Steve Smith could only remain silent. When everything you say is used as evidence of your insanity, what's left to talk about?
He'd swallowed the urge to tell Dr. Miller, "That succulent on your desk told me you spent over an hour playing mobile games yesterday when you were supposed to be reviewing files."
If he had said it, Miller's first thought wouldn't be 'He can talk to plants.' It would be: 'This kid was stalking my office yesterday? He didn't remember it consciously, so his mind projected it as a delusion? Fascinating... I mean, tragic. Truly a severe case.'
Ever since then, Steve had given up on proving his sanity. Instead, he studied his ability in secret.
As of now, the "voices" were unpredictable. He couldn't trigger them at will, nor could he shut them out. Some days were silent; other days, a single oak tree would gossip for three hours straight. This inconsistency made for some... interesting experiences.
For instance, his life occasionally turned into a horror movie. One night, while heading to the restroom in the dark, silent hospital, a small potted shrub by the door had whispered: "Late night for a bathroom break, isn't it...?"
If it weren't for his high mental fortitude, Steve probably would have kicked the pot across the hallway.
Then there was the problem of "identifying the speaker." Once, he stood outside the recreation room and heard three distinct voices. He opened the door to find three patients. One was a catatonic boy who hadn't spoken in years; it turned out the third "voice" was a patch of weeds on the windowsill cheering along with the other two patients.
And finally, while some animals sounded distinct, others sounded exactly like humans.
A few weeks ago, a particularly obnoxious bird had taken to perching on the hospital's great tree. One afternoon, while Miller was chatting with him, the bird shrieked "Mr. Smith!" in a perfect imitation of the head nurse.
Steve had instinctively turned around.
Miller: "Mr. Smith? What is it?" Steve: "Nothing." Miller: "Are the hallucinations back? You have to trust me, Steve. Tell me what you're hearing. We can talk through it..." Steve: "..."
The bird had then proceeded to call his name in the nurse's voice ten more times over the next three days. It only stopped after Steve spent an hour staring at it with genuine murderous intent, mentally debating whether to turn it into roasted poultry or a spicy hot pot.
But for all the trouble, the ability had its perks. He learned secrets no one else knew and discovered he could issue simple commands. The plants and animals didn't always understand complex sentences, but they could follow basic directions.
Proving it to Miller, though? Forget it.
When Steve had commanded that same bird to fly, land, move left, and pick up a leaf, Miller had just sighed and said: "Mr. Smith, it's clear your background in the Veterinary Department has given you a natural gift for animal husbandry. You're quite the talented tamer!"
Steve: "..."
Doctor, I think you have a misunderstanding of what a vet does. We're better at dissecting them than teaching them to fetch leaves.
Shaking off the memories, Steve hailed a taxi. His mission for the day?
Spending his hard-earned bounty.
While Steve was on a shopping spree, Jimmy Wood and Harley Hartwell were sprinting across Osaka.
Two people had died right under their noses, adding to two previous identical murders. Four victims in total. The teenage duo hadn't realized yet that their escort, Officer Scott, was the killer.
Scott was driving them, casually mentioning: "It's strange... all the victims had their driver's licenses inside their wallets, which were pinned to their chests by the knives."
In the passenger seat, Harley froze. He glanced at Jimmy in the back. They shared a look—the "we found a clue" smile.
"Officer Scott," Harley said urgently, "change of plans! Take us to the DMV!"
A phone rang, interrupting them. Scott answered. "Yes... return now? To Headquarters? Understood."
"What's going on?" Harley asked.
"We have to go back. The Chief wants us at the station immediately," Scott said. "He says there's been a 'major breakthrough.'"
Harley wanted to check the DMV records, but a "major breakthrough" was too tempting to pass up.
When they arrived at the Osaka Prefectural Police Headquarters, Scott parked the car and stepped inside, only to be instantly surrounded by fellow officers.
Chief Harrison Hartwell himself led the group, his eyes cold as he glared at Scott. "Officer Scott... as a man of the law, to murder four people in such a calculated fashion... do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Scott was stunned. Where did I slip up? How did they know?
Jimmy and Harley were equally floored. The nice cop driving us around was the serial killer?
"The common thread," Chief Hartwell said sternly, "was the knife driven through the wallet and the driver's license. We checked the history. All four victims attended the same driving school retreat twenty years ago."
Harley opened his mouth to ask how his father knew, but the Chief kept going.
"Along with those four, there was a city councilman, Samuel Wright, and a fugitive, Kevin Nelms. There was also an instructor—Arthur Scott. Your father."
"Twenty years ago, on the day the class graduated, Arthur Scott died in a drunk driving accident. But it wasn't an accident. Those six students played a 'prank.' They got him drunk and drained his brake fluid to see if the 'Demon Instructor' would finally show fear. He died. And twenty years later, you found out the truth. You planned to kill the five remaining students and frame the fugitive, Kevin Nelms."
Scott realized the game was over. Hearing the truth of his father's death, he couldn't even fake a denial. "Yes... the statute of limitations on manslaughter is fifteen years. It's been twenty. The law couldn't touch them. So I decided to enforce justice myself!"
"Don't be arrogant!" the Chief barked. "You think this is justice? You, who stripped others of their lives? You're a police officer who trampled the very law you swore to uphold. The Silver Star on your chest is weeping for your shame!"
As the officers led the broken Scott away, Jimmy whispered to Harley, "The Osaka police are actually incredible."
Jimmy was used to being the smartest person in the room while the police fumbled. But this time, he'd only just noticed the clue about the licenses, and the police already had the motive, the history, and the killer in custody.
Osaka was... different.
"Of course they are," Harley said, beaming with a bit of local pride. "I didn't think they'd dig up something from twenty years ago so fast."
Jimmy nodded. "It's like they were there. Usually, you only see that level of insight from a detective."
"But wait..." Harley looked toward his father. "Dad! You haven't explained the trick! How did he commit the murders?"
Chief Hartwell squinted at his son. Is this brat trying to show off in front of me?
"We don't need to 'solve' the trick, Harley. We'll just ask Scott. He'll tell us."
"Uh..." Harley stammered. "What about evidence? Did you find any physical proof?"
Jimmy watched closely. They hadn't found a single shred of forensic evidence yet.
"We arrested Kevin Nelms," the Chief said matter-of-factly. "He's confessed to everything. He was Scott's unwilling accomplice, hidden away. We have an eyewitness now, and based on his testimony, we found the physical evidence at the site where Scott was holding him."
Harley's jaw dropped. "Wait... so you caught Kevin Nelms first? And he told you all of this?"
"As police officers, if we can solve the case, catch the killer, and secure a conviction, the 'brilliance' of the deduction doesn't matter," the Chief said, turning to leave. "And vice versa."
"Vice... vice versa?"
Harley blinked, then made a face. "He means, 'even if you have a brilliant deduction, it's useless if you can't catch the killer or find the evidence.' Is he seriously bragging to a detective? Or is he just venting his frustration at us?"
"I don't think it's frustration," Jimmy said, looking at the Chief's retreating back. "I think the police just won a round, and they're enjoying it. Plus... as your father, he's probably just trying to keep your ego in check."
Harley let out a huff of annoyance. It made sense—the goal of a deduction was to catch the criminal—but being shut down by his own father when he was so close to the answer... that was the real sting.