Chapter Text
The scent of nicotine permeated the air as a pair of unamused, olive green eyes observed the man before him. The room was quiet, save for the shuffling of papers and an occasional pop of bubblegum between intervals. The suspect’s hands were on his knees, gripping tightly until his knuckles turned white while he quivered like a helpless chihuahua.
This was just another day at the office of Tokyo’s “finest” private investigator, Hanamiya Makoto. It was a small, but well-kept place tucked away deep in the city, and everyone knew that if someone wanted a crime to be solved, his services would be the way to go. However, with great skill came even greater rumors: Hanamiya forces his suspects to confess in morally ambiguous ways. Hanamiya is a demon. Hanamiya is a murderer. Business went downhill for him for a while thanks to these baseless claims, but with some good praise from a certain fox-faced chief at the police department, things went back to normal in no time.
So, here he was, seated in the interrogation room with his partner Seto Kentarou, in the chair beside him. Yamazaki Hiroshi and Hara Kazuya were standing off to the back. They were there just in case the suspect needed some help spilling the truth. Hanamiya removed the cigarette from his lips and held it lazily between his index and middle fingers as he leaned closer.
“Well?” He drawled, his voice low. The suspect jumped a little, as if he didn’t expect the investigator to speak. “I’ve been very nice to you for this past hour, Mr. Takanawa. All I ask for is a confession.”
Takanawa’s trembling seemed to intensify at his statement. The nervous ones were always easy to torment. His hand reached up to nervously fix his crooked glasses, for the hundredth time in the last sixty minutes, Hanamiya counted. His voice came out quiet and sounded almost unsure of what he’s saying.
“I-I didn’t d-do it. I didn’t m-murder h-him.”
The bored expression on Hanamiya’s face soon turned into a chilling scowl while he sat back in the chair and folded his arms. Takanawa was scrawny and pathetic-looking, but he was a lot more stubborn that Hanamiya thought. Seto gave Takanawa a stern look. He was impatient; he wanted to go back to sleep.
“Are you sure? The evidence we have proves otherwise.”
As if by miraculous timing, another man opened the door and walked into the room with a fairly thick manila folder in his hands. Furuhashi Koujirou gave Takanawa an uncaring glance with his dead fish eyes and placed the folder down wordlessly on the metal table. The suspect kept his beady eyes fixated on the folder and he was practically rattling in his chair at this point. Hanamiya sighed.
“Let’s review the evidence, shall we?”
It wasn’t really a question. This man didn’t have a damn choice in what Hanamiya wanted to do. Without a second thought, he flipped the folder open and at the top were pictures of the dead body, blood and guts and all. Takanawa grimaced as a bead of cold sweat rolled down the side of his head.
“N-no, I didn’t--”
Furuhashi cleared his throat before reciting the details from the investigation of the crime scene. Hanamiya picked up the photographs and began to place them down one by one so that the suspect could see everything as clearly as possible.
“The victim, Hashimoto Kenji, was found stabbed at least 26 times in his apartment at around 12AM on Monday. There were signs of a break in and the victim’s corpse showed signs of a struggle between him and his attacker. The weapon of choice was a fairly sharp kitchen knife, found discarded in a trash can behind the--”
“STOP! I DIDN’T MURDER HIM I DIDN’T! WHY ARE YOU ACCUSING ME! I-I’M INNOCENT! I DIDN’T DO IT I DIDN’T DO IT.”
Takanawa’s voice raised to a shrill shriek as his eyes darted from picture to picture. He began to hyperventilate as he continued to proclaim his innocence. Hanamiya didn’t show a hint of remorse as he waved Hara to come over and deal with the little issue they were having. Hara, not wanting to waste any second, strode over to Takanawa and grabbed a fistful of his hair before slamming his head down onto the table and brutally twisting his arm behind his back. At this point, the poor man was almost in tears while he groaned in pain.
“P-please don’t make me confess. I’m n-not the murderer. P-please.” His voice fell into a hushed, begging whisper.
With a grin on his face, Hara twisted the man’s arm until he was shouting in agony. He was careful though. Surely, if he applied any more pressure, he would’ve broken it completely. With an air of nonchalance, Hanamiya lifted the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply and leaning in uncomfortably close to Takanawa’s face. Exhaling, he breathed the curling, white smoke at him and he let out a choked sob.
“Mr. Takanawa, I hope you’re aware that the situation you’re in will only get worse from here. I’m a busy man, but I’m not going to let you go easy also, do you understand?”
He could only nod back in response.
“Good. Now, I only have one last question for you… will you confess or not?”
---
The next day, Takanawa’s confession and the news of him being imprisoned for murder was everywhere. Hanamiya’s job for this case was done, and he was not at all surprised that Takanawa finally stopped denying after some persuasion.
As he sat in his office, filling out the final paperwork for the case, Yamazaki came in and placed an envelope down on his desk.
“Hanamiya, this is for you.”
He didn’t look up from his work as he dismissed the ginger-haired boy with a casual wave of his hand. Once he was gone, Hanamiya took the envelope and tucked inside it was a huge wad of cash. The corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk that as malicious as the devil.
Hanamiya Makoto knew who the true murderer was, but after all, his business came first.