"What do you think, Tsukikage?" said Mr. Pukowski standing behind the crime scene's caution tape.
"Hold on, give me a second" my bare hand was already on the cold tiled floor.
There have been a series of murders recently revolving around The Sealed in Montreach, About six in the last month.
Sealed are people who possess magical abilities from birth.
I am one of them. Blessed by the goddess Noctis Aeva – The Veiled Watcher. Memory, Shadows, and Forgotten Truths.
A Seal Isn't some mystical glow or elegant marking—it's an ink-dark engraving burned into your skin, like a cursed birthmark that never lets you forget you're different.
And the worst part? A few Sealed who step out of line are all it takes for the rest of us to be judged. Every mistake they make becomes another reason for people to fear us… even those like me—a junior detective seeking justice for people sealed or not, it isn't easy.
A goddess's blessing feels more like a curse, given how hated they are.
"If we were made in the image of man, they were made in the image of something else."
I once overheard a man say that, low enough that he probably thought I couldn't hear. I was sitting at my usual coffee spot, hands wrapped around a mug that had long gone lukewarm, pretending not to notice the way every conversation in the room bent slightly away from me.
"Hey, Tsukikage found anything?" Mr. Pukowski said dragging me back to reality.
"There was definitely some kind of disagreement," I said, keeping my eyes on the floor as I traced the scene. "I'm still piecing things together. Please wait until I've finished my investigation."
I can recreate recollections of DNA from up to the past 24 hours, not perfectly or cleanly, but just smudged fragments, blurry silhouettes and moments half-lost to time.
Basically if I focus, and If I look just right— I can see it. Exactly what happened. Like truth buried under water… waiting to be pulled out before it fades forever.
"There."
I lift my hand and point toward the shattered window.
"He dove out in a hurry. Into a getaway car—looked like a sedan, maybe silver. Hard to tell through the haze." I pause, narrowing my eyes at the echo flickering across the floor.
Mr. Pukowski nods, listening intently.
"The two maids walked in a few seconds later. They saw him die." My voice dips. "They panicked. Froze. Didn't know what to do, I suppose."
There's a silence between us, heavy and expectant.
"The attacker killed him… then bolted. I saw him snatch something off the desk on his way out—looked like a briefcase, but I couldn't tell what was inside. Could've been money… or something worth a whole lot more. Whatever it was, he clutched it like it was something important to him."
"So… the maids are clear?" a higher up of The Defense of Justice standing with Pukowski asks. I don't answer right away. Instead, I glance sideways at him—just enough for him to see the sharp edge in my expression— And give a single, silent nod.
The Defense of Justice… an organization that uses Sealed for the jobs too dangerous for anyone else. Makes sense—they'd rather lose one of us than a regular human. I get it. I've always gotten it.
I wasn't the strongest or the biggest—not by a long shot. Honestly, I'm barely half the size of the people I work beside, and nowhere near as tough. Fighting was never exactly my talent.
The Defense of Justice has brought us together —The Sealed—, assigned us tasks only we can do. But make no mistake—this isn't a prison sentence. It's a job. A calling. I'm here because I chose to be, not because anyone forced me into it…But I can't say the same for others ...
Some of the Sealed weren't given a choice at all—hunted down, collared, and brought here under the guise of rehabilitation.
Even a single slip, a moment where someone's ability accidentally caused harm, marked them as a threat to all of mankind.
I never claimed the Defense of Justice was untouched by darkness—far from it. But that's the way things are here. The system's cracked, crooked in places, and some of us get caught in those breaks whether we deserve it or not.
"Tsukikage." The voice slices through the office hum—calm, familiar.
"Yes, sir. Commanding Officer Higgins," I replied, straightening my posture on instinct.
Higgins—Commander of the entire Defense of Justice System, head of the Detective Division—filled the doorway with that effortless authority he carried everywhere. Clipboard in hand. Expression unreadable.
I looked up from my case notes, pulse ticking faster with every second he didn't speak.
And it wasn't fear—not even close.
It was excitement.
The kind that bubbles up in your chest when you've waited your whole life to finally be seen as more than a kid… to be seen as an independent woman who earned her place.
The chief told me this day was coming.
The promotion.
I'm finally going to be a Senior Detective. After everything I've done, "Sir, thank you— I—"
He hands me the clipboard with a neutral expression, completely cutting through my words.
"Here's your transfer notice. You'll be reporting directly to your new senior starting today."
I blink, processing the words. Wait… new senior? My fingers tighten slightly around the edges of the paper as I skim it—and my stomach sinks.
It's not a promotion. It's replacement paperwork. The commander continues.
"This is Takakuma Renji. He's transferring in from the England branch to replace Detective Jiro, who's been moved out of state.
Takakuma's dependable—his record is known across the department. You'll be partnered with him going forward."
Footsteps approached from the hall. Heavy, threatening, even.
Then he stepped in.
Takakuma Renji.
He moved into the room with a calm, steady presence, each step measured, as if the air itself obeyed him.
His gaze swept across the faces around him, sharp but relaxed, clearly searching for something—or someone.
Tall, broad-shouldered, late twenties or early thirties—the kind of frame that should've been imposing, softened only by the easy smile on his face.
A plain white collared shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal strong, corded forearms, gave him a casual, approachable look.
And it wasn't just his size that caught me off guard—though that alone was enough to make me freeze.
It was his eyes.
At first, they were sharp, almost angry-looking, the kind of stare that makes you brace without thinking.
But then—just for a moment—they softened, melting into this goofy, good-natured grin that didn't match his rough edges at all.
He looked less like some big-shot coming to take control and more like the kind of guy who'd lend you a hand just because it seemed fun.
"E-excuse me, you're Takakuma , right?—" I said trying to be as professional as possible.
He blinked at me, head tilting slightly, confusion painted across his face.
Then suddenly—a hand landed right on top of my head.
"Ha—haha— so where's Tsukikage? And… who's this cute kid?"
Everything went silent.
My eye twitched.
Cute kid? Are you serious?
I couldn't even enjoy the fact that someone—finally—called me cute, because calling me a kid right after completely drowned it out.
I refused to be treated like a child.
I straightened, forcing my voice steady.
"Who the hell are you callin'—"
Before I could finish, the commander snorted.
"You're funny, Takakuma," he said, half-laughing under his breath.
"You two are going to be together for a while. Get to know each other. I'll send an updated case file in a bit."
Takakuma stood there scratching the back of his head, with a innocent yet confused grin towering over me, clearly puzzled that his new partner was a girl so short she could've been mistaken for a child.
The commander gestured toward a stack of folders. "This one's delicate—Case 47, the Moriyama Seal murder. Tsukikage, you know this case; you've been here before. But Takakuma uncovered some new evidence, which is why he's back in this district."
Moriyama Seal… I thought, narrowing my eyes. The case was open-and-shut. There's nothing left to uncover. There's no way this guy found evidence I couldn't even get using my Seal abilities.
I looked up at Takakuma—and froze. His easy, warm smile from earlier was gone. In its place was a serious, unreadable expression, his sharp gaze locked on the files like they held the weight of the world.
He looked… intimidating. Not the approachable man I'd just seen, but someone who could crush me if he wanted.
"Go through the files carefully—witness statements, timelines, everything. I don't expect this to be solved in a day or a week, so take your time. Handle it properly."
Then he turned and walked toward the hall, leaving us alone.
◈◇◈◇◈◇◈◇
We sat on a bench nearby, still within the perimeter of the crime scene, He was absorbed in the files, flipping through pages with that same serious focus from earlier.
What's he thinking right now? I wondered, stealing a glance at him without turning my head too obviously.
Ugh, just act normal, Tsukikage, act normal…
"…So," he finally says, "how are you doing, Tsukikage?" I jerked my gaze away, pretending to study the ground.
I don't reply. Not because I'm angry. I'm just… No—wait, that is being angry. Damn it!
He scratches his head, trying again. "Oh, I get it. You're the quiet type." His grin tilts. "Pretty promising junior, though."
This guy. The one who just mistook me for a child. And now he's calling me promising?
"Thanks," I say, flat but polite.
…
I wait, half-expecting him to ask the obvious: how I closed the Kanda arson case in under a week, or what it was like tracking the serial break-ins across three prefectures, or maybe even how I managed to pull a confession out of a suspect twice my size without raising my voice once. I've worked my ass off and built a record sharper than most veterans.
And he's flipping through old, outdated files as if they hold some secret he's desperate to uncover, like the words on those pages are far more fascinating than anything I could've possibly done.
Damn it! This lack of acknowledgment is driving me nuts. Is this why he got the promotion over me? Because I look like some inexperienced kid?
Then—one of his eyes flicks up, just for a moment, and lands on me.
"GUH-HA-HA-HA!" His laugh burst out of nowhere, shaking the walls with its weight—yet beneath all that noise, it carried this ridiculous, warmth, like a dad suddenly remembering a dumb joke days too late.
I straightened my shoulders. "What's so funny, huh?" I snapped.
"Nothing," he says, grinning, and then—before I can even blink—he leans over and lightly tussles the top of my head. Just like earlier, when he mistook me for a kid.
"Wha—what are you doing?!" I yelp, swatting at his hand.
"Let's go, Tsukikage," he exclaims, pushing himself to his feet with a newfound energy.
"Where are we going?" I ask, raising an eyebrow, trying to hide the mix of irritation and curiosity bubbling up inside me.
"To grab something to eat—I'm starving," he chuckled.
I'd never really understood what a chuckle sounded like until this guy did it, deep, steady, and full of warmth.
I scowled. "You're starving already? We literally just met—shouldn't we be working or something?"
"The case files aren't ready yet," he said with a shrug. "And what better way to kill time than grabbing some food?"
He let out a low, easy laugh.
"Work goes better on a full stomach anyway. Besides—my junior's gotta eat too, right?"
"My junior…" I muttered, heat prickling my cheeks. "Don't call me that. It sounds patronizing."
"Anyway," I said quickly, trying to recover. "Officer Higgins mentioned you found more evidence about the Nineteenth Precinct case. I was wondering what you discovered?"
Takakuma smirked. "Oh, that? …Yeah, I'm not telling you yet."
I blinked. "What? Why?"
He waggled a finger at me like I was a stubborn child. "Because I'm not about to let you interrogate me on an empty stomach." His grin widened, bright and annoyingly confident. "Your face probably gets all scrunchy when you're hungry, right?"
"I do not—"
"See? You're doing it now," he laughed. "Come on. Food first, questions later. Maybe."
I crossed my arms, glaring up at him. "…You're ridiculous."
But even as I said it, I found myself following.
◈◇◈◇◈◇◈◇
We leave the restricted area—crime scene tape flapping behind us—and step into broad daylight.
Montreach looks almost peaceful when the sun's up. Old stone buildings lean against each other like drunks, patched together with brick, tile, and whatever else kept the rain out. The city's beautiful in that lopsided way, like someone started designing it and quit halfway.
As we walked past the shopping district and into the city, I noticed some people staring at me. Of course, people stare. They always do. A girl with giant markings circling her neck like some cursed choker? Yeah, no one ever ignores that. Everyone knows what it means—I'm Sealed.
And naturally, people have every reason to be afraid of what that means. Because if I wanted to, I could trace what they did. Even if it was a crime — even if it wasn't — I could still follow the echo. I'd know where they've been. Where they live. What they tried to hide.
So it makes sense why they would look at me like that.
Along with my DNA recollection, I can turn invisible at will.
Well... sort of.
It's not perfect invisibility—more like a warping shimmer, a bending of light and reflection. It hides me, and anything in direct contact with my bare skin. Clothes, shoes, even hair—it all goes with me. Cleaner than you'd think.
It doesn't work well in bright, open spaces. The trick works best in shadows—where everything else is already trying to disappear.
Now, under the fluorescent buzz of the station, there's nowhere to hide. The crowd has gone quiet, all those eyes fixed on me, pinning me down harder than chains ever could. My throat tightens, my feet feel nailed to the floor. I can't breathe, can't move like a deer frozen in headlights.
And then— plop—Takakuma's big hand lands right on my head, dragging me back to earth.
"Whaaat are you doing?!" I snap, ducking away like his palm burned me.
He just grins, unfazed. "What are you in the mood for? Tsukikage?"
My brain stutters. "Uh—wha—no, whatever's fine!"
"Good, because I know this spot. Best steaks in the city."
"Steaks? At noon?"
"Hey, hunger doesn't follow a clock."
Before I can argue, he's already leading the way. We barely walk a block before he throws his arms out like a magician presenting his grand finale.
"Here it is!"
It's wedged between a bakery and—of all things—a seal shop. Of course.
Seals are hated, but seal-upgrades? Those sell like candy. They charge absurd prices because they know people like me will pay to squeeze every drop of effectiveness out of their marks.
I bought one once—nearly missed rent just to upgrade my echo from faint smoke trails to full smoky images, but after that, the difference in my work was night and day.
The bell above the door gave a half-hearted jingle as we stepped inside, heat and grease rolling over us like a second skin. The air was thick with smoke, chatter, and the metallic clatter of cutlery. Every table was crammed shoulder to shoulder, plates piled high with sizzling slabs of meat that popped and hissed in their own juices.
Takakuma didn't hesitate—he cut straight through the crowd like a warship breaking waves, his size clearing a path without him even noticing. By the time I caught up, he was already at the counter, ordering like he'd done this a hundred times.
When our plates hit the table, mine looked less like a meal and more like a challenge: a steak bigger than my face, juices pooling at the edges. My stomach growled in betrayal.
He was already shoveling into his own plate—lean protein, cut thick, charred just right. He ate a lot. Like, way more than any normal person should in a single sitting. It honestly made me wonder how he never packed on weight—like the man was a walking contradiction, all muscle and broad shoulders, not an ounce of softness anywhere, Except his laugh.
It spilled out of him easy, full-bodied and warm, the kind of sound that felt like it belonged to someone's goofy uncle at a barbecue, not a guy who looked like he could lift a car.
Takakuma glanced at me mid-bite, not even pausing. "C'mon, don't poke at it. Eat up while it's hot," he said, the words landing in that half-chiding, half-fatherly way, like he was checking if I'd finished my vegetables.
I rolled my eyes, stabbing at my steak. "I am eating."
He nodded, still chewing, like it was no big deal. "Good. Need your strength for later."
Then his phone buzzed. A sharp ring cut through his feast, and he froze mid-chew. He glanced down at the screen, mouth still working through the last of the steak, and grunted, "Humm?"
He swallowed hard, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leaned closer to read.
"We got the update."
Then he grabbed his beer, lifting the frosty mug in one hand. He tilted it back, downing half in a single go. The sound he made after—"Grahhhhhh!"—rolled out of him like thunder, sharp enough that a couple heads turned. He slammed the mug down with a grin, foam running down the glass.
"C'mon, let's go, Tsukikage," he said, tossing a couple of bills onto the tray without even looking at the total. The gesture was final—like he'd already decided my meal was on him.
But I looked.
My stomach dipped. Eighty bucks for the steaks. Add in drinks and sides, the total climbed into the triple digits. My throat tightened. That was two weeks of groceries for me—hell, a whole month if I stuck to instant ramen and vending-machine coffee, like I usually did.
I sat back, fork hovering over the last bite. It suddenly tasted heavy, guilty, like I didn't deserve to eat it. He didn't even flinch. Just signed the slip like it was pocket change.
"C'mon, Tsukikage," he said, scrawling his name and snapping the pen shut. "We got work."
I set my fork down. Who was I kidding—I'd never finish the damn thing anyway.
I stood up and gulped down the drink on the table as fast as I could. "It's not every day you get treated to an expensive meal, heh," I muttered to myself.
"Uhh… Tsukikage, that was my drink."
"Gerrrrha!"
◈◇◈◇◈◇◈◇
We moved through the crowded streets of Montreach.
I tried to keep my pace—practically jogging—cheeks still warm from our earlier exchange.
My breath faltered first, catching in my throat in a sharp, shaky inhale before my foot caught the ground in a small stumble.
He was too dang big, I thought. Walking with him felt like pairing a motorcycle with a bicycle—two completely different vehicles trying to move in sync.
Ahead of me, he glanced back—just once.
And that was all it took.
His pace softened instantly, long strides easing into something gentler, slower, aligning with mine as though he had been walking beside me the whole time. He didn't reach for me, didn't make a show of it—just shifted into my rhythm with quiet, effortless care.
The noise of Montreach faded to a hum.
What stood out instead was his presence: steady, relaxed, warm against the cool city air. I felt it in the way he stayed close—close enough that if I were taller, our shoulders might've brushed. As it was, it was more like the swing of his forearm passing near me.
He didn't look at me again—but somehow still felt like he was paying attention to every breath I took.
My heartbeat settled into something heavy and slow, an ache that had nothing to do with running.
Then, without warning, he stopped.
I nearly collided with him, catching myself at the last moment. "H-hey—warn me next time!"
Takakuma glanced back with a half-smirk. "You should really watch where you're going, y'know. You're tiny—someone might trip over you."
"I— no one is going to tripping over me!"
He leaned forward and casually swung open a car door with a smooth motion, flashing that easy grin. "Alright, hop in. Let's go see what we're dealing with at the 19th precinct."
"You had a car this whole time!?" I snapped, my head practically exploding.
"Yeah—uh, you never asked. Heh."
I climbed into the big, steam-powered car, brass pipes hissing softly as the engine rumbled to life. The interior smelled of warm metal and oil, gears clicking faintly as they adjusted to the motion.
I'm a detective. A Sealed. And yet… with the way he hovered nearby, the way he slowed his steps to match mine, the way he opened the car door without even thinking—
…it was hard not to feel like he'd been sent to keep an eye on me.
I huffed, crossing my arms and looking away, cheeks still warm.
"I—I don't need you babysitting me," I blurted, sharper than I meant. But the words slipped out before I could catch them, and guilt pinched me the second they did.
Why did I always lash out? He wasn't even mocking me—just… being him. I guess I just hated how being treated like a kid always scraped raw against me.
"Babysitting? Nonsense. Just making sure my legendary junior doesn't get herself caught in trouble before lunch," he said—corners of his mouth quirking up, that big, stupid, booming laugh spilling out again.
"Greaha—haha."
"Stop doing that!"
Even as I tried to stay annoyed, something in me eased. He hadn't said anything profound or important… but that ridiculous laugh, that easy grin—it still irritated me, yet somehow, being near him didn't feel as suffocating as the city around us.
"Ready?" he asked, still wearing that ridiculous grin.
"Yah, yah. Let's go," I muttered, though the words left a sour taste. Some part of me felt like I'd betrayed myself, Sitting here like his tag-along after all that no babysitter talk.
My case records were enough to speak for me—more than enough.
So he had to know all that. He had to.
Unless…
A thought snapped through my mind like a live wire.
Unless he hadn't even bothered to read my file.
Unless none of it mattered to him—my clearances, my reports, every long night I'd bled into this job.
Unless I really was just the first junior unlucky enough to end up in his car.
The idea lodged in my chest, sour and heavy.
"You know I picked you specifically, right?" His voice cut through my thoughts—clean, sharp—over the soft steam-hiss of the vents.
"Huh?"
My pulse kicked. Heat burned in my chest—anger, disbelief.
Picked? He'd said it so casually it almost sounded like he was commenting on the damn weather.
"Hey—what do you mean by that?" I demanded, the words stumbling out faster than I meant them to.
He didn't answer.
Didn't even pretend to think about it.
Just kept that goofy, unbothered grin plastered on his face—like he knew something I didn't, like he was content to leave me stewing in the passenger seat.
And in that moment, I couldn't help wondering:
who the hell was this guy, really?
◈◇◈◇◈◇◈◇
The brass pipes hissed and the engine clanked as Takakuma guided the steam-powered car down Montreach's uneven cobblestones.
Steam curled from vents, fogging the edges of the windshield, and the rhythmic clatter of gears made my stomach twitch in time.
I gripped the edge of my seat, trying not to think about how exposed I felt. "You… uh… you're not going too fast, are you?" My voice came out tighter than I intended.
Takakuma didn't even glance at me. One hand rested casually on the wheel, the other draped over the back of my seat. "Fast? Pfft. This is nothing. You should see me when I actually push it," he said, his grin impossibly wide, like he found amusement in every bump and jolt.
"…Why am I even here?" I muttered under my breath, more to myself than to him.
He finally glanced at me, eyes warm and teasing. "Relax, my junior. I'm slowing down…"
I let out a shaky breath, my shoulders unclenching slightly. "…Thank you," I muttered, trying not to sound flustered.
He winked, then tapped the dashboard lightly. "See? Smooth ride now. We'll go at your pace.
My pace? I thought, frowning. The hell is that supposed to mean? I don't know this guy—he could be mocking me… or maybe he's genuinely just nice.
"So," he continued, voice casual, "I heard you were on the case the few months back. I wanted to thank you for that, Tsukikage."
"Hmm?" I blinked up at him, not sure I'd heard right.
"I knew I wouldn't be able to find the evidence I needed if it wasn't for you. That guy… he was a friend of mine. I knew he was mixed up in some serious business, but I couldn't pin down the details—until you found that ring."
"The ring?"
My pulse quickened. It had been crucial to the case, but with the outdated evidence I'd had, there was nothing I could read from it. If only I'd been a few days earlier… maybe I would have caught the culprit sooner.
"I… I didn't really do anything right," I admitted quietly, glancing down at my hands. "All I did was find the ring. That's… that's it."
"Nonsense," he said firmly, eyes never leaving the road. "Don't think too much about it. But just finding it helped me uncover a lot about this case. You did a good job."
He gave a small, reassuring smile, like he was letting me in on a secret. " It might not feel like you did much but it was enough to make a difference. You set the pieces in motion. That's what counts."
"Really?" I murmured turning away, I didn't know why, but that tiny bit of praise made my face burn like I'd been caught doing something ridiculous.
Honestly… it was embarrassing how flustered I felt, like a little kid who'd been told she did something good.
I shook it off, trying to steady myself, and before I knew it, I'd turned back—just in time to see him sliding a stack of files across from under the glove compartment.
"Here"
I blinked down at the stack in my hands. "What's this?"
"This is what you helped me dig up on that case," he said casually, as if it were nothing.
I lifted the top sheet and my eyes widened. Huh? What the hell? There had to be at least twenty pages, all crammed with notes, lines, and scribbles. A tiny jolt raced through me. This… this was a lot.
Seal report. Red-edged, standard-issue. I flipped it open, expecting the same recycled paperwork I'd been drowning in over the past few months — name, date, incident location. I didn't even flinch anymore when I read: "Seal confirmed severed. Subject unrecovered."
But this time, there was more.
Tucked between the usual forms was a low-resolution photo — taken at night, judging by the grain and blur. A figure stood near a rear service entrance, head slightly turned, body stiff, caught mid-step. A red circle marked a shadow just behind them — humanoid, yet off, wrong. Like someone who shouldn't be there.
And then I saw it. The ring.
My stomach dropped, and my chest tightened. No… that's the ring. The one I found. Back then, it had led nowhere — no fingerprints, no clues, nothing to tie it to anyone. I'd thought it was just another dead end. But here it was, captured in someone else's hand, tied to a person of interest. A corporate figure, someone who actually owned the ring.
My mind raced, disbelief twisting into a surge of adrenaline. All that time, it wasn't just a random trinket… it was the key. The missing link. And I almost missed it.
Beneath the photo:
"District Nineteen, same entry point as 347."
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening on the edges of the report. My discovery months ago had seemed meaningless… and now it screamed importance. Whoever had that ring, whoever moved it, they were connected to this case
"You mean… I helped you find all this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, disbelief tangled with a hint of pride.
He let out another booming laugh that shook the car ever so slightly. "Yep! You mean to tell me the legendary Tsukikage found it on accident?" His grin widened, eyes sparkling with genuine amusement. "You really are something special."
I froze for a moment, caught somewhere between embarrassment and pride, my cheeks heating as I tried to hide behind my hands.
"Hah! You can't even see how remarkable you are, can you? That's the best part."
"O-okay, you can stop now!"
"Graha—hahaha!"