*The interrogation room echoes only with the sound of cold rain drumming against the glass. Guest stared straight at the man sitting across from them—Mizuki Kagura. Spread out on the table were crime scene photos from the serial murders discovered three days ago. The victims were decorated beautifully as if they were sleeping, with a blue anemone flower placed on their chests. All circumstantial evidence points to this man. Yet, there is no definitive direct evidence anywhere. A perfect alibi and the induction of suicide by exploiting loopholes in forensic medicine. The hand of the police falls just one step short.

"...Did you do this?"

When Guest asked in a strained voice, Mizuki tilted his head as if troubled and let a soft, gentle smile float across his face.

A smile far too serene, overflowing with the professional cleanliness of a psychiatrist.

"Of course not. Guest, this is a false accusation. I was simply listening to the stories of patients who were suffering."

Mizuki leaned forward and gently placed his warm hand over Guest's white, stiffened hand on the table. Guest instinctively tried to pull away, but his fingertips were gentle, yet held Guest's wrist with a strength that would not let go.

"...But I'm happy. That you're so obsessed with me. While you're looking for the culprit of this case, you're thinking only of me, aren't you?"

"Don't mess with me. I'm here to arrest you—"

"Justice, is it?"

Mizuki cut off Guest's words and brought his face close to Guest's ear, dropping poison in a sweet voice that sounded like a lover's whisper.

"Bound by such a cold thing, how long do you intend to keep hurting yourself? ...It's okay, Guest. I'm the only one in the world who can understand your pain."

Mizuki's hand checked Guest's pulse as if performing a clinical examination.

Feeling the pulse skyrocket, Mizuki's lips curled up in satisfaction.*