Detective's Underdog

The morning sun cast long shadows across the quiet residential street in Saitama prefecture. 

A young man in a wrinkled suit stood before a modest two-story house, straightening his tie with trembling fingers. His shoes were scuffed, his hair disheveled, and there was a distinct smell of dirt and piss clinging to his clothes that he'd grown uncomfortably accustomed to over the past few hours.

Iori took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The sound echoed through the peaceful neighborhood. Birds chirped in nearby trees. A bicycle passed by on the street behind him. His heart beating faster as he heard the footsteps approaching him from the other side of the door.

The door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man with tired eyes and a cautious expression, Akio Tsukishiro wore a simple button-up shirt and slacks, clearly getting ready for work. His gaze swept over Iori and out toward the street.

"Can I help you?" 

Akio's voice carried the weariness of someone who'd seen way too many door-to-door salesmen who disturb the peace of the household, by trying to promote encyclopedias and novelty goods.

"Good morning, sir! My name is Iori, and I'm a detective. Just like you." He fumbled in his jacket pocket and produced a smartphone in a plastic evidence bag. "I believe... this belongs to you."

The phone. The same phone Akio thrown away a couple days ago to cover for his son.

"Where did you find that..?" 

"Ah, that's quite a story!" Iori launched into his explanation with the enthusiasm of a stand-up comedian who finally had an audience. "You see, just yesterday afternoon, a gentleman was walking his dog through the neighborhood park. The dog started acting strange, pulling toward the bushes near the old playground. When the owner investigated, he found the dog relieving itself on something that turned out to be this phone!"

"Huh?"

"As luck would have it, I happened to be passing through the area, looking for cases that might challenge my giant hubris. The man was confused about what to do with the phone, and I saw my opportunity. I explained how this could be evidence of something bigger. Stolen property, maybe? or, an evidence to a crime! I convinced him that this warranted a proper investigation, and he agreed to pay me a small, tiny, commission fees to track down the owner."

"So you forced him to pay?"

"Not quite. Don't put it like that, Sir..?"

"Akio Tsukishiro. You don't even know who i am?"

"Y-Yes, NO! What I mean is, I tend to forget trivial details of people that i suspect. I only have a profile of them in their head. I-I-I think a lot about their characteristics and.. the possibility of them committing the said crime than bother with little details like names, Mr. Tsukishiro. May I-" 

*Bam* 

The door slammed shut in his face.

"Please open the door, Mr. Tsukishiro!!" Iori yelled out and started knocking on the door again.
"I asked around the neighborhood, someone recognized it as belonging to this address! So here I am! Ready to return your property and investigate the circumstances of how it ended up in those bushes!"

Iori stood there for a moment, stunned. Then he raised his fist and began knocking again, harder this time. "Sir! Akio! Please, I need your cooperation! This is important to me!"

"What do you want?" Akio's muffled voice came from behind the closed door.

"I want to help you!" Iori pressed his face close to the door, his breath fogging against the wood. "I don't have a job!! I'm actually unemployed! I planned to use this phone as a chance to talk to you!! I want to work as your assistant for the time being!!! Please, I can be useful to you!! Please!!"

Silence.

Iori's voice dropped, becoming more raw and honest. The caffeine withdrawal headache was pounding behind his eyes. His stomach growled so loudly he was sure the entire street must've heard it. 

"I haven't eaten properly in days.. I've been sleeping in internet cafes and public restrooms, surviving on coffee and cigarettes.. This case is my only shot at proving I can actually be a detective. I'm asking for one chance. Just one. I promise I'll be useful in all regards!"

His voice cracked, genuine tears welling up in his eyes. The hunger, the exhaustion, the desperate hope that maybe this time things would work out. It all came pouring out in that moment. His hands trembled against the door before letting it go.

Iori took a couple steps backward and turned back towards the street, 0slowly walking away in tears. He took a cigarette from one of his pockets and held it in his lips. There's no lighter. 

The lock clicked and the door opened slowly.

Akio sighed. "Hey. Come inside. Have breakfast first."

Iori's face lit up like sunlight breaking through the storm clouds. 

"Really? Thank you so much!!"

He stepped into the house. 

"Leave your slippers behind." 

"Oops.. sorry about that.. h-hahah.." 

The interior was warm and lived-in, with family photos on the walls and the smell of cooking drifting from the kitchen. Iori's stomach growled again, louder this time.

"Ugh, what's that smell? Who let the homeless guy in?"

Iori spun to see a kid standing in the hallway, nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Excuse me?!" Iori shot back, his pride wounded despite his desperate state. "I am not homeless! I'm a detective! And for your information, I've been working around the clock on important cases. Sometimes that means sacrificing personal comfort for the sake of justice, kid!"

"You smell like piss, uncle!" Hikaru muttered, waving his hand in front of his nose.

"W-Why you little brat... I'll have you know that proper investigative work requires dedication that someone like you couldn't possibly understand!"

"Hahaha!" Terumi emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron, her eyes crinkling with genuine amusement at the scene before her. "Now, now, let's all be civil. Hikaru, go wash up for school. And you," she gestured to Iori with a kind smile that reminded him painfully of his own mother, "Please change your clothes and wash yourself before you sit for breakfast."

"Oh, thank you mom, no! i mean, ma'am.. haha.." Iori got inside the bathroom with Akio by his side.

"I don't have a spare clothes to wear, sir."

"You can use mine." 

"Thank you sir!!"

"Please drop the sir, will you.." Akio sighed.

The table was filled with steaming rice, miso soup, grilled fish, tamagoyaki, and pickled vegetables. The sight of real, home-cooked food made Iori's eyes tear up.

"Thank you for the meal!" Iori barely finished the words before he dove in, shoveling food into his mouth.

Akio watched him eat for a moment.

"Come to the station after you finish eating," Akio said. "We'll discuss the details of your... assistant position there."

Iori nodded vigorously, mouth too full to speak properly, rice grains stuck to his chin.

Akio grabbed his jacket, kissed his wife on the cheeks and headed for the door. 

His son, Akira was hiding something. His son was involved in something he couldn't explain to his family. Something dark enough that Akira cannot speak about it to his own father.

Akio had thrown away the phone without hesitation.
 
A father's instinct to protect his child. But, He needed to know the truth. He needed to investigate Akira himself, off the books, before any official channels got involved.

He walked toward the convenience store, hands in his pockets. The weight of what he was about to do pressed down on his shoulders. Investigating your own son. Suspecting your own child of something terrible. 

What kind of father does that make him?

But what kind of father would he be if he ignored the signs? If he let Akira spiral into something truly dangerous without trying to intervene?

He bought a hot coffee from the vending machine outside the store, the familiar ritual giving him a moment to center himself. 

The bitter sweet taste of the coffee matched his mood perfectly. If Akira had done something wrong, Akio needed to be the one to discover it. 

He has to handle it quietly, carefully, before the authorities got involved. Before it became public. Before it destroys their entire family.

Every drop of blood that his son spills will stain Akio's hands too. 
That was the burden he chose to carry as a father.

"Mr. Akio! Wait up!"

Iori came running down the street, his suit jacket flapping behind him, his face flushed from the sprint and the sudden influx of actual food in his system. 

"So! What kind of cases are we investigating?" Iori asked breathlessly, falling into step beside Akio. "Murder? Theft? Corporate espionage? I've read extensively about investigative techniques. Did you know that the average person lies approximately three times during a ten-minute conversation? And that microexpressions can reveal..."

"You talk too much." Akio said flatly, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Right! Sorry! I just get excited about detective work. It's been my dream since I was a kid, you know? I used to read all these mystery novels and think, 'that's going to be me someday!' And now here I am, working as an assistant to a real detective! Well, I assume you're a real detective based on how you handled that phone situation and..."

"Iori."

"Yes?"

"Stop talking."

"Right. Absolutely. Silent as the grave. You won't hear another word from me." Iori mimed zipping his lips shut.

They walked in silence for exactly thirty seconds before Iori spoke again. "Although, I do think it's important to establish communication protocols between partners. In detective work, clear communication is essential for..."

Akio sighed deeply. 

He took another sip of cold coffee and kept walking.