"Lucas. First, I'd like to ask you about Alan Maxwell again."

Apparently they'd switched players. I poured four cups of dark roast morning coffee, enlisted Brian's help to carry them, and sighed.

"...I think I've already told you most of it."

Grumbling, I set cups in front of each detective. Both stared at their coffee with somewhat bewildered expressions.

What were two detectives so surprised about? It was just coffee.

"They're just ordinary koala and kangaroo mugs. Do they look like crucial evidence or something?"

"No, I'm just surprised you possess the basic decency to offer hospitality."

"Okay, you don't get to drink that, Inspector."

Ignoring my disgruntled prohibition, Robinson raised the cup to his lips with infuriatingly elegant grace.

Beside him, Nguyen flashed me a smile before taking a sip. Both their eyes widened in surprise.

"This is unexpectedly delicious."

"Right? —And just so you know, you're not getting any more, Inspector Robinson."

"No need to hold back, Potter. Where's the sugar?"

"I'd like to get back on track, Lucas. I've heard that Alan Maxwell was gay, and that you were someone he confided in. Is this true?"

Caught off guard by the direct approach, I faltered. I averted my eyes from those perfectly symmetrical almond eyes fixed on me and offered weak resistance.

"Sniffing around a dead man's sexual orientation seems rather tasteless."

"I agree."

Nguyen affirmed with a smile while showing zero intention of backing down. I reluctantly answered, "Yes."

Was it my imagination? The air in the room seemed to tighten at my response.

"—Did he have a specific romantic partner?"

"He said he didn't."

"It seems he was hiding his sexual orientation from those around him."

"That's what I heard too."

"Why did he tell you?"

"There was nothing to tell—we met at a gay bar. We both just knew from the start. Though for him, it was a one-time desperate visit, and he didn't go back after meeting me."

"The name of that bar where you first met? —Please be honest this time."

"Café Little Lexandra. Search the name and you'll find it."

At my answer, Brian shot me a questioning look. I knew what he wanted to ask—and the answer was yes. Café Little Lexandra was the establishment owned by our mutual acquaintance, Max.

"Why did you lie?"

"Alan asked me to never tell anyone I'd seen him there. Most of the customers are gay, even if some women and straight people come too. He wanted to eliminate any possibility of being identified as gay. Even though we had no mutual acquaintances."

"Were you and he romantically involved?"

"No. Alan didn't like men, and we weren't each other's type anyway—"

"What do you mean?"

Robinson cut in immediately. I glanced at him.

"What?"

"Explain how someone can be gay and dislike men."

What did that question have to do with the investigation?

I returned my gaze to my feet and mumbled.

"Alan despised men. Especially masculine men like his father. And yet he was horrified to find himself attracted to someone of the same gender as his father—someone with similar mannerisms, no less."

"Masculine men... I see." Nguyen's voice dropped lower. "So Alan did talk to you about his father."

At his confirming tone, I hesitated.

I wasn't sure if I should talk about his father. Frankly, it wasn't a pleasant story.

After a moment of deliberation, I finally relented and opened my heavy mouth.

"...Yeah. He never even told me his family name, but he talked about his father a lot."

"Please tell us what he said about his father."

"It's a pretty depressing story."

"Go ahead."

At Nguyen's immediate response, I sighed. Come to think of it, they were probably used to hearing about the grotesque side of human nature.

"From what Alan described, his father was extremely controlling. And emotionally unstable."

"Oh...?"

"Whenever Alan did even the slightest thing that didn't align with his wishes, he'd suddenly explode and try to grind Alan's self-esteem into dust."

"Did he share any specific examples?"

"Well... when he was little, his father would take every opportunity to explain in painstaking detail just how stupid and wrong Alan was. He was once yelled at just for smiling. Apparently his father had trained him not to smile. But then he was caught laughing with friends outside."

"How charming."

Nguyen narrowed his eyes while maintaining his smile, and beside him, Robinson's brow furrowed deeply.

"Alan seemed completely worn down by his father's relentless denial of who he was. He said the worst was when his father burned all his books. His father apparently couldn't stand Alan having opinions of his own, owning books by choice. He'd come home to find his room ransacked, books thrown away. He seems to have a deep aversion to individuality and 'being oneself.' Maybe he was repressed growing up."

Nguyen's hand, which had been steadily taking notes, twitched at my last comment.

"Repressed... What makes you think that?"

"Well, obviously—if he wasn't allowed to be himself, he can't stand watching his son enjoy that freedom, right?"

"That's an interesting observation. —Sam."

At Nguyen's prompt, Robinson closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

He rubbed the area around his eyes with his fingers and spoke.

"You said Maxwell was drawn to a man similar to his father?"

"More or less. That he resembled his father is just my impression, though."

I nodded, somewhat overwhelmed by the increasingly tense atmosphere.

"Could you tell us about this person from his stories?"

"A man." Robinson cut in sharply. "A young man—if any men in their early twenties like the victim came up in conversation, tell us. All of them."

All of them! I nearly startled, but thinking about it, there weren't many characters in Alan's stories. I didn't know their ages, but if we're talking about men, it narrowed down to about four.

"Well... he often mentioned a classmate from high school. Said he might have been his first love without realizing it at the time. Someone fair to everyone, the center of attention at school."

"Could he have been someone special to Alan?"

Nguyen leaned forward slightly. Noticing I'd piqued his interest, I grew a bit flustered.

"No, no, they weren't actually that close. They hadn't kept in touch after graduation either."

"Not once since high school?"

"According to Alan."

—He's perfect, you know.

That single murmured phrase, suffused with deep, deep longing. The distant look in his eyes, as though speaking of another world entirely.

—He was like someone wrapped in light. So dazzling... Maybe I shouldn't have noticed that light.

"I see... And then?"

"Next—oh right. He talked about three friends he hung out with regularly. I don't know their genders or names, but from the way he talked, I'd guess they were guys. He said, 'We've been together for three years without me noticing—do you think they actually consider me a friend?' I couldn't help but laugh. They had lunch together four times a week!"

The moment I let my smile slip through, a tearing pain shot through my chest. I quickly suppressed the smile and continued.

"But with them, it was mostly just minor complaints. He'd grumble about how they always made gay jokes."

Alan, narrowing his eyes in irritation. His usually composed expression—which sometimes made him look older than his years—rippling like a boy's. The eyes of a young man burning with righteous anger.

—People who've never been a minority will never understand that someone might be listening to their words in fear...

"...Still, I think they were good friends. He complained, but he seemed to enjoy talking about them."

"Just to confirm again—Alan had no romantic partner?"

"He said he didn't, but I think he was sleeping with someone. It's just a hunch, so don't ask me to explain why I think so."

"When did you start sensing this?"

"Recently. Probably... within the last two months or so."

"Do you know who it might have been?"

I shook my head.

I didn't even know if it had been one specific person. The image of Alan, eyes dark with self-loathing and another man's heat, still vivid in my mind.

The memory pierced my chest again. That was only two days ago.

Nguyen must have noticed my state, because he sent me a somewhat concerned look. When I reflexively smiled back to signal I was fine, his expression softened too.

I just realized—he might actually be my type.

He smiled once more, then returned to his professional demeanor.

"By the way, is there any chance this partner was the 'masculine man' he was both attracted to and horrified by?"

"I don't know. It's not like the topic of who he was sleeping with ever came up. I just happened to notice someone existed. For all I know, he might have had one-night stands with several people. If so, tracking down the killer that way might be a dead end."

My argument clearly didn't convince them.

Either of them. Or rather, any of them. I glanced at Brian, seated diagonally across from me.

 He, sipping his coffee with a detached air, was wrapped in something cold.

"Then tell us about this 'masculine man.'"

"I don't know how they knew each other. But from what I heard, he sounded like a fussy, fanatical preacher with Keanu Reeves's muscles."

The atmosphere tightened unpleasantly again. They might think they were hiding it, but I'm a professional at reading spaces. I noticed Nguyen's Adam's apple bob unnaturally, and Robinson's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly on the sofa arm.

As I grimaced at the discomfort, Nguyen continued with deliberate gentleness.

"Did Alan mention anything that might help identify this person—initials, physical features, anything?"

"Sorry, I really don't know. I just got the impression he was similar to Alan's father from his stories."

"...Well, if we go through the contact list on the victim's devices again, we should at least find whoever he was involved with."

"I don't think you will. He said he used a different address and device to contact anyone who knew he was gay. Except for me, I mean."

At my carelessly dropped comment, both detectives visibly froze.

Realizing my blunder, I clapped both hands over my mouth, but that only seemed to irritate Robinson further.

His brow furrowed deeply, his expression turning murderous, and I nearly bolted from my seat.

"It seems you're seriously toying with me, Mr. Potter. Explain why you didn't cough up that information immediately."

"...You didn't ask."

"Liar."

Robinson declared flatly.

I was self-aware enough to know my attitude had been obvious. This one was on me.

Robinson, with eyes like a menacing giraffe, continued.

"Can't tell me the reason, Potter? If you can't—you know what happens, don't you?"

"I couldn't help it! It's embarrassing to explain!"

I finally caved and shouted.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't understand a word of his explanation! I got that he was using a free email address from public terminals, but when he started talking about IP-something and servers and whatever, I couldn't follow! Don't expect me to explain something I don't understand!"

"...You kept silent about such crucial information for such a trivial reason?"

"Trivial?!"

My voice pitched high, overlapping with Nguyen's somewhat admonishing tone.

"Sam."

At his partner's call, Robinson closed his mouth, though he clearly had more to say, and fell into deep thought.

Once Nguyen confirmed this, he turned back to me.

"You don't need to explain the technical details. What was he using that address for? Please tell us what you know."

"...He told me he started using it before we met. To access Q&A sites about being gay, and to privately message people he met on specialized sites. Someone from there was the one who told him about Café Little Lexandra."

"Specialized sites."

"Surely I don't need to spell out what kind of specialized sites."

"Just for confirmation."

I sighed and told the smiling Nguyen the site name, explaining it was a platform where LGBTQ individuals could freely exchange information and post.

I also mentioned the other gay sites and apps I'd told Alan about.

Nguyen carefully noted everything, then turned back to me with several more questions.

Just as I finished answering, Robinson, who had been deep in thought, spoke up.

"About the person who might be able to prove your alibi."

At those words, I—having completely forgotten I was a suspect—couldn't help but flinch.

But strangely, he didn't ask anything specific about that person. He simply glanced at Brian and continued.

"You hired him to find out who that man was, correct?"

So Brian had told this detective that too.

I glared at Brian, and Robinson addressed me flatly.

"A good decision, for you. I can't officially mandate this, but personally, I recommend you continue working with him."

"...What exactly do you mean by that, Detective?"

"It means you may be in a very precarious position, Mr. Potter."

I stared at him in surprise as he fell silent.

I didn't quite understand, but apparently this detective was, in his own way, worried about me.

Fine. I gave up trying to parse his meaning and reluctantly nodded.

"Alright, Inspector Robinson. If you promise to stop calling me by my family name, I'll do as you say."

"...I forgot to mention, Lucas, but I also dislike being called 'Inspector Robinson.' Just call me Robinson."

I must have made quite an odd face at that moment, because Nguyen, who had been listening to our exchange, let an exotic smile play at his lips as he added:

"Actually, a few years ago there was a TV drama featuring a detective called Inspector Robinson. And he looked a bit like Sam."

"Oh no, I almost felt a sense of kinship there."

I looked up at inspector Robinson—Sam—whose mouth had pressed into a bitter line, my gaze full of sympathy and deep understanding.

"Okay, Sam. I get it. It's rough when someone with your name gets famous. I've got a wizard with my family name who became pretty well-known himself."

"...You were thrilled about it. You even brought the books to class."

I shot a sour look at Brian for his unnecessary contribution.

"I was thrilled. Until my nickname almost became Harry."

Before I could finish, the menacing giraffe—I mean, Sam—stood and gestured to Nguyen.

"Thank you for your cooperation. If you remember anything, anything at all, contact the station."

With that, he strode out of my apartment just as unceremoniously as he'd entered. Just before reaching for the front door handle, he turned to look at me and delivered one final, matter-of-fact warning.

"Don't do anything rash, Lucas. This advice has no real basis, so you're free to ignore it. But I'll say it anyway."

Having said his piece, he didn't wait for my response. He turned on his heel and disappeared through the door with his partner.