Alibi

Present 

The morning sun feels like an interrogation lamp. I sit on the edge of the sofa, watching dust motes dance in a stray beam of light. It is ironic. Five years ago, we wanted nothing more than for the world to know our names. Now, our names are trending for all the wrong reasons. Every time I glance at my phone, the screen is flooded with notifications from news outlets and angry fans. The sheer weight of the public’s disappointment is a physical pressure in the room.

“My manager has sent thirty-two texts,” Rie whispers. She is curled into a tight ball on the armchair, her short hair messy from a sleepless night. Her expressive brown eyes are dimmed by a heavy layer of exhaustion. “I am too scared to open even one. They are talking about a morality clause. What if they terminate my contract? My parents were so proud of Nova 4ever. How do I tell them it might be over?”

“They won’t terminate you,” Abby says, though he does not sound as confident as usual. He is standing by the kitchen island, nursing a cup of cold black coffee. His blonde hair is unstyled, falling over his eyes. Even in a state of distress, his heart-shaped face retains its striking intensity. “You are their biggest earner this quarter. They will scream, they will lecture, and then they will put the PR team to work. But we cannot wait for them to find a way to spin this. We need the truth about Akira before the stalker releases that video.”

Haru walks out of the bedroom, already dressed in a plain black hoodie and dark jeans. He looks tired but steady. He always looks steady when things are falling apart. His practical nature is in full swing; he is done with the emotional spiraling and ready for a task.

“We need to divide,” Haru says, looking at the three of us. He leans against the doorframe, his dark brown hair falling just above his eyebrows. “The stalker expects us to hide. They want us paralyzed by the media cycle. If we stay together, we are an easy target for more photos. We split up. Two goals. The footage and the boy.”

We huddle around the coffee table. The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and the lingering tension of the previous night’s ambush.

“Abby, you and Rie head to St. Mary’s Hospital,” Haru instructs. “That is where the ambulance took Akira the night of the fire. Find out what the official record says about his discharge. Use your status if you have to, but keep the masks on.”

“I can charm a records clerk,” Abby says, a flicker of his usual witty confidence returning.

“And what about us?” I ask, looking at Haru. I feel a flutter of anxiety in my chest. My mind is already painting a thousand worst-case scenarios where we are caught and the headlines become even more vicious.

“Aurora and I will go to the company,” Haru says. “We still have our standard employee passes for the new building, but we need access to the restricted archives and the old CCTV storage room in the basement. Our cards won't open those doors.”

“Then how do we get in?” I ask.

"So, we're going to steal a master pass from a floor supervisor," I said.

"Exactly. We find a reason to talk to them, create a distraction, and take it," Haru added logically. "Then we return it before they even realize it's gone."

Abby stands up, his classic proportions making the small living room feel even smaller. He pulls on a baseball cap and dark sunglasses. “Alright. Team Detective and Team Heist. Rie, let’s go. My car has tinted windows, and I know a back way out of this neighborhood.”

Rie stands, her expression shifting from fear to determination. She adjusts her street-style jacket. “Let’s find him. If Akira is okay, this whole blackmail tower crumbles. I want my life back.”

Abby and Rie arrive at St. Mary’s Hospital thirty minutes later. The clinical smell of antiseptic makes Rie’s stomach churn. It reminds her too much of the night of the fire. Abby keeps his head down, but his height makes it difficult to blend in.

“Just look like a worried relative,” Abby murmurs to Rie as they approach the reception desk.

Abby leans against the counter, flashing a restrained version of his famous charm. The receptionist, a woman in her fifties, looks up.

“Hi there,” Abby says, his voice smooth and warm. “We are looking for a records confirmation for a cousin of ours. It is for a private family insurance matter. His name is Akira Sato. He was admitted here exactly five years ago, after a fire.”

The receptionist frowns. “Five years? That is quite a long time ago. What was the name again?”

“Akira Sato,” Rie says, leaning forward. Her large eyes sparkle with a deliberate, soft sadness. “Please. It is very important for our family to know the exact date he was moved.”

The woman taps on her keys for a few minutes. Finally, she pauses. “That is odd.”

“What is?” Abby asks, his eyes sharpening.

“The record shows he was admitted for smoke inhalation on the night of the fourteenth,” she says. “But he was discharged at four in the morning on the fifteenth. It was a voluntary discharge. He signed the papers himself and left.”

Rie gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “He was discharged that night? The company told us he was in a coma for weeks!”

“According to this,” the receptionist says, “he was stable and cleared to leave within six hours. He never returned to this hospital.”

Meanwhile, Haru and I are in the lobby of Lumina Entertainment. Since we still work with the company on various projects, our entry into the main floor is normal, but the tension is thick. People are whispering as we pass.

“There is Sato-san,” Haru whispers, nodding toward a floor supervisor who is busy lecturing a junior staff member near the elevators. His master keycard is clipped to his belt, dangling temptingly.

“I’ll do it,” I say. I approach Sato-san, putting on my best 'distressed actress' face. “Sato-san! I am so sorry to bother you, but I think I left my script in the Level 4 rehearsal room, and my card won't let me back in. Can you check if it was turned in?”

Sato-san sighs, turning his attention away from the junior staffer. “Aurora-san, we are very busy with the... current situation. But fine, let me check the log.”

As he turns his back to consult a tablet on the wall, Haru brushes past him with the precision of a ghost. His hand moves in a blur. When Haru walks away, the keycard is gone.

“Oh, wait! I found a digital copy on my phone,” I say, feigning embarrassment. “I am so sorry for wasting your time!”

I hurried after Haru toward the service stairwell. We descend into the bowels of the building where the old storage rooms are located. The air is cooler here. Haru swipes the stolen card, and the heavy door to the archives clicks open.

We enter a room filled with towering metal cabinets. Haru goes straight for the computer terminal, his fingers flying across the keys. I move to the physical filing cabinets.

Haru’s eyes narrow as he scrolls through the system logs, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk. “The footage from that specific day was manually deleted.” he says, his voice dropping to a low, cold tone.

“Check the auxiliary room,” Haru grunts. “They keep the physical intake forms there.”

I move to the next room. It is cramped and smells of old paper. I pull open a drawer labeled Trainee Records. I flip through the folders until I find it. Akira Sato. I open the folder and find his family emergency contact form. I see a name. Yuki Sato. Sister.

I pull out my phone and take a photo of the address in Saitama. I send the photo to Rie and Abby immediately. “Found his sister’s address. Sending it now. Get there fast.”

“Aurora, we have to get this card back,” Haru says, ejecting a small drive from the terminal.

We sneak back up to the main floor. Sato-san is still near the elevators, looking frustrated. Haru walks toward him, then purposefully 'stumbles' near his feet.

“Oh, excuse me!” Haru says, reaching down. He stands up, holding the keycard. “Sato-san, you dropped this near the elevator bank. It must have unclipped.”

Sato-san looks at his belt, eyes wide. “Oh! Thank you, Haru-san. I didn't even notice. Everything is so chaotic today.”

We walk away, my heart finally slowing down. We have the address, and Haru has a copy of the deleted file logs. But as we head to the exit, I feel a prickle on the back of my neck.

I look toward the glass doors. Outside, in the rain, a small figure is standing perfectly still. They are wearing a long dark coat, and their long black hair falls like a curtain around their face. They are staring directly at us.

“Haru,” I whisper.

Before he can look, the figure turns and vanishes into the crowd.