What if Johan and Kiyotaka were detectives? (DISCONTINUED)

Log 12: Pivotal moment

Kiyotaka's perspective
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"Have you ever considered... becoming a detective?" I asked in a clear, cool voice.

Unlike the other moments I've said something unexpected and shocking, Yuki kept her composure, allowing a small smile to be visible.

"No, I haven't," she said crossing her arms, "are you suggesting that I can become one?"

"It depends if you want to."

I don't intend on treading in her brain further than necessary, I could step into uncharted territory at the wrong time.

There was a moment of silence before I abruptly spoke.

"I can get you to become a detective. You won't work for me, you'll work alongside a team of seasoned veterans... and me."

In the background, I could make out the man I had been talking with earlier urging me to follow him.

"Sure...sure, why not? But tell me one thing..." her face rapidly became closer to mine, leaving around two inches of space in between. That determined look in her eyes have set in stone the decision she's made, not looking back and continuing forward, ever so.

"Does this also go according to your plan?"

I didn't back down either in this battle of attrition, locking my eyes with her's, my answer carries weight heavier than it would otherwise.

"If you don't have a strong plan, naturally, mine will reap the benefits of your actions."

"Alright, that's good enough for now," she said, suddenly becoming assertive, "I'll see you in a bit, then."

"Okay."

Waving each other goodbye, I was reminded of the exact moment I had left Horikita's class a few years ago. That time of animosity, my classmates saw me in a new light, a readily dim and soon becoming dark light; most were confused, others questioned my actions.

My mind hadn't exactly prioritized their thoughts on my actions at a personal level, I knew what their words would be—I had known.

An unrecognized, repugnant moment reminding me of the darkness in the world, how cruel it can be.

How humanity can react to what they don't comprehend, the emotions, environment, and more formed the way they viewed me.

During that event, for the millionth time, I had been reminded that no matter where I go, my past will follow me.

Catching up with the man I spoke with, the dreary atmosphere my head had created soon vanished.

"Alright, you're already aware of our procedures, emergency protocols, jargon, and all of that from what I heard, correct?"

"Yes. I at least meet the minimum requirements."

A clipboard had appeared in his hands and it felt like I was being evaluated; flipping through the pages with sloppy hand movement, he caught me observing his actions.

"Don't worry," he said genuinely, "this is for my personal use, it's a schedule."

Not being convinced with this being the extent of it, I stared at him until his composure had slightly loosened from immersing himself in reading the so-called 'schedule.'