Rain had already washed most of it anyway.
Or it had tried to.
The alley behind the bathhouse still had a faint sense of dread.
Damp wood.
Old water.
The ladder lay on its side like it had simply… given up.
Two officers stood nearby, their voices low and bored in that way people get when they've already decided nothing interesting happened.
"Unfortunate accident," one said while flipping through notes. "Guy slipped. Happens."
"Peeping Tom too," the other muttered. "Serves him right."
Footsteps interrupted them.
Measured. Even.
Not hurried. Not hesitant.
The kind of steps that assumed space would be made.
They turned.
He didn't look imposing.
That was the first mistake people made.
A man in a dark coat, hair neatly kept, eyes calm to the point of discomfort. Not cold. But definitely not warm.
"Sorry, sir—this area's—"
He held up a badge and it was official enough to shut them up.
"Kazehara Ren," he said.
No introduction beyond that.
He didn't wait for permission. Just walked past them and crouched beside the ladder.
Silence stretched.
The officers exchanged a look.
Ren didn't speak immediately. He ran his fingers lightly along the wood.
"Walk me through it," he said.
The first officer cleared his throat.
"Victim climbed the ladder to look into the women's bath. Lost balance. Fell. Head trauma. Died on impact."
Ren hummed. Soft. Thoughtful.
"Mm."
He stood.
Looked at the wall.
Then the ground.
Then back at the ladder.
"Angle," he said.
The officers blinked.
"…Sir?"
"The ladder," Ren continued, almost gently. "You said he fell."
"Yes."
"And this is where it landed?"
"Yes."
Ren sliggtly tilted his head.
"That's… interesting."
The second officer frowned. "Why?"
Ren stepped back, gesturing lightly.
"If he slipped naturally, his center of gravity would pull him forward."
A pause.
"The ladder should fall inward. Toward the wall."
Silence.
Rain tapped softly against metal somewhere above.
"But it didn't," Ren said.
His gaze dropped to the ground again.
"There are drag marks."
The officers stiffened.
"What—?"
"Subtle," he continued, crouching again. "Almost gone now. But not enough."
His finger hovered over a faint line in the dirt.
"This ladder didn't fall with him."
A beat.
"It was pushed."
The first officer let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"That's— no, sir, with all due respect—"
Ren looked up.
The officer stopped talking.
Ren stood again, brushing invisible dust from his hands.
"The victim," he said. "Height?"
"About 5'8."
"Weight?"
"Seventy kilos, give or take."
Ren nodded once.
"A man of that build doesn't lose balance so cleanly that the ladder separates like this."
Another pause.
"And if he slipped…"
His eyes flicked briefly toward the bathhouse wall.
"…there would be more disturbance. Scratches. Panic marks."
There were none.
Only stillness.
Too clean.
Too quiet.
The second officer swallowed.
"…You're saying—"
Ren's voice didn't change.
"It wasn't an accident."
The words settled into the air like something heavy and unwelcome.
"A… murder?" the first officer asked, slower now.
Ren glanced at the bathhouse again.
At the height of the wall.
At the invisible line where someone might have been watching.
"Not random," he said.
"Reactive."
The officers didn't speak.
Didn't breathe, it felt like.
Ren turned slightly, eyes distant now, as if fitting pieces together that no one else could even see.
"A man looks where he shouldn't," he murmured.
"Someone notices."
A small pause.
"And decides that's the last thing he'll ever do."
The rain picked up.
Soft at first.
Then steadier.
Washing.
Erasing.
Too late.
The first officer shifted uneasily. "So… what now?"
Ren slipped his hands into his coat pockets.
"Now?" he said.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"I have a feeling who did it."
And somehow, that was worse than if he'd said nothing at all.