Audio version here:

 

 

The assembled mourners sat frozen, their faces masks of disbelief and confusion.

Minutes crawled by before anyone dared to move.

Finally, a middle-aged man who appeared to be a relative approached Ayame with cautious steps. His face bore the strained expression of someone trying to manage an impossible situation.

He leaned close to her ear, his voice barely audible as he whispered what seemed to be words of comfort and control.

Ayame’s response was immediate and defiant. She pulled back from him, her grip tightening on the microphone that had become her weapon of truth.

“I’m fine. I’m not tired at all. I don’t need more sleep,” she declared, her voice crackling through the speakers as the microphone caught every word of her protest.

A woman, presumably another relative, hurried forward to join the intervention.

She moved with practiced efficiency, placing her hand over the microphone to muffle any further outbursts before whispering urgently into Ayame’s other ear.

Her movements suggested this wasn’t the first time she’d had to manage a family crisis.

The male relative reached for the microphone, his fingers closing around it as he attempted to wrestle it from Ayame’s determined grasp. She fought back with surprising strength. The struggle was brief but intense.

The female relative joined the effort, and together they managed to pry the microphone from Ayame’s hands.

Victory came at a cost. Ayame remained visibly agitated, her eyes blazing with rage and frustration as the male relative placed a firm but gentle hand on her arm, guiding her away.

The female relative quickly assumed control of the situation, bringing the microphone to her lips with the ease of someone accustomed to public speaking.

“I’m sorry for that,” she began, her tone measured and diplomatic.

She paused, choosing her next words with visible care.

“Ayame hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Which is understandable. It’s still a shock what Makoto did.”

She continued her damage control, weaving a narrative that would allow everyone to return to their comfortable assumptions.

Ayame was simply a grieving mother, overwhelmed by loss and unable to accept the harsh reality of her son’s suicide. Her outburst was nothing more than the desperate denial of a broken heart.

The crowd began to settle, their collective tension easing as they embraced the explanation offered to them. Heads nodded in understanding, and whispered conversations resumed. The normal rhythms of a wake gradually reasserted themselves.

But not everyone was so easily convinced.

Five pairs of eyes met in a moment of silent communication. Misao, Kiyoshi, Nara, Junichi, and Makiko exchanged glances that spoke volumes without uttering a single word.

 

 

The quiet café that Misao had mentioned earlier provided a blunt contrast to the chaos they had just left behind.

The wake had finally concluded, and the five friends now found themselves in the establishment’s warm embrace.

The café enveloped them with its cozy atmosphere. Soft lighting cast golden pools across wooden tables and chairs that had been crafted by artisans. The ambiance was almost hypnotic in its tranquility, designed to lull visitors into a state of peaceful meditation.

Through the large glass windows, trees and plants pressed closed to the glass, creating the illusion that the café existed in a magical ancient forest.

“Are you kidding me? A thousand yen for a cup of coffee?!” Junichi exclaimed, his loud laugh boomed through the quiet café, and caused a few heads to turn.

“I could buy a whole meal for my parents with that!” He slumped into his chair.

Nara, seated across from him, gave a direct glance, her expression unamused. “It’s called inflation, Junichi. And quality. This is a premium café.”

Misao, seated to Junichi’s right, merely observed them. She took a slow sip of her Gyokuro tea.

She hadn’t seen or spoken to Nara in years. And though they used to be best friends, the tension also lingered between them from their senior high school days.

Misao saw Junichi still as a big brother and appreciated his efforts.

Makiko, sitting next to Misao on the same side of the table, gave a gentle giggle, covering her mouth with her hand.

She always ran to Junichi when she was scared or nervous in high school. Knowing he was kind.

But now, she seemed a little nervous around Kiyoshi, who was engrossed in his phone, and barely acknowledged their presence.

Kiyoshi remained largely silent, slouched in his chair across Misao, fiddled with his phone, and avoided eye contact.

“It’s good to see everyone, even under these circumstances,” Misao finally said, her words carefully chosen. “It’s been too long.”

Junichi, still scanning the menu, sighed dramatically. “So long that coffee prices shot through the roof, it seems.” He looked up at Misao, a faint admiration in his eyes.

“So, what are we going to do? Just catch up?”

The question stirred something in Misao’s memory. She paused, her gaze drifted past the polished glass walls of the café, lost for a moment in the echo of a younger voice.

“Misao, what are we going to do?”

 

The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows of the Hiroo Senior High School’s Detective club room. Casting long shadows across the overflowing bookshelves and cluttered table.

It was their first meeting of the year, a new beginning after spring break. As was their tradition, Misao, club president, stood by the board.

“Misao, what are we going to do?” Asked Junichi, already sprawled in his chair, half-eaten snack in hand.

Misao gives him a gentle smile, “Welcome back, everyone. First meeting of the year! You know the drill,” she announced, her voice soft but clear.

“Let’s go around. Tell us about your spring break. Anything interesting happen? Any exciting plans for the school year?”

Junichi was the first to practically burst forward. “Oh, me, me! I went to watch the Spring Koshien baseball tournament! Man, the energy was insane! I almost cried during the final match, but don’t tell anyone,” he said, letting out a loud, full-body laugh that vibrated through the room causing the dust motes in the sunlight to dance.

“For this year, I’m gonna hit the weights even harder! Gotta keep this body in shape!” He flexed an arm, grinning widely.

Next was Nara, already organized, her notes laid out on the table like a battle plan. Her expression was precise. “My break was efficiently utilized. I completed a deep dive into the latest advancements in quantum computing ethics. As for the school year, my goal is to maintain academic perfection and prepare for university entrance exams, specifically focusing on advanced logic and AI modules.”

She offered no further anecdotes, her words as clipped and direct as ever.

Makiko, looked up, a faint blush on her cheeks. Her movements were light and quick.

“Oh, um, I mostly stayed home. I re-read some of my favorite poetry collections, and tried out some new herb tea blends,” she said, her voice soft and polite, a slight nervous tremor making her speak a little faster.

“I… I also visited a few new cafes. For the school year, I just hope to… to understand people better. And maybe not cry so much,” she added, giving a gentle giggle, as she covered her mouth with her hand.

Kiyoshi, perpetually hunched over his handheld console, barely looked up. “Spring break… upgraded the firmware of my PSP. Optimized my home network,” he mumbled, his voice monotone. He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, “Planning to… make more software this year”.

Misao listened to each of them, a warmth spreading through her chest. This was her favorite part.

 

The clatter of a coffee cup brought Misao back to the present. The café hummed around them. She looked at Junichi, his earlier liveliness now softened by a rare, quiet moment.

“What are we going to do?”

A faint, quiet laugh escaped Misao, almost under her breath.

“You know,” she said, her voice deliberate, cutting through the lingering tension. “We used to do this at our first club meeting every year.” She looked around at each of them, a knowing glint in her eye.

“Let’s go around. Update everyone. What have you all been doing these past fifteen years?”

Junichi exhaled loudly, a playful grimace on his face.

“You’re still pulling that trick, Misao?” He then reached for a croissant on the table, tearing into it with gusto, crumbs scattering onto his shirt.

“Alright, alright. Fair enough. Since you asked… I’m a private body guard now. Travel a bit for work, mostly in the port cities. Still sending most of my earnings home to the folks, you know?”

He ran a hand through his hair, the faint scent of cheap body spray wafting across the table.

“Still trying to make ends meet, but hey, at least I get to, uh, protect people. Like the big brother I always was,” he winked, in the direction of Misao and Nara.

Nara, adjusted her smart watch, her gaze direct as she spoke. “I am a logic university professor at Hanakaze University. My work primarily involves advanced AI and computational ethics. It’s intellectually stimulating.”

She took a measured sip from her matcha milkshake and offered no further details.

Makiko, gave another gentle giggle. “Oh, um, I’m a freelancer interpreter and translator. Japanese, English, Korean. It’s… it’s a lot of work, and sometimes I get a little anxious about money,” she admitted, her voice polite.

She brought a small cup of Sencha tea to her lips, inhaling the aroma before taking a slow, mindful sip. “But I also get to read a lot, and try new herb teas! I even found a new café recently that has the most wonderful jasmine blend.”

Her eyes sparkled a little.

Kiyoshi, still hunched over his phone, finally mumbled, almost under his breath, “Freelance cybersecurity consultant. White hat hacking. Pays the bills. Keeps me… indoors.” He gave a rare, nasal chuckle.

Embarrassed by the sound, he retreated back into his phone, shying away from eye contact.

Misao smiled, a quiet, brief curve of her lips. “And me? I’m an NGO investigator, specializing in corruption in Asia.”

She took another slow sip of her Gyokuro tea, observing her friends. “It involves a lot of travel, but it’s fulfilling. Chasing the truth, you know?”

As they continued to talk, the initial awkwardness began to melt away. Junichi recounted a comical incident from a bodyguard assignment, eliciting a rare, amused glance from Nara, and Makiko’s gentle giggles turned into a full, heartfelt laughter, her hand still covering her mouth.

Even Kiyoshi offered a dry, almost witty comment about the inefficiencies of corporate networks, earning a surprised, almost approving nod from Nara.

Misao felt a warmth spread through her chest. A familiar yet forgotten feeling. Something she never knew she missed, until now, fifteen years later.

The air lightened considerably, filled with chatter and laughter.

 

Junichi, looked around the table, his earlier laughter fading. “So, what was that about, anyway?” he asked, his voice now serious.

“Makoto’s mom… saying he was murdered? The police said it was suicide, right? No foul play involved?”

He leaned forward, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Nara, set down her shake with a soft clink. “That’s correct, Junichi. According to all public news reports and the official police investigation, Makoto Kure’s death was ruled a suicide. There was no foul play determined.” Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, simply relaying facts.

Makiko, with a somber frown, leaned slightly forward, clutching her steaming cup of tea as if for comfort.

“Yes, that’s what the news said. I… I remember reading about it. It was last August 5^th, a concerned citizen called the police after seeing what looked like a corpse hanging from a tree in Momozono Park here in Kanezawa.”

Her voice grew softer, a nervous tremor returning. “It turned out to be Makoto. They also found a suicide note. And… the autopsy confirmed he died from hanging.”

She took a hurried, almost breathless sip of her tea, her eyes wide with the remembered details.

Kiyoshi, who had been absently sipping his espresso and scrolling through his phone, finally looked up, his gaze darting between his friends before settling on the table.

“Yeah, it’s all over social media right now. People are pretty divided,” he mumbled, his voice a low drone. “Some are just, like, factual. Thinking Makoto’s mom was just emotional, you know, couldn’t accept it. But then there are the conspiracy theorists. They started questioning everything. Saying it had to be murder.”

He shrugged, taking another swig of his espresso.

Nara scoffed. “Nowadays, conspiracy theories are abundant because of the world we live in. Flat earth and all that. That kind of stuff,” she stated, her tone dismissive. “So it’s not a surprise that people want to turn this into something else. Something more exciting. Human beings crave drama, even in tragedy.”

Misao, however, remained quiet for a moment, her gaze distant, as if sifting through invisible threads of thought.

“I… I think Makoto’s mom, was being sincere when she made that outrageous claim,” she finally said. “She really believes it. Whether it’s true or not, her conviction was absolute.”

Makiko’s eyes, still reflecting a deep unease, locked onto Misao’s. Her politeness, seemed to crack slightly.

“But… why? Why would Makoto do it? I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. What was he like, before all this? Before… before he died? What was he like back in senior high?” she asked, her voice gaining a desperate edge.

“And what about now? He was a self-help influencer, right? Talking about overcoming trauma? It just doesn’t make sense.” She wrung her hands slightly, her anxiety evident.

Junichi frowned, trying to remember. He finished a roll cake and reached for another, but stopped himself, his appetite momentarily forgotten.

“Makoto… he was always a bit of a delinquent in senior high,” he mused, a thoughtful look on his face. “Friendly enough on the surface. But there was always something… beneath it. He was tight with Takehiro Takeshita, remember? They hung around a lot. I heard he became a big shot, talking about mental health stuff, but… it’s ironic, isn’t it?”

His brow furrowed deeper, a rare moment of genuine introspection.

Nara tapped on her smartwatch, a flicker of something almost like impatience crossing her precise features.

“He had a public persona, Makiko. People construct narratives. His social media presence, as a self-help influencer, was designed to present a particular image of overcoming adversity. It’s not necessarily indicative of his true psychological state or private struggles.”

She then turned her direct gaze to Makiko.

“You are allowing emotion to cloud your judgment. This is not logical. We are discussing facts.”

Makiko flinched slightly at Nara’s bluntness, her polite demeanor struggling.

“But… it’s not just facts, Nara. People don’t just disappear without reasons!” She insisted, her voice rising slightly, a burst of faster talking as her nervousness took over.

“There’s always a reason for someone to give up. To… to commit suicide. I just want to understand why he would choose that. What led him there? I want to understand what Makoto was like inside.”

Her quiet tears, threatened to surface.

She was right, Misao thought to herself, a quiet throbbing beneath her ribs. People don’t just disappear without reasons. Especially not Makoto, with a past like his, and a mother so fiercely convinced of foul play. There was something here, something being hidden.

The familiar urge, the pull towards truth and justice, began to stir within her.

But then, a subtle stab in her chest, a faint wave of fatigue, reminded her.

The debate raged internally, a silent conflict between her drive and the fragile reality.

The other debate between Nara and Makiko continued, Nara trying to pull Makiko back to logic, Makiko insisting on empathy and understanding the human element.

Kiyoshi, meanwhile, had retreated back to his phone. Junichi was now just listening, his usual energy subdued by the gravity of the discussion.

Misao’s eyes, however, sharpened. The external debate, the internal one, all coalesced into a singular, undeniable conviction. She set her teacup down with a faint, decisive sound, interrupting the rising tension. Her voice, though still soft, cut through the air with an unexpected clarity, capturing everyone’s attention.

“I feel Makoto’s mom is not lying,” Misao stated, her gaze sweeping across each of her friends, holding their eyes.

“And investigating a little wouldn’t hurt.”

A smile touched her lips, a spark igniting in her usually reserved demeanor.

“Hiroo Detective Club… the game is afoot.”