As far as class trips go, this one can only get better. They dragged us all the way out to Iwatodai for a lecture on Shinto mythology. Honestly, even kids know the religion’s the creation myth. I don’t what Edogawa-sensei is on, but it certainly doesn’t seem to be making him more lucid. As if our interactions with Gekkoukan High weren’t torturous enough, the walking mass of libido that is our homeroom teacher secured us lodging in what has to be the sketchiest love hotel I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen a lot of love hotels.
Our last day of lecturing finished, we’re set to head home tomorrow. Before that however, Rise’s invited us all along to a night out at the dangerously titled, “Club Escapade.” After seeing the environment her Shadow created, I thought she’d avoid places like that. With nothing better to do, I’ve been hanging around the mall where the nightclub is located, killing time in the various establishments within. So far, I’ve downed two cups of pheromone coffee, cleared the arcade’s light gun cabinet, stopped myself from buying an antique katana, and nearly sang karaoke on my own before thinking better of it. I’ve finally ended up in the record shop and resorted to listening to albums I have at home, still cursing myself for forgetting to bring my mp3 player. Despite how tirelessly I’ve worked to keep my mind preoccupied, my thoughts continue to wander back to the serial killings and the young detective investigating them.
Naoto’s a sharp guy; it only makes sense he can tell we’re tied up in the case. Considering how poorly we’ve covered our tracks, we’re lucky only my uncle and he have caught on to our Investigation Team. I can’t even say I blame him for suspecting me to be the culprit. Still, there’s something about the whole situation that strikes me as odd, and I don’t mean the murders. The Detective Prince is withholding information from us. That might be fair, in spite of my relative honesty when he’s questioned us, but I don’t like having unknown factors at play. My thoughts keep coming back to a single possibility, but it’s far too outlandish for it to be true. That is, unless-
The opening of the shop door cuts through the music, revealing a recently arrived blue haired man in a fashionable outfit and a set of headphones hanging around his neck. Like a cosmic slap in the face, he bears a passing resemblance to the detective I’ve been doing my best not to worry about. He raises a curious eyebrow in my direction, as though I’m the strangest thing he’s seen today. I guess a student in an unfamiliar summer uniform might strike some city residents as odd.
I pull the headphones off my ears, still holding them by the band, and meet his quizzical stare. “...Is there something on my face?”
The longer I look at him, the more I can’t shake this odd sense of familiarity. Huh. Must be one of those kindred spirit things people talk about.
