Gekka Ryuzoji

The children looked ecstatic to receive Ryuuzouji’s affirmation.

They rode with us for a little while, before getting off on the third floor. The elevator continued up
further, until we reached the fifth floor.

The doors opened to reveal a red carpeted hallway that stretched out directly forward. The boy
in the vest began carefully pushing Ryuuzouji’s wheelchair down the hall.

“You must be wondering what kind of show we are putting on for you,” Ryuuzouji mused. “Or
perhaps, you are thinking you have stumbled into the lair of a cult. However, I assure you, this is
my normal day-to-day life with no embellishments of any sort.”

All those people in line who revered Ryuuzouji and requested his assistance. All those trusting
children who worked under his guidance. This was the daily life of a hero—one who has saved
more people than anyone else.

Was this what he wanted to show me?

The world as seen from the chair of a successful detective. And the tranquil paradise he built.

At the end of the long hallway was a set of double doors, which automatically opened as we
approached.

What lay beyond those doors stood in harsh contrast to the paradise outside—the lonely
battlefield of a hero.