When reading Ryo Hara's The Detective of Angels, it becomes clear that what the detective truly cares about is not finding the culprit or seeking an appropriate punishment for the culprit. He is more interested in the city and the people he encounters along the way while searching for the criminal, rather than the search itself. After finding the culprit, his focus shifts to organizing the "story" between the culprit and the people around him. The discovery of the real criminal seems to be merely a good or successful outcome that follows as a secondary result of this process.

Indeed, the dictionary definition of a detective is "someone who secretly investigates and discovers other people's deep circumstances, or a person who does such work." A detective makes it his job to uncover the hidden details of a city without even the city itself being aware, and he deals with anyone who can testify to these circumstances from their own perspective. That's right. While it is the job of law enforcement agencies, such as the police or prosecutors, to determine who the criminal is among the many people involved in an incident, the detective's job is to listen to their stories and decide who is a witness and who is not.

To him, the criminal is not important. What matters is the story of those who witnessed the crime and how that story is assembled in a valid way. It must be returned to the client, saying, "This is what happened, this is how it all unfolded." (And it will be perceived as though it was originally the client’s own story.) Therefore, among the numerous individuals who could potentially be witnesses, he must select the one (including places, objects, etc.) who can provide something closest to the "story, the plausible circumstances" that he is seeking. But how? How can one know, when the story has yet to be formed, who will become the most credible witness in the future, the one closest to the truth?

Proximity. This is one of the motifs repeatedly presented in Mu:p’s performance. The audience, as the people involved in the performance—meaning those connected to it—are close to the performance as an "event." But how close? And to what extent? Shepherd’s Woes asks these questions, while lining up the audience in a passage. However, this line is not related to ranking. It does not determine who is closest to the essence of the performance. Of course, after a particular event occurs, someone might claim, "I was the one closest to the event, in the end." However, this kind of conclusion does not explain the tension created by the device that produces the event.

To be involved in a performance by Mu:p is to experience that physical proximity to the shepherds (the writers, actors) in the crowd does not correspond to the proximity to the event itself. What matters here is the fact that anything can happen in this passage, and that very fact makes the distance from what has occurred seem irrelevant. One can be far away and still be close, or be close and yet far away. Just because something happens right in front of me does not necessarily make me a key witness. Thus, paradoxically, I cannot help but feel tension. Regardless of my distance from the few "shepherds" leading the performance, the bell (鐘), or the body (corp), and regardless of how conscious I am of that distance, I will either become deeply entangled in what unfolds under the name of proximity or be left to drift completely detached from it.

Where was I while watching the performance? Who is my witness?

^{Mary, unlike her sister Martha, who was busy with household chores, "chose the better part" and sat beside the Lord. She was someone who always discerned, understood, and chose the aspects that did not belong to this world. (...) It is a life that approaches most closely the things that do not belong to this world, right in the midst of this life and this world. [ 1 ]}

However, according to what Mu:p paradoxically conveys through its performance, it is nearly impossible for our sheep to "choose the better part." ❶ The performance is now at night, in a passage. There is no order. The issue of proximity—or perhaps touch—also pertains to the problem of establishing a center in the conventional, classical sense. But in a passage, along the way, and at night, there is no precise center; and even if it exists, it does not matter whether our sheep have the ability to "discern, understand, and choose." ❷ If that's not the case, or if there is a more important reason, it is because the performance is at night, in a passage. There is no order. What unfolds under the name of proximity does not require distinguishing between better proximity and lesser proximity. It is simply the abyss, the night, and the passage. What the sheep must understand is this: the act of touching becomes important when witnessing becomes useless, and witnessing becomes useless when one is at the closest point.

We were all close. Throughout the performance, the shepherds, the audience, and the writers were all mixed together, and the act of "choosing the better part" and sitting beside the Lord was happening indiscriminately from all sides. In the passage. In the night. So, who is the better witness of this night? Can a detective of such a time, of such an era, select from among the many potential witnesses those who can offer something closest to the "story, the plausible circumstances" that he seeks—whether it be a person, place, or object? Perhaps the "shepherd’s woe" comes not from not knowing how to select, but from the realization that knowing how to select is meaningless, a realization that must inevitably be "performed" with the feeling that it must be done.