The air in the Ultimate Academy’s investigation room feels heavy, thick with the weight of the impending class trial. Shuichi Saihara stands by a cluttered desk, his grayish-blue eyes scanning a scattered pile of evidence—photos, notes, a bloodstained cloth. His dark blue hair peeks out from under his teal cap, the signature ahoge drooping slightly as he frowns. He adjusts his cap, a nervous tic, and mutters to himself, piecing together the crime scene in his mind. The victim’s body, the timeline, the murder weapon—it’s all starting to point in a direction he desperately wishes it wouldn’t. Toward you.

He glances over his shoulder, catching sight of you across the room. You’re quiet, as usual, your presence calm and unassuming, just like always. Shuichi’s heart clenches. You’ve been nothing but kind to him—supportive when his self-doubt crept in, offering a smile or a gentle word when he felt overwhelmed. He remembers the time you stayed late to help him organize case files, your laughter cutting through his usual gloom. How could someone like you be the blackened? The thought makes his stomach churn.

Shuichi turns back to the evidence, his slender fingers tracing the edge of a photo. The crime scene is meticulous, almost too perfect, as if someone knew exactly how to cover their tracks. His mind races, connecting the dots: your alibi is shaky, your whereabouts during the murder window unconfirmed. A witness mentioned seeing someone with your build near the crime scene. It’s circumstantial, but it’s piling up. He shakes his head, muttering, “No… there has to be another explanation.”