The Detective is Already Dead

Chapter 130 - 4.2

Chapter 130: Chapter 4.2

May 3 Siesta

Yesterday, I'd left Boy K. at Sun House and spent a night at the hotel. Today I headed farther north, toward Hokkaido. I wasn't going for fun or sightseeing, of course; it was a business trip. Detectives are always expected to be light on their feet.

"Mm, yum... This is in a league of its own."

The calendar said it was early summer, but it was still chilly up here. That didn't mean I would miss out on the local delicacies. Licking a soft serve, I strode along under a clear blue sky.

I'd bought the ice cream at a popular local convenience store, and it tasted completely different from the stuff that was sold at the nationwide chain stores. All the different ice creams I'd bought here had been delicious.

"Um, not that I'm here for fun, of course."

All of a detective's actions have meaning. Once I'd finished my ice cream, I started craving something spicy, so I stopped by a ramen shop at the edge of town.

This place wasn't famous enough to appear in magazines. It seemed like a hideaway known only to a select few, and even after I'd stepped inside, I didn't see any other customers.

I ordered a miso ramen with extra corn from the meal ticket machine, then waited at the counter for three minutes. "Order up!" The manager shouted energetically, and a bowl of ramen piled high with corn and bean sprouts arrived.

The aroma whetted my appetite. I took a mouthful of the soup first—delicious. I had the feeling that was all I'd been saying for a while now, but I wasn't a food writer or anything. Exactly: I was a detective, nothing more.

I slurped the noodles, ate the corn and bean sprouts, slurped more noodles, and finished the whole bowl in five minutes. As I was wiping my mouth on a paper napkin, the manager smiled. "We can throw in some rice to round out the meal," he said.

What a luxurious offer. I responded gratefully: "In that case, make it curry rice."

The manager's expression froze for a moment. Then he asked, "How spicy?" Oh, good. I'd gotten through.

"A seven on that famous one-to-ten scale."

"Understood," the manager said, and withdrew into the kitchen. That exchange was the password.

I left my chair and opened the door to the bathroom at the back of the shop, even though the sign said FOR EMPLOYEES ONLY. There was no toilet in there, just a small open space, and another door.

Without hesitating, I opened it—and this time, I found myself in a compact bar.

"Found you." The person I'd come to see was sitting at the counter. "Hello, Bruno."

The white-whiskered old gentleman lightly raised his glass to me. "Could I trouble you to put all your belongings in there?"

I realized that a man in a dark suit was standing behind me. A Man in Black. I dropped my smartphone into the basket he held out.

"...True. Someday. However, I think something irreversible may happen if I don't learn this right now."

Bruno shook his head. "That isn't a given. Besides, even if the situation is

irreversible, global affairs are always accompanied by sacrifices. If that is what the world has chosen, sometimes we must allow it. We have no choice. Our mission is merely to fix the world's balance when it may veer too far. You understand that, don't you?" Although his voice was gentle, he lectured me sternly. Coming from him, the Tuner who'd held his position the longest, those words carried a lot of weight. This wasn't a conversation for pat answers.

We can't save all mankind. We can't prevent everyone from getting hurt. The Assassin, the Inventor, and the Vampire would all have said the same thing. I couldn't deny it, either. Doing so would have been the ultimate insult to previous guardians of the world.

I knew this, and even so... "If I learn this information now, I guarantee it will preserve the world's balance someday. Please, tell me who killed Danny Bryant." I bowed.

"You say that information will help save the world one day? What makes you think so?"

Instinctively, I knew that was his final question. Everything hung on my next answer. I needed one that would convince him.

What could I say to persuade the sum of the world's knowledge? What did I have? As a detective, as a human being, what did I—

No, that wasn't right: What didn't I have?

"I've never asked you for the information I most want to know." Head still bowed, I began to speak. "Even so, I am humbling myself to you, not for my usual duties, but for the sake of a boy I just met. The resolution I've shown in doing so is the only answer I can give."

I didn't have much.

I had nothing that would make me a match for someone who'd lived ten times as long as I had and knew everything in the world.

It was the truth, so I turned what I didn't have into my weapon. Those lost memories of mine.

I was always searching for them; they were something I'd always wanted to know.

But I'd find those on my own someday. I would deliver my answer as a detective.

"In sharing that knowledge with me, you'll be saving that boy. Someday, he'll become the singularity who will shift the world's axis."

And so, this time. Just this once—

"There was a certain vigilante group that claimed justice was on their side,"

Bruno began. "They used the names of the world's currencies as code names, and I'm told they came together to defeat a great evil."

With a soft clink, he set his wineglass down on the bar. "The name of that great evil was Danny Bryant."