The male employee hurriedly explained, "When I helped Department Manager Oba adjust the mascot costume, I found that one of the mascot's eyes was malfunctioning—it turned very stiffly. So we unscrewed the eye and took a look."
He glanced at Satoru Oba, belatedly realizing something, but he could only continue recounting the facts. "After we unscrewed it, we found a plastic bag inside. Mr. Oba said it might be stuffing from inside the mascot's eye, so we put the bag back together."
"So even if our fingerprints really are on that bag, it doesn't prove anything. There were other male colleagues nearby at the time. Everyone can testify that we touched the bag then, not at the murder scene."
Satoru Oba smiled as though victory were already his. "So why couldn't it have happened like this—someone held a grudge against me and took advantage of the time Sakurako and I went to the restroom to run downstairs and kill the president."
"Then, to frame me, that person deliberately stuffed the plastic bag he'd used at the shooting scene into the mascot, so I would touch it and leave fingerprints behind. Well? Isn't my script far more sophisticated than your absurd story about 'shooting her father during a break in kissing'?"
At a distant corner, an ordinary passerby in a knit cap tugged down his brim and sighed inwardly.
Akai Shuichi: "..." It looks like you've written the perfect script to clear yourself, but in truth, your script is merely one story within someone else's script... In the end, you're just a pitiful tool meant to cause trouble for us at the FBI.
"Good thing I got away in time." Akai Shuichi, who had slipped away earlier to put down his sniper rifle and new handgun before secretly circling back, blended