Police arrived at the hotel just after noon.
The teachers were quietly escorted outside, away from the main hall, into a narrow shaded space between buildings where the wind barely moved. The officers spoke in low voices, careful—like even words could break something already fragile.
Inside that silence, a female officer stepped forward.
"We found her."
For a moment, the sentence didn't land.
It hung there.
Then relief cracked through the group all at once.
"Thank goodness…"
"So she's safe?"
"Where is she? Is she okay?"
Teachers began speaking over each other, voices rising with fragile hope. One of them even stepped forward, as if distance alone could hurry the answer.
The officer lowered her gaze.
"…I'm sorry. She is not alive."
The words didn't connect.
It was as if the meaning refused to enter the room.
"What…?"
A teacher blinked slowly.
"That doesn't make sense."
The female officer exhaled, steady but heavy.
"We found her body at Fushimi Inari Taisha."
The name alone shifted the air.
"In the bushes near the walkway. Her neck was pierced by a sharp wooden stick."
A pause.
"We also checked the area. No money or valuables were found."
Silence spread quickly after that—too quickly, like it had been waiting.
Then panic broke through it.
"No… that's not possible…"
A female teacher staggered back, her legs failing her before she could finish the sentence. Someone caught her before she hit the ground, but her eyes stayed open—empty, unfocused, like the world had been removed from them entirely.
The officers moved in immediately, voices calmer now, trying to stabilize the room.
"We will find who did this."
"Or maybe we already have some clue about the culprit."
A male officer stepped forward.
"You are perhaps taking about that person, don't you?"
Heads lifted slightly.
The female officer nodded once.
"We've received multiple complaints about him in that area."
Understanding began to form in the officers' tone—not certainty, but convenience.
"So… theft, then," the male officer said slowly.
"Possibly. But we'll need further investigation."
She turned back to the teachers.
"For now, you will need to stay here for a bit longer until we apprehend him."
"…Yes," someone answered faintly.
The officers left shortly after.
But in the hotel, news moved faster than it should have like someone tried to spread it fast.
Whispers changed rooms without people noticing. Words traveled through corridors, repeated, reshaped, sharpened.
By evening, everyone knew.
Two weeks passed.
The investigation concluded quickly.
The suspect had been captured.
A small group of teachers gathered again, this time not outside in relief—but inside in quiet exhaustion.
The female officer said to them.
"We've arrested the man."
A pause.
"He did not confess to murder. However, we found money in his possession. Locals also confirm seeing him near the area."
The word near carried too much weight.
"And… he still appears to be mentally unstable."
A teacher frowned.
"But what if that's not the truth?"
The officer looked up, calm.
"It's possible. But for now, he is our prime suspect."
A pause.
"Further investigation will continue."
The room stayed silent.
Then—
"You may return once the victim's family arrives."
"…Thank you."
That evening, the hotel felt different.
Quieter. Heavier.
Hitori had not left his room in two weeks.
The door stayed shut as if the world outside had stopped being safe to enter. Inside, silence had settled like dust. Aizawa stayed close, never leaving the corridor for long. Minato checked in occasionally, asking questions no one could fully answer.
But even Minato's silence had changed.
Something about the situation didn't sit right.
Not loud enough to accuse.
Not clear enough to prove.
Just… wrong.
He stood near the corridor window one night, staring outside.
"Why does it feel like everything went in the wrong direction…?"
He frowned slightly.
"…No. It's just my imagination."
Behind him, somewhere deeper in the hotel shadows, someone smiled.
A quiet grin formed in the corner of the dim hallway.
"Lucky."
A low whisper slipped out.
"I didn't think it would go this well."
The smile widened slightly.
"What a damn stroke of luck."
"Good."
A pause.
"They accepted it faster than I expected."
The figure adjusted their posture, almost casually.
"Accidents really are the easiest kind of truth to sell."
Another pause.
Then, softer—
"Now… let's see how long it takes before they notice it wasn't just one."
The smile didn't disappear.
It deepened.
And the hallway stayed empty, as if it had never been spoken into at all.