- 2.1 - The Lock Picked Locker (Introduction)

HIBARA

THE SIGHT OF the classroom of Grade 10 Section I was very displeasing to the eyes. It made me grimace as soon as I stepped into the room with Major Vargas following behind. Not to mention, the noise that echoed in my ears was more than enough to pound my head.

However, this bunch of annoying children can move like trained ninjas when a teacher is about to arrive. Everything, then, would be back to where it should be.

A pale female with long hair walked towards us—our Class Monitor and my seatmate—Loiella Casis.

“There’s only five minutes before the class starts,” she said and then glanced at the student behind me. “Luke, I’ve already marked you present. Take your seat.”

“Thanks, Ella!” The Major beamed and then jogged to his seat in the back row.

“You’re the transferee from last week, right?” Loiella turned to me.

“Yeah,” I blandly answered.

“I didn’t catch your name. You’re not talking to me even if we’re seatmates. Please don’t be offended. Just tell me your name so I can write it down here in our attendance folder.”

"I’m not in any way offended. I’m Hibara.”

The attendance folder is a list of students in a class and it is a monthly record of lateness, absence, and presence. Their names were printed in alphabetical order of surnames but since I am a transferee, my name is not on the list.

She wrote my name right below the last printed name on the attendance folder and I noticed the spelling to be mistaken.

"H-I-B-A-R-A is the spelling. If you don’t get that—Hotel, India, Bravo, Alpha, Recto, Alpha—is the spelling.”

And, as she wrote a letter A right after H, I knew she deserved to see me scowling. “Excuse me? I am not a fictional character from that detective show."

She apologized and borrowed a correction tape from a tan-skinned female with long hair and bangs. If I recall correctly, she is Michiko Rozwell, the daughter of the owners of Rozwell Compound. In short, she’s a rich kid and is also a bookworm based on her collections. I didn’t even need to visit her house to know that fact. I deduced it when I noticed that she brings different books to school each day.

Don’t get me wrong. I honestly don’t bother myself recalling unimportant figures, but Michiko’s social status makes her a hotshot in the eyes of criminals. Therefore, as a responsible citizen of this wretched country, I shall look out for her.

After our dear Class Monitor corrected my name, we walked together to the second row.

“Okay,” Loiella breathed as she sat down.

I placed my mint handbag beside me and mentally prepared myself to be lectured on things I already know about. However, this seatmate of mine decided to speak and disturb my train of thought.

“I’ll always talk to you even if you don’t respond, just so I can remember your name. And then, may I ask you something?”

I turned my head, facing her. “What is it?”

She glanced at the identification hanging around my neck. “Are you hiding your name because your family is some sort of illegal mafia?”

I stifled a laugh. “You’re asking the wrong person. Trust me.”

“So, you’re not mafia but someone else here is a mafia member?”

“I’m meant to say nothing regarding that matter.”

“You know who they are!” she whined and I rolled my eyes at her childish behavior.

“Duh, of course.” Why wouldn’t I know? It’s so easy to deduce.

Then, she huffed. “Your ID only states ‘Hibara W. C.’.”

I placed my elbow on my desk and my chin on my palm. “And?”

“Well, I don’t know your surname . . . but I’m assuming it’s with C and A . . . because we are seatmates.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “That’s all you have to say?” What a waste of my time.

Saved by the circumstance, our MAPEH teacher, Mrs. Andrea Torres entered the classroom.

She greeted us with a good morning, which we returned. And then, she let us take our seats.

After we were properly seated, Mrs. Torres said, "Class, please fall in line alphabetically. We will be having our P.E. class today and you need to change to your P.E. uniform."

You told us to sit and then tell us to fall in line. Are you playing with us?

But anyway, we followed and lined up by the hallway outside our classroom, Room 401. We will be heading to the Junior High Locker Rooms located on the third floor in 306 to 308. We kept our line as we arrived at the destination.

Our surprisingly very small number of boys, which is seven, went in first, followed by the A girls, B, and finally C.

I opened my locker labeled number 68 and took out my P.E. uniform and rubber shoes. As I did, I couldn’t help but notice a blonde head walking 'round and 'round the locker room.

He’s already wearing his P.E. uniform, his round eyeglasses hanging on the shirt. Oddly, he only has socks on his feet.

I asked, "What’s the matter, Esmilzo?"

He is Esmilzo Dy. You can easily distinguish him in our class because he’s the only blonde guy—which also made me recall his name. Do not be fooled by his handsome looks; he likes those who are handsome as well. Whoops, he doesn’t even know that I know. Hah, the science of deduction.

“My rubber shoes are missing! Someone must have taken it from my locker. The key is still with me so they possibly picked my padlock,” he answered, still roaming around the locker room.

“You know what, I’m getting dizzy watching you go round and round the garden like a teddy bear,” I said and he sat down on one of the benches located in the middle of the room.

Once settled, I offered, “I can help you. Where’s your locker?”

Esmilzo pointed to locker number 94 which is at the top layer of the four rows of lockers.

I reached for the padlock and inspected it using the pocket magnifying glass I always carry. He was right. There were scratches around the keyhole and it’s obvious that the one who took his shoes is not used to doing lock picking.

“What do they look like?” I asked while handing him the padlock I’d finished inspecting.

“It’s an original brand, color gray, and with black details. It was so expensive that I couldn’t afford to buy it myself. I asked for it from my godmother as a gift. I’m really frustrated!” Esmilzo described and explained how important the shoes are to him. I can now imagine how frustrated he must be.

I placed my shoes in front of him. “For today’s P.E., use mine. I haven’t even changed to my P.E. uniform and now I think I will not change anymore.”

I opened my locker and returned my shirt and jogging pants. He’s probably going to ask why, so I’ll give my answer in advance. “I’ll be looking for your shoes so I’ll skip the class. This Lock Picked Locker case is far more exciting than doing lame exercises.”

He looked at me and then at the shoes in front of him. "Your shoes don’t look like for girls. Thank you for lending them to me, Hibara. Good thing I have small feet." He chuckled and began to wear my shoes on his feet.

“Shoes with striking colors are not my type, especially pink,” I replied.

While he was tying the laces of my shoes, I asked, “Anyway, back to the case. Do you suspect anyone who might have stolen your shoes? They may be someone who showed envy at you for having such an expensive item or secretly staring at your shoes when you’re wearing them?”

“Toto told me Thursday last week that he likes my shoes because they’re good-looking. But if I am the detective, I’ll cross him out of the suspect list,” he said and the last sentence got me raising a brow.

"Why would you do such a decision?"

“In my view, what kind of thief would come to your house, knock on your door, and announce, ‘Hi, we’re going to steal from you!’? Wouldn’t they look dumb?” Esmilzo reasoned. Hmm. . . .

I can’t deny he’s got a point there, but I still need to talk to Toto. His statement is not enough to prove that the guy must be crossed off the list.

"We still need to interrogate him, just to be sure that he's innocent. Who are your other suspects?" I told him while also thinking about who those people capable of lock picking are, except for me.

Of course, I already have my Master’s Degree in that field. If I were the thief, I wouldn’t be leaving any traces of lock picking like those scratches I found on his locker’s padlock.

“Maybe . . . Levy. I kinda noticed him staring at my shoes or at me if I’m wearing them. He moves his gaze away when I look at him. Now that my shoes are gone, I couldn’t help but feel suspicious about his actions,” he spoke in a way that his words become heavier and heavier by the end of the sentence.

“Alright . . . What if the thief is a female? Do you have anyone? Both your suspects are males,” I suggested and then he fell into deep thought.

“If it’s female. . . . Irish! It must be Irish, the shortest kid in our section. Since I got those shoes, she’d been talking non-stop about some kind of shoes she wanted to buy but someone beat her to it. Right now, I’m suddenly feeling that maybe she’s talking about mine!” Esmilzo stated as he threw a death glare at the door that closed behind the very girl we were talking about: Irish Francisco.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, he looked at me and said, “Why am I even telling you all this? And why are you saying that you’re more interested in helping me find my shoes rather than joining the P.E. class? I should’ve just gone straight to The Forensic Club and referred my case.”

I got slightly irritated with that last sentence. Just slightly.

"I will handle your case. You won’t need those detective wannabes.” I placed my right hand on my heart as if I was going to sing the national anthem of the country. “I am the former president of the CSD Detective Club.”

Esmilzo’s eyes widened upon hearing the school’s initials come from my mouth. “You’re from CSD?!”

I nodded.

“CSD, as in . . . Colegio de Santo Domingo?”

I nodded once more. I swear, if this continues, I’ll rip his head off.

Finally, he did not repeat the same question. “What the fudge— you're brilliant!”

“I know,” I snickered arrogantly.

“Why did you transfer here? Nothing’s special here. CSD is a prestigious school and they have been rivals with AMU since . . . I don’t know when.”

“It’s boring there now. I have already captured and brought to jail the school’s Moriarty or in much simpler terms, the Napoleon of Crime,” I answered.

He opened his mouth and was about to throw another batch of questions when I shut him off. "By the way, shouldn’t you be at the gymnasium now? It’s just the two of us left here. If Mrs. Torres looks for me, tell her I’m solving a case.”

“W-Wait! Wait!”

“What?” This is seriously annoying now.

“Are you serious, Hibara? I’ll tell her you’re solving a case? You won’t be excused; you’re not a member of The Forensic—”

“Ah-ah-ah!” I cut him short. “Please don’t mention that disgusting club name or any of their members’ names in front of me. Those detective wannabes are nothing compared to my level. Also, the school personnel know that I am a detective! Mrs. Torres would definitely mark me excused in today’s P.E.”

I showed him my detective ID that was given after my batch's graduation from UFD and then placed it back in my wallet before continuing.

“Have you heard of the girl who jumped down our building?”

“Yeah, it’s like ‘the talk of the town’ thing today. Why?”

“What else do you know about the suicide case?”

“I heard that Jacob was outsmarted by a young female student— WAS THAT YOU?”

“Indeed, I am.” I smiled proudly.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, placing his hands on his head.

I sneered. “Oh, please! Don’t exaggerate. That case didn’t even need much of my abilities.”

“Why didn’t he just ask you to be part of his club?” he asked and I just shrugged.

“Well, maybe he didn’t want me overthrowing him as the club president or he enjoys having a rival. I bet on the latter.”

“If you solve my case, I’ll be on your side in this ‘battle of wits’, something.” He smiled.

"Hey, enough chatter! You’re very late now!" I hit him on the shoulder and laughed when he suddenly ran out of the locker room.

“Bye, Hibara! I’ll return your shoes tomorrow! I’ll wash it later! Thank you!” he shouted through the hallway.