News in media companies spreads fast.
The news of Suwa Michihiko's death by gunshot swept through the Mihana TV Station building like wildfire. As soon as his body was taken away by the police, a group of reporters from the news department—armed with cameras and microphones—rushed forward in a frenzy.
"Mr. Matsuo! Mr. Matsuo!"
"How are you feeling right now?"
"It's being rumored that your program is about to be canceled—do you think this might have been done by fans who couldn't accept it?"
"Or perhaps, Mr. Matsuo, did you have a conflict with Director Suwa, and that's why—"
The barrage of questions struck Matsuo Takashi like cannon fire. His expression grew darker with every word.
"Shut up!" he roared, eyes wide with rage. "Are you people ever going to stop!?"
Police officers nearby quickly stepped in to restrain the media crowd.
Just as one officer was about to escort Matsuo Takashi aside, they noticed his shoulders trembling and his eyes dimming—as if he was struggling to hold back his emotions.
"We did talk about the program being canceled," he said hoarsely. "But Suwa told me… he still hoped I would continue to host it."
"The reason he came to this mixing room during the broadcast was to discuss that. He said that after the show ended, we'd talk about how to make it more interesting later on…"
"But the result…"
Matsuo's voice broke, tears welling up in his eyes.
The reporters grew silent, holding up their microphones without a word.
"I, Matsuo Takashi, swear here before everyone—I will inherit Suwa's dying wish and continue to host this program. And…"
He gritted his teeth, his eyes suddenly blazing with determination.
"I will bring this case to the screen—and do everything I can to track down Suwa's killer!"
At that very moment, Matsuo's powerful declaration was being broadcast live on the television inside the mixing room.
Inspector Megure frowned as he watched.
"Does this guy think the police can't catch the killer?"
Because Suwa had been monitoring the program here before the incident, the TV was still tuned to Nichimai TV Station, which happened to be airing its live evening news.
Standing near the door, Asamiya Nanae glanced at the ecstatic reporters, her expression caught between disbelief and discomfort.
"Their colleague just died, and yet they're this excited—even broadcasting it live…"
Beside her, Eri Kisaki remained calm, her tone cool and measured.
"That's what media people are like."
She turned toward a man standing nearby.
"Mr. Hayashida Yoshiki, let's return to what you said earlier. Did you find something?"
Hayashida nodded. "Yes. The killer must be Mr. Matsuo—there's no mistake."
It was Haruki, who had just finished inspecting the mixing room, speaking with a faint smile.
He didn't bother lowering his voice.
Matsuo Takashi, still within earshot, froze. His tearful expression vanished in an instant as he turned sharply toward them.
"What nonsense are you spouting, Mr. Hayashida Yoshiki!?" he snapped. "How could I possibly kill Director Suwa? Sure, we argued, but that was all!"
Breaking away from the cameras, Matsuo strode toward the investigators, his voice rising in panic.
"Hey! You're not actually suspecting me because of what he said, are you? Hasn't Suwa's time of death even been confirmed yet?"
Haruki's tone was calm but precise.
"Director Suwa's time of death should be within the forty minutes between 20:15 and 20:55."
His handsome face bore a composed, almost aristocratic smile as he raised a finger.
"At 20:15, Mr. Matsuo, you asked a staff member to call and confirm Director Suwa's location—and received a reply almost immediately. I heard it myself; I was standing right there."
Matsuo tried to interrupt. "When I called then, I was—"
"These details aren't important. For efficiency, please allow me to finish."
Haruki's tone was polite but firm.
"At 20:55, after the program ended, the staff member called again—but there was no answer. Therefore, I'm placing the time of death within that forty-minute window."
Matsuo's face tightened. "Then that's right! I was recording the program that whole time! How could I possibly have had time to kill Suwa!?"
Haruki tilted his head slightly.
"When the program was about to end, a four-minute VCR was played. During that time, you quietly left your seat, didn't you?"
Matsuo's eyes widened. "That was only four minutes!"
Inwardly, however, he felt a flicker of pride. That four-minute gap was the core of his meticulously crafted alibi.
"You have to understand," he snapped, "the studio is on the ninth floor! To run all the way down here to the fourth floor, kill Suwa, and run back—there's no way that's enough time!"
To his surprise, Haruki nodded.
"Yes," he said simply.
Matsuo blinked.
For a moment, he couldn't tell whether Haruki was agreeing with him—or toying with him.
Haruki pulled up the sleeve of his left hand and glanced at his watch, his face still composed and crystal clear.
"When everyone first heard about Suwa's death, they rushed here directly from the studio backstage," he said evenly. "Because the direct stairway was blocked at the time, it took them around seven minutes to arrive. Even if someone ran faster, it could only be shortened to about six minutes."
Inspector Megure raised his brows in surprise.
"You actually noticed something like that?"
Haruki didn't respond. His calm silence only made the tension in the room thicken.
Matsuo Takashi, seizing what he thought was an opening, straightened his back.
"So you also know it definitely couldn't have been me—"
"But," Haruki interrupted, his tone still steady, "if someone fired from the seventh floor and then returned to the studio, the round trip would take only about two minutes—if done efficiently."
"!!"
The words hit Matsuo like a bullet. His face turned ashen, his breath catching in his throat.
He fought to keep his composure, forcing a strained smile.
"What seventh floor? Didn't the police just say the killer entered from the door—"
Haruki's gaze swept across the room like a blade.
"Because of the TV station's architecture, the interior layout is highly irregular. The window placements vary between floors. If you lean out of this mixing room's window and look upward, you'll notice that the fifth and sixth floors have no windows at all. Windows only begin from the seventh floor."
Matsuo's knees weakened. He wanted, more than anything, for Haruki to stop talking—because every word was tightening the noose around his neck.
But Haruki continued, his tone as composed as ever.
"Do you know, Mr. Matsuo? When I opened that flip-up window earlier and looked outside, I noticed the seventh-floor windows directly above. That's when I thought of this possibility."
He paused, as if reminiscing.
"But because it seemed too simple—and not particularly interesting—I didn't plan to record it as material."
"…"
Inspector Megure blinked, trying to keep up.
"Wait, Haruki—you mean…" He turned toward the window, hesitating. "Are you saying Suwa Michihiko opened the window, looked upward, and was shot from the seventh floor?"
"Yes."
"But… why would he open the window and look out in the first place?"
Haruki shrugged lightly, a faint, almost playful smile curving his lips.
"I'm not sure. Perhaps the killer tricked him into it—maybe through a phone call, claiming something strange was happening outside. Something like… aliens or UFOs."
Inspector Megure's mouth twitched at that, unsure whether Haruki was serious.
Matsuo Takashi, who moments earlier had been shouting in protest, now stood frozen. His lips moved soundlessly, but no words came out.
In the heavy silence that followed, only the faint hum of studio equipment could be heard—an eerie reminder that even within the world of television, the most compelling drama could be reality itself.