[kuroiwa_menou]_machigaerareta_otoko_the_mistak... Instant

The mistake was almost comical. A witness had pointed a finger, a blurry CCTV frame had done the rest, and now the city’s most efficient "cleaner" was standing in a police station, unrecognized, while an innocent man faced the shadow of Kuroiwa’s own sins.

You’re him, aren’t you? Sato whispered, his voice trembling as he looked at Kuroiwa. The real one. [Kuroiwa_Menou]_Machigaerareta_Otoko_The_Mistak...

Kuroiwa didn't answer. He leaned against the cold gray wall, watching the detectives through the one-way glass. He could walk out. His alibi was ironclad because he had spent the night of the crime erasing every trace of his existence. But looking at Sato—at the man’s cheap wedding ring and the way he clutched a crumpled handkerchief—Kuroiwa felt a rare, jagged spark of irritation. The mistake was almost comical

I’m nobody, Kuroiwa finally said, his voice like sliding gravel. But you? You’re a ghost now. Sato whispered, his voice trembling as he looked at Kuroiwa

Kuroiwa reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, encrypted drive, sliding it across the table. When the detectives came back in, they wouldn't find a confession. They would find a roadmap to a completely different crime—a high-level embezzlement scheme Kuroiwa had stumbled upon months ago. It was enough to keep the precinct busy for years and far more interesting to the press than a "mistaken" murder.

If the police closed the case with Sato, the real trail would go cold, but Kuroiwa’s professional pride felt insulted by the sloppy work.

Kuroiwa Menou paced the length of the interrogation room, the fluorescent lights buzzing with a low, irritating hum that mirrored the vibration in his chest. Across the table sat the man who had been arrested in his place—a soft-featured accountant named Sato who looked like he had never even raised his voice, let alone a blade.