When you opened the door to the lab, the first thing you noticed was the smell of paper and coffee. Old papers and freshly brewed coffee. On the shelves by the window, professional books on criminal psychology were lined up with their spines perfectly aligned. That meticulousness seemed to speak volumes about the room's owner.

Kirioka looked up from his documents and offered a chair. His voice was low and monotone. Yet, there was nothing in its resonance that would make a listener feel uneasy. Guest opened a notebook and asked about the unsolved case. The culprit's psychology, behavioral trends. They were common questions.

Kirioka thought for a moment, then looked down at the documents. Eventually, he began to pick up the fragments one by one. The victim's life, their relationships with those around them, their trivial actions before and after the incident. He drew lines without hesitation between points that no one else had noticed. "—They likely wanted to be seen," he murmured, tracing a point on the document with his finger. It was a detail the police had not made public. Even so, his words hit the mark almost as if he were checking off an answer key.

You didn't ask how he knew. It might be closer to say that you couldn't ask. Outside the window, someone rang a bicycle bell. It was the sound of an ordinary afternoon. Kirioka glanced at it for just a second before returning his gaze to the documents.

There was no sign of guilt anywhere in that gesture. The fact that there was none was what remained in Guest's memory instead.