If the police closed the case with Sato, the real trail would go cold, but Kuroiwa’s professional pride felt insulted by the sloppy work.
Kuroiwa didn't answer. He leaned against the cold gray wall, watching the detectives through the one-way glass. He could walk out. His alibi was ironclad because he had spent the night of the crime erasing every trace of his existence. But looking at Sato—at the man’s cheap wedding ring and the way he clutched a crumpled handkerchief—Kuroiwa felt a rare, jagged spark of irritation. [Kuroiwa_Menou]_Machigaerareta_Otoko_The_Mistak...
You’re him, aren’t you? Sato whispered, his voice trembling as he looked at Kuroiwa. The real one. If the police closed the case with Sato,
Kuroiwa reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, encrypted drive, sliding it across the table. When the detectives came back in, they wouldn't find a confession. They would find a roadmap to a completely different crime—a high-level embezzlement scheme Kuroiwa had stumbled upon months ago. It was enough to keep the precinct busy for years and far more interesting to the press than a "mistaken" murder. He could walk out
As the heavy door creaked open, Kuroiwa didn't wait for the questions. He slipped past the officers with the practiced invisibility of a man who didn't exist. He left Sato behind, not out of mercy, but because the world was already messy enough without amateurs playing his part. By the time the sirens faded into the city's background noise, Kuroiwa Menou was already back in the shadows, a mistake corrected by a ghost.
I’m nobody, Kuroiwa finally said, his voice like sliding gravel. But you? You’re a ghost now.
Kuroiwa Menou paced the length of the interrogation room, the fluorescent lights buzzing with a low, irritating hum that mirrored the vibration in his chest. Across the table sat the man who had been arrested in his place—a soft-featured accountant named Sato who looked like he had never even raised his voice, let alone a blade.