Saihara's POV:

The night was long as I slumped in my chair, I had taken the time to finally start properly organizing my files and information to make it look more professional rather than a conspiracy theory.

So far there wasn't anything but random disconnected points of data, and to make matters worse what information I did have seemed false.

According to the files from the school, the substitute teacher was Ichiru Morisaki a thirty-one-year-old man. He didn't have any records of where he was employed before working at the school and no references. With searching through his death certificate and trying to pinpoint his 'funeral', there weren't any relatives or friends mentioned.

In fact, it only seemed to be the bare-bones information, his resume said he had a degree but failed to mention from where, or even if that degree was in education. While he did have a social media account, it didn't even have a picture and the bio page was scarce and almost generic at best, it almost looked like a kid trying to pose as an adult.

The lack of information likely meant this was a fake identity, which just made things harder to solve. Because that meant he had the resources and ability to pull this off, or he received help from someone.

The school also had something to do with this, there was no way in my mind any school would allow someone with such a limited background to teach, even as a substitute.

So what was this fake background even for, the man who had to infiltrate a school or for the school to try and hide their role in the case?

I sighed my mind becoming cluttered with ideas again as I got up and headed down to the kitchen hoping some water and a short break would clear my mind and let me look at this more objectively.

Or maybe just coffee so I could earn some grey hair before I turned thirty.

The stairs creaked slightly as I navigated my way down. That sound used to irritate my father to no end, and it still gave me anxiety about walking around at night. However I had long since mastered which spots to avoid the most as I kept glancing at my father's room, his door didn't open surprisingly despite being more noise than usual.

Maybe he has his own work? Or maybe he's too stressed to care? He's been acting odd lately, maybe he's sick?

I stepped into the living room.

Slumped over in the corner was my father.

My heart nearly jumped out before I realized he was fast asleep, he was in an uncomfortable position. His posture reminded me of the frequent lectures he always gave me as a child and seemed foreign to him. I questioned why he was even sleeping in the living room, instead of his office or dare I say the bedroom as I took a closer look he was leaning against the wall near...

It was a dark wooden color and always polished to perfection. One of the only things that weren't my chore, it had a new bowl of rice and some small candles giving off the faintest scent of vanilla something she had always loved. Those candles burned with a warm orange glow and highlighted in the light a photograph of a young smiling woman. 

Mother...I glanced back at my father. For once I truly began to see him, his tired eyes matched my own, maybe even worse. He had ruffled hair that was oily, I wondered when was the last time he had showered, and his uniform was wrinkled making me question how many times he slept in it. His eyes were puffy, he was sleeping near her shrine. From what I'd seen it wasn't even the first time, this was a rare showing of vulnerability for him and was strange to see.

She always had that effect on him though, she was the one who made him the happiest, the only one who could ever get away with teasing him with cheesy nicknames and joking insults. He would always respond with his own banter, that warmth had been lost for so long the memory of it made me long for those simple days. Her death was the only time I had ever seen him cry, it wasn't sobbing on his hands and knees at first when the doctors had approached him and told him what had happened.

It, however, similar to me came in a wave. That once we had seen her corpse before it was sent to the morgue, seeing the frail and bony figure of my mother had been my worst nightmare come true, and my father...

That moment was when he broke, he had cried small tears at first and stayed quiet in a rare amount of dazed silence, like the shell of the normally composed man. When he had come home, he shattered completely and had locked himself into his room and had screamed and wailed and cried, all of his visible grief had lasted only that single night as the next day what remained of my father had been lost.

What had come out of the room that day was the stone-hearted businessman, one who demanded nothing less than perfection from the people around him along with carrying an extremely short temper. The softness he had with her I always believed to have been long dead...and yet...

Here she was, long gone yet he still acted as though she had just left him.

I realized how strange this must've looked, a son staring at his sleeping father as I hesitantly took a step back and considered retreating to my room and forgetting this night ever happened but...

I walked to the closet and took out the spare blanket and pillow we often used for the rare guest. Carefully from where he was leaning against the couch, I laid his head down on the pillow and covered him with the blanket. Although he stirred slightly, he still seemed to be fast asleep as I took a step back knowing this was the best I could do, before making my way back upstairs. I cast one last glance at my mother's photo.

...What would you want me to do? How did you ever like a man like him? I don't understand, what did you see in him?  Would you be upset that I don't even know how I feel about my own father? He's still hurt over you. You would think he would have gotten over you quickly in exchange for work, you always said he loved his work more than anything else but no. No, years have gone by and he's still hurt over you...he never stopped grieving, even now the house seems empty without you...maybe I am too though, maybe I'm still grieving for you as well.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do...

"Look after your old bat of a father for me, will you? He needs someone to tell him he's being silly sometimes Shuichi, promise me you will won't you?"

I clenched my chest as I took a deep breath, the memory stung a little more than I realized as I headed back upstairs. Back then I had been just nine years old when she said that, it was after my father had been taken to the hospital after he passed out from exhaustion and my mom wanted to make sure he didn't have any other health issues. I didn't understand the real meaning of that promise yet if I had...if I had I never would've said yes.

Being silly huh? 

I'll try, that's all I can promise.