Chapter 14: "Why Does That Sound a Bit Dangerous, Little Brother?"
The broadcast had wrapped. The stage lights dimmed.
Backstage, amid the buzz of staff cleaning up and cables being packed away, Takashi Matsuo warmly shook hands with Hayashi Yoshiki.
"Thank you for your time, Teacher Hayashi," he said with a polite smile. "It was an honor to have you."
Nagai Ayako, the ever-energetic co-host, stepped forward and bowed. "Truly, thank you! You were amazing!"
"No, the pleasure was mine," Yoshiki replied with his usual gentle tone. "This was my first appearance on television. I didn't realize how much effort goes into hosting."
Ayako chuckled. "You didn't seem nervous at all. We've had celebrity guests who froze up as soon as the red light came on."
"I hide it well," he replied, smiling faintly. "But yes, it was quite the experience."
"Haha, Teacher Hayashi," Matsuo grinned. "Would you mind giving me an autograph?"
"Of course."
They exchanged light banter, the atmosphere relaxed.
From the far hallway, Eri Kisaki approached—sharp in her tailored suit, elegance in every step. She was accompanied by Nanae Asamiya, Hayashi's editor.
"Where's Director Suwa?" Asamiya asked, frowning. "He usually checks in after a show."
It was strange. Directors always came out to greet the guests, shake hands, and give notes.
But tonight, Michihiko Suwa had vanished.
Just as that uneasy silence settled over them, a stagehand came jogging toward them, visibly pale.
"Mr. Matsuo!" he called out. "Director Suwa… he's missing."
"What?" Matsuo raised a brow.
"I called the fourth-floor mixing room and his cell. No one's answering."
"Can someone go check the mixing room?" Matsuo asked, still wearing that polite smile.
"On it."
The staff member dashed off.
"Well," Matsuo said lightly, "he probably just got distracted. Teacher Hayashi, I hope the wait hasn't been too long."
Yoshiki shook his head. "It's all right. I don't mind."
He glanced at Eri Kisaki, who was watching him with quiet approval.
"You were fantastic today," she said. "Really composed."
"Thank you, Aunt Eri. Let's go somewhere nice to celebrate later."
"I'd like that," she smiled.
But then—the phone on the backstage wall rang sharply.
A staff member picked it up, and his face immediately twisted in shock.
"…What? Director Suwa is covered in blood?!"
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.
Everyone froze.
"He… he's dead," the staffer stammered after hanging up. "They said he's in the fourth-floor mixing room…"
The shock swept through the group.
"No way…"
"Let's go see!"
No one waited for permission. They rushed out of the studio in a blur, descending toward the fourth floor.
But the elevator was down—emergency lockdown.
They had to take the stairs.
On the way down, they discovered that the main stairwell from the 7th floor was blocked by stacked crates and heavy prop boxes. It forced them to detour through the secondary stairwell on the other side.
When they finally reached the mixing room, the hallway was already crowded with staff whispering in hushed tones.
"Make way, please! Move!"
They pushed through the gathered staff.
The sight inside stopped them cold.
Michihiko Suwa was slumped against the wall. His temple was blown open by a bullet. Blood splattered the nearby flip window, and there were signs of impact across the room.
Screams echoed down the corridor.
"Did someone call the police?!" someone shouted.
"They're already on the way!"
"Then don't touch anything!" Hayashi Yoshiki's voice rang out clearly through the panic.
Calm. Steady. Commanding.
He stepped forward and stood in front of the room. Though the corpse lay in clear view, his expression didn't so much as flicker.
A strange stillness rippled outward from him.
People instinctively backed up.
—
Roughly twenty minutes later, the Tokyo Metropolitan Police arrived, sirens briefly flaring outside.
The officer leading the team was none other than Inspector Juzo Megure, a stocky man with kind eyes and a no-nonsense tone.
"Secure the perimeter," he ordered. "Start the sweep."
Officers immediately fanned out, collecting data, photographing the scene, and sealing off exits.
Suwa's death wasn't an ordinary murder. A firearm had been used—rare, serious, and guaranteed to put the entire station on edge.
"Inspector Megure!"
"Hmm?" He turned and brightened when he saw who called.
"Lawyer Kisaki?"
Eri gave him a small nod. "I'm here accompanying this young man. He was today's guest on the program."
She gestured to Hayashi Yoshiki.
Megure turned toward him.
"…And you are?"
"Hayashi Yoshiki. A mystery novelist," he introduced himself with a slight bow.
"A mystery novelist, huh?" Megure raised his brows, intrigued.
He reached out to shake Yoshiki's hand.
Right then, a nearby officer jogged up, notes in hand.
"Inspector Megure—status report."
"Let's hear it."
"The victim is Michihiko Suwa, age 37, executive producer for Nichimei TV. Cause of death: gunshot to the temple. The bullet exited and struck the flip window behind him."
"Other rounds?"
"Yes. Two more bullets were found lodged beneath a poster near the window, and another near the wall clock."
"Casings?"
"Four spent casings, all in the far corner."
Megure rubbed his chin.
"Four shots fired. Four casings found. That adds up."
Another officer added, "There's only one door into the mixing room besides that window. And there's no railing outside—it's an open drop."
Megure nodded. "Then the killer probably came from outside. Forced the victim toward the window… then executed him."
He said it with confidence.
Behind him, Takashi Matsuo smiled quietly to himself.
—
Then a new voice cut in:
"Inspector Megure," said Hayashi Yoshiki, "would it be possible for me to take a look inside?"
Megure blinked. "Why, Mr. Hayashi? Do you suspect something?"
"I don't know yet," Yoshiki replied. "But as a mystery novelist, I often imagine how crimes might be carried out. I just had a few thoughts… methods the killer might've used."
Megure narrowed his eyes.
"…I see. But honestly—little brother—doesn't the way you said that sound kind of dangerous?"