"An S-shaped laceration, Misspelled 'Scar!'"
The words landed like a cannonball in still water—instant shock radiated across the square.
"'Scar?' You mean S and M?!"
Every officer and student froze, jaws dropping.
Kawakami-san's mother shrieked, "How dare you slander my daughter like that?!"
Her husband's face went ashen. "We've never withheld anything from Mahime—she couldn't possibly be involved in such deviance!"
"Don't insult her memory!"
Akihiko's tone stayed even. "Wealth doesn't protect innocence. High school girls indulge in cosmetics, bags, and more—don't pretend otherwise."
"Sakura's youth culture is open—even middle-schoolers hear about things like this."
"Puberty brings curiosity. Some explore darker proclivities—it's not unheard of."
He stepped closer to the shrouded body. "If you doubt me, lift this cloth."
"Allow me—I'll show you the truth firsthand."
His words carried a surgeon's confidence as he peeled back the drape.
The gathered students gasped at the silent witness beneath.
"SM isn't new," Akihiko continued quietly. "Even twelve-year-olds afflicted by cross-dressing on the news—it's classified as SM, but society labels them freaks."
In science, he mused, wishful thinking falls apart.
Shinichi's sharp voice cut through the murmurs. "You promised two clues—what's the other?"
"One more lethal clue that points straight to the killer."
Akihiko produced a clear evidence bag. "Skin fragments from her fingernails—collected during the autopsy."
He held it aloft. "A violent struggle on the bridge left these shards under her nails."
"Brilliant!" Officer Megure's face lit up.
"DNA from these fragments will unmask the murderer instantly."
Shinichi leaned in, studying the minute tissue against the light.
Could it be that simple? Forensics truly is a keystone.
He'd never prided himself on body examinations, yet this scrap stunned him. Determination flared in his eyes.
"No DNA needed."
Shinichi's voice carried quiet authority. "I already know who did it."
"Detective, you've identified the killer?" Megure asked, astonished.
"Absolutely," Shinichi replied, glancing at Akihiko. "Thanks to your clues, we can now pinpoint the culprit."
His gaze shifted to the crowd, silently challenging them.
It was as if every forensic finding were Shinichi's own—a reminder that detective work can outpace the lab.
Yet here, Akihiko's insight fueled Shinichi's leap ahead.
"Who is it, Detective?" Megure pressed.
"Let me set the stage first." Shinichi's lips curved in a knowing smile. "This entire scenario is staged. The mastermind knows both Kawakami-san and Akihiko-san—and crafted this frame-up."
"I'm certain they're watching now, monitoring our every move to decide their next act."
His words sent ripples of tension through officers and onlookers alike.
"No one leaves—you're all suspects until proven otherwise."
Teachers and students exchanged anxious glances, trapped behind the police line.
Silence fell, thick and expectant, broken only by the rustle of uniforms.
Shinichi turned back to Akihiko with a curious glint. "I know the killer—but tell me, why do you come to the bridge each Friday?"
Akihiko gave a small nod. "To clear my mind under the moon and remind myself of home."
"Even in rain?" Shinichi pressed.
"Every Friday, unless it's pouring."
"A scholar's ritual, then."
"It's become a habit."
"How many know this routine?" Shinichi tapped his chin.
"Everyone in class, in theory—but I only visit once a week, so most don't notice."
Shinichi's smile was slow. "So the plotter must be someone in your class, someone who knew your schedule—and asked Kawakami-san to lure you."
Megure's eyes widened. "You mean the culprit is a teacher or classmate?"
"Yes." Shinichi's gaze sharpened. "Someone close to Kawakami-san—perhaps her secret boyfriend, or the teacher responsible for your class."
Gasps rose among the crowd as they realized the implication.
Shinichi's eyes locked on a single figure—Maeshima-sensei, the math teacher, looking suddenly pale.
"Maeshima-sensei," Shinichi called aloud, voice calm. "Weren't you Kawakami-san's homeroom teacher?"
A ripple of whispers circled the plaza.
In an instant, every gaze fixed on Maeshima-sensei, whose nervous sweat betrayed him.
At first glance, he seemed the epitome of respectability—polished, affable, the kind students admired.
Hard to imagine such a gentle figure hiding a dark secret.
Yet his tremor spoke volumes.
"A thief's heart betrays itself," Shinichi murmured, surveying the fresh scratches on the teacher's arm.
Maeshima-sensei stammered, "I—I didn't!"
Shinichi pointed. "Explain the red abrasions—matching the struggle that left her body scarred."
Maeshima-sensei's throat bobbed with panic, but no words came.
All eyes turned merciless, closing in on him.
"Please," a student called out, "have mercy—this isn't fair!"
Read advanced chapters on patreon // -- // patreon.com/Neon007