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Summary
“I think he can’t come today!”
Akechi startles. Embarrassing. Yoshizawa is hardly unobtrusive. The street lights of the January evening pick up the shocking red of her hair and the sparkle of her eyes. She moves like a dancer, as if every step might become a graceful leap. Strangers she passes smile to see her go. She’s full of sparkle this week; the wilting flower performance of the first half of January is all over, and she’s started tying her hair up again in what is probably—
Akechi doesn’t care about this. Why does he still notice these things? It doesn’t matter.
—probably a sincere tribute to her dead sister, rather than a tragic imitation.
Spend long enough playing the detective, and some sad and pointless part of you can’t stop pretending.