Sakurai Masami swallowed hard, his gaze darting between the evidence bag and Tetsuo Toyama's stern face. Finally, his eyes settled on Takuya Nakayama, who had just entered the room, and his expression brightened slightly.
"It's... because of Ace Attorney 4."
The young man took a deep breath, his voice still a little tight, but he spoke more smoothly when he mentioned the game. "Sega released the fourth installment earlier this year, and it has a side case set in an old school building shrouded in white mist. In the game, Phoenix Wright says that the environment is an honest witness. I figured since the game is based on real unsolved cases, there must be some real-world trace."
Tetsuo Toyama raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.
"Near the end of spring break, I was hiding from the rain in front of a chemical supply store in Matsumoto City. It's not usually a busy place, but I saw an uncle wearing a baseball cap carrying two large boxes out of the store." Sakurai Masami gestured as he spoke. "They were industrial-grade, high-purity solvents. I'd seen the packaging in my chemistry textbook—no ordinary person would ever need that much.
And he was acting strangely. Even though it was raining heavily, he completely ignored it and kept looking around left and right, as if he was being watched by someone."
"So you followed him?"
"Yeah. I had the game's background music stuck in my head, and I felt like I was that lawyer investigating the case." Sakurai Masami ran a hand through his hair, looking a little embarrassed. "I tried to stay far away, using lampposts and vending machines for cover, just like on TV. I followed him to that old residential area by the river, but the streets were so winding I lost him."
Takuya Nakayama stood nearby, watching this teenager who was describing stalking a suspect as if it were a beginner-level quest. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Even after losing him, I didn't give up." Sakurai Masami's eyes lit up. "That area near the riverbank had complex terrain. I started wandering around in different disguises—sometimes in my school uniform, sometimes in sportswear pretending to be out for a morning run. I spent a whole week looking around before I finally noticed something strange."
He pointed to the evidence bag on the table.
"In the green belt of that house facing the river, there was a small patch of grass with an unusual color. It wasn't just dry and yellow from lack of water, but a grayish-brown, as if something had burned it to death. I didn't dare go closer, so I ran to the high ground across the river and watched through my birdwatching binoculars for the whole afternoon."
"Confirmed it was chemical corrosion?" Tetsuo Toyama leaned forward.
"I'm not certain, but my gut tells me it's a clue," Sakurai Masami said, his expression turning serious. "To gather evidence, I specifically chose a moonless night. It was pitch black—so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face—so I crept along the riverbank. About ten meters from the house, I smelled something."
"What did it smell like?"
"A sour odor, mixed with the smell of rotten eggs. Faint, but pungent. It must be residual gas from some chemical reaction." The boy paused, a hint of fear in his voice, but mostly excitement. "My heart was pounding out of my chest. I held my breath and crawled closer. Wearing gloves, I scooped up a handful of the discolored grass and put it in a bag. Then—"
He pointed to another evidence bag.
"I retreated fifty meters upwind and grabbed a handful of healthy grass leaves of the same species, putting them in a separate bag."
Tetsuo Toyama blinked in surprise. He picked up both bags and compared them. "Why did you grab two handfuls?"
"For comparison, of course," Sakurai Masami replied matter-of-factly. "Forensic Expert Akane from the game said that evidence without a control sample would be dismissed by the prosecutor in court. To prove the grass was discolored by soil contamination, I needed a normal sample for reference."
The interrogation room fell silent for a few seconds.
Tetsuo Toyama looked at the two bags of grass in his hands, then at the boy opposite him, who was clearly seeking praise. The corners of his tense mouth finally relaxed slightly.
He turned to look at Takuya Nakayama, who was standing by the door.
"Executive Director Nakayama, it seems your players might have a knack for being reserve detectives."
Nakayama looked at the boy, who stood tall despite his fear, and felt an indescribable mix of emotions.
Perhaps this was why the game was called the "Ninth Art"—it not only provided entertainment but, to some extent, was reshaping the behavioral logic of this generation of young people.
"Control group..." Toyama murmured, tossing his cigarette into the trash. His eyes sharpened. "Once the lab results come back, we should have enough grounds to request a search warrant."
The next steps unfolded with an almost dreamlike efficiency.
That kid Sakurai Masami wasn't just bold; he was also ridiculously meticulous.
He carefully divided the collected samples into sealed bags, wrapped them in three layers of shock-absorbent film, and packaged them along with his hand-drawn map of the site and his observation journal from the past few days. Then he mailed the entire package to Sega Headquarters.
The package even had a meticulously crafted "Evidence Transfer List" taped to it, its format completely mimicking the style from the Ace Attorney series.
When the Sega employee responsible for sifting through clues received the package, they almost thought it was just some random junk sent by a zealous fan.
But upon seeing the contents, a cold sweat broke out. Without a second thought, they immediately delivered the package to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department Special Investigation Unit's Task Force.
This led to today's special "Tripartite Conference."
Before long, a technical division officer in a white lab coat hurried into the reception room, holding a freshly printed report. His expression was grave.
"Team Leader, Police Commissioner," the officer said, saluting quickly. "The lab results are in. We detected residues of methylphosphoric acid on the color-changing grass leaves—a breakdown product of an organophosphate nerve agent. The concentration is extremely low, but it's absolutely impossible to find in nature."
The air in the room instantly froze.
Tetsuo Toyama abruptly crushed his cigarette butt, snatched the report, and stared fixedly at the chemical formula.
"It's actually..." he murmured to himself, then abruptly looked up at the somewhat flustered high school student, his gaze shifting from scrutiny to a fervent, almost kindred, intensity.
Chief Inspector Iwata took the report and glanced at it, exhaling a long, weary sigh.
He turned, straightened his uniform collar, and walked solemnly toward Sakurai Masami.
"Sakurai-kun."
"Y-yes, sir!" The boy startled, instinctively snapping to attention, his school uniform trousers pulled straight.
"You did very well. This wasn't just about intelligence; it also showed meticulousness and courage." A rare warmth flickered across Iwata's usually stern face as he placed a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. "Interested in wearing this uniform one day?"
Sakurai Masami froze, his mouth slightly agape, unable to respond for a long moment.
"If you're interested, you can apply to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department's Police Academy after high school." Iwata pulled a fountain pen from his jacket pocket and scribbled a number and a name on a sticky note. "Take this. I'll write you a personal recommendation letter when the time comes."
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