"God, I've waited so damned long to see Porky get his fat ass handed to him like that," Red said, drawing in a deep breath before letting it out with obvious satisfaction. "Worth every freakin' second."
Whatever amusement had briefly touched Ando's face vanished the moment he turned back toward them, his expression settling once more into its usual stony composure. "Make no mistake, Detective. The fact that we happen to share a common enemy does not mean that we share a common objective," he said as he adjusted his glasses.
"I will be the first to admit that you have upheld your end of our arrangement. The operation was, by any practical measure, a success, and after what occurred last night, public support for both the Tokyo Metropolitan Police and C.H.A.S.E. will undoubtedly grow." His gaze hardened behind the lenses. "Your objective remains the eradication of the MRA, whereas mine is considerably more focused on preserving public confidence in this department and ensuring that the institution survives whatever comes next."
Lightning's expression tightened as Ando shifted his attention toward Red.
"I would also like to address something else, particularly since you have been so determined to remind me of this supposed organization known as HR," Ando continued. "To the best of my knowledge, I can neither confirm nor deny that any such group exists within this department. For all we know, it is little more than an urban legend invented by overly imaginative officers with too much time on their hands."
"Ya can't be freakin' serious," Red spat, baring his teeth as his arms dropped to his sides. "We have witnesses, even signed affidavits, ya can't just—!"
"And if, purely for the sake of argument, I were to entertain the possibility that there truly is some clandestine fraternity of corrupt officers operating beneath my roof," Ando cut in as he straightened, "then understand that I would condemn its existence completely. However, until someone places evidence in my hands that can survive scrutiny, it remains something I can do little more than tolerate as an allegation." His gaze sharpened. "Much as I tolerate you."
Lightning raised an eyebrow as her tail whipped once behind her.
"That being said, you may rest assured that Okabe, Narukami, and every officer still breathing who took part in that rather spectacular act of insubordination will be dealt with, harshly," Ando said, his composure never wavering. "I intend to see to it personally that each and every one of them are relieved of duty, stripped of their badge, and prosecuted to the fullest extent the law permits for their roles in allowing this debacle to unfold."
Red's expression twisted as his jaw clenched. "Ya smug ass, son of a bitch, you had this whole thing mapped out from the start, didn't ya?" he hissed. "Ya knew sooner or later somethin' like this was gonna blow up in everybody's face, so ya already had yer fall guys lined up and a whole goddamn book of excuses ready to crack open the second it did." His glare sharpened as he leaned toward Ando. "Well, rut me sideways for ever thinkin' there might've been one decent bone in yer body."
The man's eyes glistened with subtle amusement. "As much as I dislike admitting it, Detective, the three of us currently find ourselves in what you Americans would call a Mexican standoff," Ando continued. "You possess something I require, and I possess something you require in return, which means that for as long as our interests remain aligned, we are allies of necessity."
His expression grew colder. "But do not mistake that arrangement for friendship, however, because I remain the man sitting at the top of this hierarchy, and if either of you falters badly enough to threaten this department, this city, or the position I have worked to preserve, I will be there to deal with it."
His attention settled squarely on Lightning.
"Particularly after that little… debacle with Detective Okabe," Ando added, his eyes narrowing. "What you did to him was nothing short of horrific. The doctors are already suggesting that he may never return to active duty, and there is apparently a very real possibility that he may spend the remainder of his life without full voluntary control over his bodily functions."
Lightning's gaze darkened immediately, while Red's hands curled into fists at his sides.
"Under almost any other circumstances, Captain, that would have been a career-ending lapse in judgment," Ando continued. "However, considering the extent of Okabe's misconduct, the consequences of his actions, and the role his decisions played in escalating last night's disaster, I have elected not to pursue the matter any further."
Red's jaw tightened as he stared at Ando, clearly unconvinced that the comment was meant as mercy rather than leverage.
"Nevertheless," Ando said, "I do genuinely wish you and your girls success."
He turned on his heel and began walking away, though after several steps he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.
"Oh, and before I forget, I believe C.H.A.S.E. would benefit from additional leadership, particularly someone with extensive experience dealing with the more unpleasant corners of Tokyo's underworld." A faint glint appeared behind his glasses. "As it happens, I know precisely the man suited for such a position."
Lightning and Red both stared at him.
"Be seeing you, Captain. Detective."
With that, Ando turned away and continued down the corridor, leaving the two of them standing there with the distinct impression that whatever he had just set in motion was going to become their problem very soon.
****
Red's hand crept slowly toward the holster beneath his earth-toned overcoat, his brown eyes remaining fixed on Ando's retreating figure until Lightning turned her sapphire gaze toward him with a look sharp enough to make the warning clear without needing much else. "Red…"
"Just one shot," he muttered, his jaw tightening as his fingers hovered near the grip. "That's all I'm askin' for, one clean shot. I'm a bitch of a good shot, and that mook's a dead man before he even hits the ground."
"Cut that shit out," Lightning said as she folded her arms, her ears twitching while her tail gave an irritated flick behind her. "We knew from the moment we struck a compromise that this was gonna be an enemy-of-my-enemy arrangement, and nothing more. We've been around men like Ando long enough to know he doesn't have a side except his own, and as long as we keep his name in the headlines, keep the department looking good, and keep his ass clean, he's gonna keep playing ball because it benefits him."
Her fingers tapped slowly against her arm as her expression narrowed. "That doesn't mean I trust him, though, because I wouldn't put it past the bastard to already be working on some plan to push us out of C.H.A.S.E. entirely and seize full control the moment he thinks he can get away with it."
"Yeah, well, knowin' that doesn't make it any easier to swallow," Red replied as he finally moved his hand away from the holster and rested it against his waist. "Hell, at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if the prick was neck-deep in HR himself, pullin' strings behind the scenes while everybody keeps pretendin' his hands are clean."
"Call me optimistic, but I doubt he's thrown in with that brotherhood," Lightning said, and when Red's gaze snapped toward her, she continued before he could interrupt. "Think about it for a second. Do you honestly believe Okabe and Narukami would've had the balls to pull what they did if Ando was the one holding HR's reins? They went way too far off-script, and Ando looked just as pissed about the fallout as anyone else because their little stunt nearly blew up everything he was trying to control."
She shook her head and turned toward Red more fully. "From what I can tell, the only reason Ando kept them around was because Okabe was a useful idiot who didn't mind getting his hands dirty, while Narukami was convenient enough to act as his errand boy whenever something needed doing without Ando having to touch it himself. Seems to me the bastard's been playing every side of the board for a long time."
Red tapped one finger against his lips, his eyes narrowing as he worked through the implication. "You sayin' what I think you're sayin'? You think one of those gooks was Ando's little rat inside HR, feedin' him whatever the brotherhood was up to while he sat back and pretended he didn't know a damn thing?"
"Nothing substantial enough to prove it, Red, but it sure as hell looks that way," Lightning replied, her expression hardening again as she glanced toward the corridor where Ando had disappeared. "And now, judging by that little comment he made before walking away, it sounds like he intends to plant another one of his people inside C.H.A.S.E."
"Well," Red said as he cracked his knuckles, a mean smirk curling across his face, "whatever gook Ando plans on dumpin' into our lap better figure out real quick which side he wants to stand on, because if he's comin' into C.H.A.S.E. thinkin' he can play both ends against the middle, he's gonna have a real bad time." His grin widened as he rolled one shoulder. "Like they say back home, snitches get stitches."
Lightning let out a soft laugh and shook her head, though the amusement faded quickly. "We still need to keep an eye on Omura, because a man like that doesn't throw in the towel and roll over just because somebody finally beat him at his own game," she said. "If anything, he's probably gonna come back swinging twice as hard now that he can feel the ground disappearing beneath his feet, and the possibility of getting his fat ass thrown out of office becoming a little too real for comfort."
"Damn, we really are stuck in a goddamned Mexican standoff, aren't we?" Red replied with a crooked smirk as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. "Still, I spent enough time prayin' for rain, so I guess there ain't much point complainin' now that we're soaked. Might as well jump in and learn how to swim."
"Rain's putting it lightly," Lightning said, her expression darkening as she released a sharp breath. "At this point, we're dealing with a whole damned flood, and it isn't slowing down. O.R.O.C.H.I., Hannya. The MRA's dialing things up to eleven, and last night proved they're willing to go a hell of a lot further than they ever did before."
Her eyes lowered for a moment as the weight of that realization settled over her. "What worries me is whether the girls are actually ready for what's coming, because chasing street racers is one thing, but masked killers, trained insurgents, crooked cops, and whatever the hell else the MRA decides to throw at us is something they didn't sign up for. I'm not even sure I want to keep putting them in the middle of that."
"Hey, you said it yourself out there," Red replied, his tone losing some of its humor as he straightened beside her. "Nobody dragged those girls into this, and nobody put a gun to their heads. They chose to be here because they believe in what we're doin', same as us, and yeah, the road's only gonna get uglier from here. We got crooked cops crawlin' through the department, masked psychos runnin' around Tokyo, politicians playin' games with people's lives, and an entire criminal empire that apparently decided subtlety ain't worth the trouble anymore."
His expression softened into a steadier grin as he looked at her. "But as long as you and me are still standin' here, we make damn sure those girls are ready for whatever comes through that door. By the time we're done with 'em, they'll be able to take on the whole damn world and still have enough left in the tank to sit down with us for a pint afterward."
Lightning chuckled softly as a grin spread across her face, and she shook her head while some of the tension eased from her shoulders. "When you put it that way, yeah, I guess you've got a point."
Red tapped the toe of his loafer against the polished marble floor as something occurred to him. "You know, that just reminded me of somethin'. Deschain, what happened with him?"
The grin faded from Lightning's face. "Signed his release papers a couple hours ago. We said our goodbyes, and I watched him leave through the back entrance," she replied. "We didn't have any reason to keep holding him."
"You mean other than obstruction of justice, aggravated assault, assaultin' an officer of the law, and unlawful assembly?" Red asked as he counted the charges off on his fingers, smirking when Lightning glared at him. "Hey, don't look at me like that, partner, I don't make the rules. I'm surprised Yappy let it slide, considerin' Deschain put a dozen or so SAT guys in the hospital. Christ, he went to town on those sons of bitches, just like he did with all those mooks back at—"
Red caught himself so abruptly that his eyes widened, while Lightning immediately raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"
He cleared his throat and glanced away. "Nothin'. Just talkin' outta my ass, that's all."
Lightning kept her eyes on him for another moment but chose not to press. "Anyway, I ran everything by the Chief. At first, he wanted the charges to stick, and frankly, there wasn't much I could do about it."
Her ears twitched. "Then I handed him Okabe's fake confession, and suddenly his tune changed real fast. If they tried tacking those charges onto Logan, that piece of paper would eventually end up in court, and you know what happens once a detective's integrity gets called into question. Every case he ever touched becomes something the defense can start digging through."
A grim smile tugged at her lips. "There's no doubt Ando's gonna throw that balding sack of shit under the bus so hard he'll skip across the pavement like a pebble over a lake, and that's before we even get into whatever he plans on doing to Narukami once they finally get their hands on him."
"Speakin' of that bastard, they still can't find him?" Red asked.
"According to Nishimura, they still haven't been able to get ahold of him," Lightning replied. "No calls, no texts, no response from any known contacts, and nobody's seen him since everything went to hell. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if he grabbed a burn bag and skipped town before sunrise."
"Well, if he knows what's good for him, he'll head straight into the damned woods and stay there until everybody forgets his name," Red said as he tucked one hand into his pocket. "Man managed to piss off the MRA, HR, and the cops all in one go, and you know as well as I do what happens to poor bastards who end up on that many shit lists at once."
He scoffed and shook his head. "Bet he'd take spendin' the rest of his life in protective custody shittin' into a diaper over whatever the hell the MRA has planned for him."
Lightning drew in a slow breath and let it out through her nose. "Yeah," she said, rolling her neck until it cracked. "Anyway, I don't know about you, but I'm more than ready to crash. I'm gonna hit the hay for a couple of hours, then I'll head over to the hospital and check on the girls."
"Yeah, I'll meet ya there," Red replied as he shifted his weight and glanced toward the exit. "I gotta go see Smokey first and get my own baby into intensive care." He shook his head. "Poor bastard's gonna have a damned heart attack when he sees what's left of her."
Lightning raised one hand over her shoulder in acknowledgment and continued walking, but with every step she took, the last traces of humor gradually disappeared from her face. Her thoughts drifted back toward everything that had happened the night before, from Logan and Nightingale to the chaos that had swallowed Shibuya, though one name kept forcing its way to the front of her mind more than any other.
Raiko Tempest.
There had been something about the Sovereign of the Storm that Lightning could not shake, something buried in the way Raiko moved, spoke, and looked at her that felt too familiar to dismiss as coincidence. Their entire exchange had left behind questions Lightning had spent years trying to answer, and now, for the first time in more than a decade, she finally had something tangible to work with.
Her gaze lowered toward the dock where her body camera had been secured before being transferred to her office, the footage from last night waiting for her behind a locked door. Somewhere inside that recording might be the detail she had missed in the moment, the one piece that could finally explain why Raiko Tempest had unsettled her so deeply. And if Lightning was right, whatever she found there might lead her toward the answers she had been chasing for the past twelve years.
****
Narukami tugged back the sleeve of his shirt and stared at the face of his silver Rolex, watching the hands creep past eleven in the morning. Six hours had passed since he had abandoned his partner at the intersection, and nearly six hours since he had burst through the front doors of his apartment with sweat soaking through his clothes and his lungs burning from the effort of getting there. He had crossed half of Tokyo on foot before the trains resumed service, then spent the rest of the journey flinching at every siren he heard and every shadow that moved at the edge of his vision. Each time someone looked his way, his pulse climbed higher, and every unfamiliar face made his hand twitch instinctively toward the holster beneath his jacket while his pace quickened without him even realizing it.
The moment he reached home, Narukami locked the door behind him and immediately began shutting the apartment away from the outside world, dragging the curtains closed until the modest three-bedroom unit was swallowed in darkness. He moved straight for his bedroom, where he kicked through a thin panel of plywood inside the closet and sent splinters scattering across the floor before reaching into the concealed crawlspace behind it.
His fingers closed around the strap of a jet-black duffel bag, and he yanked it free before dropping it onto the bed and tearing open the zipper. Inside were neatly bundled stacks of cash in several different currencies, alongside a thick packet of passports, identification cards, and supporting documents bound together with rubber bands. He flipped rapidly through the forged identities, checking them without really seeing any of the faces or names, then shoved the bundle back into the bag and reached deeper until his hand closed around a pistol.
He dropped the magazine and checked it with shaking fingers, then snapped it back into place and tucked the weapon into the waistband of his slacks before sealing the duffel again. By the time he left the bedroom, his breathing had become quick and shallow, while his mind raced far ahead of his body as he tried to assemble some kind of escape plan from the fragments still making sense to him.
Narukami grabbed his car keys from the bowl on the dining table and headed for the front door, already thinking about Haneda, the ticket he had booked to Bangkok, and the few connections he still had there who might be willing to hide him until the situation cooled. Maybe he could disappear for a month or two, change names, move money around, and find someone willing to broker clemency with the MRA before they decided he was worth hunting across borders.
The thoughts came too quickly to organize, each one colliding with the next beneath the relentless pounding of his heart. Every possible route out of Tokyo seemed to end with someone waiting at the other side, whether it was the police, HR, or the Association itself, and the longer he thought about what might happen if any of them found him first, the harder it became to breathe.
Narukami reached the elevator landing and hammered the call button with the heel of his palm until a soft chime answered him. The doors slid open with a mechanical hum, and he hurried inside before pressing the button for the basement, clutching the duffel against his side as the glowing red numbers began their slow descent.
As the elevator carried him downward, his thoughts drifted unwillingly back through the chain of decisions that had brought him here. He remembered the moment he had thrown his weight behind Okabe, convinced for one idiotic second that the situation would remain under control because Ando would never allow either of them to fall. Whatever happened, Narukami had believed the Chief would protect his own interests, bury whatever needed burying, and make the consequences disappear the same way he always had.
He had never imagined that everything would spiral this badly, or that the fallout would become so catastrophic that no one would be willing to reach down and pull him out.
Narukami clenched his teeth as anger began cutting through the fear, and Okabe's face immediately filled his mind. The entire disaster could have been avoided if that bastard had shown even a shred of restraint, if he had kept his ego under control, and most of all if he had kept his damned prick in his pants instead of turning a volatile situation into something personal. Now the operation was ruined, officers were dead, the MRA wanted blood, HR would be looking for someone to blame, Ando had every reason to sacrifice them both, and Narukami was the one left running for his life while everything they had built collapsed behind him.
"Shit!" Narukami snarled as he slammed the bottom of his fist against the steel wall of the elevator, the impact ringing through the enclosed space with a heavy metallic thud. "Damn you, Okabe. Damn you to hell!" he hissed through clenched teeth, his breathing still ragged as anger fought with panic in his chest. "I swear to God, if I get out of this alive, I'm gonna find you myself and put a bullet through your skull."
The elevator chimed a moment later, and as the mechanical doors scraped open, Narukami hurried out onto the landing and made straight for the underground parking garage. The space was vast but old, with stained concrete stretching across the walls and ceiling, decades of smog, grime, and moisture having left dark trails along the surface while remnants of abandoned spiderwebs clung to corners no one had bothered to clean.
The low hum of halogen lamps filled the garage with a dull, uneven glow, though several fixtures flickered erratically while others had burned out long ago and been left unreplaced. Cars occupied nearly every row, some new enough to catch the light cleanly across polished bodywork, others aged and neglected, and a few so thoroughly abandoned that rust had begun eating through their frames while flattened tires, cracked windows, and thick layers of dust marked how long they had been left to decay.
Crude words and shapes had been dragged through the grime of some of the older cars by careless fingers, while the stale smell of drain water and damp concrete hung in the air from pipes running overhead and channels carved through the floor. Narukami kept moving, though his eyes darted constantly from one side to the other, unsettled by how completely lifeless the garage seemed and how every small sound carried much farther than it should. His gaze finally locked onto his car, a jet-black Toyota Camry parked beneath one of the functioning lights, its metallic finish glinting faintly in the dimness.
Relief spread across his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, but before he could take another step, a figure emerged from behind one of the concrete pillars ahead of him. The steady tap of dress shoes against the floor echoed through the stillness with such sharpness that Narukami froze where he stood, his eyes widening as the keys slipped from his fingers and struck the concrete beside his polished loafers.
The man approaching him wore a tuxedo tailored so precisely that it seemed almost untouched by the grime of the garage, while the ornate gold buttons of his waistcoat caught the overhead light each time he moved. His dark eyes remained fixed on Narukami as he calmly tugged one white glove into place, and it was only when the detective's gaze dropped toward the lapel of his jacket that recognition finally struck.
"Leaving so soon, Detective?" Cavendish asked, his tone almost pleasant despite the coldness beneath it. "What a shame. It is generally considered common courtesy to say goodbye before one departs."
"C-Cavendish-sama," Narukami stammered, and the fear he had been trying to keep buried finally broke through as his body began to tremble. He let out a nervous chuckle. "I-I was just coming to find you…"
"Hm," Cavendish murmured from deep in his throat, watching Narukami's expression with quiet amusement. "Would that be before or after your little holiday overseas?" he asked, and the way Narukami's eyes widened only drew a faint smile from him. "Oh, do not look so surprised, Detective. Surely by now you understand just how extensive our surveillance truly is."
More footsteps sounded behind him almost immediately. Narukami turned sharply and saw men in black suits, black overcoats, and dark glasses emerging from behind pillars and between parked cars, appearing from every direction until the open space around him had closed into a circle. Each man carried a pistol in gloved hands, suppressors extending from the barrels as they settled into position and fixed their attention on him with unnerving stillness.
"Or did you honestly, genuinely believe that we would fail in that regard?" Cavendish asked as he began walking forward, two more men stepping out at his sides to flank him. He raised one finger before Narukami could answer. "Actually, allow me to rephrase the question. Were you truly arrogant enough to believe that you and your intellectually challenged compatriot could cross the Association and simply walk away with your lives intact?"
Cavendish adjusted the cuff of his other glove as he continued to close the distance. "It never ceases to amaze me how men such as yourself manage to think. You convince yourselves that there must be something special about you, some invisible protection afforded by rank, influence, or borrowed authority, and then you begin to believe that whatever blunders you commit by your own hand will somehow be forgiven, excused, or quietly absolved by someone more powerful."
His gaze remained level on Narukami, and the faintest smile touched his lips. "It is almost endearing, really, watching grown men mistake temporary usefulness for immunity." He stopped several paces away and regarded the trembling detective with quiet contempt. "Utterly adorable."
"Cavendish-sama, I-I…" Narukami glanced over his shoulder at the men behind him, then toward the others closing off both sides, and everywhere he looked there was someone waiting, every possible route already sealed before he had even realized he was trapped. He raised one trembling hand as his breathing quickened. "I didn't know. I swear to God, I didn't know it was going to… that it would turn out like this. If I'd known what was going to happen, I never would've—"
"Hush," Cavendish said sharply as he lifted a gloved finger to his lips, the sudden force in his voice making Narukami flinch. "Hush, Detective. I'm afraid we are well beyond feigned ignorance and weaponized incompetence. Had I known, if only I had, perhaps I should have, none of it makes the slightest difference now."
He tucked his hands behind his back and stepped closer, his expression settling into cold disdain. "What matters is that you willingly and knowingly participated in blatant insubordination against those placed above you, and in doing so, you nearly compromised operations on a scale that bordered on catastrophe."
His gaze hardened further as he continued. "What the Board finds most unforgivable, however, is not merely the incompetence itself, but the fact that your defiance forced our hand in ways that drew attention to the Association as a whole. Attention, Detective, is something we can tolerate when it serves a purpose. What we do not tolerate is being dragged into the light because two fools decided they were clever enough to disregard the people keeping them alive."
"Cavendish-sama, if you'd just let me explain," Narukami said as the duffel slipped from his hand and struck the concrete with a heavy thud. He raised both hands quickly, his eyes darting between Cavendish and the armed men surrounding him. "It wasn't my fault. It was all—"
"And there it is," Cavendish interrupted as he stopped barely an arm's length away. "In all my years spent among humanity's refuse, men such as yourself always seem to follow the same tedious pattern the moment they realize they have been caught beyond any reasonable hope of escape."
He tilted his head slightly, studying Narukami as though he were something unpleasant beneath glass. "First come the excuses, then the blame, and once that fails, comes the sudden instinct to fight. When fighting proves impossible, they run, and when they discover there is nowhere left to run, they begin to negotiate." A faint scoff escaped him. "I might almost find it amusing, were it not so grotesquely predictable."
Narukami swallowed hard as his trembling finger lifted toward Cavendish. "B-but I turned on Okabe," he said, forcing a nervous smile onto his face. "After what you told me in the cruiser, I left him behind. I chose the MRA, and that has to count for something."
Cavendish regarded him in silence for a moment before releasing a measured breath. "I suppose, in that regard, you are correct," he said, tilting his head slightly. "I asked you to reassess your loyalties, and you did, which warrants a certain degree of credit."
Narukami's shoulders began to sag with relief, but Cavendish merely raised his chin and looked down at him. "In truth, the Board might even have been inclined to overlook your earlier blunder entirely. One could have argued that you were an unwilling participant, pressured by circumstance or blinded by loyalty to a man who had been your partner for nearly a decade. There is, I suppose, something faintly admirable in that kind of devotion."
His gaze hardened.
"Unfortunately, there is something you neglected to disclose," Cavendish continued, his tone growing colder. "Something you once again assumed we were far too stupid to notice."
The color drained from Narukami's face. "I-I don't know what you mean. I mean, I honestly don't—"
"The Board and I allow considerably more leeway than most people realize," Cavendish said, cutting him off. "We offer chances, tolerate excuses, and permit pleas of ignorance or temporary madness far more often than perhaps we should. What I find intolerable, however, is a man who continues playing the fool after being caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar." He raised one gloved finger. "There is an old saying in our world, Detective. A man's ambition should never exceed his worth."
Narukami's jaw tightened.
"You have been playing every side of the board," Cavendish continued. "The MRA, HR, and the law, all at once." He stepped closer, his expression settling into quiet contempt. "So, tell me, Detective, how long have you been Chief Ando's personal little rat?"
"R-rat?" Narukami blurted, the word coming out sharper than he intended. "I don't know what you're trying to imply, but I'm no rat. I've never narc'd on anybody, and I don't appreciate being accused of it!"
"Oh?" Cavendish replied, one eyebrow lifting. "Then perhaps you would be kind enough to explain how C.H.A.S.E. miraculously discovered the true finish line of the Stakes."
Narukami opened his mouth, but Cavendish raised a hand before he could answer.
"It was not chance, mind you. They were already there, waiting," Cavendish continued. "The Association follows a very simple rule. The true finish line is never revealed until the final stretch. Naturally, certain members of our staff are informed in advance, as are our trusted little assets within law enforcement. It is a secret we pay quite handsomely to keep, while you and your associates ensure that the more honest members of the police are directed elsewhere."
Narukami bit down on his lower lip as Cavendish watched him.
"You see, over the past several months, officers have appeared at the finish lines of more than a dozen of our races," Cavendish said. "At first, I dismissed it as coincidence, a little bad luck, the proverbial squirrel finding the nut. Then it happened again, and again, and again, until coincidence became increasingly difficult to believe." His eyes narrowed. "In my former line of work, repeated coincidences cease to be coincidences and begin to look remarkably like patterns."
He adjusted one of his gloves before continuing. "It was not our systems. No one within local law enforcement possesses the ability to breach our mainframe without leaving a trail, which left me with the most obvious conclusion available. Someone on the inside was feeding information outward."
Narukami's fist tightened at his side.
"So, I decided to test that theory," Cavendish said. "I selected several individuals the Association had already flagged as potentially compromised, and I fed each one a different location for the Stakes' finish line." A faint smile touched his lips. "Different names, different coordinates, different lies, all equally plausible."
Narukami's breathing began to quicken.
"And do you know who was told that the finish line would be at Umayamichi Park?" Cavendish asked, pointing directly at him. "You."
He stepped closer until only a narrow distance remained between them.
"So, I will ask you one final time, Detective," Cavendish said, his words quiet but unmistakably severe. "How long have you been Chief Ando's mangy, flea-infested, diseased-ridden, little rat?"
"Cavendish-sama, please…" Narukami's gaze snapped from side to side as the men around him continued closing in, every direction offering another black suit, another expressionless face, and another silenced pistol. "I'll do whatever it takes, whatever you want!" His trembling hand pointed toward the duffel at his feet. "You want money? Take it. I've got at least a hundred grand in there, so take the whole damn thing!"
Cavendish stared at him for a moment before a slow chuckle escaped his lips. "Money? Oh, Detective, have you learned nothing at all?" His expression settled into something much colder as he leaned forward slightly. "Wealth, whether tangible or otherwise, is nowhere near as valuable to this organization as knowing whom one can trust. You see, the Master is an exceptionally patient man, far more understanding, compassionate, and sympathetic than I could ever pretend to be, and he possesses many virtues that I unfortunately lack."
A faint shadow crossed his features as he continued. "That being said, there is one thing he will never tolerate under any circumstance, and when it occurs there is no mercy, no quarter, and no second chance." His eyes hardened on Narukami. "Treachery."
Before Narukami could respond, one of the men tossed another black duffel bag onto the concrete beside him, the impact landing with a heavy thud that echoed across the garage. His gaze snapped toward it before returning to Cavendish, who merely tilted his head and gestured toward the bag with a subtle motion. Narukami swallowed hard and lowered himself onto one knee, his hands shaking violently as he reached for the zipper and dragged it open.
The moment the contents came into view, all the blood seemed to drain from his face.
Inside were three severed heads, their eyes still wide and their expressions frozen in terror. A scream tore from Narukami's throat as he recoiled so violently that he fell onto his back, heels scraping against the concrete while he kicked himself away from the bag in blind panic.
"I am certain you recognize Mister Miura, Mister Sugiura, and Mister Hideki," Cavendish said as his eyes calmly followed the detective's retreat. "If not, allow me to refresh your memory. They served as the chapter president and vice presidents of Tokyo's HR, and they were the very men who told you, your partner, and every other wretch involved that the Stakes were strictly off-limits."
His expression remained composed, almost bored. "Because you chose to disregard those instructions, the Board decided that their failure to rein in their own members required a rather memorable correction."
"Y-you're insane!" Narukami stammered as he scrambled back to his feet, nearly stumbling over himself in the process. "They weren't just cops, they were high up, way up. They had rank, connections, protection, and I…!" He jabbed a shaking finger against his chest. "I'm a detective. You can't do this. You can't just walk in here and—!"
Cavendish drew in a slow breath and exhaled sharply, his patience visibly thinning. "Make no mistake, Detective, those men are there to send a message to your little fraternity of crooked officers. The Association does not suffer disobedience, it does not suffer defiance, and most of all, it does not suffer failure from people who have grown comfortable living off its patronage."
His gaze shifted briefly toward the open bag before settling on Narukami again. "If HR wishes to continue benefiting from what we provide, then it will remember that privileges come with obligations, and that failing to control its own members carries consequences."
Narukami was trembling so badly now that his lips had begun to quiver, sweat soaking through his shirt as his eyes darted from Cavendish to the men surrounding him and back again.
"And while those three serve as a lesson to your cabal," Cavendish continued, "the Board also believes that Tokyo's finest requires a reminder of its own, because our world has always functioned on two very simple principles. Rules and consequences." His expression became utterly still as he held Narukami's gaze. "And you, Detective, are going to serve as that reminder."
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. "Believe me when I say that it will be anything but pleasant."
What remained of Narukami's composure shattered completely. His hand snapped toward the pistol tucked into the waistband of his slacks, and he tore it free before racking the slide with a frantic jerk of his wrist.
"Back!" he shouted as he swung the weapon toward the men surrounding him, sweeping the muzzle from one side to the other while his breathing came in ragged bursts. "Get back, all of you!"
His arm then jerked toward Cavendish, the pistol settling on him as Narukami's eyes burned with panic. "I'm warning you, I'm not going down for Okabe. I'm not dying for that son of a bitch, not for him and sure as hell not for you, so get—!"
Cavendish moved before he could finish.
His arm swept across in a single fluid motion, followed by the faint metallic trill of a blade unfurling and a flash of silver beneath the halogen lights. The cut came so quickly that Narukami barely registered the impact until blood burst from his wrist in a violent spray, spattering across the concrete as the pistol slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. For one stunned second, he simply stared at his arm, his severed hand hanging uselessly by what little remained as blood poured down over his sleeve.
Then the pain caught up with him.
A strangled cry tore from Narukami's throat before breaking into a full scream, raw and repeated as he clutched at his ruined wrist with his other hand, his entire body folding inward while blood continued to spill between his fingers. His eyes snapped back toward Cavendish, wide with disbelief and terror.
In Cavendish's hand rested an elongated switchblade nearly a foot in length, its straight blade gleaming beneath the overhead lights while the ornate ivory handle, threaded with mother-of-pearl inlay, looked more like a collector's piece than something meant for butchery. Without the slightest hurry, he reached inside his tuxedo, produced a white handkerchief, and began wiping the blood from the blade while Narukami continued screaming and the men around him closed in.
"A pity, Detective," Cavendish said as he stepped closer, his tone almost conversational despite the violence of what had just happened. "Had you chosen to turn that pistol on yourself, you might have granted yourself the only mercy still available to you and spared yourself the horrors that now await."
The men seized Narukami by the arms, forcing him upright as he thrashed against them, his face contorted with pain and panic. Cavendish tossed the stained handkerchief aside and met the detective's terrified gaze while the switchblade folded back with another quiet trill of steel before disappearing neatly into his sleeve.
"Not to mention the horrors awaiting each and every one of your colleagues, once realization sets in," Cavendish continued, a dark smile beginning to curl across his face. "But worry not, old chap. For perhaps the first time in your short and profoundly insignificant life, you are about to become part of something that will change this country in ways you could scarcely begin to comprehend."
He reached out and patted Narukami lightly on the cheek, the gesture somehow more unsettling than the threat itself, before stepping back and making a small motion with one hand.
"I would say it was nice knowing you," Cavendish said as the men began hauling Narukami away, his screams dissolving into a garbled mess of pleas and curses while tears streamed down his face and he fought uselessly against their grip. "However, that would be a blatant lie."
Cavendish tucked his hands behind his back and turned toward the exit, walking away at an unhurried pace while softly whistling to himself as Narukami's cries echoed through the parking garage behind him.
****
The sun had begun to sink beyond the horizon, casting long bands of gold across Tokyo's concrete skyline as thousands of lights came alive beneath it. Amber streetlamps, white office windows, colorful neon signs, and towering animated billboards painted the darkening avenues in an ever-shifting glow, and for anyone looking down from above, the city might have appeared as alive and restless as ever. Yet beneath that familiar rhythm, the turmoil that had swallowed Shibuya the night before remained lodged in the public consciousness like a wound no one could stop touching.
Screens mounted across the sides of buildings, televisions glowing from storefront windows, and old sets hanging above counters in bars, izakayas, and restaurants all carried the same relentless cycle of breaking news, with each report seeming worse than the last. Grieving families wept openly for officers who would never return home, while others stood before cameras with anger and disbelief carved across their faces, demanding answers for why their loved ones had been sent into a situation that had turned into a battlefield.
Store owners from Shibuya spoke bitterly about shattered windows, destroyed interiors, and damages climbing into the hundreds of thousands of yen, while eyewitnesses recounted the chaos in trembling voices and amateur footage continued spreading across every platform available.
Some of the recordings were grainy and unstable, captured from rooftops, windows, or shaking phones held by terrified bystanders, but the images were clear enough to fuel outrage. Men in chrome masks could be seen tearing through police cruisers and SAT officers with military-grade weapons and ruthless efficiency, moving with the kind of discipline and coordination that made the violence feel less like a spontaneous clash and more like a deliberate assault. With every passing hour, shock gave way to disbelief, and disbelief hardened into fury.
Much of Tokyo's sympathy had settled firmly with the Metropolitan Police Department, while C.H.A.S.E. had received an unexpected wave of admiration after the scale of the operation became public. Fans had begun gathering outside hospitals where injured former champions were being treated, leaving flowers, handwritten messages, and signs of support for the girls who had been hurt in the line of duty. At the same time, however, the public's anger had found a far more convenient target in Tokyo Governor Matsue Omura.
By morning, his approval ratings had cratered, and every attempt he made to address the public only seemed to make matters worse. Press conferences were drowned out by heckling, shouted insults, and furious demands for his resignation, while on more than one occasion Omura lost his temper and fired back at the crowd with remarks his public relations staff clearly wished he had kept to himself. Each outburst was clipped, replayed, and spread online within minutes, feeding the growing perception that while Tokyo was trying to recover from one of the worst nights in recent memory, its governor was more concerned with defending himself than reassuring the people he was supposed to lead.
Dahlia sat at one of Rococo's wooden tables, three of them pushed together to form a long makeshift dining table for the evening. Saburo had already closed the café for the day so they could have some privacy, and in the middle of the table sat a portable cooker with a gleaming metal pot resting over a medium flame. The rich scent of sukiyaki filled the room as marbled slices of beef simmered in the broth alongside enoki, mushrooms, tofu, carrots, and cabbage, the surface bubbling gently while steam curled upward into the warm amber light.
Daichi and Light had been staring at the pot for so long that both of them looked ready to start drooling, and every passing minute seemed to stretch into an eternity, but Saburo had been firm that it needed more time to stew, which was becoming increasingly difficult to accept with the aroma spreading through every corner of the café.
The old man had excused himself for a quick run to the nearest convenient store, having forgotten to pick up some additional condiments, but Dahlia knew he was just looking for a reason to grab a six pack and perhaps a bottle of sake after going on about how much it tasted with a can in his hand.
Dahlia, however, had barely looked at the food. Her attention remained fixed on the LCD screen mounted to one of the pillars, where another news report about the previous night played beneath a stream of scrolling headlines. Both of her arms were bandaged, along with her legs and much of her torso, while smaller strips of gauze covered the cuts across her face.
Every part of her body ached in ways she had never experienced before, and she could still remember Doctor Grace's expression the moment she saw her, the clipboard slipping from her hand as her eyes widened like she was about to keel over right there in the examination room. For a little while, all the usual questions and scolding had been forgotten, and Dahlia had been taken straight to the nearest emergency department before anyone could argue about it.
Thankfully, none of the injuries had been life-threatening. Umas were naturally tougher than ordinary humans, and after everything Logan had put her through in training, Dahlia's body had managed to absorb far more punishment than it had any right to. Even so, when her gaze dropped to the heavy bandage wrapped around one arm, she knew that one was going to stay with her. Her jacket had taken the worst of it when Barbarossa had tried to grind her across the asphalt, but not enough to spare her skin entirely, leaving behind the kind of road burn Doctor Grace had warned would almost certainly scar.
The rest of the damage was about what she had expected after the night she survived, including cracked ribs, deep bruising, minor internal bleeding, hairline fractures, and torn muscles scattered across more places than she cared to count. Dahlia had told Doctor Grace that she had been caught in a hit-and-run while making deliveries for UMAI, but the look she received in return made it painfully obvious that the doctor did not believe a word of it. Even so, Grace had chosen not to press the issue any further, though only after making Dahlia promise that she would file a police report as soon as she was able.
It was the same story Dahlia had given Scarlet when she called to say she might not be home for a few days, and to her surprise, her sister had accepted the explanation without much argument.
Dahlia exhaled softly and looked down from the television, allowing the reporter's voice to fade into background noise as she checked the screen of her phone again. More specifically, she opened her banking app and stared at the figure sitting in front of her, still unable to fully believe it was real even after transferring Light her share.
The memory of that moment brought a faint smile to her face. Light had stared at the amount in complete disbelief before bursting into tears and nearly collapsing into Dahlia's arms, clinging to her tightly as she sobbed against her chest. Dahlia had not known what to say then, and even now she was still trying to understand what the money actually meant for both of them.
There were more things she wanted to do with it than she could count, but one thought kept returning to the front of her mind. Before anything else, she needed to figure out how to bring up enrolling Scarlet in the trials without Doctor Grace asking the kinds of questions Dahlia had absolutely no intention of answering.
"We now go live to Millennium Tower, headquarters of the Tojo Group, where Chief Executive Officer Hajime Umemiya is expected to deliver a press briefing."
Dahlia lifted her gaze back toward the LCD screen as the broadcast cut to the vast lobby of Millennium Tower, the camera sweeping across a packed gathering of reporters and cameramen gathered before a backdrop emblazoned with the Tojo Group's logo. Men in black suits and dark shades lined the edges of the lobby, each of them standing rigidly with unreadable expressions while security personnel kept the press confined behind marked barriers.
"Hey, I know that place," Light said as she pointed toward the screen. "That's Millennium Tower in Kabukichō. My foster parents took me to the restaurant on the top floor after I aced my exams, and the view was amazing." Her eyes widened slightly. "I had no idea the whole building was also the Tojo Group's headquarters."
A man stepped onto the stage moments later, looking to be somewhere in his early forties, though the streaks of snowy white hair slicked back in careful waves made his age harder to judge. He wore a dark navy three-piece suit with black waistcoat and matching slacks, while a fine gold chain ran from one of his waistcoat buttons to the pocket at his side. A black overcoat rested across his shoulders until one of the suited men beside him stepped forward and quietly removed it.
"Wow, Umemiya-san sure has gotten old," Daichi said as he clasped his hands together on the table.
Dahlia's gaze snapped toward him. "Wait, you know the CEO of the Tojo Group?"
"Well…" Daichi gave her a nervous grin and rubbed the back of his head. "Not personally, not really. My uncle Hiragi works for him. Apparently, they were really close back when they were in school together, and from what I understand, they still are."
His expression softened as the memory returned. "I met Umemiya-san once, though. He was really friendly and took us out to this little restaurant in the middle of nowhere where the owner knew him by name. I swear, that place had the best damn fried rice I've ever had."
He chuckled softly. "We talked for a while, and he asked about uni, what I wanted to do with my life, what kind of person I wanted to become, just normal stuff. Turns out he's also got an incredible green thumb and keeps a private garden right outside his office."
Dahlia snorted. "Hold on, the CEO of the Tojo Group, one of the richest and most powerful conglomerates in Japan, spends his free time fertilizing a garden?"
"Hey, people are allowed to have hobbies, Dahlia. There's no crime in that," Daichi replied with a roll of his eyes. "The point is, he's a good guy, and that's why everyone around him respects him so much. From what my uncle told me, if Umemiya-san asked those people to follow him off a cliff, all of them would probably ask when and where."
"He's also the youngest CEO Japan's ever had," Daichi continued. "He took over the Tojo Group when he was still in his early-twenties, then spent the next several years expanding it across Japan and eventually into markets all over the world."
He gestured toward the television with one hand. "Now the Tojo Group is one of the biggest corporations in the country, with a hand in just about every industry you can think of. Tech, retail, hospitality, automotive, real estate, logistics, you name it, they're probably involved somehow, and a lot of that growth happened under him."
His smile faded slightly as he looked back toward the screen. "And apparently he was one hell of a fighter too, even back during his days at Furin—"
"Furin?" Dahlia cut in, her eyes widening. "As in Furin High School, that famous delinquent school in Makochi?"
Daichi blinked before nodding. "Yeah, the same one. I'm honestly surprised you've heard of it." His expression grew more subdued as he leaned back in his chair. "It hasn't really been a delinquent school for almost a decade, though. After the Great Japanese Dissolution of Delinquency, Bofurin, the group the students used to call themselves, disbanded, and Furin eventually went back to being what it was supposed to be in the first place, just a school."
Light's ears twitched as she tilted her head, confusion settling across her face. "The Great Japanese… what?"
"I've heard about it too. Queen mentioned it back in that alley," Dahlia said as she tapped a finger against her chin. "I was still a kid when it happened, though, and the media barely said anything about what was actually going on."
"Yeah, same here, and honestly, I don't blame them," Daichi replied. "Most of what I know came from my uncle, and according to him, Japan was in pretty rough shape back then. The Gurentai were probably the closest comparison, except these groups were bigger, more organized, and a hell of a lot more entrenched. Some schools stopped feeling like schools entirely and turned into massive delinquent organizations that controlled neighborhoods, took over streets, and terrorized anyone unlucky enough to cross them."
He paused and glanced toward the television. "Whole districts were basically carved up into territories, and even the yakuza had to think twice before stepping into certain areas. For a while, it felt like half the damn city was living under somebody else's rules."
"That's insane," Light said. "What were the police doing?"
"They were there, but there was only so much they could do," Daichi said. "A big part of the problem was the Juvenile Act, because back then it gave a huge amount of protection to anyone under twenty. They changed a lot of it in the years that followed, but at the time, plenty of kids treated it like a shield that let them do whatever they wanted without facing real consequences."
He folded his arms, and his expression darkened as Umemiya continued speaking on the television in the background, his voice fading into a low drone while he discussed the Tojo Group's latest projects and expansion plans. "Then they pushed it too far," Daichi said. "Someone was murdered, and that death ended up setting off what people later called the Three-Year War."
Dahlia and Light both fell quiet.
"The Diet suspended parts of the Juvenile Law and gave law enforcement sweeping authority to dismantle the gangs by any means necessary," Daichi continued. "They weren't just trying to contain the problem anymore, they wanted it wiped out completely, and the task force that carried most of that weight was—"
"G.A.R.O.," Dahlia said as her tail flicked behind her. "Yeah, Queen mentioned them too."
Daichi nodded. "What followed wasn't just a crackdown. From everything my uncle told me, it became a reckoning, and sometimes it crossed the line into outright massacre." His gaze hardened as he looked between them. "If you want a simple comparison, think of C.H.A.S.E. without any real restraint or concern for where the line was supposed to be. G.A.R.O. wasn't interested in containment, and they sure as hell weren't interested in rehabilitation. They were there to break the gangs apart, punish the people running them, and make sure nobody had the strength left to rebuild afterward." He exhaled slowly. "My uncle said nobody came out of that war untouched."
Light raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening as the weight of it settled in.
Dahlia's gaze lowered for a moment as she turned over something Queen had said back in the alley, and when she finally looked at Daichi again, her expression had grown more serious. "There's something else she mentioned. Someone named Haruka Sakura. Does that name mean anything to you?"
The shadow that crossed Daichi's face answered the question before he ever opened his mouth. He sat quietly for a moment, his attention drifting toward the table as though deciding how much he should say. "Yeah. He and my uncle were close too, once upon a time. Sakura-san, Umemiya-san, Uncle Hiragi, and most of their friends all went to Furin together," he explained.
"Back then, everyone assumed Sakura-san would end up following the same path as the rest of them, but while most of those guys went one way, he chose something completely different. He joined the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department and ended up making a serious name for himself."
Light stayed quiet as Daichi continued, while Dahlia's attention remained fixed on him.
"What the public knows is that Sakura eventually became a Commander and was placed in charge of G.A.R.O.," Daichi said. "He didn't just sit behind a desk either. From what my uncle told me, Sakura personally oversaw a lot of their operations and was right there in the middle of the raids, neck-deep in the violence with everyone else. Under him, G.A.R.O. dismantled practically every major delinquent organization they could identify, and they even brought the S.W.O.R.D. district to an end."
"The what?" Light asked, her ears twitching.
Daichi waved a hand lightly. "It's a district on the outskirts of Tokyo. Years ago, it was basically a refinery town until everything collapsed because of corporate corruption, and once the industry disappeared, the place started breaking itself into five major factions that fought over what was left," he said. "Long story short, G.A.R.O. tore the whole structure apart, and the district eventually recovered. These days, it's actually doing pretty well."
Dahlia listened without interrupting as Daichi's expression darkened again.
"But that's only the version everyone knows," he continued. "What people don't talk about, or maybe what the authorities never wanted discussed openly, is that the Dissolution wasn't just some duty Sakura carried out because he wore a badge. For him, the whole thing was personal." He paused and looked between them. "The person who was murdered, the one whose death started everything, was Kotoha Tachibana. My uncle told me that if she had lived, she and Sakura probably would've gotten married."
Dahlia's eyes widened. "Are you telling me that she was Sakura's girl?"
Daichi nodded, then lifted his gaze toward the television screen where Umemiya was still speaking beneath the Tojo Group emblem. "Yeah, and there's one more part to it."
Light and Dahlia both looked toward him.
"She was Umemiya-san's sister."
For a moment, neither of them said anything as the realization settled over the table.
Daichi shook his head slowly. "I don't know exactly what happened between Sakura-san and Umemiya-san, but according to my uncle, there's still bad blood between them, and it's serious enough that they haven't been able to bury the hatchet even after all these years. Umemiya-san has tried more than once, but from the sound of it, Sakura never really let go of whatever happened between them."
His gaze drifted back toward the screen, where Umemiya continued addressing the press. "The Dissolution ended years ago, and the government still talks about it like some massive victory, but there are plenty of people who are still living with what it left behind."
He paused for a moment before continuing. "As for Commander Sakura himself, it depends entirely on who you ask. Some people see him as a hero, someone who had the guts to do what everyone else was too afraid to do and make the hard choices when the country needed it most. Other people call him a monster, a demon, a traitor, pretty much every ugly name you can think of." Daichi gave a small shrug. "Nowhere is that divide worse than in Makochi."
His attention shifted back toward Dahlia. "Bofurin, the group that operated under Furin's banner, wasn't just another delinquent gang to the people there. They were protectors, local heroes, the ones who kept the streets safe when nobody else would, and Sakura-san once fought under that same banner himself."
His expression grew more serious. "Then the Dissolution happened, and Sakura was the one who saw to Bofurin being disbanded. To the people of Makochi, that wasn't just politics or police work. It was betrayal, and a lot of them never forgave him for it."
"God," Dahlia muttered, leaning back slightly as the weight of it settled over her. "Talk about heavy."
Her eyes returned to the television, and for a few moments the three of them simply listened to Umemiya's distant voice filling the café. Dahlia's expression tightened before she finally spoke again. "You think Captain Lightning feels the same way?"
Daichi looked at her for a moment before exhaling softly. "I don't know what's going on in her head, but from where I'm sitting, the similarities are pretty hard to ignore." He folded his arms as his gaze shifted back to the screen. "And if she isn't careful, if she keeps pushing harder every time the MRA pushes back, she might end up standing in the exact same place Commander Sakura is now, with half the country calling her a hero and the other half wondering when she became the thing she was supposed to stop."
Light let out a soft, uneasy chuckle as her tail flicked behind her, and she folded her hands together in her lap while her gaze drifted toward the simmering pot. "That was… a lot to take in," she admitted. "The deeper I get into the MRA, the more I realize how little I actually know about the world around me. About this city, about the people in it, about… everything."
"Don't be too hard on yourself, Light," Dahlia said, her expression softening as she looked toward her. "Most people go their whole lives without seeing the uglier side of this city, and honestly, that's probably a good thing. The world is complicated enough without digging through every dirty little corner of it, and you've already got more than enough on your plate." Her ears twitched. "There's no point sticking our noses into things that don't concern us unless we absolutely have to."
Before Light could answer, the front door swung open and the bell above it gave a light, familiar chime that carried through the otherwise quiet café. All three of them turned toward the entrance as the steady tap of shoes against the wooden floor approached the counter. A man who looked to be in his early forties stepped inside wearing a jet-black windbreaker over a white shirt, black jeans, and black-and-white sneakers, while a black baseball cap bearing a white emblem of five wooden planks sat low over his brow. His hands remained tucked casually into his pockets as he approached the counter, only to slow when he realized no one was standing behind it.
Light immediately rose from her seat and gave him a polite bow. "I'm sorry, sir, but the café is closed for the day. Master extends his apologies."
The man turned toward her, then glanced back toward the sign on the door before reaching up and removing his cap. Dahlia raised an eyebrow as soon as she got a better look at him, because there was something almost unreal about his appearance. His hair was divided cleanly into two colors, one side black and swept to the right, the other white as snow and falling toward the left, while his eyes were mismatched as well, one gold and the other silver. For a moment, she wondered if it was some kind of deliberate look, maybe the result of a very committed cosplayer, but there was nothing playful or theatrical in the man's expression.
"No, I believe the apology should be mine," he said as he returned Light's bow. "I didn't notice the sign, and it seems my mind was somewhere else."
Dahlia watched him for another moment before turning toward Daichi, expecting some kind of reaction to the stranger's unusual appearance, only to find that all the color had drained from his face.
"Daichi?" she asked, leaning closer. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Daichi did not answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the man near the counter as one trembling hand slowly lifted, his finger pointing in the stranger's direction.
"T-that's him," he whispered, barely managing to get the words out. "That's Commander Haruka Sakura."