7 years ago, Kimihiko

"So you're pleading 'not guilty' again this time?"

I was at my regular police station, watching an officer with grizzled hair organize his report. He was wearing a grim smile. Even I thought I probably looked exhausted.

"Like I said, I didn't do it." Seriously, what fifth grader would snatch a bag from a random lady on the street?

"Hmm. I wouldn't put it past you, though." "You're overestimating me, mister."

Wait, should that have been "underestimating"? I heaved a big sigh. This police station felt as comforting to me as my own home.

Do people become "regulars" at police stations, you ask? They do if they're me. As a matter of fact, this is the third time this week that I've met this officer (who's apparently in charge around here). That's more times than I've been to school.

What? I'm skipping too much for a grade schooler? Well, what am I supposed to do? Say I see an old lady with a cane trying to get across a crosswalk while I'm on my way to school. I help her, and then I find out that she's a victim of a bank transfer scam. Before you know it, I've been pulled into a scuffle with an enormous organized fraud ring. I've had a knack for getting dragged into trouble since I was born, and that's just how it is. There was no time to sit around in school.

Today, for example, I'd been caught up in a bag-snatching incident on my way to class, then was suspected of perpetrating it. Now here I was, fighting a pointless battle at the police station with its chief.

"You had nothing on me yesterday, you've got nothing today, and you won't have anything on me tomorrow, either. I mean, I'm innocent."

"Not guilty" sometimes carries a different nuance. It's the term they use when they can't charge you with a crime due to insanity or lack of evidence. In my case, though, I really didn't snatch that bag, nor was I involved with the bank transfer scam. I'm not just "not guilty," I straight up didn't do it. I remember checking in a dictionary when I was bored in Modern Japanese class once.

"You sure know a lot for a kid your age," the chief drawled. Even then, he kept scrutinizing my face. "I'm almost at retirement age, see. I was planning to take it easy at a police station for my last few years on duty, but thanks to you, I'm busier than I've ever been in my whole career. …Granted, I haven't been bored," he added with a grin.

If he's close to retiring, is somebody else going to be in charge of this police station someday? Since I can't change this annoying predisposition of mine, I'm definitely going to keep ending up here. Here's hoping that the next guy is more laidback.

"Can I go home? You must know by now that I didn't do anything."

A surveillance camera near the crime scene had caught a man who seemed to be the fleeing bag-snatcher. Our heights were totally different, so I'd been told I was off the suspect list. Saved by my youth, although I hope I get taller eventually.

"Besides, I've got a curfew." I got up from the metal folding chair.

I didn't mean I had a strict dad and mom waiting for me at home. What was waiting for me were the facility's rules. I couldn't remember ever having a family. I was an orphan. As far as I was concerned, just having a place that guaranteed my right to live was a great thing.

"Hang out just a little longer. I hear they're sending someone to pick you up today," the chief said.

Someone to pick me up? What was that about? Ever since the woman who was in charge of the children's home picked up on this knack of mine, for better or worse, she acted like any trouble I caused wasn't her problem. I really couldn't see her coming to a police station to pick me up…

"See? Speak of the devil." The director's eyes focused on something behind me. "He's your guarantor. So even you have family, huh?"

That made me turn around.

A middle-aged man in a suit was standing there, a top hat pulled down low over his eyes. He looked well-dressed at first, but on closer inspection, his suit

and shirt were shabby, and his worn-out leather shoes had mud on them. His eyes were shadowed, but they were sharp as an animal's.

"Who are you?" I asked.

With a big, wolfish grin, the man introduced himself. "—Danny. Danny Bryant."

That was how I met my "teacher."

Danny took me to a run-down apartment building that had to be forty years old. After you came through the front door, a second interior door opened into a traditional Japanese-style room that was about thirteen square meters. I shouldn't have been familiar with the scent of tatami, but it struck me as weirdly nostalgic. Maybe that just came with being Japanese.

"What are you standing there and spacing out for?" the man asked behind me. As he walked past me, he said, "Starting today, this is your home." Then he plopped down on the floor in front of the low table.

Right off the bat, he opened a can of beer. He'd picked it up at a convenience store on our way back from the police station.

"I mean, even if you suddenly tell me to live here…" Bewildered, I looked around. The walls were decorated with strange items that seemed to be souvenirs from overseas, and antiques and pieces of fine art were littered here and there around the room.

Was he into traveling, or was he a hoarder? The idea of living here with this total stranger was starting to make my head hurt.

"Ha-ha. Don't overthink it, grade-schooler," the man said, calling me by a random title. Or maybe it was more of a category. "Don't get attached to ideas like 'home' or 'places to belong.' You're in elementary school, so just think of it as…a secret base here. Yeah. That's true for me, too," Danny added.

Apparently, he had several places, and this apartment was just one of them. Judging from all the souvenirs lying around, it looked like he really did spend most of his time traveling.

"Then you're not always going to be here?" I pulled a floor cushion over and sat down a little ways from him.

"That's right. Don't expect me to take care of you, got it?"

"…So first you introduce yourself as family, and then you say that?" Was this any better than the strict group living situation at the facility?

"Well, if you insist. I'll pay the rent, the electricity bill, and the water bill. I am the adult here, after all."

"That's not a very mature way to put it. …What about living expenses?" "You're going to earn those yourself. Oh, I'm not telling you to go get a job.

I'll bring work home, and you'll help me out with it. It'll be compensation," Danny said, knocking back his beer.

"…I'm still in grade school, remember?"

"In this world, there are tons of eleven-year-olds who work. Don't assume your common sense is gonna be normal everywhere."

You talk like you've seen it. I almost said it aloud, sarcastically, then realized he actually might have. What had this guy seen in his travels around the globe?

"Let's set some house rules."

As if the man had just read my mind, he made a proposal:

"While we're both using this as a home base, let's not pry into each other's affairs."

Saying that was the only rule, Danny told me to promise. He looked serious. "If it's important enough to be your only rule, I'm guessing you have some

sort of secret you really don't want strangers to know?"

"Ha-ha! You're sharp, kid!" The man laughed off my amateur deduction like it was straight out of a comedy movie.

We'd only met half an hour ago, but my first impression of him had been that he was going to be tiring to be around. He had yet to prove me wrong.

"There's one more thing I want to ask." He'd just made me promise not to pry, but he was the one who dragged me here today unwarranted. I should be allowed at least one more question, so I asked: "Why did you take me in?"

He'd said he was family, but that had to be a lie. In this instance, what benefit was there in taking me in?

No, if he'd been after physical labor, there were better candidates out there. Was he just helping a kid who'd drawn a bad lot in life? Since the police had acknowledged him, was this a legal, legitimate foster arrangement? But nobody had said anything about it to me…

"You always look for the reasons behind everything. You're a smart kid." The man gazed at me and narrowed his eyes. And then: "Remember that mindset,

and someday, try to solve that mystery."

He grinned, flashing his white teeth. In the end, he never answered my question.

"Sorry. It's an adults-only sort of thing." "…That's my least favorite phrase ever."

"Ha-ha! I see. Then as an apology, we'll get whatever you want for dinner. What sounds good?" The man crushed his empty beer can in his hand and reached for another one.

Something occurred to me as I watched him. "I always wanted to order a pizza," I said.

When I told him to make it a large, the man said, "I figured you'd say that, so I ordered it already. It'll be here in five." He laughed, cell phone in hand.

That was how my strange life with Danny began.