"You’re at the top of my suspect list, just so you know."
My forehead creased even more. I didn’t understand why she was looking at me like I was guilty, or why she was accusing me now.
"What? What are you talking about?" I was confused. It felt like she wasn’t even my seatmate anymore.
"You were with him yesterday, weren’t you? You didn’t let me come with you because you were planning something bad for him. I think I misjudged you, Aedrian. Maybe you were also lying about those texts you’ve been receiving. It’s all your scheme—you’re the real killer."
I couldn’t understand what she was saying. So this is what it feels like to be accused of something you didn’t do. All you did was try to help, yet you’re still made out to be the bad one. That’s why from the very beginning, I denied it. I am not a detective.
I stepped closer to her. "What are you saying? I don’t understand you." I tried asking because I really couldn’t grasp what she meant.
"I said don’t come closer!" She pushed me.
I could clearly see the anger in her eyes, as if she had completely changed her impression of me.
I let out a deep sigh. "Look, you don’t have the right to push me away. I’ll investigate this case to prove my innocence and to earn your trust again. I will find the real culprit."
She smirked. "Why? Are you a detective? Why do you need to investigate this case?" I avoided her gaze. I closed my eyes to gather my focus. I already had the answer to her question—I didn’t need to repeat it.
I approached my classmate’s hanging body. He wasn’t that high up, so I could still examine him closely. His body had already gone into rigor mortis, meaning it had been more than ten hours since the murder occurred. So what exactly killed him?
I looked at what he was wearing. Strange. As far as I remember, that wasn’t there before. Did he really change it, or did someone else put it on him?
I glanced at my seatmate, who was also looking at me. For now, I’ll ignore her accusations.
"What do you think about the socks he’s wearing?" I asked.
She looked at them, and I saw her eyes widen slightly. I was right—it wasn’t originally like that. As far as I remember, Paul always wore a black sock on his left foot and a white one on his right. I even associated it with yin and yang whenever I saw his mismatched socks. Why is it reversed now?
I moved closer and noticed they were slightly wet, just like the rest of his uniform. Strange. Why would Paul commit suicide? What was his reason? How could he hang himself on such a high basketball ring, and why here in the gym? From my conversation with him yesterday, he didn’t sound suicidal at all.
I took out my phone and called my dad. Within minutes, the police arrived. They brought down my classmate’s body to be taken to the lab. They also contacted his parents to request permission for an autopsy.
Students were asked to stop crowding the area and not interfere with the investigation. The professors also helped clear everyone back to their classes.
"Do you know the victim?" my dad asked.
I nodded. "He’s my classmate."
My dad looked at me, as if wondering what kind of strange situation his son had gotten into again, with his name constantly involved.
I just watched as they worked, until I decided to walk around inside the gym while thinking.
After a while, a police officer ran toward my dad holding a paper.
"The autopsy results are out. The victim died due to cyanide ingestion. Estimated time of death is around 6 p.m. yesterday."
Cyanide?
How did that happen?
If cyanide was truly the cause of death, then why was he found hanging?
It’s impossible for him to hang himself after ingesting poison. And it’s also impossible for him to ingest poison while already hanging.
The possibility that this was murder, not suicide, was getting higher. But who?
And if he was already poisoned, why was there still a need to hang the body?
I approached my dad and secretly glanced at the autopsy report in his hands. And I was right—there were hand marks beneath the rope marks on the victim’s neck.
This only proved that he was poisoned before being hanged.
And if the time of death was 6 p.m., then the window when he was with the culprit was around ten minutes or more before that time, based on the estimated timeline of the crime.
"Aedrian! Do you know this person?"
I almost jumped at my dad’s shout—he was right behind me. He probably didn’t notice me earlier because he was focused on the investigation.
He showed me a photo taken from CCTV footage. I studied the image of a man captured inside the school shortly after 6 p.m., not far from the gym.
"Yes, Dad. I know him. He’s also my classmate."
"You said you wanted to call me? Why?" a voice said.
Just from the tone, I already knew who it was—Marco, one of our classmates. He walked toward us like a hothead, keys clinking from his belt.
"We just want your statement. Where were you around 6 p.m. yesterday?" my dad asked.
I noticed my seatmate standing beside me.
"To be honest..." Marco took a deep breath before glaring at me, as if hesitating to admit something. "I have a part-time job at a fast food chain. After class, I go straight there."
Liar. Even with evidence against him, he still managed to lie.
"So you went straight to work?" my dad asked again, a faint smile forming.
I stayed silent as I listened.
"No. I actually met Paul yesterday before going to work—I had something to tell him. It was only for a short while, then I left school ahead of him."
My dad’s smile disappeared, and even I was surprised.
Did he just admit he met Paul?