The bell for lunch rang like a starting pistol in a race nobody wanted to win. At Seika High School, in the sleepy suburbs of Tokyo, it meant one thing: chaos. Lockers slammed, chairs scraped, and the hallways turned into a river of uniforms rushing toward the cafeteria. Kai Tanaka lingered at his desk, methodically packing his notebook into his backpack. He wasn't in a hurry. Food could wait; people, on the other hand, couldn't.
Kai adjusted his glasses—thin wire frames that did nothing to hide the perpetual curiosity in his dark eyes—and scanned the room. Class 2-B was a zoo today. Miko, the class rep with her perfect ponytail and perpetual clipboard, was already herding stragglers toward the door. Haruto, the soccer star, was flexing for his fan club of giggling girls. And then there was Sora, Kai's best friend since kindergarten, who was dramatically clutching his stomach like he was auditioning for a drama club role.
"Dude, emergency!" Sora wailed, flopping back into his seat. His messy brown hair stuck up like he'd been electrocuted, and his tie was already askew. "My bento—gone! Poof! Vanished like my hopes for a passing grade in math."
Kai raised an eyebrow, not looking up from his bag. "You mean the one your mom packed with those mystery meat skewers? The ones that look like they could double as weapons?"
Sora gasped, hand to his chest. "Don't mock the skewers! They're a labor of love. And now some thief's going to enjoy them instead of me. This is a crime against humanity!"
Around them, a few classmates chuckled, but Kai's mind was already ticking. Theft in broad daylight? In a classroom full of witnesses? It smelled like a classic case of "someone's idea of a prank gone wrong." He zipped his bag and stood, slinging it over one shoulder. "Alright, Sherlock's on the case. Retrace your steps. When did you last see it?"
Sora groaned, rubbing his temples. "I brought it this morning, stuck it in my locker during homeroom. Ate half during break—wait, no, that's right. I left it on my desk while I went to the vending machine. Came back, and... empty desk. Just crumbs!"
"Crumbs?" Kai's interest piqued. He leaned over Sora's desk, peering at the faint rice grains scattered like confetti from a bad party. "Not just gone—eaten from. Bold move."
The classroom door slid open with a whoosh, and in marched Aiko, the art club president and self-proclaimed "queen of aesthetics." Her skirt swished dramatically, and she clutched a sketchbook like a shield. "What's this I hear about a stolen lunch? Sora, you drama king, spill!"
Sora waved his arms. "Aiko! Backup! Kai's deducing. Tell him about the suspicious shadows you saw lurking."
Aiko blinked, flipping her long black hair. "Shadows? Oh, you mean Haruto and his goons? They were horsing around by the lockers earlier. One of them—Riku, I think—had that sneaky grin. Like he was plotting world domination via cafeteria raids."
Kai filed that away. Haruto's crew: prime suspects in any mischief involving food or glory. But something nagged at him. Sora's desk was in the back corner, semi-hidden by the supply cabinet. Not the easiest target for a grab-and-go.
"Let's check the scene," Kai said, pulling out his phone. He snapped a quick photo of the crumbs—timestamped, just in case this escalated beyond "boys being boys." Sora trailed him like a lost puppy as they headed to the lockers.
The hallway was a battlefield of half-eaten onigiri and discarded wrappers. Kai knelt by Sora's locker, number 27, its door slightly ajar. "You didn't lock it?"
Sora flushed. "Uh, forgot. Again."
Classic Sora. Kai shook his head fondly. Inside, textbooks teetered like a Jenga tower, but no bento box. He ran a finger along the edge—dusty, undisturbed. "No signs of forced entry. Whoever took it knew your combo or just got lucky with the ajar door."
"Or it's an inside job," Aiko whispered, sidling up with wide eyes. "Like in those detective mangas. The culprit's always the quiet one."
Kai straightened, his gaze drifting to the end of the hall where the soccer team lounged against the windows. Haruto was mid-story, gesturing wildly, while Riku nodded along, munching on... wait. Kai zoomed in with his phone camera. Riku's hand emerged from his pocket clutching a skewer—glistening with what looked suspiciously like teriyaki glaze.
"Bingo," Kai muttered. He pocketed his phone and marched over, Sora and Aiko hot on his heels.
Haruto spotted them first, his easy grin fading into mock innocence. "Tanaka? What's up? Come to join the team? We could use a goalie who looks like he solves puzzles for fun."
Riku froze mid-bite, the skewer halfway to his mouth. Crumbs tumbled from his lips. "Uh... hey, guys."
Sora exploded. "That's my meat skewer! Thief! Give it back!"
Riku's face turned beet red. He dropped the skewer like it was on fire. "W-wait! It's not what it looks like! I found it on the floor by the vending machine. Thought it was trash or something. Honest!"
Haruto laughed, clapping Riku on the back. "Smooth, buddy. Real smooth."
Kai held up a hand, silencing the growing crowd. Whispers rippled—another mystery for the "weird kid with the glasses." He hated that nickname, but it came with the territory. Ever since he'd "solved" the great pencil disappearance of first year (turns out the janitor was just hoarding them for repairs), rumors stuck like gum on a shoe.
"Found it on the floor?" Kai echoed, his voice calm but probing. He stepped closer, eyes flicking to Riku's shoes—spotless white sneakers, no dirt from a "floor find." Then to his hands: clean nails, no sauce stains. "Funny. That skewer looks fresh. No lint, no mystery fuzz. And your shoes? Pristine. If you picked it up off the ground, you'd have a little evidence."
Riku stammered, glancing at Haruto for rescue. "I... I wiped it off! Yeah!"
Aiko crossed her arms. "Liar. I saw you by Sora's locker earlier. Admit it—you're jealous 'cause your mom's always at games instead of packing lunches."
The accusation hung in the air. Riku's shoulders slumped. "Okay, fine! I took a couple skewers. But only 'cause I'm starving! Practice ran long, and the cafeteria line's eternal. I was gonna pay him back—scout's honor!"
Sora deflated, half-relieved, half-annoyed. "Dude, just ask next time. My mom's skewers are legendary."
Haruto ruffled Riku's hair. "See? Easy fix. Tanaka, you're a wizard. How'd you know about the shoes?"
Kai shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Details. They always tell the truth when people don't." It was his mantra, drilled into him by late nights poring over his dad's old case files. His father, Detective Hiroshi Tanaka, had lived for the details—the overlooked shadow, the inconsistent alibi. Until that rainy night three years ago, when a hit-and-run stole him away. "Unsolved," the police said. Kai knew better. Details didn't lie; people did.
The group dispersed with laughs and promises of IOUs, Sora reclaiming his half-eaten bento box from Riku's bag. "Crisis averted! You're the best, Kai. Owe you big time."
As they headed back to the cafeteria, Aiko nudged Kai's arm. "You make it look so easy. Ever think about starting a detective club? We could solve real stuff—like who's been stealing my paints."
Kai chuckled. "Maybe. But real mysteries? Nah, too messy." He kept his tone light, but his mind wandered to the shoebox under his bed: Dad's unsolved file, yellowed photos of a sleek black car vanishing into the fog. No leads, no details. Just questions.
Lunch passed in a blur of cafeteria curry and Sora's exaggerated retellings of the "Great Skewer Heist." Kai picked at his rice, half-listening, when his phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: Nice work on the skewer case, kid. But watch your back. Some details bite. Attached was a blurry photo—of Kai's dad, smiling at a crime scene, arm around a shadowy figure in a suit.
Kai's fork clattered to the tray. Heart pounding, he stared at the screen. Who sent this? And why now?
The lunch bell rang again, but Kai didn't move. The everyday had just gotten a little less ordinary.
End of Chapter 1
(Next chapter tease: Kai digs into the mysterious text, uncovering a link to a school "ghost" rumor—and a clue from Dad's past.)