When the Detective Work is Done, I'll Die

Chapter 37

The impatience I felt after jumping on my bicycle and riding off. Gradually, exhaustion set in.

President Kanbara must have been badly hurt. She searched everywhere for Miiko and couldn't find her, and in the end I was the one hiding her. Betrayed even by her junior's friend, the one who should be despairing is the President.

"What... am I even doing...?"

By the time I got home I kept repeating words of despair. The only ears to hear them were my older sister's, shut away on the second floor.

Just inside the entrance I cursed myself over and over.

I was disgusted with who I'd become; I couldn't bear it. After bragging in front of the police, in front of everyone, I hadn't found a single answer to the mystery. I'd only ended up hurting someone precious.

A real detective would have been far more useful. A real detective wouldn't have hurt someone that important.

I couldn't move for the despair filling my heart. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe the early hour—or maybe God had heard my wish to run from this reality.

My eyelids grew heavy and closed.

There was no dream; only time passed. When I opened my eyes in the darkness, the window in the front door was glowing orange.

I checked what had happened with the case on the smartphone in my pocket. A quick look at the news would tell me.

It was no use.

The news still reported only that a high-school girl had been killed by someone suspicious. The main point was something about increasing patrols on the route to school; no one seemed any closer to finding the culprit.

In the end, nobody understands. They're just being toyed with by the culprit. The culprit killed Kanbara-senpai, even killed the cat. Finally, they slit the cat's back in a single line and took its life as if it were a game.

In a single line? The culprit did?

I felt as if I understood something. Was I imagining it? No—even if I turned it over now, it's too late. The mystery can't be solved.

Who would challenge a riddle no one profits from solving? Even if I solved it, I'd only be hated.

The app's notification appeared at the edge of despair.

Right. Miiko said her next stream would start before five. I gasped in alarm. Thank goodness I hadn't overslept.

Perfect. I'd ask Miiko too. Even she would surely declare it's time to give up.

So I opened the app right on time and lectured at length to Miiko on the screen, giving every excuse I could think of to justify quitting.

"Whew... hey, Miiko. You'd agree, right?"

I'd had to talk for a long while and my throat was sore. But I thought Miiko would accept what I said, so I kept speaking.

While still out of breath, I asked her what she thought of the story.

"Today, shall I tell you the tale of a brave, justice-minded boy?"

My effort went unrewarded. She made no response to my voice at all.

"Huh? Miiko!? Miiko?"

The voice chat wasn't on today. No matter how loudly I shouted, she couldn't hear me.

Miiko's stream only had a comment box. I could simply type the story in there, but all my energy had vanished.

The thought of pasting that long speech only to get a single "What's that?" in reply killed what little motivation I had left.

I rolled on the floor and simply listened to Miiko's tale.

"There was once a boy whose friend was bullied, and the boy could do nothing as his friend suffered."

It sounded like Murayama-senpai's story, I thought. If I were normal, I'd wonder how she knew what I'd been investigating. Probably she saw the backlash on SNS. Detective Chikage knew about Miiko's stream too. She must have asked Miiko yesterday, "Can you lecture them about anything you know related to the bullying?"

I brushed the thought aside.

"No matter how the boy consulted students or teachers, the school insisted there was no bullying. Whatever he tried, nothing worked. Before long the bullying spread—not only to his friend but to the boy himself and even his younger siblings."

"That drama... I've got a bad feeling about where it's going."

A single line made me sense the ominous direction Miiko's drama would take. Well, bullying itself is already unethical. Even setting that aside...

"The teachers told the boy, 'If you think there's bullying, bring us the counseling form,' and refused to deal with the brave boy directly. The boy would have liked to bring the form to the bullied kids, but every child, not wanting to worry anyone, insisted they were fine."

"...and?"

"Yet day by day the bullied children showed more bruises. Still, the school pretended not to see. When a child came in with a bruise, they simply lied and said it was just an injury. Emboldened, the bullies grew worse. They gathered their group... and one day the boy's little brother jumped from a school window in a suicide attempt."

"No... that can't..."

"The boy couldn't forgive them."

I knew what came next.

"Don't tell me..."

"The boy lured one of the bullies behind the school and struck him from behind with a steel pipe. Again and again, pouring out his hatred, thinking of the people he loved. He believed this would save everyone. He believed no one else would become a victim of the bullies."

Yes, killing. If the bullies simply disappeared, every problem would vanish. No matter what was done to them—slander, condemnation, even a death sentence—the bullies had no right to complain.

"Was this really the right thing to do...?"

"It was wrong."

"Huh?"

I flinched, thinking she'd heard me, but it was only a line in her story that happened to echo my mutter.

"'It was wrong,' the boy thought—after seeing the aftermath of the murder. Somehow he managed to hide his guilt and the police left. Yet the bullying didn't end. The tragedy continued, and even the boy's little brother was left blood-stained."

"...even the little brother...?"

"Yes. The bullying didn't stop; another person continued the tragedy. Bullying doesn't end simply because the ringleader dies—others always remain. There's no end of people willing to jump on the bandwagon. Worst of all, those bullies may not even bear any malice. They won't stop until someone tells them it's wrong, and no one ever does. The boy stained his hands with blood again..."

In other words, what this story tells us...

There was something to learn from the tragic tale. That lesson would once more raise my heart—raise my body—to stand.