"While I was looking for more people trapped by the fire, I saw someone's silhouette... watching the flames from inside." Mr. Nagumo recounts the events with a hoarse voice, interrupted by a light cough.
"Hmm, interesting," I reply, adjusting my glasses on my face.
Even though I need more details to form solid hypotheses, it's already clear that this fire — far too mysterious — was intentionally set. The possibility of human involvement isn't just plausible, it's likely.
But... what would someone be doing inside the fire itself?
I put my hand in the hoodie pocket, my gaze shifting to the bed in front of me.
Everything seemed like a series of "coincidences." The fire started in a hard-to-reach place — the basement, which only specific staff had access to — and quickly spread through the wooden school.
By the time someone noticed the heat, it was too late. Even the firefighters, from what I heard, were delayed by an unexpected event.
...Other factors must be involved, but this alone already points to a well-thought-out plan — or an absolutely improbable stroke of bad luck.
My thoughts are interrupted by an important detail:
"Ah... I couldn't really make out what the person looked like, neither the height nor the shape of the body. It was hard to see with all that smoke. But I clearly remember they came out of the basement and escaped through the back exit."
With no clue about their appearance, everything gets harder. Even more so if this silhouette really fled before anyone saw them.
"Is there anything else you can remember?" I insist, trying to extract any remaining detail.
Mr. Nagumo lowers his gaze, thoughtful. After a few seconds, he shakes his head.
"And... how can you be so sure someone was really there?" It might have come out rude, but I need to be certain we're not chasing ghosts.
It would be a waste of time if this was nothing more than a guess, detached from reality.
His eyes light up with a memory, and he strains to sit up in bed. With visible effort, he lifts part of the hospital gown to reveal a section of his abdomen.
Even this simple movement seems to have drained all his energy. He's sweating, his breathing labored.
"...Do you see this?"
His index finger points toward the same area he exposed by adjusting his shirt.
Two deep cuts on his stomach that — if I hadn't already known they were there — I wouldn't be able to look at for more than five seconds.
The doctors seemed to have already treated these grotesque wounds—sealing them with bandages and gauze — but the necrotic skin around them says otherwise.
The stench of decay makes this horror a multi-sensory experience.
"In that moment... that mysterious person grabbed two sharp shards of glass — probably from their pocket — and stabbed me with them."
I remember the scene vividly: after saving whoever he could, Mr. Nagumo went back into the fire to search for more survivors.
It shocked everyone there, including me, to see him practically crawling out, with shards embedded in his ribs.
The burns explain many of his wounds... but not these.
These blackened, rotting marks weren't caused by the fire.
"Those shards... there was definitely something strange about them. Don't you think?"
"Maybe... I wasn't paying much attention. Escaping the collapsing school was my only priority. I must've fallen into a coma right after."
If all of this is true, then the fire wasn't an accident.
It was premeditated.
And whoever orchestrated it clearly thought of ways to avoid being discovered. This isn't someone driven by emotions.
They acted with cold calculation. Not on impulse. Not out of hate or grief.
Still… using glass as a weapon...?
How do I uncover the mystery behind this disaster? None of this makes any sense.
Besides, why entrust this responsibility to me?
I have no experience, let alone resources.
I'm not a detective. I'm just... me.
Am I even capable of solving this?
"Mr. Nagumo, I know I've already asked too many questions… but… do you believe in me?"
That's the question that matters most.
He smiles faintly. "I could say yes, that you're capable... but honestly... you're also the only one I'd trust to believe my memories from that day," he shifts again in bed, letting out a long sigh.
There's something about the way he says it. A feeling that prickles my skin just thinking about it.
Something in that gaze. A silent sorrow? A quiet trust?
I pretend to understand — nodding — just to leave him a little more at peace.
"Ayato... I'm not feeling so well... could you call the doctors for me?" His brown eyes blink serenely.
"S—sure."
I get up, walk to the door, and grip the handle.
But before I could turn it—
Beep beep beep beep!
A sharp, frantic sound invades the room.
The heart monitor? Almost unmistakable.
I spin around instantly, back to his bedside.
It syncs with my own heartbeat, both pounding in the same rhythm, with no time to rest.
"What—"
In the same moment, I hear muffled footsteps — several people rushing — outside the door.
The handle starts turning rapidly.
"Is someone in there? Please unlock the door!" The voice is breathless.
I look at Mr. Nagumo.
He's motionless.
"Mr. Nagumo..."
But no reply. Only a whisper I can't hear.
His body tenses slightly. A brief twitch in his fingers. His eyes lose focus — as if someone had flipped a switch inside.
The knocking on the door intensifies, the smell of hospital alcohol grows stronger.
"Come on! Quickly! We don't have time! He's going into cardiac arrest!"
I'm paralyzed.
I want to do something. I want to help.
But I can't take my eyes off him.
"Open the door!"
The pounding echoes in my chest.
I clench my fists. My teeth grind.
"Mr. Nagumo... goodbye."
I take the final step away from him. The door bursts open. The doctors rush in like a whirlwind.
Maybe there's still a chance he'll be saved? I'm nearly dismissing that possibility.
The same nurse from earlier gently pushes me out.
She gestures to a row of blue seats in the hallway, advising me to wait there until the situation stabilizes.
"Wait there. We'll take care of him." The nervousness in her voice is tangible.
I didn't want to wait.
Not here. Not in this suffocating air.
But I have no choice.
More doctors enter and leave the room, frantic.
All of them trying to prevent this nightmare from coming to a definitive end.