The alarm on the table buzzed without mercy.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
A giant hand slammed down, killing the screech mid-note.
Galvado groaned, rubbing his eyes as the weight of sleep peeled away.
The phone beside the alarm was still ringing—angry, persistent, unforgiving.
"Pick up, damn it," an irritated voice hissed from the other end.
Galvado didn't bother.
He stepped out of the room, shoulders rolling, and put the kettle on.
The phone kept ringing—one call dying only for another to rise immediately after, like it refused to be ignored.
When the tea was ready, Galvado finally picked up the phone.
He still didn't answer.
Instead, he carried both the cup and the phone up to his apartment's ceiling terrace, dropped into a plastic chair, and took a slow sip.
Galvado was a carefree man.
Thinking, planning, digging… those were never his battlefield.
The caller was almost certainly his assistant officer, repeating the same lecture about the Key System and its objectives.
Seven days had passed.
Seven long days, and Galvado hadn't submitted a single report.
No discoveries.
No investigations.
Not because he didn't care—
but because this was never his strength.
Finally, the voice on the line exploded.
"Where the hell are you, damn it?"
"At home," Galvado replied calmly.
"It's two in the afternoon, idiot! You know you're supposed to be at the station, starting the investigation, right?"
The voice cracked with rage.
Galvado yawned, eyes still heavy.
"The DGP called me personally," the man continued.
"If you don't report or do something, he's discarding you. You hear that?"
"Okay, okay. I'm coming."
Galvado stood, stretching his back until it popped, then stared out at the city from the edge of the terrace.
Concrete.
Smoke.
Horns.
Sirens.
Same exhausted world.
"Let's start," he sighed.
The station buzzed with tension when Galvado arrived.
Officers filled the halls—but unlike with Nicolas, the energy here wasn't born of admiration.
It was fear.
Still, Galvado was kind at heart.
Dangerous—
but not cruel.
"Seven whole damn days!" a voice exploded like a cannon beside his ear.
"Calm down," Galvado muttered.
"Nicolas, Wolhard, Vinn, Krill—even Sarimo," the man snapped.
"They've all found something useful for the case."
Rumo finally exhaled, glaring at Galvado.
"And you?"
"Hey, hey, Rumo," Galvado grinned. "You know I'm not built for investigation and brainwork, right?"
Rumo stared at him like he was looking at a mistake the system refused to erase.
"Sometimes I really wonder how the hell you even got this position."
Another voice drifted out from Galvado's office.
"Vinn's here," Rumo said flatly.
A sharp, dangerous smile crept onto Galvado's face.
He pushed open the office door.
A man in a white shirt and black pants sat on Galvado's desk, chair tilted back casually.
Polished shoes.
Calm eyes.
No fear at all.
Vinn took a slow sip from his cup.
"Maybe we can help each other," he said, smirking.
Galvado walked to his chair, dragged it out, and sat like a king settling onto a throne he barely respected.
"What do you have, genius?"
Vinn adjusted his posture, finally dropping the arrogance a little.
"I want you to work with me."
"Ha!" Galvado laughed loudly, clutching his stomach. "And why would I do that?"
"Nicolas and Flint are buried in camera footage," Vinn said. "Wolhard's already caught someone. Krill's hunting witnesses. Sarimo's backing Wolhard."
He leaned forward.
"Everyone's doing something."
Vinn pointed directly at Galvado.
"Everyone except you."
"And you?" Galvado asked.
"I'm here because Wolhard and I were hunting the same man."
Galvado's eyes twitched.
"Wait. Who did you capture?"
They left the station immediately.
Galvado took the driver's seat.
The engine roared to life as the police car shot forward.
"Where?"
"Jukura City. Rumora Street 45. An abandoned hideout."
The car tore through traffic, slicing past red lights like the law only applied to other people.
Neither of them spoke.
The air in the car felt taut—stretched thin by unasked questions.
But Galvado smiled.
They arrived at the building—rust-eaten, hollow, forgotten.
Windows shattered.
Walls stained with damp and old smoke.
Vinn glanced at Galvado.
"It's the man who ran toward that psycho and ordered a retreat. The psycho's face was covered in blood—hard to identify. But this one…"
He tapped his phone.
"Clear as day. Camera caught him clean. Name's Carl. Works at a car-cleaning factory."
They moved fast.
Inside, the place felt dead.
Power cut.
Corridors swallowed in shadow.
Peeling metal and broken pipes.
The air sat heavy with rot, like ghosts still whispered through the walls about everything they'd seen.
Galvado stopped.
Other Keys were already there.
Every one of them.
Except Wolhard.
"So they're all here," Galvado muttered.
"Guess this really is something big."
He cracked his knuckles slowly, the sound echoing down the corridor.
"Well," he said, stepping forward, voice low and steady, "looks like I'm here to make him talk."
He watched the man through the one-way glass.
The prisoner's presence stood out immediately—calm, unmoving, like an iron wall bolted to the chair.
A man welded together by sheer will.
Someone who had already decided he would not tell the police a single thing about this entire mess.
"So… is the glass one-way?" Galvado asked, not taking his eyes off Carl.
"It is," Sarimo replied. "But we should wait for Wolhard."
"And when is His Majesty planning to arrive?" Nicolas asked dryly from the back of the room.
"He's the one who identified and captured this man," Sarimo said.
"So none of you are in charge of speaking to him except h—" He didn't finish.
Galvado grabbed Sarimo by the shoulder and shoved him away from the door.
"I'm just going to chat with him."
He stepped inside.
The figure was so massive he had to bend slightly to enter the room.
Galvado's eyes swept over the man—
and then stopped at his hands.
Fingernails torn clean from the skin.
Bruises and burns along the wrists.
Marks everywhere.
Wolhard had already taken a degree out of him, he thought.
As Galvado approached, Carl looked up.
His eyes widened.
"Doc—?"
The word died in his throat when realization hit.
It wasn't Doccaro.
Galvado didn't hear the broken syllable.
He just grinned and sat down opposite him.
"So, Mr. Carl," Galvado said casually, "tell me what exactly I have here."
On the other side of the glass, Sarimo moved toward the mic.
"It was Wolhard, but he left in the middle of it, said he had to take care of something," Sarimo reported. "Maybe he told Wolhard something, but I don't know what."
He glanced at the other Keys.
Disappointment stared back at him.
"See?" Krill grinned at Flint. "I told you."
Galvado took Carl's hands in his own.
They felt small.
Fragile.
Like a child's.
He bent them slightly—just enough to make the message clear.
If you lie, they break.
"So tell me, Carl," Galvado said softly, "who do you work for?"
"Why would I ev—"
Crack.
One finger snapped at the joint.
Carl screamed.
Galvado didn't release him.
The grip was inhuman—five men wouldn't have loosened it.
"So tell me, Carl," Galvado repeated, smiling like a child offered a new toy,
"who do you work for?"
"I don't k—"
Crack.
Another joint.
The scream this time was worse—raw, animal.
Carl's whole body fought uselessly, muscles straining, nerves burning like wires on fire.
It was Galvado.
A human tank.
An ordinary man couldn't even make him flinch.
"So tell me, Carl," Galvado said again.
Same smile.
Same calm tone.
"Who do you work for?"
That smile hadn't terrified Carl the first time.
Not the second time either.
Now it did.
Bone by bone, his nerves learned fear.
His face drained of color.
His eyes drowned in agony.
"I-I—I'm telling the t-tru—"
Crack.
The last joint.
The sound carried—through the room, through the hall, through the building.
His screams clawed at the walls, begging for mercy that wasn't coming.
Behind the glass, Flint stared, frozen.
He gasped, hand unconsciously clutching his own fingers.
"So tell me, Carl," Galvado said calmly.
"Who do you work for?"
Carl looked up through tears, staring at a man who wanted only one thing.
The truth.
He swallowed.
Forced himself still.
Forced breath into his lungs.
"I really don't kn—"
Galvado tightened his grip—now sliding up to Carl's forearms.
Ready to break those too.
"No—no, please," Carl begged. "Look at me. I'm telling the truth. I swear."
"Listen to him, Galvado," Nicolas said through the mic, voice flat but firm.
Carl sagged.
Galvado released him.
He leaned in, eyes drilling straight into Carl's soul.
"I don't know the leader's name," Carl said weakly.
"Silver hair. Carries a sword. He's the leader."
"And your team?" Nicolas asked.
"How many members? Don't lie. We know you're a large gang."
Galvado gave a small nod, signaling Carl to answer.
"There are many," Carl said quickly, eyes flicking to Galvado's hands.
"But not more than the police. We're not that big."
"And the man responsible for the Vivilla Supermarket massacre?" Galvado asked.
"He's one of the leader's right-hand men," Carl replied.
"The gang is big. Operations need commanders. He's one of them."
He nodded rapidly, desperate for them to believe him.
"That's everything. Every truth," Carl thought.
"Why did you kill Vega?" Galvado asked.
"Was he part of your gang?"
Carl froze.
"Yes," he said at last.
"But he did something that angered the boss. So… he was killed."
"Oh," Galvado said, standing slowly.
He placed his hands on the table, arms caging Carl in.
"So that's the whole story."
"Yes," Carl pleaded.
"That's the truth. Please let me go. I have a family. I'll help you. I'll be a rat. I'll tell you everything later. Please—don't kill me."
Carl looked at Galvado.
Then at the glass.
"Please."
Vinn smiled, already knowing how this would end.
Flint sighed, rubbing his eyes like he was trying to erase what he'd just seen.
Krill laughed under his breath.
Nicolas leaned toward the mic.
"Do it."
Galvado grabbed Carl by the collar and lifted him off the ground.
Carl dangled like discarded clothing, gasping for air.
He met Galvado's eyes.
They were furious.
As if Galvado had known every word Carl was going to say from the beginning.
What is happening, Noir?
Carl thought.
Then—
a memory flashed…