues. “If he’d known what he was getting into with the bureau, he’d never have tried to pick a fight. He would have compromised during their negotiations.”
“Oh, that makes sense. I appreciate the explanation.”
“And before you jump to any conclusions, the true perpetrator is elsewhere. A little while ago, we got a message from the boss out of nowhere. The perp screwed up, so we were put on cleanup duty. All we really did was stop the rest of you for a few moments at the entrance.”
Futarishizuka glances at my neighbor as she speaks. I bet she’s trying to be considerate, since someone died here. My neighbor doesn’t like hurting others; that’s not who he is. This may have been part of his job, but I suspect having to take part in a murder has put a weight on his shoulders.
In fact, when I think about it, Abaddon and I have forced him to do much worse. Compared to what goes on in the proxy war, this incident is nothing.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s my fault you two had to go through all this.”
“We didn’t ‘go through’ anything, dear. That was some fine detective work on your part.”
“That it was. I felt like I was watching a mystery show on TV.”
I think back to all the things I said earlier. I’m just as embarrassed about all that as I am about Misaki Hanano. What was I thinking, suggesting Mr. Kuga hadn’t written those messages? The people at my neighbor’s job probably wrote them. Just remembering it made my face flush with shame.
“No, all I did was get in the way. I’m really sorry.”
“Detective work? What are you talking about?” demands Makeup.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s all in the past now,” says my neighbor.