Mao Li

One day, Mori Kogoro cheerfully came home after a few drinks. Streetlights lit the road, but made the stairwell seem even darker. The stairwell light had broken a few days earlier, and he'd been too lazy to fix it. As he climbed the stairs of the agency where he'd lived for more than a decade, he felt at ease, no matter how dark and eerie it was.

The second floor was no longer an agency. It had become a reception room, and was rarely used at night. As he passed the entrance, he glanced sideways at the tightly shut door.

Behind it, the annoying brat might be watching TV with his chin in his hands. His daughter's slender silhouette might be reflected on the kitchen wall. Or a drunk might be slumped over an office desk littered with liquor cans.

One had died. One had left.

Now, standing outside the door, all he could do was glance inside. After that one look, he walked away.

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