There is a limit to human concentration; come to think of it, I'd heard that somewhere before—I don't know how related that was to what Kyouko-san said, but in my exchange with her, that was what I recalled.
A human's time is limited, and so is their concentration.
For that very reason, if they concentrated their attention in a single point, regardless of whether or not they were talented, an exceptional result would come about—what first-rate professionals shared had to be the overwhelming quantity of time spent in effort.
This was no ideal, it was simply as Hakui-kun said—meaning as Wakui asserted, 'talent is a qualification to put in a higher quality of effort,' that uncouth platitude. With that alone—when that piled up effort inclined, crumbled, and failed, what happened next was beyond anyone's imagination. Was that what Kyouko-san wanted to say?
In that sense, certainly, excluding its basement, Atelier House was a building specialized solely in 'painting pictures', a sea to your back, enemies on all sides, all the escape paths sealed off. It might be cool when you succeed but on failure, all that was left was to drown—of course, the tenants may have been resolved for it, but whether that resolve weight up against the risk, in the end, no one could tell until the moment came.
Come to think of it, on her off days, Kyouko-san loitered around the museum, she went out for dinner with me, she was able to change gears—I certainly couldn't say the same for Hakui-kun who didn't go to school, pushing forward with nothing but painting pictures.
No, even I was the same—
"So this is Atelier House? It definitely is a high-rise complex difficult to picture from its name—that's thirty-two stories."
We arrived at Atelier House before noon—a wrap-around skirt and a pink blouse, a light sweater over that, Kyouko-san correctly guessed the number of floors at a single glance. Just how effective were her glasses, I wondered, but was this also part of an observing eye? I heard that counting things in numbers was actually considerably difficult.
A mere few hours after I called her for the request, we had arrived at the building in question, so I had to hand it to her. She really was the fastest detective. Her speed even dragged me into the midst… and not getting shaken off was the most I could manage.
To this point I had—put poorly, evasively—cautiously dealt with old Wakui's offer, but the developments after consulting with Kyouko-san were terribly swift—perhaps her claim to be the urgent care of the detective agency wasn't necessarily a joke.
No, in all actuality, when I'm the one who brought the talk to her, a part of me couldn't keep up—and belated as it was, I reported.
"Umm… Kyouko-san. I know I should have said this sooner."
"Oh? What could it be?"
"This is all happening so suddenly, I was unable to secure an appointment with Wakui-san. No matter how many times I call, he won't pick up… so it's possible he's out at the moment."
He didn't carry a cellphone, it seems. I did put in a message with the answering machine for what it's worth, but… well, he was getting on in years, so he couldn't take long trips too frequently, I arbitrarily convinced myself and came all the way here.
"Is that so—you can't get in touch?"
Kyouko-san said abstrusely, moving left and right to a grasp of Atelier House as a whole—it seemed her activity as a detective had already begun.
"Well, if he's out, we can wait for him to get back."
Instead of coming back later, how she chose to wait made me feel her strong mentality as a detective—that being the case, there would be nothing better than if he was at home, so I took the lead to enter the building.
At the entrance, I stood before the intercom button to summon old Wakui—the back room of his workspace was a living space, and that basement room was simultaneously his residence.
Come to think of it, it wasn't just the basement, every room in Atelier House combined living and atelier space—I had somehow or another accepted that as natural, but to have where one slept be the same as their workplace would in itself destroy escape, perhaps it was structured to make one lose the right time to switch on and off.
In actuality, even if they had a job they could do at home, I hear a great many creators establish a separate workplace…
"What's the matter? Oyagiri-san?"
As I indulged in thought before the intercom, Kyouko-san urged me from behind—perhaps that was also the fastest detective at work, but I got the feeling she was pushing it a bit too far. Rather than the fastest detective, was she the fuss-test detective, or so I thought something stupid as I pressed in the number of the basement room.
I tried waiting, but no response.
Once again, I repeated and tapped in the button, but the result was the same.—my misgivings were on the mark, it did seem Wakui was absent.
"Or possibly, he's so enthused in his world, he's pretending he isn't there."
From the side, Kyouko-san pointed out a possibility I didn't even think of.
"Even if it isn't a job, he could have a previous visitor."
"I see—for now, I'll try calling again."
I took out my cellphone, and redialed old Wakui's landline—but there was no response, and only the answering machine I'd grown sick of hearing played back.
"Then… let's wait. If there's a café or something around, we're in luck…"
"From what I can remember from the way here, there wasn't."
Kyouko-san said—looks like she properly remembered the way. This was my second time coming, but whether there was a café or not, I didn't remember in the slightest… what she forgot was only the events up to the previous day, and for the happenings of the day in question, she boasted memory capabilities far exceeding the average, it seems.
"It isn't just cafes, there were barely any amusement facilities… in that sense, these are some harsh conditions."
"Harsh… is it?"
"If you think of Atelier House as a company, they haven't invested anything into their welfare plan—just where could the people living here be taking a breather, I wonder?"
She muttered as, not the road she came down, she began circling around the building—judging by her tone, she didn't have a very good impression of Atelier House itself after all.
Not a place of dreams where youths desiring the arts gathered, she spoke of it almost like a slave labor camp—while Hakui-kun said something similar, I had to think it was pushing it to look at effort for the sake of dreams as slave labor.
Whatever the case, she looked like she'd disappear the moment I took my eyes off of her, so I frantically gave chase. Right around the center of the back side, she finally stopped her feet. It looked like a parking lot attached to the complex—I never noticed there was a place like this behind it. Of course, if you wanted to get in from here, you still had to clear a security check.
"Oyagiri-san. Can you stand in front of that fence for a second?"
"Pardon? Well sure, I don't mind… but even with my height, I won't be able to see inside."
"I don't mind. Just sand there, and take a stance as if you're about to receive a volleyball."
"Like this?"
Kyouko-san's starting dash came faster than my question.
She charged straight at me, and when I thought she jumped off her right foot, she used the hands locked in front off my stomach to jump another level higher, passing right over my upright head—by the time I turned in surprise, her body had already disappeared into the parking lot.
No, strictly speaking, she hadn't disappeared yet. From the opposite side of the wall, she hung one arm over.
"Oyagiri-san, please take my hand. I'll pull you up."
From across the fence, I heard an at-ease voice I couldn't imagine from someone who just pulled off such acrobatics. From my point of view, I had no idea what was going on, more so, I wanted to pull her back, but I couldn't leave her hanging up over that wall forever.
"Hurry up, hurry up."
"Y-yeah."
Under her urgings, I clambered up the wall. I did try taking her hand, but to be blunt, her slender arm was of absolutely no use in pulling me up, and I scaled the wall pretty much on my own strength. I landed first, and upon that, Kyouko-san let go of the wall. ,
"There we go,"
She landed on her feet.
In short, all too easily, the two of us succeeded in infiltrating the parking lot—yet my heart wasn't dancing at that success, more so, I was left wondering what the hell I'd let myself be drawn into.
"W-what are you doing, Kyouko-san!? This is trespassing!"
"In that case, you're complicit, Oyagiri-san."
Kyouko-san smiled sweetly, not one to shy back.
"It's a security check, a security check—just because there's an automatic auto lock door, as long as it's not perfectly sealed, there are going to be gaps to exploit, aren't there."
A security check was definitely what I asked for, but if she was going to do that, I'd appreciate if she told me first—what was I supposed to think when she suddenly charged at me?
"I mean, if I told you, you'd stop me."
Of course I would. But even if she said it as if it was the natural order of things, I couldn't accept it—When I made that request the other day, and we finished matters talking in a café, I couldn't tell, but it did seem this person boasted an unexpected degree of dynamism.
Climbing the wall was one thing, but would you usually consider jumping over a man of my height? She seriously jumped over me in a skirt…
"This way, right?"
No time to stop in the parking lot, Kyouko-san rapidly moved into complex—in the end, we reached the elevator hall avoiding going through any locked doors.
I see, with that method, you could avoid the auto lock… well, with how flashy her movements were, it was hard to call covert. With those actions, if there were any witnesses, it wouldn't be strange if she got arrested.
"There is no guarantee a criminal will always move with secrecy on mind—more so, it is the culprits that move covertly, so as not to be seen that help out detectives the most. In most cases, their cover-up attempts end up adding to the evidence– and from a security point of view, what you should look out for is a hoodlum who will forcefully breach the defenses. Take it to the extreme, and an auto-locking automatic door will break if you smash it hard enough with a rock."
While her opinion defeated the purpose, she did have some point—just like a security guard being stationed didn't prevent a single old man from destroying a painting. There's no perfect security, and it's difficult to deal with a ruffian who thinks not of his own safety—if I wanted to guard to that extent, it really would be too much for me alone.
"The place Wakui-san works was in the basement, correct?"
Kyouko-san was already pressing the elevator button—even if she wasn't a ruffian, this person was a detective who thought not of her own safety. Just because she would have it all wiped clean tomorrow, I do think there are things you just don't do… and places where, 'sorry, I don't remember' doesn't pass.
"Yes, the basement… but."
"Huh?"
As I answered, Kyouko-san pressed the down button again, but that didn't make it light up– -it was reactionless.
"Huh? Huh?"
She mashed it, but still no response.
It wouldn't indulge her in any way.
"Is it broken… it looks like the elevator isn't moving."
I recalled the service-size elevator I rode yesterday—at the time, I didn't sense any defects. It would surely be inconvenient if the only elevator broke down, , I had nothing but sympathy for the residents, while feeling somewhat relieved—while Kyouko-san's dynamism at a level that made me draw back, drew me into lending a hand in her trespassing, the elevator not working here could be interpreted as God telling us to go away.
I returned my eyes to convey it to her, she was already gone—she had already gone and opened a door at the side of the hall.
Blending in with the marble wall, that door whose existence was hard to make out, led to an emergency stairway—her eyes were way too sharp. She had no mind to lend any ear to God's warning.
"This way, Oyagiri-san."
She invited me without turning around, before immediately descending the stairs down—she didn't even give me the opportunity to stop her.
Looking back on it now, at the time, Kyouko-san must have had a premonition—no, to speak of premonitions, at the point I made a request to her, she already had a sort of premonition. Ir could I call it foresight? A knowledge of the dangers contained within this building called Atelier House—by that point, she had already noticed the underlying factor.
Come there, perhaps she felt something serious at a situation where it was impossible to contact old Wakui, and forcefully breached the security—lending no ear to the divine.
Of course, speaking of possibilities, the probability that foresight ended in vain was far higher—the presumption she pierced forward under was based in an unreliable premonition barely worthy of consideration.
That day, the process of elimination, scratch that, reduction ad absurdum she showed at the café—no matter how trivial or small it was, it should have been part of her style to destroy possibilities one by one in turn, and yet. Only at a time like this—she hit the mark in one shot.
The door at the bottom of the stairs was thrown open, in the basement room Kyouko-san had reached not as a detective but phantom thief, old Wakui was collapsed, lying on his side.—a painting knife stuck into his abdomen.