In November Tokyo, cold rain kept falling without stopping.
When Morofushi Hiromitsu woke up, the gray sky outside the window showed that the time was already near noon. He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling blankly, with only the fine sound of rain hitting the glass in his ears. He didn't know when he fell asleep, only remembering making many dreams between the floating and sinking of his consciousness.
The dreams were all hazy lights, shadows, and broken sounds, like ruined old film, blurry yet stubbornly playing repeatedly. The light wasn't turned on in the room, the curtains were half-drawn, and weak light fell on the floor by the bed through the gap. A few boxes of instant convenience store bento were scattered in the trash can, most of them left aside before being finished.
Today was the third day since Kuno Nozomu's death was confirmed.
Morofushi Hiromitsu originally wanted to continue duty at the police substation, but when making case notes for a reporter earlier, he couldn't help staring at the other party's red hair tie blankly, until the chief patted his shoulder gently and took the initiative to grant him leave.
"Morofushi-kun." That serious middle-aged man rarely softened his tone, "Go back and rest for a few days."
"...Okay, I understand."
These two days he clearly did nothing, yet always tossed and turned, finding it hard to sleep. Speaking of which, he hadn't experienced insomnia for a long time.
On the contrary, during the period before entering the police academy, almost every night, he would be entangled by nightmares of his parents falling in a pool of blood. Every time he woke up in shock, his back would be soaked in cold sweat, and his heart beat violently as if about to jump out of his chest.
Until a certain late night full of stars, that black-haired, red-eyed youth stuffed a light blue candy into his palm: "As long as you eat one before sleeping, you won't have insomnia."
The moment the sugar melted on the tip of his tongue, the blood-colored nightmare was scattered by the light sweet scent.
"If you can't sleep next time, just ask me for a candy."
From then on, Kuno Nozomu would hand him a candy before he slept every night. Strawberry flavor, lemon flavor, melon flavor... the flavor was different each time.
Gradually, Morofushi Hiromitsu got used to sleeping peacefully every night, got used to waking up refreshed the next morning, got used to taking new-flavored candy from the youth's hand, and it even became a kind of expectation. He started to believe that perhaps there really existed an "angel who brings good dreams to people" in this world.
...But now, no one handed him candy anymore.
Not knowing how long passed, Hiromitsu reached out to feel by the pillow, his fingertips touching the cold phone screen.
In the notification bar quietly lay a new email from his older brother Takaaki, the sending time being three hours ago.
"Hiromitsu, how are things lately?"
Under the short greeting was a long blank, as if the result of repeated consideration. His brother was always sharp, presumably having heard something from well-informed colleagues, yet found it awkward to point it out directly.
Hiromitsu deleted and edited in the reply box, finally only typing out three words: "I am fine." He hesitated for a moment, added another sentence "Don't push too hard at work," and then pressed send.
The moment the screen went dark, he looked at himself reflected on the pitch-black phone screen—under his eyes was unhideable dark blue, and his face looked slightly stiff due to lack of expression. Saying "fine" with his mouth, yet anyone who saw this appearance would know it was a lie.
Before when Hagiwara was getting stuck in a dead end and was on the verge of collapse, Hiromitsu even stood out to comfort him, saying they must respect Nozomu's choice and they should be proud of Nozomu. However, he could convince others to accept reality, but couldn't convince his own heart.
"Clearly having already experienced the death of parents..."
"Clearly having seen blood and death long ago, seen the most cruel parting..."
"Why... is it still so painful?"
He thought he was strong enough, but the dull pain rolling at the bottom of his heart was so distinct, hard to ignore—
Only now did he understand that the weight of losing a cherished person never lightened because of the number of experiences.
Although he only knew Kuno Nozomu for less than a year, unknowingly, that youth had already become an irreplaceable existence in his heart.
Hiromitsu stared at the blacked-out screen, pressed the button again, and unconsciously clicked open a certain folder in the album.
When at the police academy, every time someone among the six took a photo worth sharing, they would send it to each other's phones during free time. It was just that they got busier and busier after graduation, and the opportunities to send photos reduced accordingly.
He flipped through them one by one, seeing those bits and pieces of the past, the corners of his mouth couldn't help curving into a tiny arc.
There was a side profile of himself and Rei tying aprons side by side and cutting vegetables seriously when having a room party.
There was a hamster-like appearance of Nozomu bulging his cheeks and stuffing two pieces of matcha cake into his mouth at one go in the cafeteria.
There was Matsuda posing for a heart together with Nozomu with a face full of dislike when playing the King's Game, while Nozomu had eyes curving like crescents, his other hand secretly posing rabbit ears over Matsuda's head.
There was also Rei's helpless expression when being carried like a princess by the class leader, and the scene of Hagiwara holding a microphone singing love songs, surrounded in a circle by girls.
There was a selfie of Nozomu making a victory gesture after kicking away the criminal on the night the convenience store robbery occurred.
There was a photo of Rei with his opponent after playing tennis on the sports festival field, and also Hagiwara laughing out loud because Nozomu pulled out Instructor Onizuka's hair during the scavenger hunt race.
There was a picture of Matsuda and Nozomu holding the same slice of beef with chopsticks at the same time, refusing to give in to each other, when celebrating his birthday at the hotpot restaurant...
"Ah, what happened after this?"
Hiromitsu remembered.
Above the steaming hotpot, the red-eyed youth turned his wrist and skillfully snatched that slice of beef. Amid Matsuda's protest of "Hey!", Nozomu unexpectedly turned the direction of the trophy.
"Ta-da~ This is the birthday boy's privilege!"
He blinked with a smile, placing the beef into Hiromitsu's bowl with mock seriousness.
Amid the dense steam, Hiromitsu froze for a moment, while the other party had already turned around to continue bickering with Matsuda. That slice of beef fought over for half a day just lay quietly in his bowl, stained with the soup splashed when the two idiots fought.
"..."
The blue-eyed youth's fingertips hovered over the button, unable to move for a long time, and only after a good while did he continue flipping down.
Almost every few photos, that familiar figure would bump into sight. The youth in the camera was either active or quiet, yet always radiated a unique vitality. Every single photo was like a door leading to the past, as if one could touch it just by reaching out.
"Turns out... we already had so many memories."
A burst of sour warmth rose in Hiromitsu's chest.
—However, a person who already died can never appear in new memories again.
Before the warmth in his chest could take shape, it was instantly frozen by the coldness of reality. The remaining dozens of photos, he didn't look at them again, just letting the screen go dark, then closing the phone.
At this time, a sense of hunger came from his stomach, protesting its almost completely empty state from last night until now.
"Must cheer up... can't eat those instant bentos anymore."
"Do something..."
"Living people always have to do something."
Hiromitsu walked into the living room, opened the refrigerator, and the ingredients inside only had half a box of eggs and a few slightly wilted green vegetables left.
He washed the vegetables, took out the eggs, and found a pack of dried noodles. The egg tapped lightly against the edge of the bowl, the transparent egg white wrapping around the yolk and sliding into the bowl. The stove fire was lit, the bottom of the pot gradually grew hot, a little oil was poured in, and then the egg liquid was poured in, the oil pot instantly making a sizzling sound.
Suddenly, a drop of water fell into the pot, and the oil sparks exploded into a small patch accordingly.
He was a bit blank, thinking it was water stained on his hand when washing vegetables. But the water on his hands had long been wiped dry.
Hiromitsu raised his hand slowly, and when his fingertips touched his cheek, only then did he notice that smudge of wetness. He froze, raised his hand to wipe his face hard, the strength when his knuckles rubbed past the corners of his eyes being a bit heavy, the skin rubbed until burning hot, yet unable to stop that damp heat in any way.
A few minutes later, the fried egg was placed over the cooked noodles.
Hiromitsu carried the bowl to the living room, just like a normal rest day, sitting in the sofa and turning on the TV. The TV screen lit up, happening to be the noon weather forecast scene. The weather anchor reminded the audience with an unvarying tone: "Affected by low pressure, the recent rainy weather will continue for more than three days..."
He chewed the noodles, yet couldn't taste any flavor. Whether it was the scorched aroma of the fried egg or the salty freshness of the noodle soup.
After finishing lunch, he watched the criminal investigation drama he liked most on normal days, but today's story plot seemed very ordinary. Hiromitsu stared at the scene of the killer being pressed to the ground in the TV, suddenly feeling absurd.
In the real world, someone commits a crime yet escapes punishment due to insufficient evidence; someone has hands stained with blood yet puts on a victim's posture in court; someone takes away a person others cherish yet can still live with a clear conscience, while the person who should have stood in the sunlight stays in the darkness forever.
"...If justice were this easy to achieve, how good would it be?"
With a click, the screen abruptly turned off.
Hiromitsu stood up and finished cleaning the bowl and chopsticks, silence wrapping around the living room again, leaving only the pattering sound of rain outside the window.
"What should I do next?"
His gaze drifted aimlessly, finally falling on the coffee table—there lay scattered a few unprocessed documents, and a jacket he threw down casually was draped on the sofa. Just as he reached out his hand preparing to organize, the doorbell rang abruptly.
"Ding-dong—"
Hiromitsu walked to the entrance, looked through the peephole, and saw Matsuda Jinpei standing outside the door holding an umbrella, with unshed rain drops still stained on his jacket. He opened the door, and a gust of cold wind poured in.
Matsuda's curly hair was messier than usual, the stubble growing on his chin looked dark blue, and obvious dark circles hung under his eyes.
"...Jinpei?"
"Hiromitsu." Matsuda's voice was hoarse, his gaze quickly scanning past his friend's exhausted face, "Let's go inside to talk, it's cold outside."
Hiromitsu stepped aside to let him come in, handing over a towel along the way. Matsuda took it and wiped his hair randomly, then followed him into the living room.
"I'll get you something to drink." Hiromitsu walked toward the kitchen, "How about hot milk?"
When just graduating, Kuno Nozomu had visited his apartment out of curiosity, and even lay on the sofa like a willful black cat, clamoring to drink strawberry milk. Over time, a few boxes would always be prepared in his refrigerator.
When he turned around carrying the steaming mug, he faced Matsuda's complex gaze.
"..." Hiromitsu suddenly froze, the milk shaking in the cup, splashing a few drops to burn the back of his hand.
"Ah... this isn't your favorite drink, right?" He put down the cup in embarrassment. "Sorry, the beer on my side is finished. Do you want coffee?"
Matsuda shook his head, straight away taking over the cup.
"Just this." He looked down at the milk, the heat blurring his expression. "After all, it's that guy's favorite flavor."
They sat side by side on the sofa, neither speaking first. In the end, it was Matsuda who took the initiative to break the silence.
"I used to always say that only kids would like such sweet things. Nozomu never argued back, he would only say I have 'no taste.'" Matsuda pulled the corner of his mouth, showing a bitter smile, "Thinking about it now, I seemed to always be bickering with him, right from when we just entered the academy."
"If I knew earlier..." His voice grew lower and lower, finally almost becoming a monologue to himself, "If I knew it would be like this, I should have had a better attitude toward that guy..."
The lump in his throat moved, swallowing down a mouthful of hot drink, as if wanting to shake off some heavy thoughts, choosing to change the topic: "How about Rei's side, how is it?"
Hiromitsu said softly: "Heard he is tracing the whereabouts of the bomb culprit together with the technical department, almost didn't close his eyes these two days."
"The class leader is also fully invested in the investigation in the First Investigation Division, but... no progress." Matsuda said with hatred: "Like vanishing into thin air, that bastard. Surveillance, fingerprints, witnesses... nothing at all, simply like..."
"A perfect crime, is it?"
Matsuda didn't answer, but Hiromitsu already knew the answer.
"As for me and Hagi..." Matsuda rubbed his temples, "Because our state was truly no good, we took leave. Yesterday we also drank alcohol together." He paused, saying a sentence as if mocking himself: "As a result, except for getting ourselves drunk, we didn't achieve any real business."
"I understand your feelings." Hiromitsu lowered his eyes, his eyelashes casting deep shadows on his face, "We all..."
Matsuda raised his eyes to look at him. He knew that as the roommate who spent days and nights with Kuno Nozomu, Hiromitsu was closer to that youth than any one of them. Hiromitsu's pain would only be deeper than theirs.
Matsuda gripped the cup tightly, the temperature of the hot milk transmitting to his palm through the ceramic.
—He couldn't comfort Hiromitsu. Although he could wake up Hagiwara with a punch, and even shout "must live on carrying Nozomu's share," whenever the night grew quiet, his heart would still send bursts of piercing pain. Any words appeared so pale and powerless at this moment, he could only clumsily, and as directly as possible, do the thing he truly came here to do today.
"Actually..." Matsuda reached his hand into the pocket of his jacket lining to grope around, carefully pulling out an item.
It was an ordinary white envelope, the edges slightly worn, but the opening was carefully sealed with a sealing strip printed with the Metropolitan Police Department logo.
"This is..." Hiromitsu's voice stuck in his throat.
Matsuda handed the envelope to him: "This is Nozomu's will." Generally speaking, it was normal for police to write a will before entering service, especially those belonging to dangerous departments—for instance, members of the EOD squad.
Hiromitsu himself had already prepared one long ago, therefore, he didn't feel too much surprise regarding the appearance of this will.
"According to regulations, the will should be handed to family..." Matsuda explained, "But because Nozomu's situation is special, the personnel department contacted me this morning. It is said that he once personally explained that if something happened to him, it should be handed over to the five peers of the Onizuka class."
"I have already read it, Rei, Hagi, and the class leader also know the content... now, only you are left."