It was already 10 pm. Clarissa was fast asleep while I was still on my laptop. I revisited the news from earlier, hoping to find a clue that may have been overlooked by the police. As I looked through the pictures, some were blurry and others in black and white, making it difficult to see clearly. Despite this, I continued my search. 

I couldn't shake off the question of why the woman involved with the shooters earlier spared us. I wondered about the detective she mentioned. Could it be one of the teachers at our school? 

I quickly checked the school's Facebook page to see who the teachers were. What if one of them was posing as a detective disguised as a teacher? 

Scrolling through the journalists' posts on the school's main page, I read through the teachers' names. I delved into their Facebook accounts, looking for anything unusual in their posts, friends list, or old content. Most of them shared old student photos, family pictures, or aspirations of becoming teachers. Their recent posts seemed genuine, with no suspicious activity, even on their Twitter or Instagram accounts. Their Facebook friend lists looked normal, mostly filled with other teachers who had been working for years without any links to the police or authorities. Well, I knew I wouldn't find anything useful—I was just trying my luck.  

I also tried searching their names with keywords like "detective," "cases," or "investigation," and any other phrases I could think of, hoping for a lead, but I found nothing. I even looked into the ongoing school shooting for clues but came up empty-handed.

I leaned back in my chair, trying to think of another way. I guess I have to observe all the teachers at school.  

I stood up and was about to enter the room when I stopped. All I could do was stare at Clarissa, sleeping peacefully on my bed. I'm not sleepy—I want to know more about the detective she mentioned.  

Minutes passed before I arrived at the school. I quietly climbed over the gate, glancing at the guard who was fast asleep on a plastic chair near the entrance. I carefully landed on the ground and walked quietly inside. The door wasn’t locked, so I went straight in.  

But before I could enter, I stopped when I felt a sharp katana blade pressed against my neck. Slowly, I turned to look at the man holding it. By the way he stood and wielded the katana, it was clear he had knowledge of kendo. That reminded me—there's a Kendo Club in this institute. Should I join?  

"Who are you?" he asked, still pointing the katana at my neck.  

"A student of this school," I answered truthfully, not interested in telling him my name. He seemed to debate whether to put the katana back into its scabbard. "You're a student too, right? Why are you here at this late hour?"  

His brow furrowed. "Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?"  

"I left my notebook at the cafeteria. I forgot to take it because of what happened earlier," I lied.  

I looked at him closely. I had to tilt my head slightly upward to see his face because he was very tall—dark-skinned, with slightly tufted black hair. His expression was intense, and his upturned dull-gray eyes reflected a sense of alarm. His face was heart-shaped, his pale skin contrasting with his thick, slightly arched eyebrows, slightly upturned nose, small lips, and angular chin.  

His expression softened, as if the weight of earlier events had devastated him. "I've heard about what happened. I can't help but feel sorry for those innocent people who got hurt and lost their lives so unexpectedly," he said without enthusiasm.  

"You didn’t go to school earlier?"  

"No, I didn’t. I worked earlier. I have a night job, but I was fired last week. I wasn’t late or lazy, but I don’t know why I was terminated from that restaurant. Earlier, I babysat to earn money. Every day, I have to work hard so my siblings and I can eat."  

"Where are your parents?"  

"My mother is dead. As for my father, I don’t know where God put him—heaven or hell." He placed his hand on his chest and smiled faintly. "Like I care." He clearly harbored resentment toward his father.  

He finally lowered the katana and returned it to its scabbard.  

He pulled something out from an old sling bag—a notebook. "I believe this is yours. I found it on the second row in front of the cafeteria."  

Notebook?  

I couldn’t do anything but continue my act. I quickly snatched the notebook from him. "Thank you," I said flatly, without emotion. "How about you? What are you doing here?"  

"To get my katana," he replied, gently touching its handle. "This is precious to me. It's the only thing my mom left me before she passed. I forgot to bring it yesterday. I couldn’t stop myself from coming back—what if someone stole or threw it away?" His fist clenched, making the handle emit a slight creak. "I don’t think I could forgive myself if something happened to my blade."  

He seemed embarrassed by his emotional outburst and quickly replaced it with a scowl. "You’re not supposed to be here. Can’t you see the tape?" He pointed to the 'Do Not Cross' sign. "Tch, never mind." Then he walked silently into the building.  

"Where are you going?" I followed him. "I thought you were going home."  

"I forgot something at the swimming pool."  

"You entered that area? Why?"  

"Why are you so curious?"  

"Nothing." I glanced around. Some lights were on, making the building less dark. I turned back to him. "May I know your name?"  

"Raleigh," he said flatly, his expression still stern.  

"What did you forget in there?"  

"My apartment keys." He glanced down at me. Despite my height, I only reached his shoulder. "Why are you following me?" he asked, his brows furrowing deeper.  

"Nothing."  

"What do you mean, nothing?!" His voice boomed, echoing through the quiet halls. Realizing where we were, he quickly composed himself, calming his anger.  

"Why are you so angry?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. I didn’t see anything wrong with my question.  

"Forget it," he said, clenching his teeth.  

We finally reached the swimming pool area. The air was cold—even though my feet weren’t dipped in the water, I could feel the chill emanating from it.  

I couldn’t help but hug myself. I was only wearing a tank top and a short red skirt.  

"Are you cold?" he asked, though irritation laced his voice. I didn’t answer but kept staring at him. "Why are you so weak? It’s not that cold," he muttered, clearly annoyed.  

I rolled my eyes. "We have different temperature tolerances. What’s not cold for you is cold for me." I’d rather walk in the desert for years than endure the cold.  

Then my gaze drifted to the wide swimming pool—and my eyes widened at what I saw. I rushed past Raleigh, leaving him confused. In the water floated a woman, her mouth agape, her eyes rolled back.  

"What happened to her?" he asked, his confusion apparent. But his question was answered the moment he saw her lifeless form.  

I quickly grabbed his katana from its scabbard. His eyes widened in shock as I pointed it at his neck.  

"What are you doing? Give it back to me!" he demanded, his voice filled with anger, his face turning red as veins popped on his forehead.  

"Don’t you dare move," I warned him. "You could be one of the suspects in this case." He clamped his mouth shut, but his sharp glare remained fixed on me.