While waiting for the students to come up to the office, I paced restlessly around the room.

I had no idea why they were visiting. In the first place, I was surprised they even knew Alan and I were acquainted. Had Alan told them, or had they found out by coincidence? I couldn't imagine Alan actively mentioning me to others, so it was probably the latter.

I opened two overhead cabinets, thought for a moment, and pulled out a simple white teapot. I'd bought it as a small gift to myself when I opened the office, feeling it suited the space. As I poured hot water into the Iittala Teema set—something that had lingered in the back of my mind but never found an occasion to use—I resolved to flee to the back bedroom if they tried to make me solve Latin grammar.

The bedroom, located at the back right from the entrance, was literally my sanctuary. Lockable from both inside and out, I'd asked not just friends but even former lovers to stay out of that room. No one but me had ever set foot inside.

That thought led me to a possibility. The person who had driven me home the night of the incident might have entered that room.

The notion unsettled me slightly.

If they had stepped into my bedroom—what would they have thought of the interior?

I shook off the fleeting question. Sentimental though the décor was, it was just a room composed of a bed, cushions, curtains, and lights. No one would think anything of it. It wasn't like I had severed heads or skulls lined up.

The bell announcing their arrival rang. Just in case, I locked the study that doubled as my storage room where I kept valuables, and tossed the key into an empty canister. Taking a deep breath, I headed for the entrance and opened the door with some trepidation.

Sure enough, four young people stood waiting. Every one of them wore a stiff expression, and I felt my own face threatening to mirror theirs.

"Hey, welcome. I'm Luke. Welcome to my office."

"Oh, hey."

"Hello."

"...Um, sorry for just, uh, showing up suddenly..."

They murmured one after another, and then silence fell.

I nodded meaninglessly and opened my mouth with forced cheerfulness.

"W-well, come on in for now. It's getting a bit chilly in the evening."

As I ushered them in, I secretly observed the four students. One was a woman; the rest were men. A tall young woman with a model's lithe grace entered first, her expression sharp and composed. Two redheads followed—one lanky, one muscular. Last came a serious-looking young man who somehow seemed different from the other three.

I guided them to the sofa and arranged the pot and matching teacups on the table. Perhaps because of their utterly mismatched vibes and outfits, the office took on an unprecedentedly pop impression.

"Once again, I'm Lucas. Just to confirm—you're not here to commission interior design work, right?"

At my words, all four hastily shook their heads. Did they think I was squeezing outrageous sums from my clients? Their panic suggested as much.

Another silence threatened to descend. Just as I began to think I should lead this conversation, the young man seated at the far end of the sofa hesitantly spoke up. "Um..."

Relieved, I turned toward him—and caught my breath slightly.

Brown skin, dark brown hair in gentle waves, clear blue eyes framed by thick lashes, strong-willed brows. Handsome, yes, but not strikingly so. When I'd observed all four together, his first impression had been so understated he'd blended into the background behind the other three.

He met my gaze directly and spoke.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Qasim."

An Arabic name, if I remembered correctly.

"Thank you for welcoming us despite our unannounced visit."

"Well, I just happened to have time."

I managed to answer while maintaining some semblance of adult dignity. There was something about him I couldn't quite put into words. Probably something I’d missed out on in my own youth. If you stripped the shadows from the Brian I knew in his student days, the result might look something like this.

"Anyway, please have some tea. It's cacao-flavored black tea."

At my words, the young woman seated opposite Qasim brightened instantly. A lovely smile. Her smooth dark brown skin seemed to glow with it. Between her daring pixie cut and head-to-toe black outfit, she'd given off an unapproachable air, but that smile flipped everything like a game of Othello, transforming her entirely into someone adorable.

She lifted the cup to her lips, still beaming, and smiled even more happily. Then she noticed my gaze and grew flustered.

"Um, I'm Chloe. ...Sorry, I drank first."

"I'm delighted you like it, Chloe. And your names are?"

When I addressed the two young men in the middle, they introduced themselves as "Viktor" and "Ethan" respectively. Both had beautiful red hair, but their builds and features were polar opposites. Viktor was small, slender, with distinctive features; Ethan was obviously muscular with regular features, the tallest of the group.

"...The four of us are all students at the University of Queensland. Viktor, Chloe, and I met Alan at university." Apparently feeling more explanation was needed, Ethan continued the introductions in a flat but clear voice. "Qasim wasn't acquainted with the three of us, but apparently he was Alan's classmate in high school..."

So Qasim wasn't directly friends with the other three. I'd sensed he had a different vibe—wait a moment. The University of Queensland?

I nearly jumped at the name of Brisbane's pride and joy, a university even I knew despite my aversion to academics.

Good grief, of all places, an elite institution!

The tension that had begun to ease thanks to Chloe's smile tightened again. I had to wrap up the main topic before they started casually discussing Olmec civilization.

"So, um, what brings you here?"

At my words, Viktor turned his guileless green eyes toward me.

"Mr. Potter, were you Alan's boyfriend?"

I couldn't help but look up at the cream-colored ceiling. Second time today for that question. I was genuinely starting to worry about the poor Alan's social circle.

"Excuse me?" I asked in a voice so low it was almost subterranean, only to be drowned out by cries of despair from the other three.

"Why would you—!"

"You can't be serious..."

"You idiot!!"

Watching his friends clutch their heads, Viktor pouted, looking rather put out.

"Why the blame? None of the things you wanted to ask him can proceed without knowing the answer to this question."

"Idiot. You're such an idiot."

"Chloe, as I've said many times, that word is the furthest thing from—"

"—Shut up, you absolute moron!!" Chloe snapped at him, eyes flashing. "We agreed to start with small talk about the weather, remember? What were you even listening to?!"

The other two nodded along. I wanted to enlighten these innocent students: for adults, weather talk is a symbol of awkwardness, not an icebreaker.

"Um, before I answer that question, let me confirm something." I managed to interrupt their lively exchange and slipped in my words. "Did Alan ever tell you anything about his sexual orientation?"

The four exchanged quick glances. Then they shook their heads slightly.

"In high school, Alan was usually alone. I never even thought about the gender of any partner he might have."

"We weren't told directly or anything, but..."

"We'd been hanging out for three years. We just sort of picked up on it from how he reacted to certain topics."

"There was a certain asshole who noticed and kept making roundabout jokes about it."

Under Chloe's icy stare, Viktor shrugged without a hint of remorse.

"His reactions were entertaining."

"I'll say it as many times as I have to—that was absolutely despicable!"

A perfectly valid opinion, I thought, but Viktor just looked away with disinterest. What a uniquely individual bunch. I wondered how Alan had come to spend time with them.

"To answer your question first: Alan and I were not romantically involved."

The students hastily turned to face me. They fixed their gazes on my eyes, as if trying to determine whether my answer was true.

"We were friends, and I often listened to his problems. I have no intention of telling you what we discussed. I'm sure you understand."

Perhaps my seriousness got through to them. After fidgeting as though wanting to say something, all four fell silent and deflated. Their utterly docile reaction made me uncomfortable. With the thoroughly troublesome creative types I usually wrestled with—myself very much included—I believed giving even a micron of ground meant defeat.

Driven by an unfamiliar species of guilt I'd never experienced before in my life, I found myself asking them something unnecessary.

"So, um, your purpose here is to hear about Alan from me?"

"That's right."

Ethan answered in a flat but clear voice. I nearly ran my right hand through my hair but managed to return it to my thigh just in time.

"What do you want to know about Alan? You mentioned something about a boyfriend."

At my words, Chloe and Ethan lowered their eyes. Viktor pressed a finger to his temple with an air of "let's see how this goes" and watched Chloe. Only Qasim kept his blue eyes fixed straight on me. Just as he seemed about to speak, Chloe lifted her face with apparent resolve and slipped in her words.

"Mr. Potter, what do you think caused Alan to leave this world?"

"Um, what do you mean?"

"I mean, do you really think his cause of death was suicide?"