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whentranslatorscry · 11 months ago

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Kyoko's Short Stories: Kyoko Okitegami's Photo Shoot

At the Okitegami Detective Agency, A request to find a missing person arrives—?

Inspector Koshimai was an exceedingly exceptional figure among the officers who sought investigative assistance from the Forgetful Detective. She was, in fact, so unique that she might as well have been the only one who considered Ms. Kyoko Okitegami a friend. Of course, she was acutely aware that this wasn't quite the truth. A friendship where one needs to present a police badge every time they meet simply cannot exist. Naturally, Ms. Kyoko herself adhered to the first rule of the Forgetful Detective, reset their relationship every day, with each sleep.

Yet, to Inspector Koshimai, Ms. Kyoko was a friend regardless. Even if the detective wasn't bound by her strict confidentiality, the policewoman would still visit the Okitegami Building for advice whenever an investigation hit a dead end. To tell the truth, there had been times when she had knocked on that door not for investigation reasons, but simply because she happened to be nearby and wanted to have tea during her leave. Her superiors frowned upon this behavior, but Koshimai believed that the real issue lay in the current system that prevented Ms. Kyoko from stepping into the spotlight despite her being the key to solving many cases. It was the law that was flawed. As a police officer, and yes, as a 'friend,' she never took Ms. Kyoko’s reluctance to be in the limelight into account. To her that was what friendship meant: a type of consideration that disregards the other’s wishes.

However, today's visit to the detective's office wasn’t for tea or Ms. Kyoko's company—she was facing a bewildering case.

She came to seek advice—though this made her no different from other inspectors who visited Ms. Kyoko secretly with difficult cases. However, Koshimai's ‘bewildering case' wasn't a secret or even a difficult one. It was the kind one might readily share on a blog, if she hadn't stopped updating hers after her boss reprimanded her for it.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Kyoko Okitegami, detective." The white-haired woman greeted her in the agency’s reception room, treating her as if it were their first meeting.

"Ms. Kyoko, are you good at finding people?" Koshimai cut to the chase.

"Finding people? Well, I am a detective," she replied with a playful tone. "Though I've forgotten what I'm good at."

Adorable. The policewoman loved that mannerism. She adored her.

"It might be my specialty?"

The detective suggested.

Indeed, finding people is one of a detective's main tasks—much more common than solving bloody serial killings.

But when it came to whether this was the main task of a famed detective, Koshimai wasn't quite sure, so better to ask first.

"So your request is to find someone, Inspector Koshimai?"

"A request, you could say—"

Though she had entered with her police badge and would be paying a fee, categorizing it simply as a request felt somewhat inadequate to her.

"—It might be more of a grievance, or perhaps a love tale. Oh, not mine though."

"Grievances and love tales are welcome. Either way, there's a business opportunity there. It’s a goldmine waiting to be tapped," Ms. Kyoko said, sounding less like a detective and more like an entrepreneur.

That entrepreneurial spirit (the second rule of the Forgetful Detective) was another of her charming traits in Koshimai's eyes. To her, everything about Kyoko was praiseworthy.

In any case, being what she claimed to be her specialty, there was no room for refusal.

Inspector Koshimai got to the point, speaking as a friend.

Grievances and love tales.

The troublesome matter that made Inspector Koshimai want to bury her head in her hands came not through a report from a good citizen, but in the form of a consultation from a friend—not a one-sided friendship like she had with Ms. Kyoko, but from an old friend from student days.

"My fiancé went missing just before our wedding. I need your help to find him," was the essence of it.

It’s not typically something you’d hear every day. A groom or bride getting cold feet and running away to a lesser or greater extent isn’t unheard of—it’s hard to say this especially in front of an old, intimate friend.

Therefore, in this case, the advice would be, "Trust your fiancé, and wait a bit longer," but the friend was adamant.

'He’s not that kind of person.'

'He wouldn’t just disappear without a word.'

'Please, Koshimai, find my husband.'

With a face so desperate it was hard to outright refuse. However, it was debatable whether this constituted a case.

If it isn’t a case but rather a situation, it is a serious one. But for now, it’s a civil matter—not the same as a missing child.

Of course, an adult disappearing from societal obligations is a major concern, but that’s likely why her friend used her connections with Inspector Koshimai instead of going through usual police channels.

Having a fiancé disappear isn’t something one can easily discuss with the police or even parents. But the proverb "A friend in need is a friend indeed" seemed apt for such times.

If she was truly worried, the only thing Koshimai could advise, though it was difficult, was to officially file a missing person report in the police district where her fiancé lives. But if they weren’t married yet, could she file the report?

She could, but she would need to persuade his family. Such an awkward "marriage greeting," which Koshimai, having no experience, couldn’t fully understand.

Honestly, Koshimai had been tired of her friend’s love stories since high school, so she saw this as just another lover’s quarrel. She was just relieved it happened before the wedding invitations were sent out and felt no urge to take it back to the office to assess its criminal nature.

'Please, Koshimai.'

'Aren’t we friends?'

'You’re the only one I can rely on.'

Given her plea and her grip on Koshimai’s hand, the best Koshimai could offer was, "How about hiring a detective for the matter?"—essentially passing the buck.

'This is the man I need you to find. His name is─'

Setting down her personal smartphone on the table, Koshimai displayed the photo her friend had forwarded to her.

Not an official police image, merely a personal snapshot capturing a moment of everyday life—him eating in his apartment, noodles supposedly cooked by her friend. When had she become that kind of person? Well, she likely didn’t make the noodles, but it was a side of her Koshimai didn’t know.

“They say photographs most express the heart of the photographer—so, this photo was taken by your friend?”

Ms. Kyoko picked up the smartphone from the table and held it up to the ceiling light, as if trying to see through it. Given that it wasn’t a printed photo, nothing would appear different by doing so.

“Hmm, impressive. Handsome indeed.”

Her comment was so off-target that it transcended absentmindedness, leaving Inspector Koshimai irritated for some reason. Surely, there was no logical reason to be annoyed over a (one-sided) friend complimenting another (old) friend’s boyfriend.

“Well, it might be edited,”

she said.

“Edited? You mean digitally altered? Does your friend possess such advanced technical skills?”

“It’s neither advanced nor particularly technical these days. Nowa—”

Koshimai started but then caught herself. Bringing up the concept of "nowadays" in front of the Forgetful Detective was a bit tactless.

For Ms. Kyoko, there is only today.

Which means, in essence, "nowadays" doesn’t exist for her. But that doesn’t mean Koshimai could just stop mid-sentence.

“...There are apps now that can tell you someone’s location. Editing a photo is a breeze.”

She managed to connect the ideas a bit awkwardly.

“You can resize, adjust colors, erase people who photobombed, and even change hairstyles or expressions—with a swipe of your finger. The idea that photos capture the truth is outdated.”

The remark about photos showing the photographer’s true heart had long lost its original meaning.

“Huh, that’s remarkable,”

Ms. Kyoko responded with a reaction that was hard to interpret—whether she was impressed by the technology or dismayed by it. She continued to hold up the smartphone, but it was clearly impossible to determine if a photo was edited just by looking at it that way.

“But finding someone based on an edited photo? Even for a master detective like me, that’s quite the challenge.”

“Well, I doubt this particular photo has been edited that extensively.”

Koshimai’s attempt to backtrack sounded contradictory, driven purely by her jealousy of her friend’s boyfriend.

Her friend might be vain, but certainly not foolish. Even if there was some digital enhancement, Koshimai hoped it wouldn’t hinder the detective.

Koshimai corrected her course, providing Ms. Kyoko with the boyfriend’s full name, age, occupation, and current address—not as a police officer, but as a friend, albeit in quotation marks.

Did this breach confidentiality? Perhaps, but.

“It seems she suspects foul play due to his disappearance just before their wedding. She thinks he might have been involved in some crime.”

“Were there any signs? Threats to his life?”

“No, it seems she believes he fell victim to a spur-of-the-moment crime like a robbery—simple as that.”

'You see, he’s really wealthy.'

The friend had claimed.

Koshimai herself wouldn't know.

From her experience, such personal information often seemed more like boasting and wasn’t very reliable—probably because she knew dissecting such claims might appear crass. The room in the photo, cluttered and cramped, didn't match the life of someone targeted for their wealth.

Since her friend had given her a spare key, she could search the apartment if she wanted. A room search could be quick. Even if Ms. Kyoko decided to do that, Koshimai, police officer though she was, could not join such an investigation. Though the table crowded with ingredients for somen noodles seemed more like her friend had overdone it more than anything else...

"Do you think she won over this wealthy man starved for ordinary affection with warm, home-cooked meals?"

If so, it would be quite a stereotypical story, but she didn’t think Ms. Kyoko was seriously saying that. More likely, the detective seemed like the type who would dislike such a storyline.

"But inspector, he certainly seems wealthy. The clothes he wears are top-notch, and his accessories are exquisite."

"But the room is tiny."

"The utensils are far too fine for everyday use, and the furniture is tasteful. Maybe not famous brands, but certainly not cheap."

"But the room is tiny."

"People say you can gauge a lifestyle by the quality of the curtains, but unfortunately, the window isn’t visible."

"Because the room is tiny."

Was that all she could manage to say?

At this point, she really was the petty friend jealous of another friend’s boyfriend—each time Ms. Kyoko praised him, the policewoman reflexively countered.

"Hmm. So, Inspector Koshimai, you don't think this is a noble money-motivated crime?"

As a result, she inadvertently led the Forgetful Detective's reasoning astray. Although the way she phrased it, it almost sounded like a crime motivated by money could be considered noble.

It's the money that is valuable, not the crime.

...That too is a weird way to put it.

However, having come to the detective agency on behalf of a friend, she couldn’t very well say she didn’t think a crime had occurred in the first place—she couldn't admit she'd dumped a case with little criminal element on her, or worse, that she was merely using this as an excuse to have tea with Ms. Kyoko.

"We seem to think alike, Inspector Koshimai."

Hearing this out of the blue made her feel like the detective had sharply pointed out her guilty conscience. Think alike? In what way? Had she seen through the policewoman's one-sided sense of friendship?

If that were the case, it would be terribly embarrassing.

"In fact, I too do not think this is a crime motivated by noble money,"

Ms. Kyoko continued, while Koshimai felt a mixture of relief and—

(Hmm?)

So, setting aside whether it was noble or not, did Ms. Kyoko's opinion that it wasn’t a money-motivated crime mean she saw this request as a crime of a different nature?

While a detective might take on a missing person case, the inspector hadn’t expected her to find a criminal element in this 'disappearance.'

But perhaps this was to be expected.

Ms. Kyoko was not just any detective, she was a famed detective—one who seeks not only people but also the truth.

"Yes. I knew the truth of this case from the very beginning,"

said the fastest detective, delivering her catchphrase before adding, "By the way, would you like a refill of your tea, Inspector Koshimai? Perhaps some herbal tea for relaxation?"

She said this in an oddly leisurely manner.

"Ah! So, Inspector Koshimai, you were not aware of the real reason behind this man's disappearance when you asked for my help?"

With that, Ms. Kyoko returned the smartphone displaying the image to Inspector Koshimai with a flick.

"If that’s the case, it makes me a bit reluctant to share the truth."

"Reluctant...? What do you mean by that?"

For the fastest detective, her words were unusually roundabout. Come to think of it, offering herbal tea was strange too. Relaxation? Why would Inspector Koshimai need to relax. Yet, she accepted the tea.

She couldn’t refuse.

"Please, Kyoko. Just tell me. Aren’t we on good terms?"

"On good terms...?"

"A-As a great detective and a client, of course. If you don’t tell me the truth, I can’t pay the consultation fee."

"Let's talk."

She agreed, her willingness turning on a dime. It was almost suspicious how fast she had a change of heart. Should her first and second rules be reversed?

And what happened to being reluctant? Where did that disappear to—

"So, you already have a clue about where my friend's boyfriend might be? Without even leaving this room?"

Inspector Koshimai was about to be impressed by the thought, a true mark of a great detective it seemed—until Ms. Kyoko nonchalantly replied, "No, that's not it."

"I have no idea where your friend's boyfriend went—"

She went on.

"—And I don't think this man is your friend's boyfriend in the first place."

"...What?"

"I don't think they were near engagement or even had any promises for the future."

"He…he's a complete stranger, then?"

What sense did this make? Did her friend enlist her childhood friend, now an inspector, to find a complete stranger?

"A complete stranger… it's hard to say that when she's taking photos like these."

"...Uh, so was it all a farce to brag to me about this 'handsome boyfriend'?"

Koshimai knew she was a braggart, but to go that far... Would she take a photo posted online and claim it's her boyfriend? No, that didn't explain why it wouldn't be a complete stranger. Also, Ms. Kyoko had said, "taking photos like these."

"Yes. No matter where this photo came from, there's something odd about it. You kept pointing that out, Inspector Koshimai."

"I did?"

Did she? The only thing she kept noting about this photo was—

"That the room is tiny? But even so..."

While the small room might be circumstantial evidence that he wasn't wealthy, it didn't prove he wasn’t her boyfriend—in fact, it seemed weirdly realistic to her.

If the wealth was a lie, but the boyfriend part was also a lie, could it be that the room itself was set up, rented for a day, complete with clothes and props?

But then, what about the spare key she had?

"This is the thing, Inspector Koshimai. The room isn't tiny; it's the sense of perspective that's distorted."

"Perspective...?"

As baffled as she was, she started to see a glimmer of what Ms. Kyoko was getting at—this photo provided by her friend had some kind of trick to it.

Digital alteration? Retouching?

Although she retracted it later, Inspector Koshimai had indeed first claimed it was manipulated, which is why Ms. Kyoko probably thought she knew the truth—

"No, this isn't about tricks or post-processing. It's a common phenomenon in photography called the compression effect."

"Compression… effect?"

What was that?

It sounded familiar, yet unfamiliar...

"The truth in a photograph can be distorted—this has been true long before digital cameras came onto the scene. When someone says a picture 'doesn't do them justice,' it’s not merely a reflection of self-consciousness."

Without any digital wizardly involved.

Ms. Kyoko stated plainly.

From the way she talked, it didn’t seem to require specialized knowledge after all. Basically, the reason the boyfriend's room ('boyfriend' being in quotes) looked tiny was because this lens compression pulled the background closer in the photo.

True, Koshimai has had moments herself looking at travel photos and thinking, "Did it really look like this?" It wasn't mere nostalgia playing tricks.

There was a physical distortion at work. You could trust your memory more.

But so what? If it was a common effect in photography, there was nothing strange about it happening in a snapshot of a 'boyfriend.'

"The compression effect becomes most obvious with telephoto lens."

She said. While adding a slight disclaimer of "it's not always the case," Ms. Kyoko emphasized the words "telephoto lens. Super-telephoto."

"You know what a telephoto lens is, right?"

"Don't underestimate me."

Way to belittle the one acting as her assistant.

Isn't it that bazooka-like thing?

"Yes. Simply put, the key to the compression effect is 'bringing distant light closer.' The farther away, the more pronounced the distortion."

"So, this photo... was taken from a very far distance?"

After saying not to underestimate her, Koshimai's question came out sounding like a fool’s, but that understanding was correct. The compression effect was strong enough to make the room look tight... now she understood.

Certainly, it was strange.

Who on earth would take a photo of their boyfriend enjoying homemade food from hundreds of meters away? That's just spying.

Capturing a scene of the 'boyfriend' delighting in a dish—a snapshot of such a daily scene—did she take it through a window that was completely open along with the curtains? Was that why the window wasn't in the picture? Since he was eating somen noodles, it could be inferred that it was summer from his fashion too.

"Rather than spying, if indeed someone had a spare key, that would constitute—how should I phrase it—the act itself."

The act itself.

The vagueness didn’t seem like something a great detective would say, but it was typical of Ms. Kyoko—Inspector Koshimai loved that about the forgetful detective the most.

Even if she didn't distort the truth.

She gently rephrased the truth.

But as a police officer and as a friend, Inspector Koshimai needed to be direct.

"It's stalking behavior, plain and simple... sigh."

Saying it made her feel depressed.

It was quite a shock to find out that an old friend of hers had become a stalker. The policewoman had thought of her as boastful and troublesome, but never imagined something like this—her not being just an idiot, but an actual criminal. It wasn’t that she couldn’t believe it, but rather she didn’t want to believe it, and the stronger that feeling, the more it surfaced.

"If you want to confirm, you should investigate. Even for someone spying, this sense of perspective looks excessively telephoto—perhaps she couldn't get close to the 'boyfriend' for a reason.'"

"A restraining order, maybe?"

If the stalker went as far as making a spare key without permission, legal actions might already be in place. It’s something a cop could quickly find out, even if investigating friends usually isn’t the norm. But it falls within the realm where police power can be freely used, a criminal case, not a civil one.

Strangely, Koshimai didn't feel betrayed.

Rather, she was surprised that her friend had trusted her that much—perhaps it was true friendship.

"So, it's reasonable to deduce that he went missing to escape from a stalker who couldn't be stopped even by a restraining order. To protect himself, to protect his real girlfriend… what do you think, Inspector Koshimai? Should I still look into this man's whereabouts?"

'I'll waive the cancellation fee for the lesson', Ms. Kyoko said, placing a refill of herbal tea before Inspector Koshimai.

Yeah, she could use some relaxation.

The lesson was on the inspector's end: about the challenges of friendship and complexities in relationships. More challenging teachings would follow from Koshimai to her friend. It will be a tough education for both the giver and the receiver.

(But maybe this is a case of birds of a feather flock together…)

Her frequent visits to the Okitegami Detective Agency might not be something to be proud of. Her boss aside, anyone would likely view her actions with disdain, considering them a form of well-meaning disregard for the other party’s wishes. It was nearly the same as her friend going the extra mile trying to mobilize the police to find the whereabouts of her stalking target.

No, it wasn't even a matter of one extra mile or two.

Bad news travels fast, and even a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

And it was always just a single step which made one cross the line, which goes for both the starting line and the finish line.

ーーー

Original by Nisioisin Translation by @waifutime Editing by me

#translation #okitegami kyouko #boukyaku tantei

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whentranslatorscry · 1 year ago

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Volume 5 "The Resignation Letter of Okitegami Kyouko" translation complete

PDF

EPUB

Translation: waifutime Editing: conmal

The Forgetful Detective Series - English Ebook Compilation

Volume 1: The Memorandum of Okitegami Kyouko

PDF

EPUB Translation: yoraikun, 2018

Volume 2: The Testimonial of Okitegami Kyouko

PDF

EPUB Translation: yoraikun, 2018

Volume 3: The Challenge of Okitegami Kyouko

PDF

EPUB Chapter 1 translated by yoraikun. Reposted with permission.

Volume 4: The Testament of Okitegami Kyouko

PDF

EPUB

Volume 5: The Resignation Letter of Okitegami Kyouko

PDF

EPUB

#okitegami kyouko #boukyaku tantei

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whentranslatorscry · 1 year ago

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Volume 4 now complete, translated with the help of @waifutime.

The Forgetful Detective Series - English Ebook Compilation

Volume 1: The Memorandum of Okitegami Kyouko

PDF

EPUB Translation: yoraikun, 2018

Volume 2: The Testimonial of Okitegami Kyouko

PDF

EPUB Translation: yoraikun, 2018

Volume 3: The Challenge of Okitegami Kyouko

PDF

EPUB Chapter 1 translated by yoraikun. Reposted with permission.

Volume 4: The Testament of Okitegami Kyouko

PDF

EPUB

#okitegami kyouko #translation #boukyaku tantei

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whentranslatorscry · 2 years ago

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Chapter 4 Kakushidate Yakusuke Listening (1/3)

Think of the children: this exalted pretext seems to pass easily, and I think the truth of it lies somewhere around what Kyouko-san said. One could argue a decent point of view whenever they want to go against the grain, and those feelings might just be jealousy towards the pure and unblemished innocence from adults who have experienced failure. It is not to be denied, neither is it to be affirmed.

When it comes to the right to freedom of expression, things get even more complicated. It is easy for parents to say, “If you read manga too much, your grades will go down,” which is a typical example of an opinion that does not reflect reality.

Of course, reading manga all day long will not help your grades, but not because manga is bad. You can’t read manga and expect to get good grades. You have to make a commitment to study instead of reading manga.

Games and sports are the same, in that, fundamentally, anything that is not studying is a distraction from studying.

On the other hand, if you study too much, you will have no time to play. Thinking only of your grades means that you will lose your communication skills, to say nothing of the other problems you will encounter, you may even end up committing crimes.

As you must study if you are to read well, so you must read manga if you are to become a manga artist.

I’m not saying this to be mean, but the creator of the problematic manga "Cicerone," Fumoto-sensei, was a totally different person than I thought. I had heard that he was so depressed by this incident that he wanted to give up his pen, so I imagined him to be a delicate, sensitive, maybe even neurotic man. But in the Sakusousha meeting room, I saw him as a hundred times more capable and reliable than me, and he was well built too.

At first glance, he looked nothing less than hearty.

Having met Satoi-sensei before, I had the preconception that manga artists, being freelancers, didn’t care about their dress, but perhaps because he was meeting strangers Kyouko-san and me, Fumoto-sensei was dressed smart yet casual; his rich beard seemed not so much grown out as neatly groomed.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Fumoto Shun, manga artist.”

The way he spoke, the tone of his voice, he really did come across as a very tough guy. But if you judge people by appearance then I, being over 190 centimeters in height, should give you the creeps.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Okitegami Kyouko, forgetful detective."

Kyouko-san, unlike me, showed no sign of fear as she handed out her business card with a coquettish smile and bowed her white-haired head respectfully. She then turned to Kondou-san standing next to Fumoto-sensei and introduced herself in an identical manner.

"Pleased to meet you. I’m Okitegami Kyouko, forgetful detective. I appreciate your faith in me. I’ll do my utmost best.”

On a first formality she scored a hundred percent, aside from the fact that it was their fourth meeting. Naturally, Kondou-san was not surprised at all and he returned a flawless greeting.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Kondou Bunbou, editor-in-chief. Please make yourself at home.”

And everyone sat around the long table in the center of the meeting room.

As a guide or as an intermediary, if you think about it, my job was over when I brought the two together, so I did not need to attend this meeting. To make matters worse, as a stranger I ought to have known better than to miss my chance to leave at this point.

This is a rather sticky problem, not to say a matter of internal office politics, so looking at things from Fumoto-san’s place, he might have liked this giant man who came from nowhere to leave the room… I felt a bit guilty about it. Though with my critical fractures I was obviously involved in this incident. I couldn’t really call myself an outsider now.

Another way of looking at it is me being an indirect victim of Fumoto-sensei’s manga—which was all the more reason to tread carefully so as to not touch on any sore subjects.

As for Kondou-san, he probably just wanted Fumoto to retract his resignation—hope that my presence here won’t create unnecessary pressure on him—though it’s possible his thinking was the exact opposite and the reason he allowed me to attend is precisely to pressure Fumoto.

He’s that strategic of a man.

Otherwise, he could not have climbed to the position of chief editor so young.

It is naturally possible that he simply enjoyed the idea of coming to work with Kyouko-san… While I was thinking over it, Torimura-san, Kondou-san’s subordinate and Fumoto-sensei’s editor, came in with tea. She put a teacup in front of everyone, and when she took her seat, Kyouko-san immediately got down to business.

“Now, with regard to Kondou-san’s commission, I would like to explain what I consider to be the malaise you feel.”

The fastest detective, as good as her word.

Still, as I had been thinking about this matter since the morning, I felt that it was about time that it was made public. But, just as I held my breath ready for the detective to reveal the answer,

“Hold on, please,”

Fumoto intercepted her—an unthinkable act in mystery novels, breaking off the detective’s speech. But he particularly probably couldn’t stand being left out of the conversation as it moved on without him.

"I don’t know what Kondou-san told you, but I… I think we're good already," he said.

“Mm? You're good already?”

Kyouko-san counter-questioned, seeming to not take offense despite her mystery-solving being cut short—a bit as though playing dumb.

She might have her considerations… like trying to avoid possible complications with him.

"It's just... It might sound like I'm throwing in the towel, but since I'm retiring anyway, there's no need for a detective to work on it," he wanted to say.

"Fumoto-sensei, this matter still…”

Kondou-san was about to offer some consolidation when Fumoto-sensei,

“I understand how unfair this is to you, Kondou-san and Torimura-san, but I think I have to take responsibility. A reader of my manga tried to commit suicide—I can’t be at peace with that. I can't just keep drawing manga as if nothing happened."

"......"

He poured out his words like a machine gun. This was not a momentary lapse of emotion, I felt a strong determination. It was something that someone like me, who lacked resolve most, naturally has no right to speak of, let alone anything to say.

But why though?

His talk of bearing responsibility even came off somewhat irresponsible, and there was a sense of relief in his voice about not being able to continue drawing manga, though it was a bitter decision to make.

"I came here today to give a face to the editorial department that looked after me… Please understand, I have come to a point with manga…”

“Fumoto-sensei!”

This time Kyouko-san interrupted him, the conversation now a battle for dominance.

Her cry had startled him, and he turned to face her.

“I had the chance to read the latest issue of ‘Very Well,’ and it was absolutely wonderful!”

She said it with a smile of pity.

“The theme running through the whole work is really wonderful. The challenge was to depict despair and the future through the medium of teenage comics, and I think it was successful. The content is, of course, excellent, but what impressed me more was the attitude of the author. Though it is written for children, it is a fiction that adults can enjoy.”

“It, it’s really… thank you.”

He seemed to be taken aback when he was suddenly praised for his work. He bowed his head in bashful acknowledgement.

Looks like the preview reading paid off…

I’m not sure if I can take Kyouko-san’s sentiments at face value—it was the same with Satoi-sensei, Kyouko-san is ultimately a detective in the service industry, so it goes with the territory that she more or less possesses the worldly wisdom of having to pay a compliment or two in public.

Without accumulating memories, she’s surprisingly worldly-wise. However, there is no point in pulling a rambling lie here, right. So her feelings about the work should really be positive.

As it turned out, because I ran to the site to search for evidence first, by the time I arrived at the publishing company, it was already very close to the time we had agreed to meet, so I didn’t have a chance to look through Fumoto-sensei’s works at all, and I was just sitting there.

But it seems Kondou-san’s assessment of Fumoto-sensei—very talented, with a bright future ahead of him—was far from exaggerated.

It is for this reason that Kondou-sensei was pulling out all the stops—even hiring a detective—hoping for Fumoto to rescind his retirement, too.

“I’ll be very sorry if I don’t see a follow-up to the manga, and the children will be disappointed, and some devastated reader will surely go jump off a building again!”

Kyouko-san said those shocking words in the same calm tone she used for her praise, and the strong malice implied in the word “children” hit me like a bolt from the blue. But it was Fumoto-sensei who was most shocked.

“How do you propose to take responsibility for that?”

"T-That is..."

The question, thrown out as if nothing had happened, was full of malice, forcing Fumoto-sensei to cast a plea for help at Kondou-san.

He seemed to want to say, "What's with this person?"

The answer was just two words: forgetful detective. A person who could get on anyone’s nerves because she forgets by the next day.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s a sure thing,” Kondou-san said with a bitter smile.

As he had entrusted Kyouko-san not for the first time, this kind of conflict was probably within his expectations, and he perhaps enjoyed this sort of bohemian atmosphere even more.

So this man was more tolerant than he seemed.

“It’s just that readers really won’t accept your resignation without a word! Personally I still hope that you will consider your influence.”

“I am considering my influence…”

Fumoto rallied his spirit to respond.

“I hope you’ll forgive my candor, but I never thought about it when drawing. I should have considered it earlier. It’s my fault for not considering it. I love manga, I’ve read them since I was a kid, and that’s what made me want to become a mangaka, but I really should have been more aware of the impact they have on readers. It was careless of me not to consider.”

He said it so solemnly that I could hardly argue with him. In fact, this was an unavoidable aspect of art.

“Even in baseball there’s risk of getting hit on the head by a pitch,”

Said Kyouko-san from the sidelines.

This time, completely ignoring Fumoto’s promise of reflection.

“Say you believe that 'a sound body produces a sound soul’ and take judo lessons. You may die in an accident during judo practice, or you may be late for class and get run over on your way home from tutoring. The risk of being run over is higher at night. Wherever they are, children are at risk of dying. Manga is not the only thing that has a dangerous impact.”

“…You want me to brush this off, like it’s nothing? A child of twelve jumped off a building because of my work—and you want me to act as if nothing ever happened?”

Positively enraged, Fumoto-sensei leaned aggressively across the long table, posing this question to Kyouko-san. I would have been crushed by this pressure, but it was no wonder that she was still keeping her serene face.

“Since I am not a creator, I cannot provide an apt solution to your problem. But if I were in your shoes, I would never have done nothing,”

She replied solemnly.

“I would bear this in mind and then apply the experience to my future works.”

“……”

Fumoto-sensei remained silent and still, slowly retracting himself back to his original position, stunned. Kondou-san also appeared shocked by her response, his eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar. Her statement was too bold, and even I as an outsider found it hard to agree with. Nonetheless, how much she really meant what she said was unknown.

It felt as if she deliberately introduced an extreme argument to swiftly terminate the debate. At any rate, the forgetful detective was able to keep the situation under control with this.

“So, Fumoto-sensei, don’t say you don’t want to pursue this any further. Please listen to what I have to say, listen well and try to comprehend it thoroughly. Now, Kondou-san.” She turned towards him.

"Please show me the contents of the suicide note that the girl left behind.”

This is suicide in the name of suicide

Dying for the one I so dearly loved

To fly off is to become an angel.

Please, do not grieve for me

And bless my completion.

Defer this death of mine

To my Cicerone

Fumoto Shun.

The police only allowed Kondou-san to see a photocopy of the will, and forbade him to make any further copies or take any photographs, so the above text was written from Kondou-san’s memory, and so it could not reproduce the original handwriting of the middle school girl—however, the memory of Kondou-san, not being a forgetful detective but a capable editor, can be considered reliable.

Incidentally, the handwriting of the suicide note was judged to be poor in an unbiased assessment, and the illustration said to have been attached at the end quite rough.

Well, to say that a girl's handwriting is beautiful just because she is a girl would be prejudiced—bad handwriting in children is just normal.

More problematic was the unambiguous mention of “Cicerone” and “Fumoto Shun”: there seemed to be no hope of different interpretation that could be read into it.

“The lines are practically quoted from the manga, she just copied the initial five lines verbatim,”

Said Kyouko-san mysteriously with a nod.

“Honestly, I can’t imagine what kind of character the middle school girl is just by reading this. There’s no individuality coming through.”

Perhaps thinking it inappropriate to mention the name of the jumper girl in front of Fumoto, Kyouko-san refrained as she shared her impressions. But her blatant omission of the name kind of further erased the girl’s individuality.

“That’s not important at all… What’s important is that a student imitated my manga and wanted to become an angel."

Fumoto-sensei said in self-depreciation.

He probably still hadn’t recovered from the bombshell Kyouko-san had dropped—his voice, though faint, still held his point.

"To become… an angel…?”

“Yes, Miss Detective, everything you said makes perfect sense. As an artist, if I—but I’m not that great a person. I became a manga artist simply because I can draw and like manga—please don’t expect so much of me. I have no such noble ambition in my heart.”

I just do what I want to do, without too much thought behind it—Fumoto-sensei went on, and he was completely indifferent to the meaningful nod from the girl in front of him.

It seemed that he was addressing not only Kyouko-san, but Kondou-san and Torimura-san as well.

“You know as well as I do that sometimes the state gets carried away and tries to intervene for censorship purposes, but there are those big names who stand up and speak out for the sake of freedom of speech, aren’t there? Comics are on a plateau, manga culture is declining… things like that. But I don’t think every mangaka has such high ideals. I only became a manga artist because I like reading and drawing manga. I don’t have the perseverance to keep drawing when people hate me and insult me. I don’t think I’m doing anything as grand as promoting culture. If I'm doing it because it's interesting, I should stop when it's no longer interesting. ...Honestly, I don't think regulation is all that bad. It's not as if the manga from the past, when expression was more free, are necessarily more interesting than today's manga. Isn't that just like what the old folks say, that the past was better?"

Hard to argue with that, coming from the mangaka himself. Personally, I felt that Fumoto-sensei was the one who was now in a plateau—even so, my objection was too superficial.

Censorship is not the devil.

That much is certain.

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Chapter 3: Kakushidate Yakusuke Guiding (3/3)

As the face of Kyouko-san was still graced with a smile, I hastily turned away. My actions, however, were marred by my clumsiness and my frantic pace, resulting in a second's delay in my turn.

And so—I ended up seeing.

It wasn't underwear that I saw.

Instead, on the inner side of Kyouko-san's right thigh, perched on the railing—precisely where my cast was put on—there was a line of text written in pen, flashing fleetingly before my eyes.

In her own handwriting, it read:

"If it wasn't suicide?"

Being the forgetful detective who almost obsessively avoids leaving records or traces, the one and only exception to Kyouko-san's memorandum was her own body, which she used like a notebook.

On it she wrote the most basic, unforgettable facts in order to maintain consistency in her memories. Otherwise, if she accidentally dozes off on a train, the moment she wakes up she'll be struck with a panic, not knowing who or where she is.

Therefore, today, somewhere on her body—possibly the abdomen or arm—should also be written:

"I'm Okitegami Kyouko. Detective. Memory resets every day."

This line tells her who she is.

You could think of it as a means of defense against the villains who try to put her to sleep so that she forgets the content of the investigation. So, in addition to her basic information, she would sometimes jot down clues related to the case on herself.

This time, there should be no forces trying to put Kyouko-san to sleep, but perhaps because she was so tired from supporting me, she felt both fatigued and anxious that she might lose her memory during the investigation… out of prudence, she would keep a record of the current situation in the case.

Maybe it was when we split up to take action. Like, she had borrowed a pen from someone she met while climbing the stairs. She's a detective in the fast lane—she can move from one clue to another with the speed of light.

I was worried she might have dozed off and forgotten everything we reviewed en route, but it turns out she had already taken preventative measures, how reliable she is, I can only admire her remarkableness once again. To my regret, I could not make any sense of this line, "If it wasn't suicide?"

It was too fragmentary. Nonsense.

Naturally, it had to be in this case. The casebook is self-evident, and recording what is entrusted to her in concrete terms was a big taboo for the forgetful detective. While a password was not necessary, a mnemonic must be kept to a level of key words that will trigger inspiration.

After all, I am not Kyouko-san, hence I can't read the meaning of it.

But the fact she had written that—even if I didn't understand, I could guess.

This lime must be referring to the jumper middle school girl, Sakasezaka-chan—if it wasn't suicide, then what?

If it wasn't suicide? Then an accident… no, that's not it.

She had her shoes lined up and she'd written a will.

It is absurd to think of it as an accident.

At this time, the possibility that she directed and acted out the suicide herself but failed—not an accident, but suicide in the broad sense—should also be considered. In that case, what really happened?

Was Kyouko-san thinking... perhaps, that this was a case of third-party murder?

A murder case. But the girl's shoes were neatly placed on the rooftop, and the suicide note was also written in her own hand...I turned my back on Kyouko-san and tried to clear my head and get my bearings.

No, lining up the shoes neatly could have been done by someone else. But a handwritten will?

I didn't know what it said, but if it was in the girl's own handwriting… Hmm, wait, if she was made to write it, for example, by force or by some tricky tricks... Since she's a child, she couldn't have done anything else.

In that case, the story of how she was personally moved by Fumoto-sensei's manga to jump would be a cover-up.

That's too perfect—it looks fake.

That's what Kondou-san had said.

Was this his "off" feeling?

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

While I was still caught in the whirlpool of thoughts, Kyouko-san had already safely climbed over the handrail and pressed her body against my back from behind—it seemed she meant to support me again.

"Please continue leading the way."

"O-okay..."

I couldn't ask.

For the record, I was curious about the "if it wasn't suicide?" line. I also considered asking her whether she had any leads on potential suspects, should it turn out to be a murder case. But such questions remained lodged in my throat––to voice them would be tantamount to admitting that I had caught a glimpse up her skirt.

It wasn't just giving myself away, but a whole confession wrapped up in a single insinuation.

So unless Kyouko-san chose to explain of her own initiative, the intention behind that note was beyond my reach.

However—the one thing I could confirm was.

Compared to me, the fastest detective's thoughts had already gone far, far away.

Walking side by side with a gap between the two of us, too great to overcome.

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Chapter 3: Kakushidate Yakusuke Guiding (2/3)

The seven-story mixed-use building whose rooftop the middle school girl jumped from was actually the same one where I worked, at a secondhand bookstore named Truth Hall on the first floor.

It was a very traditional shop specializing in mystery novels. The store, roughly thirteen square meters in size, was crammed full of used books, managed single-handedly by the owner—an epitome of a personal-run bookstore. I had a short spell working here.

It was just as I had gotten off work and left the bookstore to go home that the middle school girl fell on me.

Every time I found a job, I would be embroiled in workplace disputes and accused without cause. I needed detectives to clear my name, but always ended up unable to stay, even getting fired—this inexplicable vicious cycle kept recurring, leaving me with virtually no freedom to choose my career. Truth Hall was a job I chose very proactively and positively.

Kondou-san might call it "having a foot in two boats", but to me, the key was the store's specialty in trading mystery novels. As a memorandum, I, who have been recording my experiences of incredible and baffling scandals, am eager to enhance my understanding of mystery and detective stories. I wanted to read not only bestsellers making the rounds but also more niche novels that are hard to find these days.

In other words, I was looking for a job that would balance my interests with a good work-life balance, but what was surprising was that this pipe dream actually came true on paper. Booksellers, like other people in the book trade, have to do physical labor (books are heavy), so when applying for this job, my large frame might have played to my advantage—since I could reach the top shelves close to the ceiling without a ladder, I must have been a godsend for the boss.

This was closer to reality than saying it was my passion that had moved him—but if really true, with my hand and foot broken, I would be of no use in this shop.

Of course, once an employment contract is established, as long as I stubbornly cling on, regardless of my broken bones or the media casting suspicious glances at me, my boss cannot fire me. But I don't plan on doing that—I don't want to cause trouble for the workplace I've finally entered.

Just nearly dying at the store's entrance caused enough trouble. Even with all eyes suspecting me, the boss never accepted press interviews. I wished to respond to his attitude with sincerity.

Hence, when we arrived at the mixed-use high-rise three stops away from the hospital, Kyouko-san and I agreed to split up.

She went up to the rooftop first and I headed to the secondhand bookstore: Truth Hall.

"Can you walk on your own?" Kyouko-san expressed concern for me. I had thought it inappropriate to ask her assistance to announce my resignation—even if the keyword "specializing in the trade of mystery novels" had aroused her curiosity.

"Then let us meet on the rooftop."

Kyouko-san entered the elevatorless old building. Getting to the rooftop requires some stamina. If she had the energy to support my body all the way, walking up seven flights of stairs should be a piece of cake.

I made it sound grand, but part of me just wanted to get this nuisance over with. I went around to the other side of the building alone and headed to Truth Hall.

At first I thought the owner might not open due to the recent happening, but business seemed to be as usual. If it had been the day of the incident, police might have cordoned off the sidewalk at the scene, but this being a bustling main road, it couldn't be closed for long.

Well, if that's the case, then Kyouko-sam should be able to move freely to the rooftop without any hindrance.

I pushed open the manual sliding door of Truth Hall and stepped in.

It seemed business was as usual, and the owner, as he did when I was working here, was standing behind the cash register at the counter with the same stern face, flipping through what looked like used books for sale.

I got on with the resignation quietly. Even though I wasn't at fault, I did cause trouble for the store in practice. I was prepared to receive his complaints, but those expectations were betrayed.

On the other hand, I had faint hopes—that he might ask me to stay—but this hope too was dashed.

No wonder, I hadn't been at it for long—I mentioned that I would bring back the apron and umbrella another day, but the boss said to consider them parting gifts. Wasn't it too casual as severance pay? Well, at least for mementos.

Leaving a word that I will come again as a customer next time, I didn't stay longer and my broken foot walked me out of the store.

While the shop's name was, according to the boss, not smeared, the turnover had once increased as a result of the report, which made me feel a little better. Who knows, this might be just a kind lie from the hard-to-please boss—or should I say a lame lie.

"I'm glad that something like that happened to us. Because we're a mystery bookstore, you see…"

So that could be thought too.

Not to sound imprudent, I had to admire their unyielding entrepreneurial spirit—from the bottom of my heart, I hope that going forward, Truth Hall will continue to guard the bastion of culture known as mystery literature.

In conclusion, as I, now once more having effortlessly slipped back into the realm of the unemployed, lugging my broken right leg up several flights of stairs reached the rooftop. I was aghast to see Kyouko-san straddling a railing, for her skirt was hitched up as she clambered over the handrail. There couldn’t be any behavior more ill-bred than this.

Dangerous!

"K-Kyou—!"

I tried to call out unconsciously, but I choked. If my shout startled her there she might really tumble off. Even though the one genuinely petrified was I.

How I wished to dash over without a second thought, harness all my strength, and unceremoniously hoist up Kyouko-san from behind and drag her back to safety. But with a broken leg, I couldn’t dart over, and with a broken hand, I couldn’t hold her.

My recent unemployment only heightened my sense of powerlessness—By the time these thoughts had run their course, Kyouko-san had crossed the railing, turning to face me.

"Oh, Yakusuke-san, you're quite the trooper."

She flicked me a casual greeting.

I didn't need her greeting; I needed an explanation.

"Have your affairs been settled? Did you quit smoothly?"

"Uh huh, it went fine, very smoothly...”

What a weird exchange.

I mean, who has ever heard of quitting not going smoothly?...Yeah I guess you could.

A job isn't something you can just quit at your heart's desire, as I knew all too well first hand.

All things considered quitting was a success this time.

Though battered and bruised, at least I hadn't had any disputes with the boss.

Having explained this, I found myself still trembling, like a detective trying to coax a potential jumper off the ledge.

"So Kyouko-san, what might you be up to this time?"

Kyouko-san stood nonchalantly on the other side of the railing, her footing no wider than the size of her own foot. A slight loss of balance, a gust of wind, and she could crash down.

In doing so, she might be seen as chasing the middle school girl to her death. I, who happened to be present on the scene, might indeed get slapped with suspicion serious enough to warrant the deployment of an investigative unit this time.

Right when my mind was brimming with a foreboding sense of being potentially framed for a great detective's murder, Kyouko-san—oblivious to my concerns—made a tangent.

"Chase, hmm... you could call it being influenced by the narrative nature of it."

It didn't seem that irrelevant actually?

"Whether it's for a reason or not, it appears humans inherently desire an end."

"An end…?"

"Should I call it a suicide wish? No matter adult or child, isn't there a present desire to 'die'?"

"......"

I couldn't bring myself to agree with her, though psychology does indeed recognize the term 'death instinct,' which refers to a self-destructive impulse—essentially, a desire to die.

Pessimistic.

Humans are fragile, not knowing for what reason they may lose their lives—this impulse may sometimes become uncontrollable and manifest.

If that were the case, for murderers who claim that their motive for committing grave crimes was to be sentenced to death, the impulse lurking in their hearts may not be dismissible with just a “for no reason”—because it is also one of the “common occurrences” that are annoyingly frequent.

Only calming down and looking closely, I found that Kyouko-san just stepped over the railing, and had not taken off her boots—this alone made it very clear that she (albeit presumptuously) did not mean to follow the middle school girl who had arranged her shoes before jumping.

In other words, this risky act was just part of the detective work—not to follow suit, but to recreate the scene. By actually standing in the same place the middle school girl did, she might discover something, which was Kyouko-san's usual "try it to know it."

Be that as it may, it still looked very dangerous—although I breathed a sigh of relief, in order not to startle Kyouko-san, I slowly approached her with my naturally slowed gait due to a broken leg.

"Any new discoveries while I was gone?"

I asked vaguely, and Kyouko-san, hand propped against her cheek, hummed thoughtfully, a contemplative expression on her face. This gesture was very cute, but I wished she'd keep both hands on the railing.

"Nothing that could be called a discovery at this stage... If I had to force it, there's just one thing I figured out—that Sakasezaka Masaka-chan really wished to die."

"...What do you mean?"

Perhaps because we were alone on the rooftop, Kyouko-san mentioned the girl's name directly—adding 'chan' to it made the situation feel even more stark. It was a vivid reminder that this was real life, not a novel or a TV drama.

Sakasezaka Masaka.

Twelve years old.

This name contained a certain individuality that could not be summed up in a phrase such as "middle school girl."

"It's really something, standing here. You can feel just how tall seven-stories really is. Tumbling from this height, head over heels, would surely end in death."

Anyone could feel that without having to stand here, I thought...

"So, we can probably rule out the possibility that this was a staged performance to vent suicidal tendencies. This could be an essential clue."

"I see."

Not knowing what's so important, I'll nod along for now—asking the wrong thing could cause Kyouko-san to lose her footing. This was not the time to debate.

But with this, I really felt like a detective trying to stop a jumper

"You say falling means certain death, but Kyouko-san, Sakasezaka-chan survived, didn't she?"

"Only because you just happened to be passing under where she fell."

"Could there be a possibility that she staged it from the beginning, meaning to use someone to cushion the fall...?"

"No way! Even softer than asphalt, the human body is not a trampoline. Even if there was someone to cushion the fall, the chance of death is still high. In fact, Sakasezaka-chan is still in a critical condition, hardly what you'd call 'saved'."

I read too many detective stories and got into the habit of selling the plot. Well, it was a real miracle that I and she were saved.

To think of it, if I had been even shorter, I might not have had a chance to work at the bookstore, Truth Hall. If that was the case, I would not have met with such an accident on my way back.

So, everything may be more coincidental than a miracle.

Coincidence, but no conclusion.

"Indeed, we can't completely rule out the possibility that she waited for a tall, seemingly sturdy passerby before jumping—but from here, you can only see the top of people's heads."

Kyouko-san turned around 180 degrees on the narrow space at her feet, and looked down the road again.

"At the height of the seven-story building, it is impossible to see the height of the pedestrians—You are tall enough, but you're skinny."

For a meat cushion, you wouldn't be the best choice—Kyouko-san grasped the handrail with her left hand and tried to push her body out further from the building.

I'm glad you've finally grasped the handrail, but you're not doing gymnastics, so please don't lean your body forward at such a steep angle.

"I'd pick someone meatier if it were me! There's a high chance of failure still, that both of you will die anyway."

"Oh."

...I just threw out a hypothesis to start the conversation. A real scary thought. But this is what detective work is all about, looking at everything from every angle.

"With a meat cushion, twelve-year-old Sakasezaka Masaka might not have given a second thought to anything. Maybe she didn't even think about what would happen to the cushion when she crashed down like that."

This is so stupid that there is no need to discuss it at all.

But we can't rule it out, to say the least.

This is a common mistake of readers of detective stories, who assume that real-life events and real people do not plan or plot when they commit crimes.

Most of the incidents I have experienced are of no value whatsoever as literature; they are merely the result of a momentary lapse of attention.

From the sound of Kyouko-san's voice, it seems that she is not giving much thought to this possibility.

To be on the safe side, I'll say it.

Why not?

I'm the one who said that there is no possibility of it being staged. But at this point, I can't think of anything that would rule out the possibility. On the contrary, I think it is quite persuasive, and cannot even be sure that it is not true, that a child who read a comic book that glorified suicide and was influenced by it tried to play a "suicide game" and failed, and that the child's antics pulled a pedestrian (me) along.

"No, you see, there are a lot of low-rise six-story and five-story buildings in the neighborhood. If all you want is to play a game, you should jump off those buildings."

Is that how it is?

Of course, not all rooftops are open to the public, but if you want to stage suicide, it's human nature to jump from a lower floor—another strong clue that this may not have been self-staged.

If this view was only accessible by crossing the handrail, then Kyouko-san's on site investigation today indeed had its worth. Ideally I would prefer her to wait until I joined her before crossing the railing. Though for a detective who places the highest value on speed, the concept of "waiting" may not even exist...

"Well. It's time we head to the publishing company."

Kyouko-san, abandoning her precarious 45-degree angle pose, prepared to cross the railing, meaning to rejoin me. It was really nice of her to retreat when she could have been in big trouble if she had been caught hanging around on the roof of the building. But her movements while crossing the railing were so unsteady it made my heart skip a beat.

Reaching out to her was in danger of pushing her, so I had to content myself with watching. It was not at all a motion suitable while wearing a skirt—and she halted mid-step.

"Yakusuke-san, turn around please." She adjusted her disheveled long skirt back into place.

"I, I'm sorry."

"No, thank you."

I couldn't just stand and stare.

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Chapter 3: Kakushidate Yakusuke Guiding

If you mean to save time thoroughly, the most appropriate mode of transportation when moving should be taxi.

However, forgetful detective Kyouko-san prefers not to take taxis while on the job—There are voice and video recorders in the car.

Since her principle of action is to strictly observe the duty of confidentiality and to forget everything cleanly by the next day, avoiding having every detail of her movements at work recorded is reasonable. But avoiding even vehicle recorders seems a bit paranoid. Still, being a detective who has 'forgetfulness' as her selling point and rarely takes notes, perhaps such concerns are just part and parcel of the job.

Though I so wished she'd give a little thought to asking a fracture patient to lead the way, we opted to take the tram to the scene.

As I mentioned before, the doctor actually gave me permission to leave the hospital as soon as I was able to. The troublesome part was, there was no crutch that suited my height—there was one, but it was an old model, and with my right hand also broken, it was tough to handle.

It wasn't totally unusable though. I had resigned myself to struggle with it when Kyouko-san, observing my difficulty getting out of bed, came to stand on my right-hand side.

"Please. If you think I’m a heartless detective, you are mistaken,"

She was apparently offering to substitute herself for my crutch.

“Whoooaoaoa…!"

"Don’t be shy to put all your weight on me. I may not look it, but I'm pretty strong."

Walking did feel considerably easier this way, but how could I let Kyouko-san do this much for me… I tried to politely decline at first, and when I realized she was supporting my weight while sneakily touching the plaster on my leg and hand, gave up on that idea.

I even had the suspicion her insistence on taking the train was just an excuse to freely touch my plastered limbs, but this wasn't the time to question it.

Actually, I didn't really want to know.

"Now then, please lead the way."

"Okay... it's just three stops by train from here to the scene, but we'll have to walk straight there to the station like this."

"I couldn't ask for more."

I couldn't ask for more…

As such, the two of us were leaning on each other as we walked, our bodies pressed close together and quite conspicuous on the street. I felt very shy about it, but Kyouko-san did not seem to mind at all.

Wasn't this a bit careless of her... Most people seeing me with a plaster cast would probably just think Kyouko-san was thoughtfully taking good care of me. Oh well, at least they wouldn't see through this woman's obsession with broken bones—that was good enough.

"Speaking of guiding, the suicidal middle school girl referenced in her will a short manga by Fumoto-sensei. The title is just that."

"Oh? Is that so?"

True to Kyouko-san's words, we walked and talked.

Being so close to her—practically close enough to feel her breath, made my heart race and my cheeks flush. I had no confidence in my ability to converse.

If memory serves me, the title of Fumoto-sensei's short manga should not be this.

Though her memory as the forgetful detective was flawless to a fault, for the span of one day until it resets. It was a correctness that mortals like me could not compare to.

If this was her 'preview' result, then she must not be mistaken… And her return to calling the suicidal girl 'middle school girl' was most likely due to us having left the hospital ward and moved to a more exposed location.

We can't be too careful about where and by whom we might be overheard, with endless media outlets trailing after me, the person of interest in this case. Even without the paparazzi, my reputation for getting involved in incidents was rumored to have caught the attention of public security.

…If the rumors were to be true, I wonder what they would think of me, walking out of the hospital ward hand-in-hand with a woman with all white hair.

"But I remember, Kondou-san told me it was called Cicerone or something like that..."

"That's not wrong either. 'Cicerone' is Italian for 'person who guides'—in the work it refers to the guide on the journey of death."

So that's what it meant. I didn't know what it meant before—I thought maybe it was a word the author invented—but the title was indeed very specific.

Kondou-san said that manga had romanticized depictions of suicide—Kyouko-san had already read through it during her "preview," hadn't she?

I asked her.

"Yes, I've read through Fumoto-sensei's works once. There aren't actually that many,"

She replied.

As usual, her reading speed was remarkably fast. According to Kondou-san, Fumoto-sensei's experience should not be short, so I figure the quantity is still not small.

"Hm...any thoughts?"

"What?"

"N-nothing. I mean, since you actually read it...umm, what was it like?"

The ambiguity of the question was due to the fact that I didn't want to commit myself. What I really wanted to ask was about the content of the manga, that is, would it make people want to kill themselves after reading it, but I felt that was too tasteless to ask, so I didn't.

There was actually no need ro say that much to a detective like her. She considered a bit, then went 'Oh' before adding,

"Well, let's wait until the afternoon to talk about Cicerone—it would be unfair for you to form unnecessary preconceptions based on my impressions before you read it."

"O-Okay."

I had no intention of reading it… But as one involved, I may be lacking in integrity if I deny to read it. Maybe I should borrow it from Kondou-san later at the company. My reading speed was nowhere near that of Kyouko-san, but it's short, so it shouldn't even take five minutes.

I was thinking I could put off dealing with this story for the time being, but then Kyouko-san continued.

"For instance, aren't you aware of the promotional blurb for Kyuusaku Yumeno's 'Dogra Mogra' at the time of its release which claimed 'Read and Go Mad'?" (Note: Kyuusaku Yumeno was a mystery novelist in Japan's Shouwa era, and the long mystery novel Dogra Mogra was his representative work)

Was she trying to make small talk? It couldn't be.

In every minute and second that she couldn't afford to waste, she shouldn't have the idle pleasure of idle chatting with people about mystery novels.

I had read it, but I didn't find such a blurb there.

"...Surely there wasn't anyone that actually went mad, right?"

"None that were reported officially."

Her memory could be trusted on this—trivia about a novel as old as Dogra Mogra has to predate her ability to retain knowledge.

"I certainly didn't go mad."

Being in the process of fiddling with the plaster on my body made this claim somewhat dubious... As for me, however minimal my self-awareness, I knew I didn't go mad from reading this book.

"If one reads nothing but masterpieces and let them have no effect on his life, his sensibility has to be abnormal."

Such strong words, perhaps a touch of book-lover sentimentality.

Dogra Mogra was too complicated for me, to be frank, with many parts I couldn't really understand. I might have different thoughts on a second read.

Having walked to the station, we went to buy our tickets. For the same reason she doesn't take taxis, Kyouko-san doesn't use prepaid cards on the job—they leave a record. Even if it takes a little extra time, this small delay could be quickly made up by the fastest detective.

Luckily, as if timed to our arrival, the train pulled into the station. I dearly hoped we wouldn't be late for our appointment with Kondou-san due to our on site investigation.

"Please, have a seat."

Kyouko-san finally released me—free again at last, I felt regretful about that as well, how capricious of me.

I suppose moving around with two broken bones took more energy than I imagined, so being able to sit down was a blessing. Serving as a giant's cane must have been no easy task for her either. I saw her sit beside me and stretch with a long sigh.

"Yawnn..."

Then, her eyes closed.

"Crap, p-please don't sleep!"

I didn't have the heart to say such words to her, given she was only fatigued from supporting my build. But I had to be firm—it would spell disaster if she fell asleep here.

The detective who forgets, whose memories reset every day.

It's a special constitution to be precise, where her memories reset on waking, whether from a nap or a full night's rest.

Now, with the rhythmic rocking of the train, dozing off even for a moment would wipe clean any memory of my request, the information about this case she had previewed—and also the insight she had gained of the malaise that lurked in Kondou-san heart during the course of previewing. All would be utterly forgotten.

This was the worst possible situation for the forgetful detective, yet the most likely danger I had to watch out for.

"It's all right, I got plenty of sleep last night,"

Kyouko-san said and still she stood up from her chair, perhaps worried she might fall asleep sitting.

Speaking of, since she could not remember when she fell asleep, it was also difficult to say whether she really got "plenty of sleep" last night... Whether one feels well rested or not after sleep depends on the individual—some may still feel tired after ten hours of sleep, while others may feel refreshed after just one hour of napping—she may have been working on a commission late into the night yesterday before finishing it.

Not being able to adjust when to sleep and when to wake is the fatal flaw of the forgetful detective. Drowsiness is not something one can control.

"If you want to write a story about rewarding the good and punishing the evil, you'll inevitably have to depict the evil alongside the good. If you want to portray intense good, you must also intensely depict its corresponding evil. It's hard to guarantee that readers won't be influenced by this part."

The topic that was once paused suddenly resurfaced, leaving me momentarily unable to react.

But as long as she kept talking, she wouldn't fall asleep,

"So you think reading so-called 'good literature', like what's on recommended lists, isn't necessarily beneficial?"

So I agreed.

"Exactly. One could even argue that a story utterly devoid of evil might have a negative impact. Imagine a child, raised on a steady diet of sweet love stories and classic novels, believing every boy to be a gallant, handsome prince, both tender and chivalrous—venturing into society with an impression like that, you're bound to be sorely disappointed. The gap between fantasy and reality chews you up and spits you out!"

Hypothetically speaking. Yet her words had a ring of truth to them and it all sounded very real. If this was an episode from Kyouko-san's life before becoming the forgetful detective—when she was a teenager—then I was hearing truly precious tales.

Had she been chewed up and spit out...?

"Such is the challenge of parenting... or rather, education. Children don't always grow up as adults expect."

"I-I guess."

Although she cited good literature as an example, when I was a child I never read the books recommended to me by my parents or or by my teachers. I was more drawn to comics and cartoons that made adults frown. When reading detective novels, I'd often be criticized for indulging in "stories of murder". Looking back on it now, it might have been these stories that cultivated my propensity for false accusations. What baffled me was why adults would reject such fascinating tales.

Everyone has been a child once, why can't they understand a child's mind? This thought had young me scratching my head.

"Well, precisely because everyone was once a child, they tend not to comprehend."

"Huh? What do you mean by that, Kyouko-san?"

"Ah, simply put, when everyone was young and not so disciplined. Calling them 'innocent' is just to sugarcoat it. These are the people who, having experienced foolishness and impulsive periods in their lives, feel the need to censor literature."

"......"

It was too uncouth to say. Her smile was friendly and her tone was cheerful, but in fact she was delivering truly devastating critique... But recalling my own childhood, it's hard to say she was wrong.

Who could say she was wrong?

"Life begins with imitating parents. Perhaps parents don't want their children to stumble in the same places they did. But to deny that sentiment without any explanation, that's kind of preposterous."

"Is, is it?"

That's surprising to hear.

The conversation so far had given me the impression that Kyouko-san opposed the view that fiction should be condemned as evil. But it would seem she did not look at things so one-sidedly.

"Regardless of the content of Fumoto-sensei's works, I believe that literature exists which could potentially sway readers toward suicide—crafty tales that glamourize suicide or tragic love to sway the reader's values,"

She clarified, almost as if to prove my assumptions wrong.

"The cases where authors end up following the bleak path outlined by their own works are spread across the world. For the sake of argument, the influence of literature cannot be ignored. But if you really want to blame the author, you must prove that there is a statistical difference of at least 5% between the number of readers who attempt suicide after reading the work and the number of readers who do not."

The larger the reader's pool, the higher the probability of individuals who may conduct antisocial activities. Say we find a crime novel on a criminal's bookshelf, do we speculate whether the book motivated the crime, or was the book so riveting that even an antisocial individual couldn't resist it?

She seemed more focused on concrete data rather than hypothetical situations.

"It's true, not everyone who reads soccer manga becomes a soccer player..."

"Yes, just like how not everyone who reads a romantic manga can find romance themselves."

She seemed to take issue with the portrayal of love in manga. I wonder what Kyouko-san's own girlhood was like.

"Of course," she continued.

"Nor can everyone who reads mystery novels become a famed detective."

Fair enough.

Even harder than reading mystery novels and becoming a murderer, it seems.

To accommodate Kyouko-san's request, I've suddenly had to make time during my break to go examine the scene, but if I do that it'll become completely for personal reasons. Still, I wanted to take the opportunity to get a troublesome errand out of the way—No, to say I want to 'get it out of the way' is kind of wrong, because that is not my meaning at all. This is not something to be gotten out of the way as an afterthought.

I may not be the fastest detective, but I had to settle the matter as soon as possible, as a matter of priority.

My resignation procedures.

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Chapter 2: Kakushidate Yakusuke Commissioning (2/2)

"Y-yes, that's right."

"What she wrote is very detrimental for my client, so confirming its authenticity, that's what this is about, correct?"

"...Mhm, right."

She's right that she's right, but the way she said it made it sound like Kondou-san and I were conspiring to cover up that will, and I was starting to feel guilty.

Sure she could interpret it like that—why should anyone be looking for some sort of "truth" beyond the handwritten will she left behind? Wanting to find some other truth could easily be seen as shirking responsibility, as shameful behavior.

"Responsibility… hm?"

Kyouko-san smiled meaningfully.

Meaningfully, and shrewdly.

"She may have been moved by manga to attempt suicide, but I do not think the author bears any responsibility."

"Huh?"

"Apologies, just my personal opinion. I'm a detective, I only think in legal terms. If a reader really did commit suicide because of a manga, the charge would probably be incitement to suicide, but there's almost no chance of such a prosecution succeeding."

"......"

Kyouko-san said that this was her "opinion"...but I feel such a firm and steadfast opinion could just as well be called a "viewpoint". At least it's different from my "impressions".

What she said may be salvation for Kondou-san, but for me it's still not that clear-cut.

Legal liability aside, the question of moral responsibility was another matter entirely. Even just the example Kyouko-san cited earlier, of using the law to assign blame, could itself provoke an emotional backlash.

"Ahaha. If you put it that way, the term 'moral responsibility' is quite strange, isn't it— oh, come to think of it, maybe there's already a law like that and I've just forgotten it. Book burnings and censorship is nothing new in history after all."

Regardless, the forgetful detective of today alone clearly isn't equipped to resolve the issue of regulating creative freedom.

Kyouko-san shrugged her shoulders, bringing the derailed conversation back on track.

"All I can resolve is this particular case."

That's of course enough— debating over "laws that restrict creative freedom" or "an atmosphere that suppresses creative freedom" here would be pointless.

Still, on the topic of creative freedom, I expect that by this afternoon, Kyouko-san will be discussing it with the key man, Fumoto...

I do hope she doesn't say anything too sharp— I'm worried enough as it is.

Kyouko-san's appearance being as composed as you see, perhaps owing to her attitude of "I'll forget it tomorrow anyway", she can be completely oblivious to propriety when conversing or debating.

I don't think it would be ideal at all for her to take that approach with Fumoto-sensei who's driven himself into a corner thinking of withdrawing from the world entirely...

To someone self-blaming, saying "You are not to blame at all"— this kind of total denial of their feelings may cause them to shut their heart even more and go "You don't understand me at all".

There's no telling how things will develop.

"I hope you can promise me first that the task I'm about to take on is still an investigation after all, and even if the results are not what Kondou-san hoped for, I will not distort the contents of the report. This one point, please be sure to understand."

"Ah, okay. I can certainly understand that. I don't mean to ask you to fabricate investigation results either."

Some detectives have claimed that making things up is part of the job (known as "fabricating detectives"), but I know well that Kyouko-san was not that kind of detective— moreover, Kondou-san would be the last person to want such despicable conduct.

Regarding how to respond from the standpoint of the editorial department and publishing company, that's another thing. If the cause of a middle school girl's suicide attempt really is related to works previously published by them, he wouldn't evade that fact either—

Just the kind of guy he is.

Therefore— what needed to be faced was the malaise he felt.

Something didn't felt quite right— everything felt too right.

Somehow deliberate…

Recalling Kondou-san's words again, I still don't understand his implication, or perhaps what he wants Kyouko-san to investigate is not just the truth behind the incident, but also to find out through her investigation what exactly is the malaise he senses.

"Aha, I've got it all figured out already."

Out of the blue, Kyouko-san casually said this.

"Really? So you've already figured it out… Wait, what?"

Because she spoke so casually, I almost let her words go in one ear and out the other.

Say what?

"Wha..what do you mean you've got it all figured out?"

"Just what I said, I've got a theory. I figured out what Kondou-san was saying during my previewing. Yes, I agree with him, that the whole thing is full of malaise. It's truly worthy of a professional editor to pick up on that, his sensibilities are rich."

"……"

If such is the case, the sensibilities of professional detectives should also be very rich—it seems that she had already grasped what Kondou-san's malaise was before meeting him in person.

With this previewing, won’t class be dismissed early? The fastest detective has indeed performed her knack to the fullest.

"That kind of discomfort, can it be clearly articulated in words? Not just based on feeling.."

"Because it's a feeling that something is not right, it's a senses problem, but it can still be described quite clearly with words! I believe it can be cogently explained to a certain extent."

To really explain the 'offness' that Kondou-san was unable to articulate so clearly herself—I don't believe it.

"Hmm...how should I put this. I don't exactly know Kondou-san's character very well, but I guess he probably has some idea. As I speculate, it's not that he can't describe it with words, it's more that he's struggling to describe it."

"Is that so...?"

I don't quite understand the subtle difference between "can't describe" and "struggling to describe."...If Kondou-san had already noticed what that malaise was, he wouldn't have entrusted her, right?

...Incidentally, Kyouko-san said she didn't exactly know Kondou-san's character, but they have actually met several times before.

She just forgot.

"Could you please tell me? What exactly is that malaise?"

"If I answered your question now I would be forced to explain the same reasoning twice, once in the morning and once in the afternoon, so please allow me to clarify in the afternoon."

She firmly refused me with a sweet smile.

It seemed that for a detective who values efficiency, having to waste time presenting the same reasoning twice would be insufferable to the point of being "forcing", as she put it.

Clarify it when meeting Kondou-san and Fumoto-sensei in the afternoon. Certainly a reasonable approach. So what about wasting time playing with my plaster cast...

"Since you have the opportunity, why don't you try reasoning too, Yakusuke-san? Because with just the information at your disposal, you can already establish a certain degree of conjecture."

She said.

"O-okay...I'll try my best."

I didn't think I could get anywhere just by trying my best, but since she'd proposed it, I had no choice but to go along.

"However, as a detective, merely grasping that something feels off is hardly considered getting the job done. Therefore, now that the details of the request have been clarified, it's about time to take action, Yakusuke-san."

"Huh? Take what action..."

"Since I'm a woman of action and not some armchair detective, shall we walk and talk?"

If anyone was an armchair detective, it would be me, crippled as I was.

That being said, I was well aware Kyouko-san was an action type. She was the type who can't sit still, and who knows where she'll run off to if I take my eyes off her.

It was a cruel request to make of a man with a fractured leg, 'Shall we walk and talk?', but I decided not to make a fuss about it. If we were heading to the Sakusousha, wasn't it a bit early?

We were to meet with Kondou-san at one in the afternoon— it wasn't even eleven yet. From the hospital to the publishing company, it wouldn't take more than half an hour, even with delays. Even if we wanted to have lunch on the way, this was too early to start.

If that's the case, wouldn't it be better to stay in that hospital room and clarify some details first, instead of chatting while walking? No matter how much you value speed, there is no point in wasteful rushing around.

Kyouko-san should understand this better than anyone.

"No no, we're not heading directly to the publishing company.I want to do an on site investigation first. That is, the place where you had the fortune... oops, misfortune to break a bone. We're heading to the mixed residential-commercial building where the middle school girl—Sakasaka Masaka-chan—jumped from."

"......!"

Detectives are amazing. She already knew the full name of the middle school girl even though it hadn't been publicly announced. But, I hadn't considered visiting the scene.

Although the attempted suicide of a child, a very severe case indeed. It lacked the "eventfulness" typical of mystery novels, so generally, there was no need for an on-site investigation.

However, Kyouko-san seemed to think otherwise.

I wasn't sure how necessary it was, but she, who wasn't keen on wasting time explaining the same reasoning twice, must have had her reasons for wanting to go.

If she wanted me to guide her, I had no reason to refuse.

"But, Kyouko-san, before we go to the publishing company, um... if we make a detour to where the girl jumped, we'll be pressed for time. Because the direction is just opposite…"

"Oh, that's simple,"

Kyouko-san said, nonchalantly.

"We just have to skip lunch."

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Chapter 1: Kakushidate Yakusuke Being Hospitalized (3/3)

At last, the puzzle pieces fell into place.

Kondou-san's request was to find out what exactly was the malaise he felt. He wanted to know "that feeling" which he himself could not articulate and I also could not sense just by listening to his account.

Of course, if there was nothing, there was no way of knowing what to find out, and even if there was something, Kyouko-san might not necessarily be able to point it out.

After Satoi-sensei's case and then Sunaga-sensei's case, Kondou-san probably overestimates Kyouko-san's abilities more than necessary. She really just happens to be relatively better at strictly abiding by confidentiality agreements; she is not omnipotent.

Well, maybe Kondou-san only meant to smooth things over in his own way of doing things. He seems to be trying to play matchmaker between me and Kyouko-san at every opportunity. But he shouldn't have the leisure to be concerned about our idle affairs, with his circumstances.

"No no, Yakusuke. I know what you're trying to say, but I have my reasons too. It has to be Okitegami-san, no one else. Of course since this isn't something I want brought to light now, it's natural I want it handled in absolute secrecy, but the point I want to emphasize in particular this time is speed, rather than secrecy. And that's why I need Okitegami Kyouko. I mean to rely on Okitegami-san's talent as the fastest detective. As we're far too pressed for time."

"Pressed for time...? What do you mean?"

Yes, in addition to "the forgetful detective" Kyouko-san had another nickname: "the fastest detective." But why the urgent need for speed?

A week had already passed since the incident. I hate to say it, but at this point, no matter how fast we are, it may be too late.

"I'm aware that Fumoto-sensei is going through a tough time, but 'Verywell' is a weekly serial manga after all,"

Said Kondou-san, practical as always.

He said he wouldn't stop an artist that really wants to quit, but as the editor-in-chief of the manga magazine, he seemed reluctant to let the artist he had high hopes for leave the industry just like that.

Just as a detective must keep secrets, he said,

"Manga artists, too, got deadlines to meet."

Chapter 2: Kakushidate Yakusuke Commissioning

"I'm Okitegami Kyouko, the forgetful detective. Nice to meet you."

The next day. As usual, even though it wasn't our first meeting, Kyouko-san appeared again with the same greeting and walked up to the bed in the center of the hospital room.

"Oh."

She stared intently at my right leg—right thigh, specifically, where the fracture was and the cast was put on.

"K-Kyouko-san?"

I asked, baffled and anxious about her fixed gaze and our unexpected proximity.

"Nothing, pardon me,"

Kyouko-san straightened her hitherto hunched back.

"I fancy the idea of a broken bone. So I lose myself while inspecting one."

It was quite something to say in front of someone nursing broken bones. Well, I suppose it made for a suitable icebreaker for our supposed first meeting. Maybe breaking my bones was worth it after all.

Was it, though?

However, it didn't seem to be just a joke to close the first meeting distance. Because Kyouko-san said,

"Let me touch it for a bit!"

Without even waiting for my consent, and she touched the plaster cast on my right arm as if examining a patient, speaking as she did— huh, getting a cast makes you so popular, I felt like I was back in school.

Maybe it was the hospital setting, Kyouko-san— already with white hair— was dressed entirely in white. She wore an embroidered long dress with a coarse striped cotton blouse with long sleeves, and had a thin silk scarf wrapped around her neck—the only black item were her conspicuously dark glasses frames.

"My, how wonderful, how cool."

Why was she so fascinated with a plaster cast... She acted as though scrutinizing a piece of evidence that would crack a case, and I could only let her do as she pleased.

Some people really have incomprehensible hobbies.

I don't believe my plaster cast had anything to do with the case... Well, during the "Unreturned, Unprocessed" incident, it was by picking up the smallest threads of clues left at the scene that Kyouko-san succeeded in grabbing the culprit.

Regarding this middle school girl's attempted suicide case, perhaps from the two plaster casts on my body she really could dig up a truth that would make one's jaw drop— I didn't dare casually ask what she was doing.

Rather than compromise, I asked Kyouko-san this.

"Have you never broken a bone before?"

With no other intention than the literal meaning of the words.

"Never! That's why I'm so fascinated by it!"

She replied, not sparing a glance at me and continuously touching the plaster cast. I couldn't just blithely accept her answer at face value.

Kyouko-san, being a detective who loved to put herself in danger, it was hard to imagine she had never been injured before—even if she thought she had never broken a bone, it was likely just that she had forgotten.

With Kyouko-san wholly absorbed in the plaster on my hand and leg, allow me to explain the defining traits of this forgetful detective. When I first commissioned her she was still a detective known only to those in the know, but lately the forgetful detective's fame has steadily risen; perhaps you have already heard of her.

But with her being the forgetful detective, some may have already forgotten.

Okitegami Kyouko, chief of Okitegami Detective Agency.

Though since it was a one-person company, she was both the chief and the sole employee, handling everything from business to PR to accounting by herself—a detective without a Watson at her side.

Such a lone wolf of a detective was a bit of a rare sight.

I understood even then that she was highly skilled, but the defining trait of Kyouko-san as a detective was not actually her abilities. As can be inferred from her nickname of "forgetful detective," the keyword for her was: forgetful.

Kyouko-san only has today.

Her memories reset every day—sleep the night, wake in the morning, and everything that happened the day before is wiped clean from her mind.

No matter what kind of investigation she participated in or what kind of truths she uncovered—the client's affairs or the murderer's affairs, all information would vanish like smoke, without exception.

All memories erased.

Strictly speaking, for a detective whose job implied prying into others' secrets and exploring the underbelly of society, this was an extremely advantageous trait. From a confidentiality viewpoint, there simply couldn't be a more stalwart assurance from any other detective.

It was indeed because of this quirk that Kyouko-san had also undertaken many commissions that delved into state secrets or international affairs. Even dangerous requests that could threaten her life if exposed, which most detectives would shy away from, she investigates fearlessly.

It's so miraculous it's more of a gift from nature than a quirk. Of course, such an advantage comes with its challenges.

Her memory resets daily— meaning no matter the case, it has to be solved within a day— because the evidence gathered and deductions made would be forgotten in a day.

Be it intricate cases or impossible crimes, she is on the clock.

The Forgetful Detective, while maintaining an absolute seal of secrecy, must also abide by a time limit—otherwise she cannot complete her tasks. Thus was born "the fastest detective."

Being forgetful, she became the fastest— the fastest detective was none other than the forgetful detective.

The famed detective solving any case in a day— to be precise, when taking on a commission, "can it be solved within a day" was her criteria, and only when she was sure that it could be solved would the Okitegami Detective Agency take on investigating the case. In other words, the reason Kyouko-san took on this case—the middle school girl suicide case introduced through me by Kondou-san—despite it being a request that looked to the layman's eyes like it didn't even have a place to begin, was that she was convinced the tangled knot could be undone within the day.

"Ah... This has been most satisfying. Thank you."

Kyouko-san said some incomprehensible words of thanks and finally let me off the hook. Due to my propensity to be wrongly accused, I've had the forgetful detective help me out of trouble several times, but I was beginning to genuinely worry whether I had simply missed opportunities in the past to realize this woman might actually be a dangerous character… So, her decision to spare me left me sighing with relief from the depths of my being.

By the looks of it, (it looked like she'd really had enough fun, so naturally) her frolicking with my plaster cast hadn't been her true purpose for this visit; Kyouko-san finally came to the point.

"As we're pressed for time, we best get down to work. You're Kakushidate Yakusuke, yes? Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Without even knowing who I was, she just felt her way over my broken areas in that very pressed time. Just what was her deal?

Also, just to reiterate, even though the forgetful detective had helped get me out of trouble multiple times, Kyouko-san had, predictably, forgotten all about those past instances. Be it the first or the hundredth time, to her I was always a first-time acquaintance.

Even if we forget her merits as the forgetful detective, the fastest detective, even if she wasn't at the apex of the field, Kyouko-san was still an exceptionally capable detective. But my hesitation to seek her help each time stemmed from my reluctance to endure this blow.

Hence I only sought Kyouko-san's help when I absolutely needed to 'forget' or needed the 'fastest' solution, or like this time, when someone had asked me to introduce them.

...Come to think of it, I hadn't even introduced myself yet, and Kyouko-san said "nice to meet you," so how did she know who I was? I did give my name when I called this morning to request her services, but she shouldn't know that the person on the phone was I.

Perhaps my puzzled expression gave it away, and Kyouko-san pointed to the bed railing.

"Voilà."

More specifically, she was pointing at the patient name card attached to the bed railing— which had my name, Kakushidate Yakusuke, written on it along with date of birth and blood type.

This observation may seem trivial—hardly what one would call the "observational skills required of a detective." But perhaps that's what deduction is, the accumulation of such minute discoveries.

"The time now is ten past ten."

Paying no heed to my admiration, Kyouko-san glanced at the clock placed by the hospital room window. As she said, the hour and minute hands formed a nice angle.

We'd agreed to meet earlier at ten.

In other words, Kyouko-san had spent exactly ten minutes playing with my broken bones despite the limited time. I regretted allowing her to waste ten of those minutes like this.

Despite the fault not being mine.

"A complex situation we are dealing with. We’ll have to coordinate our plans with both Kondou-san and Fumoto-sensei. Regardless, let's set our initial goal to solve this within the next twelve hours. That is to say, by ten tonight!"

"Wait… twelve, twelve hours!?"

I exclaimed in surprise at the revelation of such a specific timeframe. The fastest detective however considered this more than ample.

She had planned a meeting with Konodu-san and Fumoto-sensei that afternoon to discuss the details. Understandably, she meant to provide ample time for that.

"Firstly, allow me to pose a few questions to you. Though you haven't directly contracted me, you nonetheless seem involved in this case,"

With a decisiveness unimaginable from someone idly playing with plaster, Kyouko-san got straight to business with the utmost efficiency.

"Ye-yes, I am,"

I answered. There was no denying my involvement as I'd been at the heart of the incident and nearly lost my life as a consequence.

She then persisted,

"Before we proceed, Kakushidate-san, is it safe to assume you hold no murderous intent towards the middle school girl?"

With a question that sapped all my strength away.

My hand and leg already broken, how was I supposed to go on living if I kept getting sapped like this— but if you said getting questions like these was normal, then so be it.

It appears Kyouko-san wanted to start by confirming whether I was "truly" falsely accused or not. This was not meant specifically for me; as a fundamental part of Kyouko-san's attitude as detective she seemed to have an unshakable creed that "the client lie."

It was a lonely but accurate truth.

In my eyes, a relationship where we'd known each other for so long yet were unable to build any trust, filled with unspeakable futility and emptiness.

Not unexpected that we couldn't get close to each other, her being the forgetful detective and all...

"Before I received the call and arrived here, I had already glanced through the contents. Some media reports referred to it in passing, so I wanted to reconfirm. Please don't take it to heart,"

Kyouko-san said. It was clear to me she was waiting for a response; she wouldn't gloss over it.

"No such thing ever happened,"

I said helplessly.

"I didn't know what happened initially. My mind was empty; I could not remember anything. All I remember was leaving work for home. I heard a cracking noise followed by a blackout. Next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital bed, buried under an almost unbelievable reality— a girl had plunged from the top of a building on top of me. This preposterous fact, I only learned about later,"

I was beset with overwhelming woe, so much so I sighed to the heavens. As if my luck couldn’t get any worse, I became a prime suspect. The sprawling details that came later were enough to make me hang my head and weep.

"I see. It would be a long shot to calculate the exact time and place of her landing. Just catching her, let alone rushing forward to harm her, quite a stretch."

"Right, right? I can't fathom why they would accuse me."

I sent her a plea for help unconsciously, just like old times. Clearly it wasn't about clearing my name this time, but it seemed I had grown the habit of seeking her help whenever I saw her.

That being said, although I chose to ignore those reports soon enough, they were, just like Kondou-san said, lacking in authenticity. Therefore, the widely discussed reports began to die down the day before yesterday. Or perhaps they were preparing to sensationalize other trends; just the nature of media.

"But Kakushidate-san, didn’t you notice? If you had seen the middle school girl falling, you could've dodged,"

She asked this quite naturally.

If I had dodged, while I'd be unharmed, it wouldn't be the case for the middle school girl. She was gravely wounded and unconscious. She might have died instantly if I'd stepped away. From a detective's standpoint, it was a reasonable question. I wasn't saintly enough to assert I wouldn't have dodged if I had noticed.

Because I did not see it coming, it led to this misfortune.

On a side note, it’s rare for one to walk on the street and look straight up— who would anticipate a girl falling on them from the sky?

"I understand. I will choose to believe you,"

Said Kyouko-san, seemingly accepting my word. I gave a sigh of relief and the burden lifted upon her trusting me, but suddenly, she spoke again.

"Kakushidate."

Did she still have doubts about me? I felt disheartened.

But that was not the case at all; as she’d said, her investigation of me was finished. Because what Kyouko-san had asked next was:

"Since ‘Kakushidate’ is kind of a mouthful, may I address you as ‘Yakusuke’ from now onwards?"

Kyouko-san only has today. All memories of before yesterday, without exception, are wiped clean and reset to zero— but experiences remain.

Since we've known each other so long, her body still remembers even if her mind doesn't, that's why she wants to call me Yakusuke— or was thinking like that a bit optimistic? Just wishful thinking?

The real reason was probably just that Kakushidate is harder to pronounce than Yakusuke, or perhaps because the latter has fewer syllables and saves a bit of time— or maybe it's just based on the rationale of choosing the "fastest" option. It's also possible she just felt like it today (or maybe touching the fracture elated her), and the next time we meet, with her reset memories, she's sure to go back to calling me Kakushidate.

Just a trivial thing of this degree.

Such a trivial thing made my heart flutter yet Kyouko-sam herself didn’t seem to care in the slightest, carrying on as if I had already agreed.

“Yakusuke-san, when I got your call, I already heard the rough situation from you, but allow me to rearrange it.”

The fastest detective does not stand still. "Aside from the marvelous… oh, I mean, serious harm you suffered, this time I'm asked to investigate the reason for a middle school girl's suicide attempt, correct?"

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Kakushidate Yakusuke Being Hospitalized (2/3)

Different from Satoi-sensei, who already enjoyed an unshakable position and was in a league of her own, this man was a new talent the editorial department had high hopes for and attached great importance to—or something.

"Yeah, yeah, more or less. Only, he's not exactly a newcomer. He's actually older than Satoi-sensei and has been around longer."

"Really?"

The manga world gives the impression of young geniuses popping up constantly, but on the other hand there's also a tendency for some to take surprisingly long to make their mark. While it's true that anyone can become hugely popular regardless of age or status, reality isn't so rosy.

Sure it's better than being unemployed, but it was a harsh world I didn't think I could handle— though not exactly as Kondou-san put it, maybe only those like Satoi-sensei who take hardship as nourishment are bound to succeed.

"Fumoto-sensei's 'Verywell,' it started serializing in our magazine recently and… How to put it, it's something I feel has potential. His time is finally coming. As editor-in-chief, I am filled with excitement from the bottom of my heart."

Wow, Kondou-san's job must be so fulfilling—he sounds so enthusiastic that I temporarily put my own affairs at the back of my mind to feel sincere happiness for him. But not having read the manga, I couldn't really comment.

Plus, from how he talks, he and Fumoto-sensei seemed to be sailing much as smoothly as Satoi-sensei, having no room for an unskilled person like me whose only talent is sidestepping trouble.

Just as I was puzzling about what this issue could possibly be,

"Just that, there's been a problem these past few days, and it's very serious."

He finally got to the point.

I leaned forward, wanting to listen closely.

Just what was this "trouble not entirely unrelated to me."

"I mean, nothing unprecedented...Fumoto-sensei's issue isn't the bizarre, unheard-of, extraordinary kind that's befallen you almost daily. It's a problem that manga artists or novelists, or any 'creator' of some sort, could potentially face at any time. It's neither especially novel or especially classic."

"...Kondou-san, you're talking in circles and making this more complicated than it needs to be. Don't worry, no matter what kind of request it is, if there's a real necessity for it, Kyouko-san will accept, you can rest assured. She's not the sort of detective who only takes on 'charming mysteries' or 'baffling cases.' Besides, as the forgetful detective, you know she keeps all secrets."

As far as the forgetful detective goes, unless it was a "case that could be solved within a day," she wouldn't take it on either. After all, just recently she had made a right mess of things by not strictly adhering to this rule.

Though I felt bad for Kondou-san, if I already could discern that the case was an unnecessary hardship at my end, I'd recommend another detective more suited for it than Kyouko-san— I too felt partially responsible for that previous incident.

"No, that's not what I meant... You're right though, no point in beating around the bush and raising your unwarranted expectations, that would counter my intentions. Being an editor, some things are just hard to express."

This hesitant manner was so unlike Kondou-san— not raising my expectations, but with his solemn preamble I couldn't help imagining what kind of huge deal it could be.

However, just when I thought he had finally made up his mind to get down to business and start giving specifics, he jumped back to the previous topic.

"The fallen middle schooler...she was trying to commit suicide, wasn't she?"

Though for some reason certain news reports (almost all of them) had morphed it into me trying to murder her, at the very least the fact she jumped off the building on her own was undisputed.

I, having personally experienced countless events straight out of a mystery novel, would be inclined to suspect that this entire affair was actually a homicide staged to look like a suicide. I've experienced such cases firsthand. This is not purely hypothetical. But there was a handwritten will left behind here, suggesting it was a suicide.

A note typed on a computer or sent via text message could potentially be forged, one handwritten, however, is irrefutable.

"Yeah, the problem lies with what she wrote."

"What problem exactly?"

As someone suspected of murder, the existence of the will was like a lifeline in my eyes. For now it's just baseless speculation by the media, but without that will I could have really been charged with attempted murder— come to think of it, a suicide does not necessarily need to leave a will, so I probably should be grateful to her for leaving one.

"Absolutely. As your friend, I feel I should be just as grateful to her as you are... But I simply cannot."

Kondou-san's tone carried a hint of anger. This anger probably wasn't directed at me, but I still shrank back instinctively.

"H-how so?"

"That will has become the root of my… and also Fumoto-sensei's troubles. No, it has taken root, sprouted, and the vines growing from it are suffocating Fumoto-sensei so he can hardly breathe."

"......?"

"It's about what's written— she declared herself a fan of his."

Being as dense as I am, I was still left in the fog at this point. But the following words made it clear just how grave and heavy were the troubles they carried.

"She wrote in black and white that she was personally moved by Fumoto-sensei's piece to take her life, even considerately drew illustrations of his characters."

Unable to bear the relentless portrayal of "Secondhand bookstore employee (25)" as a suspect of critical concern, I'd not paid due attention to recent news and print media—thus, my understanding of the precise details pertaining to the middle school girl, and the specific content of her will, was rather limited.

All I know is that she left a will, and tried to end her life by jumping from a building— which, frankly speaking, was more unbearable for me to contemplate than my own reality of being suspected. The backdrop that led a twelve-year-old to commit suicide is something I found too distressing to face, neither did I wish to know what drove her to that.

It was far too sensitive a topic.

Even if it was the very reason for my hospitalization and job loss— the thought of her still hovering on the verge of death made it all the worse. I didn’t expect that the suicide note would be so baffling— or maybe baffling isn't quite the right word.

After all, it has to do with someone's life—not only.

It has to do with someone's profession as a manga artist.

I never imagined that during my unconsciousness, things would turn out like this for Kondou-san…

“Is this the 'largely related to me' thing?”

“Well…had you not been in the exact spot where she fell, it would've blown up.”

He said.

Perhaps to calm his nerves, he began now to peel an apple. I then noticed that I'd actually been holding the apple that he had peeled for me the whole time without taking a bite, and immediately took a bite.

“You mean?”

I asked him munching on juicy fruit.

Kondou-san sighed and said,

'What I mean is, if it wasn't for 'Secondhand bookstore employee (25)' becoming a media darling, the one under fire now would probably be Fumoto."

Hold on. Shouldn't I be the one sighing at this? It seemed I'd somehow helped Kondou-san without realizing it, just through a layer of separation— which did please me of course, but becoming a media darling (or 'media target' rather) because of it was hardly something to celebrate.

"I am not happy that you became the punching bag. But it is fact that I was saved because of it. I spoke up for you when you were wrongly accused before, and now not only can we call it even, there is even some left over, the surplus may even rival the national budget! And maybe in order to maintain the narrative that you are the culprit, the will has barely been reported on."

That's how it was.

Looking at it with tinted glasses, we could also say that in order to frame me, the media concealed the existence of the will— of course, considerations were also made because the "victim" was an underage girl who still showed signs of life. But if I hadn't been standing at the spot where she fell that day, she probably would have gone to meet the King of Hell according to plan, and the contents of the will would likely have been made public, with the barrel pointed at the "culprit" who drove her to suicide.

Indeed—at Fumoto Shun.

"Uh, the piece that moved her, isn't it that manga, the one currently being serialized, 'Verywell', was it?"

"No, not that one. It's Fumoto-sensei's early work. It's a short story he drew when he was just starting out… A one-shot called Cicerone."

Kondou-san explained.

I didn't even know the name of his currently serializing work until just now, so of course I'd never heard of this one-shot or had any idea what it was about. And I didn't understand the meaning of that loanword(?) Cicerone either.

"Well, that's one only people in the know would know about. If she read that, she must really be a true fan of his. Having such a huge fan should have been a happy thing."

"And what kind of manga is it?"

I wasn't sure if I should ask, but if I didn't, the conversation would grind to a halt, so I picked up the courage to ask.

"Hard to describe in one sentence…but for sure, there is suicide in the piece. From a certain point of view, if you ask whether it glorifies suicide, yes, it does. Since he had just debuted at the time and it was drawn when he was very young, should we call it radical...? It's undeniable that some parts are sharp and thorny."

Kondou-san seemed rather reluctant to elaborate—hmm.

I hadn't seen the content, so I won't comment much, but from what I had gathered, some people were sure to blame that manga for the schoolgirl's suicide, believing she imitated what she saw.

Especially since she wasn't just any fan— she spelled it out in her will. If it weren't for the media making me out to be a suspect and giving it widespread coverage, the prevailing narrative in the media would definitely have been full of tired arguments about "the harmful influence of manga on children" or that "creative freedom shouldn't be unlimited".

The mere thought of it sent shivers down my spine.

I used to half-jokingly, half-seriously curse heaven for treating me this way. But this was the first time I thanked my innate misfortune without the slightest hint of self-mockery. Even if there's no need to be so dramatic, just thinking about what would have happened if the one passing by when she jumped wasn't me with my inborn misfortune, but someone smaller, and the suicide girl and them were killed together...

No doubt Fumoto-sensei's manga would have become the target of public backlash for taking two lives.

Needless to say that as a mystery novel reader,I stand on the side of defending creative freedom. But on the other hand, it's not that I want to restrict press freedom either, yet I also don't want authors to have to turn their imaginations into reality under so many constraints— this is my personal opinion.

Rather, not so much an opinion as just some random thought— expressing my feelings without much due consideration. Just my reflexive, unexamined thoughts— in fact, if I were to come across works full of blatant discrimination, I'm sure it would make me uncomfortable. I would certainly 'feel' that children shouldn't be exposed to such things.

There's no solution to this dilemma.

All you end up with is mixed reviews.

If you ask whether creative works can influence their audience's lives or sensibilities, the answer is of course yes— if there are readers who became professional baseball or football players because of reading comics, then how can we definitively say there are none who became juvenile delinquents or criminals? Not just children, even adults can be influenced by fiction, become better or worse people because of them— this is undeniable. Rather, one might say people seek out creative works precisely with the desire to change their own lives.

Be it comics, novels, movies, or nonfiction reality, it is basically impossible to come into contact with certain things and remain unaffected whatsoever. At the extreme, some readers or viewers might see the relentless media attacking me and think, "That suspicious guy deserves all the criticism he gets."—who knows.

No media under the sun does not influence its consumers.

Nevertheless, to play the relativist and go, "all judgments are intrinsically subjective" is equally meaningless. Hence, when both sides can only muster impressions that don't amount to opinions, the debate is basically over— that's what I think.

People are naturally influenced by what's around them, but if your own feelings were to be overturned by this reasoning— that would be untenable for anyone. Of course, to be defeated in an argument is not to lose. It's not a question of victory or defeat, and it's not a question of value perspective.

"There's a good chance it could have caused a tremendous scandal, but Kondou-san, we seem to have averted the worst case scenario, haven't we? A close shave, I suppose... or should we say it ended as an incident not worth calling an accident... Anyway, no longer a problem, is it?"

The endless argument has ended. And so has the problem, it's solved.

While it's hard to say the deep root of it was resolved completely, still, by me becoming the scapegoat, the worst seems to have been avoided. It may not be a perfectly tidy resolution, but hasn't the matter been settled?

"No, it's not that simple. Certainly thanks to you— although it's weird to say— since it didn't become public, the problem didn't surface. However, even if it didn't become public, the man in question still found out."

"The man in question?"

"Fumoto-sensei."

He was greatly devastated, Kondou-san told me.

Someone passed this news on to him. Who told him anyway? Well, I can't get too angry about it now, but I can't help feeling for Kondou-san's feelings.

"For his own work to nearly take a child's life— it made him so upset he's considering putting down his pen— or rather, it's making his creative work painful."

What a forced pun.

But I understand the feeling, even if I can't fully understand as I've never heard of a manga directly leading to something like this. Though it's a sad universal truth that young people have been driven to suicide after being inspired by novels, plays and other creative works since historical times. That brings no comfort here of course.

If the manga artist he has such high hopes for is being driven into such dire straits, it's not unthinkable that Kondou-san would be anxious. As the magazine's editor and as a human, it's hard not to share in that distress.

That's the kind of man he is.

But if there is any advice I could give as a third party regarding this matter, ultimately, it's a hardship that Fumoto-sensei will have to overcome by himself I think. Or if he's reached the point where he doesn't even want to draw manga anymore, then that decision should be respected.

"I understand that too of course. We are trying to persuade him in consultation with his direct editor, but in the end it will come down to his own judgment."

"Seems fair. Yeah, it's not my place to interfere...I'm being too nosy. Terribly rude of me. But why tell me about this?'"

After hearing the whole story, I felt this was entirely a trade secret— even though it was closely related to what happened to me, was it really okay for him to tell me the contents of a will involving Fumoto-sensei's dismissal? And wasn't he originally asking me to introduce Kyouko-san to him... From listening to it all, I still felt this wasn't a case suitable to entrust to the forgetful detective.

No, not just the forgetful detective, no detective at all— because there's neither a mystery that needs solving, nor a criminal that needs catching.

"You're absolutely right, Yakusuke— only if the story I just told is true."

"Only if it's true?"

—Wasn't it true?

I was listening the whole time thinking it was.

All this while I have been burdened with countless unfounded accusations labeled "facts." Just like how now the media was portraying me as a critical suspect and making a big fuss. Even if you told me that everything just now was "fabricated," I could not easily deny it either.

Nothing can be certain— a certain perfectionist detective once said this.

"Hmm...I may have misled you. The reality is what it is. I didn't see the original suicide note but the police showed me a copy and revealed some insider details that haven't been told to you yet— Simply put, Fumoto-sensei's current circumstances are not entirely separate from yours."

"Is that so..."

"But you know, something just doesn't feel quite right about it."

Kondou-san said.

Despite his use of "feel quite" in an offhand way, his tone was one of firm conviction.

Something was off.

What could it be that was off?

"On the flip side, you could say it feels too contrived— I can't quite put it in words, but there's something forced about it."

"Forced..."

Was there some... conspiracy or something?

A plot to undermine a promising young manga creator expected to carry the future of the magazine, making a middle school girl leave behind a suicide note like that and killing herself— that's what he was getting at?

That's too forced.

A storyline like that would be not only forced but delusional paranoia that even I wouldn't entertain.

"Of course, I have no intention of spouting such wild speculations, and if she really did attempt suicide because of Fumoto-sensei's work, as editor-in-chief I have no intention of shirking responsibility either. But the malaise I feel makes me think there's more to it."

Malaise...that was really far too abstract to base anything on. But even so, can't ignore a felt sense of unease.

Is this why he requested Kyouko-san?

This is why he needed Okitegami Kyouko?

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Vol 4 The Testament of Okitegami Kyouko

Chapter 1. Kakushidate Yakusuke Being Hospitalized (1/3)

Crunch! came a sound much like the crushing of an egg.

Its source: my body.

Oblivious to what had happened, utterly confused about how— such words were too flowery for the situation. Before the thought 'utterly confused' even had a chance to register, my consciousness faded. All I could glean was— so this is how it feels to die.

Well, if we could die whenever we wanted, life wouldn't be much of a struggle, and while life is fleeting, it is also stubborn to the core.

After hovering at death's door for a full week, I awoke in a hospital bed, learning that a middle school girl had fallen from the roof of a building, her body crashing down directly onto me as I walked home.

Somehow or other, it seems I'd cheated death.

If I was expected to savor this miracle however, to humbly thank the heavens for this misfortune that had fallen upon me quite literally—was a bit much. It made me want to curse the heavens and ask what grudge they held against me.

Simply in the sphere of my everyday life, I consistently and constantly am embroiled in all sorts of crimes, from the smallest to the most heinous. Each and every time suffering wrong accusations, continually treated like a suspect, shouldering blame to the extent that it feels like a backpack. After a long while, finally— for the first time in forever— I found a job. Why on earth did this have to happen as soon as I found a job.

To lay out the extent of the damage: I did survive, but my right arm and thigh were severely fractured, so it goes without saying that I can't work for the time being— forget work, I couldn’t even write or eat— needless to say, the job was done for.

Using the opportunity of drafting resumes to also start writing something like memoirs, given my present crippled state, I felt I might have to become a writer for real.

Hearing my words, Kondou-san who came to visit gave me a stern talking to.

"Might have to become a writer? Oh, you don't know how hard it is to be a writer!"

Kondou-san served at a major publishing company, Sakusousha, where in his early thirties he already held the position of the head of the Comics Weekly magazine department. Perhaps because of his previous stint in the novels department, he wasn't tolerant of careless remarks like those I had just made.

Before I could apologize for my blunder, Kondou-san chucked and said,

"Young people who underestimate writers are the ones who, unexpectedly, easily become writers—you've got real potential there. You could easily spin your everyday experiences into any number of books. This experience is indeed precious."

Was he mocking me? Or encouraging me? Both seemed possible, yet neither quite right. I figured I should take his words positively.

"And you know,"

Kondou-san went on, slicing a great deal of apple by the bed. It pained me to have my former boss do such a thing but, as an injured patient with a disabled right hand, all I could do was accept his kindness. Moreover, he would dislike it the most if I were to show such reserve—we are just friends now, and he wouldn't even allow me to use polite language.

"In the world of manga, a girl falling from the sky is quite a coveted event. But when it actually happens, it turns out to be such a tragedy... You've had your fair share of miserable experiences, but isn't being hospitalized quite rare for you?"

"Yeah, well, that's true. It's precious."

Considering what it was like, it would seem I got away with minor injuries, and according to the attending physician, as long as I remain conscious there would be no threat to my life. The broken bones, they weren't likely to cause any lasting damage either. The doctor assured me firmly that I could be discharged today if I was up to it—perhaps a polite way to hint that the hospital was running short of single rooms.

"Don't think like that, no need to stay any longer than necessary, not with hospital bills being what they are. My goodness, gotta thank your parents for that sturdy body of yours."

"I guess so. I'm filled with such gratitude I could cry..."

I never hesitated to tell people about the inconveniences of my tall stature, surpassing one hundred and ninety centimeters (and I believe it to be the very reason for my constantly attracting unwarranted attention and suspicion). But if it was thanks to my height that my life was saved this one time, I could only call it a blessing in disguise.

"They say broken bones mend stronger once they heal. Not that I need to be any stronger."

"Ha-ha, that's just folk wisdom, though."

Folk wisdom, is it?

"it's not muscle after all; can't magic itself back to health," he added on. As expected of Kondou-san, so learned and well read.

Speaking of, I seem to recall some Greek philosopher or other who supposedly died when a tortoise shell fell on him and cracked his skull. Although meeting the body of a fallen middle school girl could be said to be no less misfortunate, at least it didn't become the cause of my death. Maybe my luck was not as bad as it could be.

What's more, I wasn't the only one saved.

The fallen middle schooler also managed to escape death by a hair's breadth, thanks to my chance presence below to break her fall. She fell from the seventh floor of a mixed residential and commercial high-rise— under normal circumstances she should have been dead by now. It was because she had me as a cushion that she wasn't.

A middle schooler—to be precise, a first year in middle school.

A girl not yet twelve years old— at the most she could be called a child, not even an adolescent.

This too was why she was saved.

Had my hulking physique been a size smaller, or she been a grade higher, neither of us might have come out of it unscathed.

While I was now awake though, she was still hovering at death's door in some other hospital. Can't really say we both were unscathed. I couldn't know what state she was in, I'd just had heard that she was in a coma. But one thing can be assumed: it wasn't a state that would allow me to smugly proclaim, "It was thanks to my self-sacrifice that her life was spared."

…Not to mention that even if the treatment worked and she woke up fine, she may not thank me at all—because.

Because she'd jumped off that building of her own free will.

Yes—a suicide jump.

With a will and shoes neatly arranged.

With no hope of rescue, she'd aimed for the asphalt road.

A guy like me walking beneath her was just an unwanted interference with her resolve—a nuisance in her eyes. Hence, despite my good intentions, I got no gratitude in return.

Call me shallow if you will, but since I was heavily injured because of this and will almost certainly be fired, I was hoping I could at least be a hero for saving a child's life—when actually, I just served as a thing to break her fall in her attempt.

Well, if you consider what suffering must have led the twelve year old girl to decide to take her own life, maybe it's not something to say "just" about, and compared to witnessing her crashing to the ground a few seconds earlier, things could have turned out worse.

She may not thank me, she may blame me, and maybe I should be proud to have saved a life all the same—even if it was the result of a mere accident.

Even if it's the result of bad luck, that's how it is.

"Hahaha, you're such a nice guy."

Kondou-san was really mocking me now.

"I wonder why someone like you is always accused as a criminal. Couldn't get off even this time, could you."

"......"

To hear it depressed me very much.

Misfortune being already a daily occurrence, I could never not feel depressed when wrongly accused— this time, though, was depressing to an exceptional degree.

Simply walking down the street, someone fell from above and crushed me, landing me in hospital with major injuries....However, since both of our lives were saved by that incident, depending on how you look at it, it could be considered not a heroic tale, but at least a miraculous survival case, a positive thing.

But people saw nothing of the sort.

While I was unconscious all the TV broadcasts had apparently made it appear as if I had positioned myself under the fallen girl so as to deal her a final fatal blow.

What a final blow, she didn't even die— how do you have to twist and contort the facts to make it sound like that? In my haste I went through all the newspapers from the past week. The coverage was so outrageous I gave up halfway through reading.

In short, all the media pegged me as the culprit, accusing me of attempting to murder a middle schooler. Couldn't escape being implicated even with my life hanging by a thread— am I to carry this undeserved blame all the way to my grave? Truly an unprecedented, tailor-made misfortune just for me.

I considered my tendency to be falsely accused as having reached its peak.

I'd never fancied the thought of becoming a great detective, but it seemed I couldn't even be a victim. Perhaps because the "victim" was an underage schoolgirl, thankfully my name had not been plastered in the papers, which could maybe be counted as my solitary redemption.

But at this rate, it was only a matter of time until my real identity as 'secondhand bookstore clerk (25)' became public— not that it bothered me, but I felt terribly sorry for my boss who hired me.

"Secondhand bookstore clerk (25), eh? Who asked you to leave your job in publishing to work in a secondhand bookshop. That's what you get for having a foot in two boats."

It left me speechless how sharply those at the forefront of publishing could speak.

But it did feel a bit like betraying my old boss.

I worked at the publishing company under Kondou-san for a time, and I was falsely accused and dismissed without a chance to defend myself. So I didn't really owe the company anything special.

But that's neither here nor there. To say my present state is some kind of divine retribution would be overstating things a bit, don't you think?

"I doubt it'll actually come to that, but… just in case the police believe the media stories and come knocking, I should probably have a detective at the ready..."

I muttered to myself, only half in jest.

I wasn't sure what sort of detective to call for a situation like this still... My phone contacts had the business cards of several agencies, but I couldn't think of one offhand that specialized in dealing with falling girls. If anything, I'd love an expert at handling media circuses... A professional in media control, that would be...

That's when Kondou-san said,

"How about Okitegami-san?"

"Oh...? Nah, this kind of case is not suitable for Kyouko-san. Not Kyouko-san. Maybe it's the least suitable for her out of all the detectives out there."

Kyouko-san— Okitegami Kyouko. Calling her on was something I did in the past at Kondou-san's request; I'd introduced her to him as a detective. Should I say she was an oddball of a detective? A somewhat peculiar one, anyway.

Hence, she was perfectly suited to handle the trouble Kondou-san had been facing at the time. However, her particularities made her clearly unfit for this case.

From my numerous experiences (generally one should not have this many), recovering a normal life after being put through a media circus requires a long battle of endurance. Precisely because of this, there's absolutely no chance here for the detective with the fastest case-cracking rate to swoop in and "solve any case in a day".

"I was just thinking, what a blessing in disguise it would be to take this opportunity to get closer to her, you know?”

"Hahaaha… very funny, Kondou-san. You know as well as I do there's no chance for progress with Kyouko-san."

"Not with that attitude.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and continued.

"Well, since you'll get someone else to restore your image..."

He handed me a peeled apple.

"Could you call Okitegami-san for me?"

"Huh? What do you…"

"That is, I..."

He said.

"I've got another case that I would like the forgetful detective—to forget."

Kondou-san was not only a friend but a benefactor of mine. I of course had no reason to refuse him.

During my past stint working at the publishing company I had found myself wrongly accused, and it was only Kondou-san who spoke up for me. For him I wouldn't think twice about going through hell and high water.

In fact, I'd go so far as to say that I, Kakushidate Yakusuke, had been perennially awaiting an opportunity to repay his kindness. Yet on this particular day, the abruptness of his request akin to a sudden blow left me stunned beyond measure.

Could Kondou-san have gotten into some trouble while I was hospitalized? His predisposition to misfortune must be on par with mine. Most people wouldn't require a detective more than once or twice in their lifetime. Especially not in such a short period.

"Listen here Yakusuke. To me it's not as sudden a request as it seems, nor am I trying to exploit your situation. The problem I'm facing and the predicament you've fallen into aren't entirely unrelated."

"Not entirely unrelated?"

"Not only, it's largely related to you…if I must be honest with myself, it's causing me a great deal of trouble. I imagine you're pretty troubled as well, and though I probably don't measure up to your level of trouble, it's still a considerable headache."

Speaking up to here, Kondou-san showed a weary smile— which I had missed as my thoughts were consumed with my own stuff, but now that I looked at him, I couldn't help seeing the exhaustion on his usually vibrant face.

What could've happened in the week I was unconscious? It was apparently largely related to me, but I didn't have the slightest clue. My obliviousness wasn't anything new, though.

"Something up with Satoi-sensei again?"

That Satoi-sensei was Satoi Aritsugu, one of the manga artists Kondou-san edited for, and also a wildly popular author for the magazine he was chief editor of.

The robbery at Satoi-sensei's studio that I had introduced Kyouko-san to was the last time we met. Satoi-sensei had left an impression on me as the temperamental genius type, so I figured she was was good at getting into trouble as she was at drawing.

But I was totally off base. I'd make a terrible detective.

"Satoi-sensei is doing great! Better than ever. The incident seems to have inspired her creatively. And Kyouko-san's personality was like stimulation to her."

That's excellent news, though it made me feel anxious on a personal level. I had wanted to write about Kyouko-san's detective adventures before someone as brilliant as Satoi-sensei put them to manga.

It seemed she wasn't one to draw mystery manga, thankfully...

"Then is it another mangaka?"

"You catch on fast, Yakusuke."

I was actually quite embarrassed by his praise.

I just didn't believe Kondou-san had any personal troubles, hence I figured if he needed a detective it had to be about his editorial work.

Nothing more ordinary or mundane than that, really.

"Well, it's not a manga artist I work with directly... I doubt you've heard of him yet. Fumoto-sensei. Fumoto Shun."

As you might guess, I hadn't heard of him.

However, "yet" was the word here. I surmised this must be an up and coming new manga artist likely to gain more fame and recognition going forward.

#translation #okitegami kyouko #the testament of okitegami kyouko

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