---
The police van rumbled through Tokyo's streets like a steel beast announcing the arrival of something far worse than a criminal. Sirens flanked the van on both sides — a full escort, dozens of cars, roaring through traffic as if escorting a king, not a murderer.
Akhil sat inside, relaxed, head resting against the cold van wall.
Every corner of Tokyo flashed by through the barred window — neon lights, pedestrians staring, officers sweating behind bulletproof glass.
But Akhil didn't care.
He was enjoying the show.
Waiting.
Breathing slowly like a man counting down to his own festival.
When the convoy reached Tokyo Metropolitan Police Headquarters, the gates opened like jaws welcoming prey. Officers were already lined up outside — rifles ready, fingers tight, eyes wide.
The doors opened.
Akhil stepped down, completely calm.
He walked inside until he reached the security check — and stopped.
"Where's John?" he asked.
The guard scoffed. "Who are you to get answers?"
Akhil didn't argue.
He simply reached into his pocket, pulled out a pen, uncapped it, and without hesitation stabbed the point straight into the guard's neck.
The guard screamed, collapsing, blood dripping down the metal detector.
Instant chaos.
Six officers crashed onto Akhil, pinning his arms, kicking the pen away, slamming him to the ground.
Guns clicked around him — twenty barrels aimed at his head.
Someone shouted, "DON'T MOVE!"
Another, "HE'S INSANE!"
Another, "SHOOT IF HE BLINKS!"
Footsteps thundered down the staircase.
John.
He stopped at the sight — twenty officers trying to contain one unarmed boy.
"What the hell is going on?" John barked.
Akhil lifted his head slightly, unfazed.
"John, I was waiting for you. I want you to check me… no one else."
A junior officer, hand trembling on the trigger, shouted, "NO, SIR— don't go near him! This guy is a monster! A complete psychopath!"
John walked forward anyway, eyes never leaving Akhil.
"Relax," John said coldly. "He's just a piece of cake."
Akhil smiled faintly. "Really?"
John gave a silent command — just a flick of his eyes.
The officers hesitated… then stepped back, forming a circle around the two. Guns stayed raised.
John searched Akhil's pockets thoroughly.
Nothing.
Just a stick of bubblegum.
John held it up. "Bubblegum? This is what you were hiding?"
Akhil smiled. "Can't you leave it? I saved it for tomorrow."
John's jaw tightened. "You'll get nothing tomorrow."
Then he snapped at the officers.
"No food. No water. No bathroom. Nothing. He survives on emptiness."
Akhil said nothing.
He just smiled — which pissed John off more than any threat could.
---
PRISON BLOCK – CELL NO. 09
Akhil changed into the prisoner uniform — white cloth, dull blue stripes, and a large 09 printed on the back.
As he walked through the corridor, prisoners peeked through bars whispering:
"Isn't he too young?"
"What crime did he commit?"
"He doesn't look dangerous."
"Maybe he killed someone?"
"Which gang is he from?"
Akhil didn't glance at any of them.
He was already thinking about tomorrow.
His tomorrow.
He reached his cell and stepped inside.
An old man lay on the ground, thin and wrinkled, blanket barely covering his bones.
Akhil sat in the corner silently.
The old man looked up. "What's your crime?"
"Murder," Akhil replied.
"Huh," the old man snorted. "Kids nowadays lose temper too easily."
Akhil smirked. "What's yours?"
"Robbed a bank."
Silence filled the room, broken only by distant metal doors slamming.
After a while, the old man asked, "When will you get out?"
"Tomorrow."
The old man blinked in shock.
Then he laughed. "Ah, you're young. They'll transfer you to another jail. That's why."
Akhil's smile sharpened. "What about you?"
"Four years more," the old man sighed.
Akhil asked softly, "Do you want to be free tomorrow?"
The old man stared. "Boy… I'm old. I can't run ten meters without dying. And you think you can break out of this prison?"
He pointed to the door.
"There are over 700 officers in this building. 400 have guns. The alarm system is built like a fortress. Even if someone escaped… they'd catch you in two hours."
Akhil closed his eyes.
"As you wish."
And he slept — peacefully.
Because he was waiting.
---
NEXT DAY — TSU, JAPAN – HINATA
Announcements echoed through the station. Students passed by in uniforms, businessmen rushed to platforms, and trains hissed like giant metal serpents.
Hinata stood alone.
She'd taken leave from school.
Her hands clutched the train handles as she boarded.
Every window reflection showed her face…
and Akira's memory right behind it.
Her heart was shaking.
But she was going to Tokyo.
Going to see Akhil.
Going to get answers.
---
TOKYO – PRISON MORNING
Akhil sat in the same corner, unfed, dehydrated, and visibly annoyed. He rubbed his wrists, bored.
The old man looked at him with a plate in hand.
"Where's your plate?" he asked.
Akhil replied, "They didn't give me any."
"Why?"
Akhil's voice lowered. "Sorry. Personal."
The old man hesitated… then pushed his plate toward him.
"Take it. If you don't want to share, I won't ask."
Akhil shook his head. "No need. You need energy to run."
The old man sighed. "Still clinging to that nonsense?"
"Yeah," Akhil said calmly.
"Whatever…" the old man muttered.
Akhil looked toward the bars, toward the guards, toward the long corridor drenched in silence.
Then he whispered, almost to himself:
"Just wait…
The more patient you are…
The more interesting it gets."
And for the first time in 24 hours, a cold excitement flickered in his eyes.
Tomorrow wasn't coming.
Tomorrow was already here.
---