The city library was quieter than usual, the autumn evening drawing most students home. Only the glow of desk lamps lit the rows of books, shadows stretching across the polished wood tables.
Ryotaro sat at one such table, textbooks spread before him. His notes were meticulous, neatly written in small characters. He was working through math problems, though his thoughts wandered far beyond numbers.
"Ugh."
A groan snapped him out of focus. Across from him, Kara Danvers slumped over her history book, cheek pressed against the pages. "Why do we have to memorize dates? Why can't history just… be about the cool parts? You know, the people, the fights, the lessons?"
Ryotaro raised an eyebrow. "The dates are the framework. Without them, the events lose context."
Kara lifted her head, pouting. "You sound like the teacher."
"I'm just being logical."
Kara twirled her pen between her fingers, then smiled faintly. "Okay, logical boy. What about you? Do you like history?"
Ryotaro hesitated. "Some of it. Especially mysteries. Hidden connections. Why people acted the way they did."
Her curiosity piqued. "Like a detective?"
Ryotaro's eyes flickered toward his notebook. He didn't answer immediately, but there was a quiet determination in his voice when he finally spoke. "Yes. Like a detective."
Kara tilted her head, studying him. "You'd make a good one. You're… observant. A little scary, but in a calm way."
Ryotaro smirked faintly. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Before Kara could respond, a voice cut through the silence.
"Studying hard, I see."
Ryotaro turned. His uncle, dressed neatly in a suit, stood by the shelves, a warm yet probing smile on his face.
"Uncle," Ryotaro said politely, closing his notebook.
Kara straightened in her chair, a little flustered. "Oh! You must be—uh—Mr.Narumi?"
The older man chuckled. "Correct. And you are?"
"Kara Danvers. Ryotaro's… classmate." She adjusted her glasses nervously.
His uncle's eyes softened. "I'm glad he's made friends. He tends to keep to himself too much."
Ryotaro frowned slightly but didn't argue.
His uncle looked at him again. "I came to check on you. And… to ask. What are your plans after all this? You've been given every opportunity—your family is wealthy in Japan. You don't have to struggle."
Ryotaro's jaw tightened. "I don't want to live off money. I want to do something meaningful."
"Meaningful?"
Ryotaro looked directly into his uncle's eyes. "I want to be a private detective. To find the truth others can't see. To stop those who think they can hide in the shadows."
Kara's eyes widened slightly at the conviction in his voice.
His uncle studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled. "That sounds… like your father. At least he is archeologists."
Ryotaro stiffened at the mention, but his uncle placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Very well. If this is what you want, I will support you. But remember—detectives don't only face mysteries. They face danger."
"I know," Ryotaro said quietly. "I already do."
Later that night, the city streets hummed with neon and distant sirens. Ryotaro walked alone, jacket pulled tight against the cool air. His uncle had returned home, Kara had left for dinner with her sister, and he was free—at least outwardly.
But shadows never rested.
He turned down an alley, footsteps halting. Voices echoed—a man cursing, a woman pleading.
Ryotaro's hand brushed against the Joker Memory in his pocket.
He didn't need it for this.
Three men had cornered a woman, her purse clutched desperately against her chest. One thug sneered, reaching to grab it.
"Hand it over, lady, or—"
He didn't finish. Ryotaro moved silently, precise as always. His foot hooked the man's ankle, yanking him down. The thug hit the ground with a grunt.
The others turned. "Who the hell—"
Ryotaro stepped forward, expression unreadable. "Leave her."
The taller thug laughed. "Or what? You gonna—"
Ryotaro's fist cracked against his jaw before he finished. The man crumpled, unconscious.
The last thug froze, eyes darting between his fallen comrades and the calm boy standing before him. Ryotaro's gaze was cold, sharper than words.
The man bolted into the night.
Ryotaro turned to the woman, offering his hand. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, trembling. "N-no… thank you."
He nodded once, then walked away before she could ask any more questions.
Back home, his uncle waited in the small apartment's living room, a book open in his hands. He looked up as Ryotaro entered.
"You were late."
Ryotaro set his bag down. "I took a detour."
His uncle studied him knowingly. "Helping someone again?"
Ryotaro didn't answer, but the faint scrape on his knuckle spoke for him.
The older man sighed softly. "You remind me of your father more each day. Always chasing something. Always burdened by it. Always make us worry."
Ryotaro sat opposite him. "Is that wrong?"
"Not wrong. But dangerous. You carry too much alone."
Ryotaro looked down at his hands. "I don't know how to ignore something. Sometimes I am afraid about someone dying because of my ignorance. You know I can prevent that if I try harder but I am more of a coward person."
His uncle closed his book, his tone gentler now. "At least you didn't run away. Also you are not a coward. Many people afraid to die not only you. What makes someone a hero is their response to fear, while what makes someone a coward is inaction.Don't carry too much alone, okay."
Ryotaro nodded faintly. He respected his uncle's wisdom, even if his path felt unshakable.
The next day, back at school, Kara cornered him in the hallway, arms full of books again.
"Hey! You kinda rushed off last night. Everything okay?"
Ryotaro adjusted his bag. "Fine."
She narrowed her eyes slightly. "You're a terrible liar, you know that? Alex says I should stop prying, but… you've got this… weight. Like you're carrying the world on your shoulders."
Ryotaro blinked, caught off guard by her perceptiveness. "You think too much."
Kara smiled wryly. "Maybe. But I know what it's like—to feel like you have to do more. To hide parts of yourself."
For a moment, their gazes met. Two people, both carrying secrets larger than themselves, both struggling to balance normal life with the extraordinary.
Ryotaro finally looked away. "I'll manage."
Kara tilted her head. "I believe you. But… maybe you don't have to do it alone."
Her words lingered with him, even after the bell rang.
That evening, Ryotaro sat at his desk, books spread before him again. He stared at his notes, then at the city lights beyond his window.
His uncle's words echoed. "Don't carry too much alone."
Kara's voice followed. "Maybe you don't have to do it alone."
He exhaled slowly. His future was uncertain, dangerous. He wanted to be a detective, yes—but more than that, he wanted to protect and survive.
*********
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