“I’m telling you—”

I raked both hands through my blonde curls with what had to be my hundredth sigh.

“Sure, it’s not the kind of chair people usually picture, but it still functions as legs. What? That curve is exactly what makes it work! And the weight capacity is—”

As I rattled on passionately, I grabbed the mug on my desk almost unconsciously and poured it down my throat.

On the other side of the designer monitor I’d bought just because I liked it, my counterpart was speaking with equal fervor. The built-in speakers carried every nuance of his voice.

“Listen, Kirk. You’re going gold and gold and white and gold all over the floors and walls again, aren’t you? Then this design will absolutely work—just get my chair data in there first! We’ll talk after that!”

Just as I shouted this at the screen, the chime for a call from reception rang.

That had been happening a lot lately. I was usually careful to inform Megan or Wyatt about visitors, so until a few days ago, I hardly ever got calls like this.

“Looks like I have a visitor, so I’m hanging up. Put my chair in the VR first! If you still have complaints after that, I’ll hear them all!”

With that, I ended the call and stood up to head for the controller. Brian, who had been elegantly sipping coffee on the sofa, called out, “Popular lately, aren’t you.”

“At this rate, I’m starting to think so myself.”

I pressed the controller button as I answered. Wyatt’s bright smile appeared on the monitor.

“Hi, Luke. You’ve been quite popular lately, haven’t you?”

He said exactly the same thing as Brian, then announced my visitors.

“Those university students who came by the other day are here again. Only two this time.”

“Seriously… By the way, who is it?”

“Two guys. One of them has red hair.”

Got it. At least I knew one of the two was Qasim. Come to think of it, I’d just sent him the detective’s contact information out of the blue yesterday and left it at that.

I glanced over at Brian, comfortably ensconced on the sofa. He’d been observing me from the corner of his eye, and when I looked at him, he gave a small nod.

“…Okay. I have a pretty good idea what they want, so could you send them up? I was about to take a break anyway.”

“Got it.”

Wyatt gave me a bright smile before ending the call.

"The university students you mentioned before?"

"Seems like it. I'll have them sit on the sofa, so could you move over to the glass table?"

"I should be leaving soon anyway, so let me just say hello. I'll stop by again this evening, and we can go over what we couldn't get to yesterday."

"I'm praying it's not bad news..."

Brian shrugged theatrically at my words and stood up. He washed his cup in the sink and disappeared into the bathroom. To me, he already looked perfectly put together—but apparently not.

"...You'd better not be getting excited just because university students are coming."

My low mutter apparently reached the bathroom just fine. Brian poked his head out, a composed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Slow on the uptake, aren't you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Without answering, Brian just wore that mischievous smile as he ducked back into the bathroom. Still feeling somewhat unsatisfied, I switched on the electric kettle and took out the same Iittala cups as last time. I was just putting tea leaves in the pot when the doorbell rang.

"Hey, welcome—wow, unexpected combination."

The two young men waiting politely beyond the door—Qasim and Viktor, of all people!—exchanged glances at my words and nodded awkwardly.

"...I thought so too."

"...Can't deny it."

"Well, come in for now. You can tell me what you need inside."

"Thank you."

Qasim's polite thanks trailed off. Both students had fixed their gazes behind me, mouths closed in apparent surprise.

Following their expressions, I turned around—and at the sight of Brian emerging from the bathroom and heading our way, I pressed a hand to my forehead. His spotless, wrinkle-free white shirt was the same as always, but the tie that should have been tucked away in his bag was now adorning his neck. Brilliant royal blue, the color that suited him best without question. His slacks were sharply pressed, the rest of his outfit understated black. Every button of his shirt was fastened perfectly, without a single gap.

He approached with strides so elegant that even I nearly found myself staring, and stopped right beside me. He looked down at the two young men with a composed, tight expression, then relaxed his mouth at the perfect moment. A virile smile he clearly knew was attractive. His hair, which had been neatly styled just moments ago, had been slightly disheveled to the exact balance that maximized his appeal.

Beside me as I pressed my lips together sourly, Brian slowly extended his hand toward the young men.

"Pleased to meet you. Brian Darcy."

"Ah, yes, nice to meet you. I'm Qasim."

"Viktor Moreau."

Even Viktor, introducing himself brusquely, seemed somewhat cowed by Brian right now. No wonder. What was this about? Surely he wasn't actually excited about young men showing up.

If so, I'd break up with him on the spot.

"I need to be going, but please, take your time."

After telling the two this, Brian turned to me—harboring firm resolve—and smiled.

"See you later, darling."

At that smile, I suddenly sensed something ominous and reflexively took half a step back. Immediately, Brian caught up with leisurely strides of his long legs, approaching me with a meaningful expression. No, surely not— He swept aside my thoughts with a confident smile, then bent down cat-like and pressed his lips to mine.

So smooth and effortless it made last night's clumsy kiss—no, that's not the point, what the hell is he doing?!

He rose from my lips. Curving his mouth with satisfaction at my expression, he cast a sultry glance at the three of us standing there dumbfounded, then vanished through the front door.

"...Um, he has a very... composed presence."

Probably sincere. Qasim let out an admiring sigh—then added hesitantly.

"But that person is, how should I put it..."

"Weird, right? Even I have no idea what he's thinking lately."

At my weary words, Qasim and Viktor exchanged looks. They nudged each other for a while, but eventually both fell silent.

"So, what brings you two here all of a sudden? It's a weekday. No school?"

"Our classes today start in the afternoon. I was a bit worried because you weren't responding to messages."

At his words, I realized I'd left my device in my bag since last night.

"Oh, right! That's right. Sorry, Qasim. I really wasn't feeling well last night."

I tried to lend credibility with the bandage around my head, but then remembered I'd removed it myself first thing this morning. But apparently my worry was unfounded—Qasim simply asked "Are you all right?" at my words. When I nodded confidently, he looked skeptical at my answer.

"At any rate, I'm glad you weren't caught up in some strange accident. If you don't mind, may we share what happened with the police here?"

"So you've already been questioned."

"Yes, you asked me to."

"And that's why you came with Viktor."

At my words, Viktor, who had been standing there looking bored, raised his head and shook it.

"No, I just came to see the letter. That idiotic thing delivered in such a primitive way."

"Oh right, I did mention that."

"When I told Chloe about the letter, she seemed to catch on to something. She won't tell me anything no matter how much I ask, so I came to solve the mystery myself."

"I see..."

"Your place is in central Brisbane, so it's convenient to stop by. Qasim and I just happened to meet up on the road."

"We both have afternoon lectures, so we'll leave by twelve."

I'd been listening and offering polite responses, but at Qasim's last words, my cheek twitched slightly. Surely they weren't planning to stay until twelve. Had the time finally come to lecture them about how busy freelancers are?

Collecting myself, I settled the two on the sofa and prepared tea for three. When I asked if they wanted pound cake with dried fruit, the response was, "We had breakfast, but held back to about eighty percent capacity, so if you're preparing some, we wouldn't be averse to accepting," so I brought that to the young men as well.

"So, you were saying you'd been questioned."

"They called it 'cooperation with the investigation.' When I called them, we happened to be near each other, so we met in person."

"I see. Mind if I ask what they asked? It's just curiosity, so you don't have to answer."

"Nothing particularly special. What I was doing on the day of the incident, my relationship with Alan, what I knew about his social circle, and my impression of him."

At Qasim's explanation, Viktor swallowed his last bite of cake and snorted.

"Hmph. I don't like it. I was questioned far more thoroughly. Does that mean I'm more suspicious than you?"

"Obviously. You're one of Alan's closest current friends. Even if I were the police, I'd ask you more questions than Qasim."

"Hmph, that's true."

Looking quietly pleased, Viktor picked up his celadon green cup.

In turn, Qasim set his light blue cup on the table and spoke.

"What did they ask you, Vik?"

"Nothing special. Same as you—my alibi, how I met Alan, his social circle, about Tony, and then endlessly about me."

"I see."

"It was awful. The only amusing moment was my housemate's dumbfounded face when the detective showed up."

Beside me, as I grinned rather rudely at the whole thing, Qasim—who had been listening in silence, clearly thinking something over—cut in.

"So you also think the alibi check was about your whereabouts around ten-thirty at night?"

"Obviously."

"Then I suppose it was drugs after all."

"Probably. That's the most rational explanation—or rather, given the circumstances, it's the only possibility."

"...Right."

Qasim furrowed his brow and sighed, and Viktor raised an eyebrow at him—then both suddenly turned their eyes toward me.

I'd been coolly sipping my tea with a cool expression, and I coolly shook my head at their gazes.

"Don't ask me for opinions. Unfortunately, I haven't been following the conversation at all."

Perhaps moved by my honesty—or simply taking pity on me—Viktor explained it without much mockery.

"The priest said so at the funeral—that the time Alan 'fell asleep' was one in the morning."

At Viktor's words, which clearly assumed I could follow now, Qasim added a brief explanation.

"There's a considerable gap between that and the time the detective asked about our whereabouts. The scene was his own bed, and even with an autopsy they couldn't determine whether it was murder or suicide. We think he was given some kind of sleeping medication—a dose that would gradually lead to death."

"Pharmacology is completely outside my expertise, but given this time gap, the amount of the drug itself probably wasn't that large. Alan's body just... couldn't handle it."

Shadows fell across green and blue eyes alike. As if to shake off that shadow, Viktor gave his head a single shake.

"Anyway, neither of us was asked anything major. Information sharing done, right? It's my turn next, Luke. Could I see that letter now?"

"I fail to understand why you think you're entitled to other people's mail, but fine. Wait here."

At my sarcasm, Viktor simply shrugged lightly. As long as he could see the letter, my complaints probably didn't matter.