The night was deep. In the back alleys of Towami Ward, there was a presence. A place where streetlight didn't reach. Between an apartment wall and a fence—a narrow darkness barely a meter wide. A single figure stood there, motionless. The hood pulled low obscured the face completely. Medium height. Impossible to tell if man or woman. Only the gaze moved with certainty through the darkness. The gaze fixed on an old three-story apartment building. Maison Flügel. The nameplate was faded, hard to read. Ivy crawled up the exterior walls, honestly telling the building's age. But the second-floor window had a light on. Past one in the morning, and someone was still awake. The figure slowly drew something from a pocket. An old photograph. A worn single frame, barely visible in the reflected streetlight. Two people in the photo. One—a girl with long silver hair. The other—the face was burned. Black charred marks remained, the original face completely unrecognizable. The figure's fingertip traced the silver-haired girl's face quietly. "[cold]…Found you." A low voice. Flat, emotionless murmur. That was all. The figure pocketed the photo and walked deeper into the alley, dissolving into darkness. The light in Maison Flügel's second floor stayed on for a while longer. —— Six-thirty in the morning. Sunlight streamed into the kitchen. From the direction of Towami Central Station, the distant sound of a train. Kimisaki Kaito stood before a frying pan. Black short hair still held traces of bedhead, white shirt tie loose. Slender build, height around one-seventy. Deep brown eyes—restless eyes, always moving. Now, watching the eggs in the pan, a slight furrow between his brows. A habit when thinking. He didn't notice it himself. Six pieces of toast in the toaster. Salad bowls lined the counter. The coffee maker gurgled. By normal logic, this was morning housework. Not detective work. Kaito flipped the eggs while mentally organizing the team's condition for the day. Siesta had been reading late last night, so probably rough waking. Better to serve something warm before toast. Haruka sometimes got enthusiastic about breakfast, but today it was better to keep her out of the kitchen for everyone's sake. Last week's omelet incident was still fresh. Why everyone's eyebrows disappeared—still a mystery. Shido was meticulous, so he'd wake on time. Char was probably doing mysterious exercises on the balcony right now. Kaito sometimes noticed he did these things naturally. Who wanted what to eat. Whose health seemed off. Who was in a good or bad mood today. He just moved without thinking. A habit from his apprentice detective days. Observe surroundings, act first. That way fewer problems. Team balance held. The problem was he took on too much because of it, Kaito thought. But right now, not burning the eggs was more important. Midway through breakfast prep, he opened the fridge. Butter. Milk. Yesterday's leftover soup. A tofu with masking tape labeled "Shido." Yogurt with masking tape labeled "Haruka." Come to think of it, Siesta had never once labeled anything. Said something about how the great detective's food didn't need a name. In the back, there was pudding. Kaito paused slightly. Confiserie Luce's "Classic Pudding." The kind sold at Super Maruhiro—three hundred twenty yen each. Bitter caramel, adult taste. That was fine. The problem was—this pudding had been here for a while. The expiration date should be long past. Kaito kept his brow furrowed, checking the pudding's lid. Yeah, expired. But somehow it looked normal. Hadn't collapsed, no discoloration. Sitting in the fridge's back like it was bought yesterday. Everyone on the team said it wasn't theirs. So who bought it? "[serious]…Well, whatever." Not something to think about now. Kaito closed the fridge door. For this morning, making breakfast came first. The pudding mystery could wait. Probably wouldn't think about it. Then light footsteps came from the stairs. "[gentle]Kaito-kun, good morning." The voice came from downstairs. Opening the door, Moriya Take stood in the hallway. Seventy-two years old. Maison Flügel's landlady, living on the first floor. Used to be an elementary school teacher, posture straight and proper. White hair gathered in a round bun at the back, wearing a light gray cardigan today. A paper bag in her hand. The smell of taiyaki drifted from inside. "[gentle]Yamabuki-san brought these over early this morning. Red bean. Six of them—share with everyone." "[surprised]Oh, thank you so much." Taiyaki Yamabuki on Hanamichi Street. One hundred eighty yen each, the shop with lines around the block in Towami Ward. Haruka's favorite, so she'd be happy to hear. "[serious]…And so." Moriya's tone shifted slightly. "[serious]You were making noise again last night." "Ah." "[serious]After eleven, there was a bang. Then laughing for a while." Kaito looked away. Remembering last night. Char and Haruka arguing over Friday movie night DVD picks, ending in rock-paper-scissors, Char winning, Haruka throwing a cushion in frustration. "[sad]Sorry. I'll tell them to be careful." "[serious]Please do. But well." Moriya paused slightly. Then her mouth relaxed just a bit. "[gentle]I know you're the one struggling most." Kaito felt something indescribable. Seen through by a seventy-two-year-old woman. "[gentle]Eat the taiyaki while they're warm, yes?" "[gentle]Yes. Thank you, really." Moriya nodded satisfied and descended the stairs. Kaito stood there holding the paper bag for a moment. Coffee aroma drifted from the kitchen. The toaster chimed. Right. Keep going with the meal prep. —— Breakfast finished, cleanup done. Kaito returned to his room. Morning light came through the window. Towami Ward's residential streets were peaceful, bicycles passing occasionally. Blue sky. Not a cloud. Kaito sat at his desk and pulled a leather-bound notebook from the drawer. A diary from "Kaligraph-do." One thousand eight hundred yen. A stationery shop, but the owner Yajima said they had the best fountain pen selection in the area. He'd chosen this diary there too. No particular reason. Just liked the feel of the leather. He took a ballpoint pen and opened to yesterday's continuation. Wrote today's date. Then, thinking a moment, began writing. ——Made breakfast for six again this morning. Moriya-san brought taiyaki. Yamabuki's red bean flavor. Delicious. ——He stopped there. (This isn't detective work, is it?) A thought he'd had many times before surfaced again. Making breakfast, cleaning up, shopping, mediating. Because he was good at maintaining team balance, he'd ended up taking everything on. They were supposed to be an officially registered detective team, "Fiamma," with a filing to Veritas Detective Council. Certified detectives operating within a proper system. Certified detectives meant people recognized by the National Police Agency's external advisory body, people who could advise police investigations—people in a legitimate system. Only about eighty in all of Japan. Supposed to be elite. Yet what he was doing was playing housekeeper. Kaito stopped his pen and looked at the ceiling. Was he dissatisfied? Not exactly. When everyone ate properly and got through the day in good spirits, it felt settled. That was genuinely true. But somehow. What was his reason for being in this team? Siesta held the "Great Detective" title—one of only seven in the world—with the highest rating from the International Detective Agency. Got it five years ago, youngest ever. A genuinely incredible person. The other members each had their own real abilities. He—had moved through observation and consideration since his apprentice days. He knew that was useful. But sometimes he wondered if there was something more. (And I don't really understand Siesta either.) Why did her name come up there? But he couldn't erase it. Siesta was like that. Inside the house, sprawled on the sofa eating cookies, casually demanding more tea. But when she got serious, her deductions were genuinely amazing. The way she looked at him sometimes. Deep, quiet eyes. A person he couldn't understand. Kaito turned back to the diary. Better to close it before writing anything unnecessary. Siesta probably knew this diary existed—somehow, he felt that way. No basis for it. But still. He picked up the pen again to write the final line when— Something moved outside the window. A small shadow caught at the edge of his vision. Kaito's head snapped up. Outside the window, from the second floor. The alley behind the apartment. Someone was there—he thought. A figure in dark clothes, maybe a hood. But. No one was there anymore. Just air remained in the alley. Leaves rustled slightly. That was all. "[serious]…Just my imagination, I guess." Telling himself. This was a residential area. Pedestrians in the morning weren't unusual. That was just chance, nothing deeper. He tried to think that way. But the furrow between his brows didn't ease. Something in his chest caught, a small prick. What was that? Not quite anxiety. But not something to dismiss as "nothing" either. Kaito looked out the window once more. The alley was quiet. A bird called somewhere. Faintly, from the direction of Towami Park. He closed the diary. The leather cover touched his fingertips—cold, slightly hard. Put it in the drawer and stood. Today was just another morning like always. In the shared living room soon someone would wake, find the taiyaki, and make noise. Someone might say something about the fridge pudding again. Shido would confirm today wasn't Tuesday, then start planning his rulebook update work. Just another Fiamma morning. Kaito opened the door and stepped into the hallway. A voice came from the kitchen direction. Someone had found the taiyaki. High energy. Probably Haruka. Kaito's mouth relaxed slightly as he headed that way. The thing he'd seen outside the window lingered in the corner of his mind, but Kaito himself didn't notice it yet.