"Maybe he got held up with something," Eitan said, not giving the absence much thought.
He turned toward Eri, who looked stunning in her professional suit, her expression filled with satisfaction.
"You did really well today, Eitan."
"Then, how about we celebrate later, Auntie Eri? Find a nice place to eat."
"I'd like that."
Eri smiled warmly.
If her daughter hadn't been on a date today, she might've used the opportunity to reintroduce them properly…
As the group waited backstage, the landline on the wall suddenly rang.
A staff member picked it up—and their expression instantly changed.
"What?! Suwa is covered in blood?!"
The startled cry froze everyone in place.
The staffer hung up and turned back to the group, face pale. "That call said... Director Suwa is dead. He was found in the mixing room—covered in blood."
"What?!"
"That can't be right...!"
"We should go check it out!"
They immediately rushed out of the backstage studio.
The mixing room was located on the 4th floor, while they were currently on the 9th. But the elevator was blocked, forcing them to take the stairs.
However, when they reached the 7th floor, the stairwell was blocked by stacked boxes and equipment cases, making the descent impassable.
They had to loop around and use the other stairwell to get down to the 4th.
By the time they arrived, a crowd had already gathered at the mixing room entrance.
"Excuse us! Please move!"
Pushing through the onlookers, they finally caught sight of the grisly scene.
Suwa was slumped against the blood-splattered flip-up window, a gunshot wound clearly visible at his temple.
Screams rang out.
Some of the quicker-thinking staff were already calling the police.
"I already called!"
"Until they arrive, no one go in," Eitan said calmly.
His voice, though clear and soft, immediately cut through the panic.
He stepped forward, standing quietly at the entrance, unfazed by the sight of the corpse.
His expression didn't flicker, and something about his presence stilled the crowd. One by one, they stepped back.
---
About twenty minutes later, the police arrived.
Leading them was a slightly plump, gentle-looking inspector who quickly gave orders to cordon the scene and begin the investigation.
Gunshot cases were never treated as ordinary murders.
"Inspector Megure!"
"Hmm? Oh—Eri?"
The inspector looked up, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"I came with this kid to a taping," she replied, gesturing to Eitan beside her.
"And this is…?"
"Eitan. He's my nephew—and a mystery novelist."
"Ah, nice to meet you."
Megure's eyes lit up. The last mystery novelist he'd met had been quite something.
He shook Eitan's hand warmly.
Just then, one of the forensic officers rushed over with a report.
"Inspector. Victim confirmed as Suwa Michihiko, 37, producer at this station. Gunshot wound to the head—entry at the temple, exit wound on the other side. Bullet also pierced the flip-up window."
"We also found additional bullets embedded in the wall," another officer added.
"Two under the poster beside the window, one near the wall clock."
"Four shell casings recovered in total—far corner of the room."
Megure listened, absorbing the details quickly.
Thanks to Eri's presence, he didn't restrict Eitan from hearing any of it.
"The number of bullets and shell casings match. The room has one door and one window—no balcony, no railing. There's no way in or out besides the main door."
"In other words, the killer entered from the hall, fired multiple times to push the victim toward the window—then finished him off."
Megure nodded to himself, satisfied.
Behind the crowd, Matsuo's expression didn't change—but deep in his eyes, a shadow of a smirk flickered.
Then Eitan asked quietly, "Inspector Megure, would you mind if I took a look inside?"
"You have something in mind?"
"Nothing conclusive... But I often imagine crime scenarios when I write. Something about this layout reminded me of a technique I once thought up."
"You... like imagining murder methods?"
Megure blinked.
No, wait—why does this little brother sound so dangerous all of a sudden?!
---
In a media company, word spreads fast.
The news of Suwa's death rippled through Mihana TV like lightning.
By the time the police had taken the body away, a swarm of reporters and coworkers from the news division were already rushing in, clutching mics and cameras.
"Mr. Matsuo! Mr. Matsuo!"
"How do you feel right now?"
"There are rumors your show's about to be canceled—do you think a fan might've snapped because of that?"
"Or... was there a conflict between you and Suwa that—"
Excited reporters shoved microphones toward Matsuo, firing off questions like a hailstorm. The bombardment showed in his face—his expression darkening with each word.
"Shut up!" he suddenly roared, eyes wild. "Will you people ever stop!?"
The police immediately stepped in, pushing the reporters back.
Just as an officer moved to escort Matsuo aside, he noticed Matsuo's shoulders trembling. His gaze dulled, his tone strained—as if forcing himself to hold back tears.
"We… did talk about the program being canceled," he muttered. "But Suwa told me… he still wanted me to host it."
"He came to the mixing room during the broadcast to talk about it. Said once the show ended, we'd discuss how to make it even better going forward…"
"But in the end—!"
Tears welled in his eyes.
The reporters, now silent, slowly raised their microphones.
"I, Matsuo Takashi, swear this—here and now!" he said, voice rising. "I'll carry on Suwa's final wish and keep this program alive. And…" His jaw clenched. "I'll turn this case into an episode—and hunt down Suwa's killer with everything I've got!"
Inside the mixing room, the TV monitor—still tuned to Nichimai's live news—just so happened to broadcast his impassioned declaration in real time.
Inspector Megure stood nearby, arms crossed. His expression soured.
"What's he implying—that we can't catch the killer ourselves?"
Eri, standing beside Asamiya Nanae at the room's entrance, didn't even blink.
"That's just how media people operate," she said flatly.
Nanae looked at the reporters with a complex expression. "You'd think they'd be more solemn… a coworker just died."
Just then, Eitan's voice rang out clearly, cutting through the chatter:
"The killer is Mr. Matsuo. I'm certain of it."
He wasn't trying to be discreet.
The reporters—and Matsuo—heard every word.
The host, still in front of the cameras, spun around, stunned. "What kind of nonsense is that, Eitan?!"
He stormed over, face flushed and voice rising. "How could I possibly have killed Director Suwa?! Sure, we argued, but that's—!"
"You're not seriously taking him at his word, are you?!" he snapped at the police. "Besides, you haven't even confirmed the time of death yet!"
"It was between 8:15 and 8:55 PM," Eitan replied calmly.
He smiled faintly and raised a finger. "At 8:15, Mr. Matsuo, you asked a staffer to call and check Suwa's location. They got a reply right away. I was there—I heard it."
"I only—"
"For efficiency's sake," Eitan cut in gently, "please let me finish."
"At 8:55, after the program ended, another staffer called Suwa again. This time, there was no answer. So I'm placing his estimated time of death within that 40-minute window."
"Then there's no problem!" Matsuo shot back. "I was on the show the whole time! I couldn't have killed him!"
"But during the final segment," Eitan said, "there was a four-minute VCR. And you quietly left your seat then, didn't you?"
"That was only four minutes!" Matsuo shouted. Internally, he cursed—this was the fragile centerpiece of his plan.
"You think I had enough time to run from the 9th floor to the 4th, kill someone, and come back?!"
"Yes," Eitan said without hesitation.
To Matsuo's surprise, he nodded in agreement.
"I timed it. When we rushed here after hearing the news, the blocked stairwell forced us to use a longer route. It took about seven minutes. Even moving quickly, six minutes would be the fastest."
"Wait… you timed that?" Megure blinked.
Eitan didn't answer.
Matsuo straightened. "So even you admit it's impossible."
"But," Eitan continued, "if someone shot from the 7th floor instead of entering this room, the round trip could take just two minutes."
Matsuo's face drained of color.
He froze—lungs tight, lips twitching—but he managed to keep his voice steady.
"W-What 7th floor?! Didn't the police just say the killer entered through the door?"
"That was based on the assumption that the shot was fired inside this room. But the station's architecture is irregular. The 5th and 6th floors above us don't have windows. Only the 7th floor has one directly above this mixing room."
Eitan's words made Matsuo's legs wobble.
He desperately wanted that calm voice to stop talking.
But Eitan didn't stop.
"When I opened the flip-up window and looked up, I saw a matching window on the 7th floor. That's when I thought of this method."
He tilted his head slightly. "It felt a bit too simple for a novel, so I didn't bother writing it down."
"…"
"…Wait," Megure muttered. "Are you saying Suwa opened the window… looked up… and that's when the killer—"
"—fired from the 7th floor," Eitan confirmed, "and hit him cleanly in the temple."
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