"Is this the main point!" Minamoto Tamako slammed the receipt on the table, hitting it repeatedly as if it were Fushimi-kun's face: "The point is that all the waiters can testify that the wife went for this dinner that night."

"Did she finish it all? Quite an appetite, or maybe the portions at the restaurant were small," Fushimi Roku shook his head disapprovingly, "Bad review, not going there again."

"She didn't drink the abalone miso soup because Kujo... I mean, because the deceased was a foreigner, didn't like Japanese miso soup, said it was too bland."

Minamoto Tamako slammed the table angrily again, the bowls and chopsticks clattering: "No, that's not the main point either! The main point is, according to the forensic report, the food remnants in the wife's stomach matched the receipt items, and based on the digestion state, we can pinpoint the time of death at 11 p.m."

"And this one?" Fushimi Roku asked.

"This one belongs to the mistress. She dined at a French restaurant at 9 p.m. that night; her stomach contents also matched the receipt items, and her time of death was also 11 p.m.," Minamoto Tamako warned, "Stop saying she ate better than you."

"Lorraine Quiche... just that?" Fushimi Roku shook his head, "She can't compare with my dinner."

"..."

Minamoto Tamako ignored his comment and continued, "The train service stops at 11 p.m., and the fastest travel time from Otaru City to Sapporo City is an hour and a half, so theoretically, the killer couldn't have committed the crime in both places!"

"I know that, why repeat it?" Fushimi Roku asked.

Minamoto Tamako just felt that saying it like that sounded impressive, like something a famous detective would say, so she did. Now she was called out by Fushimi Roku, and couldn't help but retort, "Now all the evidence is in front of you, the time of death cannot be faked. Do you have anything else to say?"

Fushimi Roku, eating mixed rice again, looked at her as if she were an idiot, "Even if you disproved me, what's the use? Haven't you deduced nothing? You might as well take the deceased's photo and confirm it. Seeing is believing."

Bringing this up made Minamoto Tamako a little upset. She quietly put away the receipt, muttering, "The police can't take photos to question people."

"Why not?" Fushimi Roku asked.

"Kujo Family's affairs, how can they be conveniently publicized everywhere? Moreover, the wife's identity is sensitive. Carrying around a foreigner's photo for questioning might attract journalists' attention and potentially escalate to a diplomatic issue."

Imitating the police chief's tone, Minamoto Tamako said, "Given the current international situation, the big country to the north is always negotiating, and the Kujo Family doesn't want to lose face. Absolutely no more disturbances should happen… what's most important is stability; we mustn't stir public opinion. During investigations, just describing the features is enough…"

After speaking, she propped her little hand on her face and sighed deeply.

It seemed that Minamoto Tamako had faced many constraints during her investigation, making her somewhat gloomy when talking about it.

Fushimi Roku reconsidered and thought that indeed there was no need to take photos.

After all, Kujo Yuka was a foreigner with very distinctive features; it was unlikely that so many waiters could simultaneously mistake her—besides, she had a dining receipt, and her stomach contained the dinner she ate that night.

If the time and location were both correct, and the suspect was only Kujo Hikari, how did he manage to kill in two places at the same time?

Fushimi Roku really couldn't figure it out, and he wasn't bothered to think about it. He thought things would naturally resolve themselves eventually; if they couldn't figure it out, just hit the streets and find some unlucky wretch to take the fall.

He finished a large bowl of mixed rice with a slurp, licked his lips, leaned on his cane, and went to the fridge to get a drink.

Minamoto Tamako had said all that, and hadn't even started eating. She quickly sat back down, picked up her chopsticks, just as Taira Sakurako clasped her hands together and said softly, "I'm full."

"Eh, don't you want to eat a bit more?" Minamoto Tamako hurriedly served her some vegetables, "You're still growing, eat more meat to grow taller in the future."

"No more, I'm very satisfied with my height now." Taira Sakurako jumped down from the chair.

"When you grow up, you'll know how being short disadvantages you."

Minamoto Tamako lamented, forcibly persuaded Taira Sakurako to eat two more bites of fish before she could eat her own meal contentedly.

She gobbled up her food, hoping to finish quickly so she could talk to Fushimi-kun about the case sooner. Unfortunately, her mouth had a limited capacity; even if her cheeks were puffed like a hamster, she couldn't speed up.

Nearly twenty minutes later, Minamoto Tamako, full and satisfied, wiped her little mouth, put the bowls in the sink to soak, and hurriedly went to find Fushimi Roku who was half-lying on the tatami.

At that moment, Fushimi Roku was reading an instruction manual; he had bought a lot of souvenirs today, some of which required self-assembly.

Especially that darn music box, he still had to assemble it himself.

Various small parts were scattered on the tatami. Fushimi Roku was assembling according to the manual when Minamoto Tamako suddenly popped over, using a narration tone, "At this time, Fushimi the assistant was fiddling with the music box… suddenly, inspiration struck him from his assembling technique, and he vaguely perceived the killer's modus operandi…"

"Not at all," Fushimi Roku didn't lift his head, "why aren't you washing the dishes after eating?"

"The rumor deduction game isn't over yet, let's chat a bit more, and I'll wash later…" Minamoto Tamako paused, then added, "Or Sakurako can wash them."

Saying that, she turned her head, called into the room, "Sakurako, want a part-time job doing house chores?"

Taira Sakurako peeked her little head out from the doorframe, asked, "What kind of part-time job?"

Minamoto Tamako pulled a small piggy bank from her pocket, extracted a coin, "Washing dishes, 100 yen, how about it?"

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