Shuichi Hayashi scanned the park, ensuring no one was eavesdropping before leaning in to whisper the situation to Mrs. Sato. She listened, skepticism flickering across her face, but ultimately nodded and agreed to head to the nearby police box to report the suspicious bald man.
When she tried to take Miwako with her, the girl dug in her heels. "Mom, I'm staying with big brother to keep an eye on that thief!" Miwako's voice was hushed, clearly aware of the need for stealth to avoid tipping off the culprit.
Mrs. Sato, unable to sway her stubborn daughter, entrusted Miwako to Shuichi's care before hurrying off toward the police box.
Shuichi took Miwako's small hand, his expression casual as he led her back to the bench. Wataru Takagi was still there, nibbling his peach with quiet focus, a stark contrast to Miwako's boundless energy.
"Hey, big brother, you…" Miwako barely lasted a minute before her curiosity bubbled over, her words tumbling out.
"Shh!" Shuichi raised a finger to his lips, cutting her off. "We'll talk later."
"Okay," Miwako nodded, but her fidgeting betrayed her impatience, her eyes practically sparkling with questions.
"Why don't you go play in the sand?" Shuichi suggested with a grin. "You like catching bad guys, right? Build a prison out of sand and lock 'em up."
"That's it! I'll make a prison!" Miwako's face lit up. She grabbed Wataru's arm, dragging him toward the sandpit. Caught off guard, Wataru fumbled, and the half-eaten peach slipped from his hand, plopping onto the ground.
"My peach…" he whimpered.
"You were eating too slow!" Miwako declared, unapologetic. "You wrecked my castle earlier, so now you're helping me build a prison!"
"…Okay," Wataru mumbled, too timid to argue.
With the kids occupied, Shuichi kept one eye on the bald man at the payphone while scanning the other adults in the park. A group of women chatted and laughed, watching their kids play—unlikely accomplices, since no thief would bring children along for a job. That left three men.
One was a drunk sprawled on a bench, snoring loudly, surrounded by scattered beer cans. Another, a salaryman in a suit, stood by the park's north entrance, clutching a briefcase and glancing around nervously, as if waiting for someone. The third was a tall young man with glasses, a few years older than Shuichi, scribbling in a notebook. He occasionally glanced up, his gaze lingering on the bald man.
The women were out. Shuichi strolled toward the drunk first, but the overpowering stench of alcohol and earth-shaking snores ruled him out as a fake. Next, he eyed the salaryman from a distance but decided to approach the glasses-wearing youth first, who was closer.
Noticing Shuichi's approach, the young man snapped his notebook shut. "Can I help you?" he asked, his tone polite but guarded.
"Just curious," Shuichi said smoothly. "Looked like you were drawing something. Mind sharing?"
"People in the park," the youth replied with a faint smile. "Just a little hobby of mine."
"Can I take a look?" Shuichi pressed, testing the waters.
The youth hesitated, then shrugged. "Sure, why not?" He handed over the notebook.
Flipping through it, Shuichi found pages filled with quick sketches of people, each with notes on their appearance, belongings, and speculated identities. Some had multiple possible roles listed, with reasons scribbled beneath. Is this guy a creep or what? Shuichi thought, noting the notebook's thickness—this wasn't a one-off habit.
As if reading his mind, the youth chuckled. "It's just simple sketches and observations. Legally, it's not a violation of anyone's rights."
"Art student?" Shuichi ventured, then shook his head. "No, wait. Art students don't annotate belongings or guess identities like this. You're training your observation and deduction skills, aren't you?"
The youth's eyes widened briefly, then he nodded, impressed. "Exactly. My work requires it, and this is the only way to practice."
Shuichi didn't press further, flipping to the last page with writing. There was a sketch of the bald man at the payphone, labeled: Thief casing targets via phone calls. The reasoning mirrored Shuichi's own suspicions.
"If you figured it out, why not report it?" Shuichi asked, his voice low.
"You already sent someone, didn't you?" the youth replied with a sly smile. "That little girl's mother. The police box is just six hundred meters from here. She should be back with officers any minute now…"
As if on cue, commotion erupted at the park's north entrance. The salaryman shouted, "The cops are here!" and bolted into the park, clearly aiming for the south exit. At the same time, the bald man dropped the phonebook, pulled up his collar, and slipped toward the east exit.
"Handle the bald guy!" Shuichi called, tossing the notebook back to the youth before sprinting after the salaryman.
It was obvious now—the salaryman was the bald man's accomplice. His shout was a signal to his partner and a distraction to buy time. The salaryman, likely the muscle of the duo, was the more dangerous target, so Shuichi chose to pursue him himself. With no time to chase both, he had to trust the glasses-wearing youth to deal with the bald man, since the police from the box were unreliable.
"Bossy, aren't you?" the youth muttered, shaking his head as he headed toward the bald man.
Shuichi closed in on the salaryman quickly. Seeing someone on his tail, the man ripped open his briefcase, yanking out a dagger. "Kid, you don't want to die, so back off!"
Shuichi didn't flinch, charging forward.
"Damn it, you asked for this!" The salaryman lunged, slashing with the dagger. Shuichi sidestepped smoothly, then drove his foot into the man's groin with precision.
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(End of Chapter)