The precinct buzzed with routine chatter, but Seigi felt disconnected from it all. His desk sat in the corner, drowning beneath papers, reports, and half-empty coffee cups. Strings of red thread and printouts peeked from the edges of his folders, threatening to spill the secret obsession he tried so hard to mask.
Renji Takeda sat at the desk opposite, tapping his pen against a half-completed report. He glanced at Seigi's clutter with the faintest crease in his brow. "You're going to drown in that mess one day," he said lightly. But there wasn't real humour in his voice—just unease.
"Better drowned than blind," Seigi muttered, not looking up.
Renji studied him for a moment longer, as though weighing whether to push. Then, with a small sigh, he went back to his paperwork.
Detective Sato noticed, of course. He always did.
"Seigi," Sato's gravelly voice cut through the hum of the room. "Walk with me."
The older man didn't ask—it was an order wrapped in gentleness. Seigi rose, buttoning his blazer. Renji looked up from his desk, brows knitting.
"Everything okay?"
"Just a talk," Sato said shortly, already moving toward the door.
Renji hesitated, eyes flicking between the two men. Then he offered Seigi a small nod, as if to say don't do anything stupid.
Seigi followed Sato out into the crisp evening air.
---
They walked in silence at first, past neon-lit storefronts where the glass still hummed faintly with fluorescent buzz. A pair of drunks stumbled out of a karaoke bar, arguing loudly about who had won the last round. Their laughter cut across the night like broken glass, before dissolving into curses and an awkward embrace.
Sato led them away from the noise, down a quieter street lined with shuttered shops and flickering vending machines. The older man stopped near the curb, lighting a cigarette. The flame flared, catching the sharp lines of his face, then dulled as he exhaled smoke into the cool night.
"You're chasing something," Sato said. The words weren't a question.
Seigi's jaw tightened. He wanted to brush it off, pretend it was just stress or overwork. But lying to Sato felt wrong.
"I saw something," Seigi admitted at last. "Something that doesn't make sense. And I can't let it go."
Sato's eyes, sharp beneath the haze of smoke, studied him. Then he looked away, following the passing headlights.
"The world's full of things that don't make sense," he said. "You keep digging, and you'll find shadows staring back at you. Some shadows don't like being seen."
The phrasing tugged at Seigi—an echo. His grandmother had once said something similar, when telling him those old sengoku tales twisted into stories of heroes and villains. "There are battles you win by seeing the unseen, but be careful, Seigi—some things will see you back."
Seigi frowned. "So you're saying I should just look the other way?"
"I'm saying be careful what truth you decide is worth your life," Sato replied, his tone heavy with meaning.
The words settled in Seigi's chest like stones. But beneath the weight, a stubborn flame still burned.
"I can't stop," he whispered. "Not this time. If there are people out there who can do things… things beyond human limits… then I need to know. I need to see it for myself."
Sato flicked his cigarette into the gutter, watching the ember die. He sighed. "You always were a stubborn kid. Just promise me one thing."
"What's that?"
"When the time comes, don't lose yourself chasing something you don't understand. Heroes don't get to choose how their story ends."
For a moment, Seigi almost laughed. Heroes. Everyone kept using that word like it was foreign currency, passed around without value. But to him, it meant everything. A hero wasn't just someone who saved lives. It was someone who stood up when the world told you to sit down. Someone who didn't just exist in the light but carried it into the dark, no matter the cost.
The warning hung heavy between them. Seigi wanted to promise, but he couldn't. Not when he already knew he was past the point of no return.
---
That night, Seigi sat in his car, parked beneath the glow of the harbour lights. His heart thudded against his ribs as he stared at the shadowy outlines of shipping containers stacked like giant tombstones. The smell of salt and rust clung to the air, the metallic groan of chains carrying across the water like tired voices.
The docks.
The tip-off had come quietly, buried in the chatter of criminals he'd been monitoring. A meeting. Strange men in cloaks. Movement that didn't fit the usual smuggling patterns.
He adjusted the holster under his jacket and breathed deep, hand lingering over the grip longer than usual.
"This is it," he muttered. "No more questions. Time for answers."
In his mind, his grandmother's voice overlapped with Sato's. Some shadows don't like being seen. He almost smiled. "Then let's see who blinks first."
The night was still, save for the occasional creak of metal and the distant call of gulls. Seigi crept between the containers, each step sinking him deeper into the dark.
Unaware that Renji, parked several blocks away under orders he couldn't refuse, was already on a phone call he didn't want to be making.