Episode 1 (1/3) Amber Lies and Crimson Testimony

Outside the window, the cold December rain beats relentlessly against the asphalt.

The sound echoes like the distant marching of foreign military boots, and the veil of night, reflecting the streetlights in a chaotic dance, calls to mind the depths of the ocean.

On such a night, if you pass through the noren curtain of 'Madoromi' tucked away in a corner of the shopping district, the faint scent of dashi and the aroma of aged sake gently soothe your frozen lungs.

'...Perhaps the word "incomprehensible" exists precisely for moments like this.'

In the corner of the counter, the young detective Hasumi stared intently at the foam of his beer. His expression was like that of a scholar standing before an unsolvable equation, or perhaps a lost child.

'Oh, Hasumi-san. If you keep furrowing your brow like that, the delicious sake will run away from you.'
Laughing cheerfully beside him is Takako-san, who runs a boutique in the neighborhood. Like a single camellia blooming in the winter night, she knew how to color the space with brilliance.

'No, my apologies. Actually, I've been racking my brain over a theft case from last night.'

The outline of the case Hasumi described was strangely distorted.

Five hundred thousand yen in festival savings disappeared from the shopping district's community hall. The suspect is a clerk named Sakuma, who was in the office of a separate building at the time. Separating the main building and the annex is a twenty-meter courtyard without a roof.

'Last night was an even heavier downpour than tonight. Even with an umbrella, you'd be splashed up to your knees. However, immediately after Sakuma returned to the annex, those who witnessed him testified as follows: his suit did not have a single raindrop, nor even a hint of dampness.'

The owner continued to move his knife in silence.

Only the light sound of the knife hitting the cutting board rhythmically punctuated the silence of the shop.

'There were no umbrellas, raincoats, or even a single towel left at the scene. I searched everywhere from the trash cans to the ceiling, but there is physically no trace that he ever came into contact with the "rain" at all.'

Takako-san, swirling her sake cup, said nonchalantly.

'It's simple, Hasumi-san. He had a "change of clothes" prepared. After sneaking into the main building and stealing the money, he changed into a new suit he had hidden in advance and made the wet clothes disappear somewhere. It's a classic, textbook change-of-clothes trick.'

A faint light flickered in Hasumi's eyes.

'...A change of clothes. I see. That was a blind spot. Certainly, if that were the case, it would be possible to appear completely dry.'

'Search every nook and cranny again tomorrow. Surely, the criminal's clothes, heavy with water, must be sleeping somewhere.'

Hasumi nodded slightly, as if he had finally found salvation.

At that moment, the owner's knife stopped.

'Thank you for waiting.'

Presented with a serene voice was a dish filled with incredibly vivid colors.

On a sea of crushed ice lay the deep green of shiso leaves. Resting upon them was the crimson of bluefin tuna, the translucent white of red sea bream, and the amber of aged amberjack.

'...This is.'

Hasumi gasped.

The cross-section of the sashimi stood sharp as if sliced by a razor, emitting a jewel-like luster under the lights.

'For sashimi, freshness is life.'

The owner said, staring at a single point as if confirming his own work. There was no artifice in his voice.

'If left alone, the surface of sashimi will touch the air and water, and immediately lose its brilliance. That is why we must have the means to "protect" it as quickly as possible. Like casting a thin, yet certain, barrier over the freshly sliced meat.'

The owner used a small brush to coat the surface of the amberjack with Tosa soy sauce.

The amber-colored meat gained an even deeper luster.

'Hasumi-san. If you don't find the "wet clothes" Takako-san mentioned tomorrow, please come back again. Sometimes the truth is not hidden in the clothes you can see, but inside them.'

The owner said nothing more. He turned back to the cutting board and quietly resumed his work.

Hasumi, overwhelmed by the quiet intensity emanating from the dish before him, reached out with his chopsticks.

On his tongue, the red sea bream burst with a crisp, clean flavor.

Within that pure deliciousness, Hasumi felt a premonition that a fragment of the truth, which no one had touched yet, was sinking coldly.

The rain showed no signs of stopping.