Please support the translation by reading the translation and commenting on otakutl official site.
Thank you.
Everyone from Otaku Translation
Chapter 28: A Unique Style!
[Perhaps due to some undiagnosed mental illness, Sanro Shoda finds no interest in games, work, or activities of any kind. To him, the world is utterly devoid of joy.
From his school days through graduation, he barely attended classes even once a year…]
The opening was intriguing enough. This guy, Sanro Shoda, was so apathetic that he couldn’t muster enthusiasm for anything—not gambling, drugs, or even toxic thrills. Han Cang furrowed his brow as he read on.
Since Arthur Conan Doyle ushered in the golden age of detective fiction, detectives had evolved from flawless heroes into flawed, relatable "ordinary people." But portraying someone who does absolutely nothing—just mooching off their family and waiting to die—felt excessive, didn’t it?
Still, the writing style grabbed Han Cang’s attention. Take this line: “At twenty-five, despite constantly talking about suicide, he lacked the courage to end his life and has been dragging out his existence ever since.” It struck a chord with readers, and for the sake of its sharp prose alone, Han Cang resolved to take this piece seriously.
“Well, I overthought it,” Han Cang muttered to himself. “So Sanro Shoda is the killer?” He nodded appreciatively; starting the story from the murderer’s perspective was an interesting twist.
The detective in the tale was Kogoro Akechi (Wu Mingzhi), a Chinese international student and self-proclaimed friend of Sanro’s. However, based on the narrative, Akechi seemed less like a friend and more like someone studying Sanro as a fascinating psychological specimen. After all, Sanro’s mental state made for quite the peculiar case study.
It was during one of their casual chats at a café that Sanro rediscovered a spark of interest—in crime. Listening to Akechi recount mysterious criminal cases reignited something deep within him.
To be precise, it awakened a latent penchant for wrongdoing.
Sanro began devouring books on crime, reading voraciously until his blood boiled with excitement. Yet, for all his fantasies, he never dared act on them. The more he learned about criminal cases, the clearer it became that even the most meticulous crimes left traces. While he didn’t care much about living, he certainly didn’t want to face the disappointed stares of his relatives after being exposed.
As the internet often joked, “If you’re going to get hit by a car, make sure to clear your browser history before losing consciousness.” In other words, death might be acceptable—but social death? Never.
“This guy’s teetering on the edge,” Han Cang murmured, falling into his habit of editorial commentary. “All he needs now is one final push to spiral completely out of control.”
Ordinary readers would have raced ahead, eager to devour every page of such a gripping story. Even if they wanted to praise it, they’d wait until finishing.
And just as junior editor Han Cang predicted, Sanro soon began committing “copycat crimes”—pretending to be a thief following people around. But it wasn’t long before these harmless imitations failed to satisfy him.
The thrill of crime lay in its inherent risk. Pretending meant no real danger—and thus, no real excitement.
Before long, the “push” Han Cang anticipated arrived. Sanro moved into a newly constructed building called Sokokuchikan. One day, while exploring the attic, he pushed open a section of the ceiling and discovered a new source of entertainment: voyeurism!
The Stalker in the Attic—the title clicked into place. From then on, spying on the lives of Sokokuchikan’s tenants became Sanro’s greatest daily pleasure.
He watched shamelessly—office workers, students, schemers, even college baseball players—all harboring secrets behind closed doors.
“This trope of monitoring others’ lives is classic suspense cinema,” Han Cang remarked. “Now I see why the author chose a Japanese setting. First, the protagonist spies through gaps in the ceiling. Given Japan’s frequent earthquakes, urban buildings are often wooden structures, leaving natural cracks for peeping.”
In contrast, domestic settings—especially modern cities full of high-rises—wouldn’t allow for such opportunities. Wooden architecture was practically nonexistent.
“Besides, private detectives aren’t legal here,” Han Cang chuckled. As an editor, he frequently interacted with authors. In China, detectives were always secondary characters, doubling as forensic experts, lawyers, or police officers.
One day, while prowling the attic as usual, Sanro noticed a loose panel in the ceiling. Removing it, he found Endo, a dental student snoring loudly with his mouth wide open.
Sanro decided to kill Endo. [There was no deep-seated grudge between them, nor had they known each other for more than two weeks. They’d exchanged brief visits when moving into Sokokuchikan simultaneously but shared no further connection.]
If pressed, perhaps Sanro simply disliked Endo’s appearance. Killing him was convenient—he had motiveless opportunity and minimal risk of suspicion.
At twenty thousand words, this novella-length piece didn’t take Han Cang long to finish, even with his thorough editorial approach.
“This mystery novel is… strange,” Han Cang struggled to articulate. “The protagonist, Akechi, is… rare.”
Despite his extensive experience reading mysteries, Han Cang couldn’t find the right words. The story opened from the killer’s perspective, detailing both the murder and the crime process explicitly. The sole “minor” issue? Sanro Shoda executed a perfect crime, leaving zero evidence behind.
Thus, unlike traditional detectives searching for clues or unraveling puzzles, Akechi relied entirely on psychological warfare.
He deliberately provoked Sanro, asking him to revisit the crime scene, and mimicked Sanro’s behavior by wandering the attic himself.
“Tricking the culprit is a common trope in mystery novels,” Han Cang reflected. “Many stories hinge on the detective exploiting loopholes in the killer’s statements.” He could name dozens of examples where similar tactics resolved otherwise unsolvable mysteries. “But why does this story feel so fresh and seamless instead of clichéd?”
After careful analysis, Han Cang identified three reasons:
“First, the story begins from the killer’s perspective—we know more than the detective, eliminating anticipation.”
“Second, the narrative focuses heavily on the killer’s psyche. Psychological manipulation aligns perfectly with the tone throughout.”
“Finally, since there’s no physical evidence, psychological tactics become the only viable solution. What an unusual mystery novel! Let me check the author’s name—Gu Lu. Got it. You’ve left quite the impression.”
Han Cang prided himself on knowing nearly every prominent mystery writer in the country, yet none wrote in this distinctive style.
The lingering unease was genuine. Sanro killed without reason, merely seizing an opportunity.
The only minor flaw was a slight inaccuracy regarding Japan’s geography: “町” already means “street” or “town,” so adding another “街” was redundant. Having been sent to Japan annually for work, Han Cang knew this well.
He suspected it stemmed from the author’s lack of overseas travel experience.
“Wait, there are two more submissions here: Murder on D Street and Doctor Mera's Mysterious Crimes. Three stories altogether.”
Instead of diving straight into the next one, Han Cang reached into his drawer, pulled out a loaf of bread, and started munching. It reminded him of his college days, eating plain bread while devouring Ellery Queen’s The Tragedy of X in his dorm room.
Physically, the meal was nothing special—but spiritually, it was a feast.
Though Han Cang wouldn’t compare this work to Christie or Queen, the unpredictability of the plot stirred nostalgia for those classics.
Murder on D Street and Doctor Mera's Mysterious Crimes shared the same style—not reliant on elaborate tricks but focused on breaking down the killer’s psychological defenses.
“This style of mystery fiction stands apart!” Han Cang declared emphatically. Even though further rounds of review awaited, based on his judgment, there was a 99% chance these pieces would pass.
A singular voice in the genre had emerged, and Han Cang couldn’t help but feel excited.
If you like this project, please vote for this novel through the above link, thank you.
Join our discord you will receive update notification
If you would like to support this translation, you may choose any one of the options below.
How to find a list of chapters
Please find the chapter label next to your favorite translator's name, and click the label.
