"So what if I don't have a warrant?!" Inspector Ota's face darkened, the veins in his forehead beginning to throb visibly.
Raising his voice to a sharp, intimidating bark, he continued, "An arrest of a flagrant offender or an emergency arrest can be conducted without a warrant! Don't try to teach me the law, kid!"
Hayashi Shuichi's lips curled into a faint, composed smile as he met the man's gaze with unnerving calm. "Then, by all means, tell me—does Mr. Matsuda meet either of those criteria?"
"The alleged murder occurred yesterday afternoon," Shuichi stated, his voice dropping into a cold, analytical tone. "Your only link is a witness who saw Mr. Matsuda in the vicinity. Tell me, did this witness actually see him commit the act?"
He took a small step forward, his eyes locking onto the Inspector's like a predator cornering its prey.
"By your logic, anyone who was near the park at that time and happens to possess enough physical strength to deliver a fatal blow is a suspect. That is a staggeringly wide net to cast, Inspector."
Shuichi spread his hands, his expression shifting into one of mild, mocking amusement.
"On what grounds can you possibly single out Mr. Matsuda as the murderer?"
Inspector Ota let out a harsh snort, his complexion turning an even unhealthier shade of red. "The victim was a boxer! There is an undeniable connection between him and Matsuda Jotaro!"
The moment the words left the officer's mouth, Shuichi extended an open palm.
"What now?" the Inspector snapped, his brow furrowing.
"The evidence?"
Shuichi's eyes widened in feigned shock, as if he were listening to something utterly preposterous.
"Since you're so certain there's a connection, you must have proof, right? Surely you aren't suggesting that just because two men share a profession, they must know each other? They must have a motive? By that logic, I'm a member of the police force—how is it that I've never had the 'pleasure' of meeting you before today, Inspector?"
"I... well..."
The Inspector found himself suddenly tongue-tied. His mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments, a look of mingled embarrassment and fury washing over his features.
Finally, he managed a weak, blustering defense. "Once we take Matsuda Jotaro into custody, the facts will come to light during the interrogation."
Shuichi shook his head slowly. He pointed toward the side entrance, where a cluster of reporters stood with their cameras at the ready.
"Inspector, I'm sure you don't want to be the lead story on tomorrow's front page," Shuichi said, his tone shifting to one of mock concern. "Let's see... what would the headline be? 'Boxing Finals Sabotaged by Police Overreach'? Or perhaps... 'Incompetence at the Bunkyo Precinct: Innocent Athlete Dragged Away Without a Warrant'?"
Shuichi intentionally let his voice trail off, letting the threat hang in the air.
"Enough! What do you actually want?" Ota clenched his fists, his eyes bulging like a volcano on the verge of eruption. "Don't forget—you're supposed to be on our side!"
"It's exactly because I'm on the force that I'm here to save you from yourself," Shuichi nodded. "Give Mr. Matsuda a chance. Let him fight his final. Once it's over, he can accompany you to the station to assist with your investigation."
"That way, even if the media tries to tear into the Bunkyo Precinct tomorrow, Mr. Matsuda himself will be able to speak up in your defense for being so 'reasonable.' Isn't that right, Mr. Matsuda?"
"Yes, exactly!" Jotaro nodded fervently. "This final is the culmination of fifteen years of blood, sweat, and tears. Just let me fight. The moment it's over, I will go with you. I won't resist."
Inspector Ota looked toward the reporters. The flashes of their cameras were constant, a staccato rhythm that signaled his every move was being documented. If this turned into the disaster Shuichi was describing, it wouldn't just be a public embarrassment; it would be the end of his hopes for promotion.
"Fine. I'll give you this one chance," Ota spat, his voice low and freezing. "But the second the bell rings for the final time, you're coming with us to the Bunkyo Precinct!"
"Thank you!" Jotaro gasped, bowed his head in gratitude.
He then turned to Shuichi and gave him a deep, respectful bow. He knew better than anyone that his career—and his dignity—had just been pulled back from the brink by this teenager.
"The match is about to start. Go and prepare, Mr. Matsuda," Shuichi encouraged him. "Don't let this weigh on your mind. I'm still expecting that autograph after you win."
"You have my word. I will win!" Jotaro nodded firmly. Guided by the event staff, he began his walk toward the fighters' tunnel.
Worried that Jotaro might try to bolt, Inspector Ota signaled two of his men to follow and keep a close watch on him. Then, shooting Shuichi one last venomous look, he led the rest of his team out of the backstage area.
"Onii-chan, I think that Inspector hates you now," Reiko said, her voice laced with worry.
"Let him hate me," Shuichi shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm with the MPD. If he wants to take a shot at me, he'll have to go through the Main Office first. I doubt he has the spine for it."
"Shuichi-niisan, thank you so much," Hagiwara Chihaya said, walking over with her brother. Her gratitude was written clearly across her face.
"No need for thanks. I did it for myself, too," Shuichi joked. "I didn't come all this way just to have the main event canceled."
"Shuichi-niisan... is my dad really..." Matsuda Jinpei looked at the departing police cars through the window, his eyes filled with a hollow, lingering dread. "Is he really a murderer?"
"I can't give you that answer right now," Shuichi said, looking the boy in the eye. "But you know your father better than anyone. What does your heart tell you?"
Jinpei was silent for a long moment. He bit his lip, a look of fierce, stubborn determination flaring in his eyes. "Dad couldn't have done it. He's not a killer!"
"Then believe in him," Shuichi said, giving the boy's shoulder a firm squeeze. "And I'll do my part to make sure the truth comes out."
"Thank you, Shuichi-niisan," Jinpei said, wiping away a stray tear.
"Alright, let's get to our seats. The match is starting," Shuichi said, handing the boy a tissue. "You wouldn't want to miss the moment your dad becomes champion, would you?"
Outside the Performance Hall, Inspector Ota climbed into the lead police car and immediately slammed his fist against the window in a fit of rage.
"Inspector, calm down," the officer in the passenger seat said, quickly handing him a cigarette. "Once we get that Matsuda Jotaro back to the precinct, we'll give him the 'special treatment.' We'll have a confession out of him in no time."
He gave a cruel smirk. "We can't touch a consultant from the Main Office, but breaking a murder suspect? That's easy work."
"Don't be too obvious about it," Ota said, taking a long drag of the cigarette. "I don't want any marks that a lawyer can use against us."
"It's not our first time," the officer chuckled confidently. "I guarantee he won't have a scratch on the outside. Even if he tries to scream to the press later, he won't have a shred of evidence."
"Hmph. 'High school detective,' my ass!"
Ota growled, punching the window again.
"I've broken my back for the force for decades just to make Inspector at a local branch, and that brat is still in high school and already a pet of the Main Office!"
He blew a cloud of smoke against the windshield, his eyes narrowing. "The bureaucrats at the Main Office must have had their brains eaten by dogs!"
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