Another snack bag went empty. Counting them, it was the fifth one. Kirishima Kotoha stared blankly at the pile of empty wrappers stacked on the edge of the desk. They'd been awake since last night. Their body felt heavy, but their head was oddly clear. The PC screen displayed corporate information for Sakaki Food Industries. That text Miyauchi had typed into their phone right before being taken away last night—"Sakaki." Using that as a lead, Kotoha had been digging through open-source corporate databases methodically. Sakaki Food Industries. Headquarters in Saitama Prefecture. Approximately 240 employees. Annual revenue around 1.5 billion yen. A mid-sized confectionery manufacturer. And—the company that had tried to steal Sakura-do's recipe. Kotoha kept typing. Tracking Miyauchi Takuya's SNS accounts. Twitter, Instagram, Facebook. Most were locked or private. But connection data doesn't disappear. Found it. One follower on Miyauchi's account. Username: "kadowaki_r". Profile just said "Food industry / Sales". Profile picture was a landscape—no face visible. But—in the corner of one post, an image from what looked like a Sakaki Food Industries company event appeared once. Kadowaki Ryuuji. That man, sent to Sakura-do as an industrial spy. Kotoha's mind spun at high speed. The incident from the first case and the incident from the fifth case were connected through the same organizational chain of command. Sakaki Food Industries had instructed Miyauchi to divert goods, sent him payment—that was the structure. All that was left was the transfer records. Then the picture would be complete. Knock. Knock. Knock. The door was hit. "You've been awake since yesterday, haven't you!" The voice of Hoshino Kayo, the landlady living on the first floor. Seventy-four years old. Worrisome, meddlesome. She must have been waiting at the door the whole time—there was a hint of anger in her voice. "I'm working." "Working on what! There's been clicking sounds all night!" "Data analysis." "You can do that in the morning! You need to sleep properly, your body—" "Kayo-san." "What?" "Standing in front of the door makes the hallway cold. You'll catch a cold." There was a pause. "…Really, this kid." Muttering, her footsteps faded away. Then they came back. Click. Something was pushed through the gap in the door. One rice ball. Wrapped in plastic wrap. A salmon onigiri. "Eat it. You must be hungry." Kotoha took it. "…Thank you very much." The words came out. Naturally. Without thinking. They surprised themselves a little. Before, in situations like this, words would get stuck. Saying thanks out loud was somehow difficult. The footsteps slowly faded away. Kotoha unwrapped the onigiri and turned back to the PC. Transfer records. Directly proving the deposit to Miyauchi's account would be difficult. But—if they lined up Sakaki Food Industries' financial statements with the changes in Miyauchi's lifestyle. Since last year, the items visible in Miyauchi's SNS posts had gotten noticeably nicer. Wallet, watch, and— Kotoha took a bite of the onigiri while saving the screenshots. To compile this as evidence, they'd need to call Yoshiko. --- Before noon, Kotoha pushed C-017 into the Nakamachi shopping arcade. The autumn morning arcade mixed the smell of food prep with voices of people. Passing Sakura-do, the sound of steamers echoed. At the flower shop Tsubaki, Tsurumi Yoshiko spotted Kotoha while arranging flower buckets, and her eyes sparkled. "[excited]I knew you'd come! Did you find something new?!" "The connection to Sakaki is clear now. I need your help proving the transfer records." Yoshiko quickly opened her notepad. The small notepad she wore around her neck. She always jotted everything down here. "[serious]If it's transfer records, Yoshikawa-san from the shopping district association has a bank contact—no, that won't work. We should go through proper channels." "Submitting it to the police as additional evidence is the right way. Can you give Yoshikawa-san the file I compiled? It should be attachable to the damage report they received yesterday." "[excited]Of course! Should I call Genichirou-san and Souta-kun too?" Kotoha paused slightly. "…Please call Souta-san as well." Yoshiko started to say something, then closed her mouth. Those amber eyes narrowed just a bit. That "I've figured something out" face she always made. Kotoha looked away. --- Four people gathered in the back tatami area of Sakura-do. Fujimura Genichirou silently arranged four steaming small bowls. White hair, a small scar on his forehead. With slow movements, he placed zenzai in front of everyone. Souta sat down beside them. His ash-brown hair still had a slight bedhead. "[serious]…I'll go get Yoshikawa-san." He started to stand when heavy footsteps echoed from the arcade. Yoshikawa Masao, the butcher shop Maruyo's association head—solid build in a white apron—had already come through the door. Yoshiko must have sent him a message. "What, you're all gathered?" Genichirou silently brought a fifth bowl of zenzai. Yoshikawa took it and had a sip. He made a bitter face. He didn't like the sweetness, but couldn't refuse. This pattern was always the same. "[laughing]Yoshikawa-san, your face!" "Shut up." Kotoha opened the notebook PC on the table. "This is the compiled file. Miyauchi Takuya and Sakaki Food Industries' Kadowaki Ryuuji's SNS connections, changes in Miyauchi's lifestyle, timing alignment with Sakaki's financial statements—if this is attached to the damage report received yesterday as additional material, the direction of the investigation should change." Yoshikawa took the materials and put on his glasses to check them. "…I'll take this to the police. This afternoon, maybe." He said only that, then had another sip of zenzai. Bitter face again. Genichirou silently brought a sixth bowl. "[surprised]There's more?" Genichirou didn't answer. He just placed it quietly. --- Thirty minutes after handing over the materials, people began gathering in front of the bulletin board at the arcade entrance. Kotoha noticed Yoshiko had an oddly delighted expression. "What is it?" "[excited]Come look." The moment they reached the bulletin board, Kotoha stopped in their tracks. That red graffiti was gone. In its place was a new poster written in careful calligraphy. "Nakamachi Shopping Arcade's Detective—Kirishima Kotoha" The margins were covered in signatures. Sakura-do, Flower Shop Tsubaki, Maruyo, Harukaze Diner, Shiori Used Books, Cosmos Cleaners, Midori Pharmacy—the names of every shop owner in the arcade, one by one. "[excited]We all signed it last night!" Applause broke out from the surrounding area. Several residents had gathered. Kotoha instinctively stepped back. Gripping the C-017 handle. Escape, their body moved. But— A circle of people had formed around them. No way out. "Um, excuse me, could you let me through?" "[laughing]Kotoha-chan, your face is red!" Don't say it so loud. It echoes through the whole arcade. Souta was watching from the edge of the circle, barely suppressing laughter. Those green eyes were grinning. Completely enjoying this. Frozen in place, Kotoha's ears burned. Being thanked had always been difficult. But—the old them would have gone completely expressionless in this situation. Now their ears were turning red. They could feel it themselves. Genichirou quietly came to stand beside Kotoha. He said nothing. Just gave a small nod. That alone made something in their chest tighten. --- In the evening, opening their phone, Kotoha found an unread message they'd left on read two days ago. From Souta. It had come the night before last. 【Thanks for last night. I'll buy you dinner at Harukaze】 Two days had passed without replying. Kotoha held the phone and thought for a moment. They could just type "I'm fine alone." That's all. Their finger started to move—and stopped. The daily special at Harukaze Diner came to mind. How Shimajima Haruko always made it a large portion. How hard it was to refuse when going alone. And today they'd only had one salmon onigiri. For practical reasons like that. Kotoha headed to Harukaze without replying. --- Opening the glass door to Harukaze, Souta was at the counter. Chin resting on his hand, gazing at the daily menu board. At the sound of Kotoha entering, his face brightened. He raised his hand lightly, his gloved fingers still cut. "[gentle]You came. I was worried you might not." Shimajima Haruko poked her head out from the kitchen. Fifty-five, a caring shop owner. The moment she saw Kotoha, she smiled widely. "[excited]Oh! You both came! That's wonderful!" Her volume was thirty percent louder. The regular at the next table turned around. "Haruko-san, your voice is—" "It's fine! This is a celebration! Today I'll give you extra large portions!" "Regular size, please." "Large!" "…Yes." Can't win. Never could. Kotoha sat at the counter's edge, next to Souta. One empty seat between them. Steam rose from the miso soup. The smell of soy sauce and dashi. Today's special was teriyaki chicken. For a while, both ate in silence. The sound of chopsticks, the sizzle of cooking from the kitchen. Souta quietly opened his mouth. "Yoshiko-san told me a story once." Kotoha kept facing forward, chopsticks in hand. "There's a kid doing deliveries in C-area. Working the same time slot, same area as someone else. Yoshiko-san talks about it so happily. Says there's a detective there." Kotoha brought the miso soup to their lips. "So I quit my old gym. Started taking C-area jobs." Souta turned to face Kotoha. Those green eyes looking straight at them. "That kid was—" Kotoha suddenly choked on the miso soup. Cough. Cough. Loudly. "[surprised]Hey, you okay?!" "I'm…fine." Souta reached to pat their back. Kotoha quickly dodged. Heat was flooding their face. They could feel it. Very red. "…I thought you'd figured it out." Souta said it with a slight laugh. "[serious]I hadn't." "Really?" "Not at all." "…I mean, wasn't it that obvious?" "Understanding whether something is obvious and actually recognizing it are different things." "That's true, but—!" The laughter faded. Souta looked up. Not smiling now. "…You have feelings, Kotoha." He said it quietly. "Not just deduction. Real ones." Kotoha's chopsticks stopped the moment those words came. Images lined up in their mind. Souta's jacket offered on a rainy day. His trembling voice at the base of Nakayoshi Bridge. Three seconds, Souta's hands wrapped around them before Miyauchi was taken away. Something in the center of their chest moved silently. Words wouldn't come. There were feelings. But they couldn't name them. What should they call this? Should they even try? Kotoha looked at the counter's edge. At the phone's corner. At the rim of the teriyaki plate. Their gaze couldn't settle anywhere. They stood up. "Excuse me." Escape, they thought. Their body moved. But Harukaze's counter was shallow. Kotoha's bicycle was outside. The noren curtain at the exit—two meters away. Usually one second. But today their feet were heavy. The noren fluttered open from the side. Shimajima Haruko poked her head out. "[gentle]I'm putting out warabi mochi for dessert." Kotoha stopped for some reason. Three seconds, they stopped. Then they went back to their seat. They didn't even understand why. Their feet just went back. --- Two plates of warabi mochi were placed on the counter. Generous black syrup and kinako powder. Both ate in silence. From Harukaze's kitchen, the sound of washing dishes. Outside the window, the orange light of evening filtered through the arcade. Halfway through the warabi mochi, Souta extended his hand. Like a handshake. But not a handshake. Just—extended. "Let's do deliveries together next time too." That was all. Kotoha paused for a second. They looked at tha