As the day moves forward and one class blurs into the next, the initial tension of the morning slowly dissolves into the dull, repetitive rhythm of school life. Teachers lecture, chalk scratches against blackboards, and the soft rustling of notebooks fills the quiet spaces between questions no one truly wants to answer.
Kin sits in his usual place, outwardly calm and composed. The performance comes easily to him.
His posture is straight, his pen moves across the page with neat precision, and from the outside he still appears exactly like the model student everyone expects him to be. The teachers barely glance at him anymore; they already know what they will see—good grades, careful handwriting, quiet attentiveness.
But the notes on his paper begin to change. At first it is subtle. A column of numbers where equations should be. A quick subtraction squeezed between two half-finished sentences. Then, slowly, the page fills with calculations that have nothing to do with the lesson unfolding in front of him.
Kin's mind drifts toward something far more practical.
Money.
Before Sute, his life had been simple enough to manage. His part-time job at the butler café had provided more than enough for his needs—food, occasional clothes, small necessities. After his parents died in the accident, the house had been left to him fully paid off. No mortgage. No rent. No looming bills that might swallow his savings overnight.
In many ways he had been lucky. All he needed to do was maintain what was already there but now things are different. Now there are two people living in that house. Two people eating every day. Two people needing clothes, soap, shampoo, toothpaste, medicine—every small, ordinary thing that quietly drains money from a bank account.
Kin lowers his gaze slightly as he writes another set of numbers. Almost everything becomes double. He pulls out his phone again, this time not for the camera feed but for something far less dangerous—his banking app. Hidden carefully beneath the desk, he scrolls through the numbers while pretending to review a page of notes. His current balance, his monthly earnings and his spending habits. One by one he begins calculating possibilities.
He writes rough estimates in the margins of his notebook, subtracting and adjusting figures while the teacher at the front of the room talks about historical revolutions no one in the class is really listening to. Food expenses increase, utilities increase and household supplies increase.
Kin pauses occasionally, glancing up whenever the teacher turns around before quickly checking his phone again, quietly searching average costs for certain things he has never needed to think about before. Rice consumption for the average household of two, grocery rates, price comparisons, etc. Even something as small as shampoo suddenly feels like a calculation.
After several minutes of quiet math, he leans back slightly in his chair. Some problems, at least, are simple to solve such as schooling. He doesn't need to account for Sute's schooling at all.
Even if Sute had remained a normal student, Kin had already seen enough to know that none of the teachers were willing to guide him properly. They overlooked him, ignored him, allowed him to drift along the edges of the classroom without real attention. Sending him to college would only pile more costs onto a future that didn't need them and besides—
Sute is supposed to be missing. That alone eliminates any possibility of letting him appear in public spaces like schools or campuses. One less expense. One less risk.
Kin continues adjusting numbers. For a while he manages to convince himself that the situation is manageable until he reaches the final calculation. His pen stops moving. The result stares back at him from the page in quiet, unavoidable truth.
'What I currently earns… isn't enough.'
'Not for the future I'm imagining. Not if I want Sute to live comfortably.'
Kin exhales slowly through his nose. The conclusion forms in his mind with a cold clarity that surprises even him.
'I will need more money. A lot more.'
His gaze drifts toward the window briefly as the thought settles deeper.
'Another job maybe?'
The idea feels heavy at first but once it appears, it quickly becomes the most logical solution.
More work means more income. More income means stability. Stability means Sute can stay safe without having to worry about whether tomorrow's groceries will be affordable.
As he thinks back over the walk to school that morning, something suddenly clicks in his memory. A flyer. He had seen it taped to a telephone pole, right beside one of the missing posters with Sute's face. Kin remembers glancing at it only briefly at the time, but now the details return more clearly.
Part-time work at a café close to the school. His pen taps softly against the notebook.
'I'm not scheduled to work at the butler café today. Which means… After school, I can go check it out!'
Kin writes one final note in the margin of his paper—more of a reminder than an equation.
Visit café after school.
Then he closes the banking app, slides his phone quietly back into his pocket, and resumes writing actual notes just as the teacher turns around again. His expression remains calm but beneath the surface, plans for the future he intends to build with Sute are already beginning to take shape.
When the bell finally rings for lunch, the entire classroom exhales as if someone had opened a valve. Chairs scrape back across the floor, notebooks snap shut, and conversations that had been waiting patiently beneath the surface spill out all at once.
Kin closes his book with quiet efficiency. The moment his fingers leave the cover and he begins to rise from his seat, a familiar weight drops across his shoulders.
"Alright, Kintoki…"
Miki Sadao says, slinging an arm around him as naturally as breathing.
"Spill it."
Kin doesn't even have to look to know exactly who it is.
"What are you talking about, Miki?"
He replies calmly. Miki leans closer, lowering his voice only slightly even though everyone within three desks can obviously hear him.
"The phone…"
He says accusingly.
"You were staring at it the entire math period like some lovesick idiot. If it's a girl, you have to share."
Kin stops what he's doing. Slowly, he turns his head toward Miki. His eyes, as always in public, remain closed in that familiar crescent shape, but the deadpan silence behind them says enough.
"Share?"
He repeats flatly.
"Yeah!"
Miki says enthusiastically.
"We're best friends. Best friends share everything. So hurry up and see if your girlfriend has a friend for me."
Kin stares at him for a moment longer, silently wondering whether Miki is actually serious.
Knowing Miki… he probably is. At least a little.
Unfortunately, Miki's loud speculation doesn't stay contained between the two of them. Several nearby classmates perk up immediately.
"What was that?"
One of the boys says, sliding his chair back to listen more closely.
"Did you say Kintoki got a girlfriend?"
That's all it takes.
Within seconds a small crowd gathers around them, male classmates leaning in with curiosity while a few girls who had been quietly packing their bags suddenly become very interested in tying imaginary knots in their ribbons or reorganizing their pencil cases while keeping their ears sharply tuned to the conversation.
Kin recognizes most of them by name but they aren't people he would consider close. Unfortunately, that distinction doesn't seem to matter to them.
"Wait, seriously?"
Another boy says, eyes wide.
"Kintoki finally got a girlfriend?"
A ripple of whispers spreads across the group. The girls' reactions split immediately. Some of them look horrified. Others attempt to remain indifferent but are clearly listening with intense concentration. One girl actually clasps her hands together in quiet despair.
"No way."
She murmurs softly.
"Who is she?"
Another boy demands eagerly.
"Show us!"
Miki, delighted with the attention he has accidentally created, doubles down on the accusation.
"I'm telling you…"
He says loudly, pointing a finger at Kin like a detective revealing the culprit.
"He was on his phone the entire first period. Then after that he started writing like crazy even after class ended."
He leans closer again, grinning wickedly.
"If he wasn't writing his girlfriend's name in his notes like some lovesick Romeo, what else could it have been?"
The reactions grow even more dramatic. Several girls immediately reject the idea outright.
"That's impossible."
"Kintoki would never hide something like that."
"He would at least tell us first…"
Meanwhile, two others who had been pretending not to listen look like their souls have just quietly left their bodies, the idea of a secret girlfriend plunging them into silent despair. The boys are far less sentimental. They are already leaning over Kin's desk trying to catch a glimpse of his phone.
"C'mon, show us!"
"What kind of girl finally stole Kintoki's heart?"
"You've rejected every confession since middle school!"
"Yeah, even that office lady from the bookstore tried to ask you out after you turned eighteen!"
"And you rejected her too!"
"Leave some women for the rest of us, man!"
Through all of this, Kin remains perfectly calm. He lets the chaos swirl around him for a few seconds before quietly opening his notebook again then he simply lifts it up for everyone to see. The page is filled with neat columns of numbers and calculations.
"Actually…"
Kin says lightly.
"I was doing some budgeting."
The group falls silent.
"Budgeting?"
Someone repeats.
Kin nods, tilting the notebook slightly so they can see the calculations more clearly.
"Who hasn't been on their phone during class before?"
He continues with a soft chuckle.
"I just downloaded a new mobile game recently. I've been a little addicted to it."
His tone is so casual, so unconcerned, that it completely derails the momentum of the rumor. The girls visibly relax. Several of them choose immediate and enthusiastic denial over entertaining the possibility that the school's most admired boy could secretly belong to someone else.
"Oh…"
One of them says with relief.
"That makes more sense."
The boys, meanwhile, latch onto a far more interesting topic.
"A game?"
One of them says eagerly.
"What game?"
Kin smiles faintly. As it happens, luck has once again chosen to cooperate with him. Only a few weeks earlier he had downloaded a mobile game after Miki had spent several days relentlessly insisting he try it.
Now that useless detail becomes unexpectedly valuable. He begins describing it casually as the group starts drifting toward the classroom door together.
"It's one of those strategy games…"
Kin explains.
"You build a base and upgrade characters…"
Immediately several boys begin chiming in with their own experiences.
"Oh! I know that one!"
"Wait, you just started playing it?"
"You're so late, man."
The conversation shifts completely. Within seconds the entire rumor dissolves into excited debate about game strategies and character builds as they walk down the hallway toward the cafeteria. Everyone is satisfied.
Everyone except Miki.
He walks a step behind the group, watching Kin thoughtfully because he remembers.
'Kintoki hadn't seemed that interested in the game before. Still…'
Miki scratches his cheek awkwardly and shrugs the thought away.
'They are best friends. Best friends share everything. Maybe I really was just overthinking it.'
With that conclusion, he jogs forward again, throwing an arm around Kin's shoulders once more as they enter the cafeteria with the rest of their classmates.
—
By the time the final bell rings and the long day of classes finally dissolves into the familiar chaos of students leaving the building, Kin feels a quiet, almost physical sense of restraint loosen inside his chest. All day he had held himself back.
Every instinct had told him to check his phone again, to open the hidden camera feed and see Sute sitting safely in the living room, wrapped in that blanket and watching television like he had been that morning. The temptation had tugged at him relentlessly through every lecture, every break between classes, every moment when his attention drifted but he had resisted. Barely.
Instead, at one point during the afternoon, Kin had slipped quietly away from the hallway traffic and ducked into the restroom. Inside one of the stalls he had sat there for several minutes with his phone in both hands, his expression serious as he began reinforcing every possible layer of protection he could think of.
First came the passcodes. Not one, but several. A long, complicated numerical password for the phone itself—something absurdly difficult that even he had to double-check before confirming. Then a second password, this time a string of words and characters that would take far too long for anyone to guess. After that he enabled fingerprint authentication, then face recognition, then additional passcodes for each individual application.
He worked methodically, calmly, like someone building a small fortress brick by brick. The last step took a little creativity. The camera app connected to his house—connected to Sute—was disguised beneath the icon of a calculator. To complete the illusion, Kin deleted the actual calculator application entirely so that there wouldn't be two identical icons sitting side by side.
When he finally left the bathroom stall, his phone felt heavier in his pocket, in all honesty, it felt even safer.
Now, as he stands in the classroom packing his books away while the homeroom teacher gives the final announcement of the day, that quiet sense of control has returned.
"Students are reminded to remain vigilant when walking home…"
The teacher says from the front of the room, voice stern and rehearsed.
"Travel in groups whenever possible and inform your families when you arrive home safely."
Around the classroom, the reaction is immediate and predictable. Groans, eye rolls, a few muttered jokes. To the adults it is a precaution. To most teenagers it simply feels like another leash. Kin listens without expression as he slides his notebook into his bag and closes the zipper.
When the dismissal finally comes, the hallway floods with movement as students pour out toward the gates. Kin joins the flow easily.
Outside, he walks alongside Miki and several other boys from their class, the group slipping naturally into casual conversation about homework, games, and weekend plans. One by one the group begins splitting off as they reach different streets.
A boy waves goodbye and turns left. Another jogs ahead to catch up with someone else. Eventually it is just Kin and Miki walking together.
Miki stretches his arms behind his head as they reach the corner of his street.
"Alright, Kintoki…"
He says, stepping backward toward his neighborhood.
"See you tomorrow."
"See you."
Kin replies calmly.
Miki gives a lazy salute and disappears down the road. Just like that, Kin is alone. He slows his pace slightly. The walk home stretches quietly ahead of him, lined with the same familiar street poles and shop windows he had passed earlier that morning. And everywhere—
Sute's face.
Missing posters have been taped to almost every visible surface. Street lamps, bus stops, storefront glass. Kin passes them one by one, his gaze drifting toward each photograph almost unconsciously.
Finally he reaches the one he remembers. The flyer for part-time work is still there, taped awkwardly beside one of the posters. Kin stops right in front of it. For a moment he doesn't even look at the job listing. Instead, his attention settles fully on the photo beside it.
Sute's school ID picture stares back from the paper. The image is stiff and distant, taken against the plain background of a school office wall. His long black hair hangs forward, partially hiding his face, and what little can be seen of his eyes appears dull—almost gray—beneath the shadow of his bangs. He looks small and apologetic. As if he had been trying to disappear even while the picture was being taken. Kin stares at it longer than he means to.
'What kind of parents would choose a photograph like that?'
A picture where their son looks like he's trying to hide from the world. It feels useless and hopeless. Nothing like the Sute he knows now.
The Sute who smiles shyly while wrapped in a blanket, whose eyes light up bright blue when he learns something new or eats food he enjoys. Kin lifts a hand slowly. For a moment it almost looks like he intends to touch the photograph but before his fingers reach the paper—
A voice behind him speaks. Deep and rough.
"Hey kid…"
Kin freezes.
"What are you doing?"
The voice continues, casual but edged with quiet attention.
"You know something about that boy?"
Kin turns. Behind him, emerging from the dim shadow of a narrow alley between two buildings, stands a man who does not belong among the after-school crowd.
He looks older—mid-thirties perhaps—his presence carrying the worn sharpness of someone who has seen far too many things to be easily fooled. A weathered trench coat hangs loosely from broad shoulders, and beneath it a plain shirt sits slightly rumpled from long hours. A short, rugged beard shadows his jaw, and a cigarette burns slowly between two fingers as he exhales a thin ribbon of smoke into the air. His eyes are brown and sharp. Alert in a way that suggests he has been watching longer than Kin realized. The man takes another step out of the alley and flicks the cigarette aside.
The man's gaze lingers on Kin with the kind of patient attention that suggests he has already made several quiet observations before speaking at all.
For a moment the street seems oddly still.
Students continue passing by, laughing, walking home in small clusters, but the space around the telephone pole feels isolated—as though the world has quietly stepped back to watch what happens next. The man exhales slowly before speaking.
"Name's Nishimoto Tamotsu…"
He says simply, introducing himself without ceremony as he studies Kin with quiet interest. His tone is calm but the weight behind his gaze feels anything but casual. His voice rough but controlled.
"Private detective."
He gestures vaguely toward the missing poster taped to the pole beside Kin.
"I picked up the case for that kid."
His eyes flick briefly toward the school gate in the distance before returning to Kin.
"When I stopped by the school earlier today…"
He continues.
"I noticed something."
A faint pause follows.
"You."
Kin remains perfectly still. Nishimoto tilts his head slightly, studying him with the casual curiosity of someone who has spent years learning how to notice things other people overlook.
"Everyone was looking at you…"
He says.
"Talking about you."
He shrugs lightly.
"Figured a guy that popular probably knows a lot of people."
His gaze sharpens just a fraction.
"So maybe you know something about the missing boy."
There is no accusation in his tone. Just quiet observation.
"What's your name, kid?"
Kin doesn't hesitate.
"You can call me Kintoki, sir…"
He says easily.
"It's what my friends call me."
For the first time, Nishimoto's brow lifts slightly. Not suspicion exactly—just a small acknowledgment that something about that answer is worth remembering. He doesn't press the issue. Instead he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small notebook, flipping it open long enough to jot something down with a stubby pencil.
The movement is quick and routine then the notebook disappears again. The air between them grows heavier. Nishimoto's eyes return to Kin.
"So…"
He says calmly, nodding toward the poster again.
"What were you doing with that?"
Kin follows the gesture. His gaze drifts back to the pole. The poster and the flyer beside it. His hand is still raised halfway toward the paper, frozen exactly where it had stopped when Nishimoto first spoke.
For a moment it almost looks as if someone has paused him like a frame in a film then—slowly, deliberately—Kin finishes the movement. His fingers close around the edge of the flyer. He peels it off the pole in one smooth motion and holds it up between them.
"I was just looking for another part-time job…"
He says with an easy smile. His eyes curve closed in that familiar crescent shape. Relaxed and completely harmless. He tilts the flyer slightly toward the detective so the text is visible.
"Thought I might check this place out."
Kin is good at lying. More than good. He has spent years practicing the art of presenting exactly the emotion people expect to see—smiles when smiles are required, sympathy when sympathy is expected, calmness when tension threatens to rise. Most people accept it without question.
But Nishimoto Tamotsu has spent an equal number of years doing the opposite. Finding the cracks. Reading the pauses. Watching the spaces between words where the truth sometimes slips out.
For several seconds neither of them speaks. Kin maintains his relaxed posture, smiling faintly like any ordinary high school student answering an adult's question. Nishimoto studies him. The two of them stand there in quiet equilibrium.
A stalemate.
Neither giving the other anything to push against. Eventually Nishimoto is the one who breaks it. A short, amused chuckle escapes him as he lifts one hand dismissively.
"Alright then…"
He says lightly. He reaches into his coat again and pulls out a business card, holding it out between two fingers.
"Well, if you do happen to remember something…"
He adds casually.
"Give me a call."
Kin accepts the card. Nishimoto taps the edge of it once.
"Just be careful walking around, Kintoki…"
He glances briefly toward the darker stretch of the street further down the road.
"You never really know what kind of trouble is lurking out there in the dark."
With that he turns away, hands sliding into his coat pockets as he begins walking down the sidewalk. His pace is unhurried, almost leisurely. As if his mind is already shifting toward the next place he plans to stop—perhaps a bar or some quiet corner where he can sit and think.
Kin doesn't move. He keeps the same pleasant smile on his face. His eyes remain closed. He waits and listens. Counts the distance in footsteps.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Only when he is absolutely certain that Nishimoto has walked far enough away does the smile finally disappear. His eyes open.
They are completely black. Empty. Whatever warmth or friendliness had been there moments ago vanishes, leaving something far colder behind. Kin's gaze follows the detective's retreating figure down the street.
The flyer and business card crumple slowly in his tightening grip.
For a brief moment the expression on his face carries a darkness so sharp it feels almost violent then the wind shifts through the street. The world continues moving around him as if nothing at all has happened.