---
Kento ended the call and glanced down at the street from his apartment balcony. He saw Akira walking toward the school gate with the same cold, careless stride. The sun was sharp, but Akira didn't squint—his shadow looked heavier than his body.
Kento whispered to himself,
"Let's wait for night…"
His phone buzzed.
John calling.
He stared at the screen, his thumb hesitating over the green icon.
But he didn't pick up.
"Sorry, buddy…" Kento muttered, slipping the phone back into his pocket, "I don't think you'll be able to keep your promise."
---
Scene change – Police Station, Tsu City
The station was old, but alive. A place where the ceiling fans spun endlessly as if trying to drown the heat of desperation. The plaster on the walls peeled at the corners, showing the bones of a system long exhausted. Posters with faded "WANTED" faces flapped near dusty windows. You could smell dried ink, cheap coffee, and leftover frustration.
Desks were cramped with half-eaten snacks, ashtrays, stacks of reports, and chipped mugs. Phones rang without being answered. A clock on the far wall ticked too loudly, but no one dared fix it.
John stood near the entrance, his coat folded over his arm, his eyes scanning a murder report.
"Sir is calling you in," a junior officer said.
John exhaled, irritated. He didn't like "Sir." Or more precisely, the woman they now called Sir.
---
Inside the interrogation room, not used for interrogations anymore...
She sat there, legs crossed, a pen between her fingers but untouched.
A woman—maybe 25, no older—but with a gaze that made even seasoned cops sit straight.
Her hair was deep black, almost ink-like, falling far past her waist. Not straight—thick, slightly wavy, as if it carried storms in each strand. Her uniform wasn't regulation-tight, but the way she wore it made it look like a throne.
A silver badge glittered over her chest—Chief Officer Ritsuka Arami.
She looked up and smiled without warmth.
"Welcome, Mr. Yathah."
John flinched. "Don't call me that, please."
She tilted her head slightly. "As you wish."
Then she stood and walked over to the window, looking down at the buzzing city. Her voice was soft, like silk covering a knife.
"I want results, Mr. John. These murders in Tsu… they stink."
John tried to speak. "Ma'am, let me explain—"
"I'm not interested," she cut him off, spinning back toward him.
"But ma'am—"
"Nothing more. Just results. You have one week."
John's jaw tensed. He wanted to scream. But his voice came out calm, almost empty.
"Okay, ma'am."
He turned, left the room, and stepped out of the building.
Outside, the sky had dimmed, and traffic honked like it was trying to escape itself. John reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarette packet—empty.
He stared at it, crushed it slowly in his palm, and whispered,
"What the hell are you doing, Kento?"
---
A cab pulled up.
He stepped inside and told the driver:
"Take me to 2 o'clock Restaurant."
The car started rolling into the sea of chaos.
---
Back inside the station...
Ritsuka stood near the same window, her arms folded. She watched the cab disappear into traffic.
Another officer stepped beside her and asked,
"Do you think he can do it?"
She didn't answer immediately. Then she smiled—calmly, confidently.
"He has to. Otherwise…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
But the silence that followed said more than any threat ever could.
---