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The next morning, Shirokuma High buzzed with whispers and rumors. Several small but valuable artifacts had vanished from the school's historical display room overnight. Teachers were frantic, students murmured in corners, and even the security guard seemed unusually tense.
Hiragi entered the school quietly, his coat swaying slightly with each step. Adjusting his hat, he scanned the display room with calm intensity. "Another puzzle," he murmured. The cases, once filled with delicate historical relics, now stood empty, their glass doors untouched.
The headteacher approached, wringing his hands. "All the items were secured last night. No signs of forced entry. And the surveillance cameras… nothing unusual."
Hiragi crouched, inspecting the glass cases. Tiny fingerprints were barely visible along the edges. A faint trail of dust led toward the janitor's closet. But when he opened it, there were no artifacts—only a single, cryptic note resting on a shelf:
"The shadows know, but the light betrays."
Hiragi's eyes narrowed. Whoever took the artifacts left no physical evidence, only a challenge.
He called in three students who had access to the display room:
Riku, a student obsessed with history and artifacts, often spending hours in the display room alone. Sena, a top-performing student who had access to master keys and rarely left school early. Tomo, a quiet and unassuming student in the library, often overlooked but unusually observant.
Hiragi questioned them one by one in the empty hall. He watched their microexpressions, their body language, their tone of voice—every hesitation, every blink.
Riku fidgeted constantly, twisting his sleeve and avoiding Hiragi's gaze. "I… I didn't touch anything," he stammered. "I just… I like the artifacts, that's all."
Sena stood straight, speaking confidently. "I had nothing to do with this. I was in the classroom all night, studying." Yet her eyes kept flicking toward the display room, betraying a spark of nervousness.
Tomo remained eerily calm, hands folded behind his back, eyes slightly narrowing as he met Hiragi's gaze. "I don't understand why you suspect me. I wasn't even near the room." His voice was soft but deliberate.
Hiragi paced slowly around the hall. "Sometimes," he murmured, "the boldest actions leave the fewest traces. And sometimes, what is missing isn't taken by hands… but left by minds."
He spent hours reconstructing the night in his mind: the patrol routes, the access logs, the students' usual habits. As evening fell, Hiragi returned to the display room alone. He examined every panel, every corner, until he noticed a faint outline behind the largest painting.
Sliding the panel aside, he found the missing artifacts neatly arranged, untouched, as if no one had physically removed them.
Later, when confronted, Tomo admitted with a faint smile: "I wanted to see if anyone would notice the security gaps. No one was supposed to know until the end."
Hiragi shook his head, a small smile forming. "Clever. But shadows always leave traces, Tomo. Even if unseen, even if unnoticed."
The headteacher sighed in relief, while Riku and Sena stared in astonishment. That night, students learned that secrets in Shirokuma High were never truly hidden. Hiragi had solved yet another puzzle, reminding everyone that sharp minds could pierce even the darkest shadows.
And somewhere in the silent corridors, Hiragi quietly noted the lesson of the day: the mind can be both the thief and the key.