Saihara's POV:

"Unpack, I left some work for you in your room and I need you to do some of the chores, since you've just arrived home I expect you to finish at least one or you can make dinner and I'll discard the rest" My Father instructed as soon as I entered the house. I nodded silently as he left the room towards his own office. 

The house was cold and empty, it's been like that for years from the monotonous white color of the walls, to the clean furniture that was stainless but rarely ever used. The apartment was modern in all regards, with only one real family picture in the living room.

The picture was from when I was maybe six I had looked petrified in the photo and was wearing a white collared shirt, my hands awkwardly at my side as I had tried to appear natural, my mother looked so healthy back, her long white hair had been braided and curled as she wore a light blue gown, her arms wrapped around me with a large smile. My father had a little bit of a beard growing and was wearing a casual outfit for him, meaning suit and a tie, and for once broke from his serious stance and instead had one arm around my mother and he was looking at her, his eyes filled with adoration at her.  

I don't remember this anymore, not the house that once had my drawings plastered up on the walls everywhere, or the Christmas decorations in boxes across everywhere because my mother would always forget to put them away. How my mother used to plant flowers and sing in the hallways when she probably thought no one was listening. The little decorative pillows she had gotten over the years that never matched the decoration, but my father loved anyway was all stripped away. The only trace left of that time was the framed picture, the only thing neither me nor my father touched, not even to dust, as if afraid touching it would shatter the memory.

Being back in this house now brought shivers down my spine.

The only sense of warmth was the memory of my mother was still in this place, how she lingered on in the potted plants we never changed out, or her long-abandoned studio which once had been flooded with dozens of projects at once. It was as if her mind couldn't contain the innovation that existed inside of her, so it demanded an entire room to unpack, I loved that room but the last time she had been able to use that room was when I was ten years old. Before she lost more mobility in her fingers and accidentally sliced herself in one of her craft projects, or when needlework became too draining for her that she gave up trying. Her room was still there, my father's coworkers occasionally recommended the space for other uses such as a study for me or turning it into a guest room but my father always denied them. We both agreed on that, so the room remained as it had the day she left it, down to the faded yellow paint that had stained the door,

Even that memory though, barely brought any sort of comfort to me as I stared out into the bleak space, before sighing. I couldn't stay at the entrance, it wasn't like my father was going to change his mind and all of a sudden let me return to my Uncle's house. By standing here I was just delaying the inevitable, so I changed my shoes and grabbed my thin suitcase as I stepped fully into the house, despite all the urges my body cried out for me to turn around. 

I wish Uncle put up more of a fight....once my Uncle and my Father confronted they just exchanged harsh words and he handed me over to my Father, bags in tow. For the grand show he had put on earlier in the day, he barely attempted to stop my father and all he had for consolation was a look of guilt on his face as my Aunt had given me a brief hug as I left, with making sure I promised to return. I knew she wasn't asking for me to return though, her eyes were begging for me to solve the case she had overheard those nights ago. No matter what, the case would be solved though.

My father and I barely spoke the entire trip, it had been only a few months apart yet it felt like I was with a stranger as we made forced small talk, a simple comment about the airport's security, and him asking a little about what I did while I was away. We drove ourselves through the social norms that a father probably should have had with their son.

Now here I am, on the opposite side of the country, with my only way of contacting Ouma being through other parties. I mean- I know where he lives, but the things I want to say can't be transferred in words. He wouldn't even be able to read them anyway. And even if I could check on him on the phone, there was a carried risk of our phone calls being traced or overheard, along with Ouma not having his own phone which meant I had to rely on others for our communication, so if Ouma did need someone...would Ouma even ask to contact me? Does he even want to stay in contact with me? I bit my lip as doubt settled in, I traced my hand on the stair railings as I headed towards my room.

It's weird knowing I've known of Ouma for years, as someone Chiasa always talked about offhandedly during the few times we met over the years, but we never properly met till long after she was gone. And even then, the person I did meet, carried only the name and appearance of the person she once idolized. A boy who was the very embodiment of lies and chaos, one that had the soul of a noble leader and thrived off of mischief and carried a keen sense of wit, had been transformed into a scared and reclused person, one who carried always a sense of melancholy and transfixed on a past he never could reclaim with eyes devoid of any life. 

And just as I saw life returning to those eyes, I abandoned him.

Back in the other town, a town that despised him. It filled me with adrenaline, that time I had a first-hand encounter with the abuse Ouma suffered, yet I knew if I didn't defend him there he would never really begin to trust me, so despite that fear I tried to fight for him.

Despite how I would be found guilty by association, and any second I could become a target as well...I felt wanted and needed in ways other than for a brain or an heir for the first time. Ouma made me feel wanted and while it may sound wrong it felt nice to finally have someone.

And I left him there despite this, I left him alone.

What is he going to do without Momota or me? Will someone else take up the task? Harukawa maybe, but she doesn't seem like the type that can help them much and she might not want to...still I don't really care who as long as he isn't alone on this. If he has someone who'll look after him that will have to be good enough.

I nodded assuring myself as I made a mental reminder to keep in contact with Kiibo till I returned, Kiibo for as bad as he can be at handling this situation at least cared about Ouma.

I reached the top of the stairs and hesitantly opened the door to my room, it wasn't how I left it. The bed had been made and there was a small book placed on it with a silver ribbon around it, I examined it hesitantly but there was no note, the book however seemed to be a history of detectives which actually did sound interesting.

I placed it back on the bed and glanced around the room, it seemed there had just been a little cleaning but other than that it was left alone.

It's not like you told him not to go through your stuff or anything, he didn't even do anything wrong.

I laid down against my bed frame as I checked the clock, a few hours away from four o'clock. We're here now, might as well not make him angry.

I got up and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

-~-~-~-

The dining room was tense as I tried to avoid staring at him. Usually, both my father and I ate alone or while we were working, but today he offhandedly said he already finished his work for the day and asked if we could eat together.

It was a lie, he always had some work, and even if he didn't he would never have asked me in normal circumstances to eat with him. The only exception had always been Christmas, one of our birthdays may be, and the day my mother had died.

So what made today any different?

I stared down at my food, it had been about an hour since dinner started yet I haven't eaten a single bite. My father appeared not to take notice of this, I wasn't sure how to feel about that.

"Your cooking has improved" my Father complimented breaking the silence finally, though his tone could be interpreted as monotonous at best.

"Last time you made dinner your food could barely be swallowed," he remarked. I winced recalling how many fires my cooking nearly cost us.

I shifted nervously "when I was over there Aunt Jin helped me improve my cooking," I told him.

My Father paused, "she always had a knack for that didn't she...who knew her teaching skills were that good though huh..." he joked before pausing, "anyways what did you learn or gain from that trip anyway? You didn't say much at the airport" He asked me.

"I met someone amazing," I told my Father and he looked interested. He put a hand on his chin "go on" he told me.

"He went through so much in his life, and so many things kept making him give up yet he's still here and he keeps fighting on through life...he's strong but he doesn't even recognize that," I told him.

My father just paused at my description of Ouma and I moved around my seat comfortably. Did I go too far? I just wanted to convince my Father why I should go back to the town... "You speak of him in high regard, do you plan to stay friends?" my father inquired.

"Yeah, he is my friend...don't know if we can keep in touch though..." I told him but then paused. Might as well just tell him now...

"He was also Chiasa's friend" I admitted, my father paused a bit through his eyes showed a bit of surprise, "he's the survivor?" He asked.

You have no idea...

"Yeah he is, but Father...you were lied to about what happened to Chiasa. She didn't commit suicide, none of them did" I said hoping my voice wouldn't waver.

"He...that whole town he lives in lied about how he and his friends tried to commit suicide, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

"His friends...Father, Chiasa was murdered. The fire was an accident from a broken outlet, the group were trying to throw a party but accidentally started the fire. When they tried to escape the building the smoke and a small explosion caused by them adding more oxygen to the fire by accident in a panic, they were knocked unconscious...and then abducted.

"It was their substitute teacher who Ouma told me revealed himself to be a hitman, and he...he killed them. He killed them all for the sake of purifying the world.

"Ouma however was left alive, because two of his classmates saw what happened and tracked him down. He fled and they called the police...but it was too late.

"He's the only one left to tell the tale," I told my Father.

My Father just paused before setting down his fork before I took a deep breath.

"Stop lying" he spoke coldly. My eyes widened in shock "I'm not lying, he told me exactly what happened Father and it was horrible-" I started when he interrupted me "and what makes you think he didn't lie to you, what proof does he have?" My Father asked.

I quickly tried to argue, as panic invaded my body "his story, he confessed to me and his back is covered in scars from what happened to him-"

"Shuichi, that boy experienced severe trauma regardless of which story. Trauma can lead the brain to create scenarios to comfort them or release some of the stress from the mind. "He confessed.

"And Shuichi, your Uncle was the one to solve the bridge case. Why would he purposefully lie about your cousin? His daughter, and Shuichi your case relies on the story of someone who has been labeled as a pathological liar.

"I want to believe you Shuichi, but for a case and theory such as this, you need real concrete evidence. Not stories, you of all people should know..." my Father lectured before pausing.

Anger filled me along with regret, if I had less self-control I would have yelled or screamed at him but instead...I paused and took a deep breath looking back into my father's cold eyes.

"People are unreliable narrators" I answered.