After arresting the three criminals along with the accomplice aboard the Heisei Express, the police used a cold-treatment interrogation method for two hours, they didn't even bandage their wounds.
The first one to break was the criminal whose hand had been shot through. He confessed everything about their revenge plot in complete detail and even begged for a reduced sentence.
It turned out the four criminals were all former members of the violent gang known as the Oni-Tora Group.
The highly capable prosecutor Haruma Shindo had used his skills last year to arrest the gang leader along with a large number of executives, causing the organization to collapse and disband not long afterward.
Walking out of the interrogation room, Ritsu took out a cigarette pack. After shaking out a cigarette, he lit it with a match.
He disliked using lighters. What he loved was the feeling of striking a match.
Pinching the matchstick between his fingers, he applied slight pressure. The tip ignited instantly, the flame lighting the cigarette in his mouth. With a flick of his wrist, he extinguished the fire, then took out a portable evidence bag and waited until the match cooled before placing it inside.
Hayasaka was already handling the report paperwork for him. With no more work left to do, Ritsu smoked as he walked outside.
The elevator doors on the ninth floor opened. Looking up at the people about to step out, the fingers holding his cigarette trembled slightly, though his expression remained calm.
Standing inside the elevator with their arms slung around each other's shoulders were none other than Wataru and Takagi, famously nicknamed the "WATARU Brothers."
Miwako from another division had been the one to tell him about that nickname.
Subconsciously hiding the cigarette behind his back, Ritsu smiled faintly and greeted them, "Hello. Just finished a stakeout?"
Takagi blinked in surprise and asked curiously, "Inspector Onizawa, how did you know we just finished a stakeout?"
Ritsu pointed toward his chin and replied calmly, "The bloodshot eyes and dark circles show you just pulled an all-nighter. As detectives, you'd normally shave before coming to work but you didn't, which means the stubble appeared after staying up overnight. Therefore, it's easy to deduce you just finished a stakeout assignment."
'Amazing. A completely accurate deduction.'
Takagi touched his chin and indeed found rough stubble there. Embarrassed, he laughed awkwardly at the two men before hurrying toward the restroom, clearly planning to wash his face and tidy up his appearance a bit.
"You're the new inspector in Unit Three, Onizawa Takashi, right?"
For some reason, Wataru felt a slight sense of goodwill toward the man before him.
Perhaps it was because he had become fairly famous within the Metropolitan Police Department, people said he solved cases incredibly quickly and had an absurdly high clearance rate, a rare genius detective.
"Yeah. If I may ask, what should I call you?"
"I'm Wataru Date from First Division Robbery-Homicide Unit Two. Current rank, Assistant Inspector. Nice to meet you!"
Wataru spoke with his usual hearty attitude.
'Robbery-Homicide Unit Two, huh?'
The division that specialized in robbery cases and occasionally dealt with violent crimes as well. When busy, they were definitely more occupied than the Violent Crimes Unit Three that Ritsu belonged to.
After all, there were naturally far more thieves in the world than murderers. If it were the other way around, society would collapse into chaos.
"Likewise."
"Then we won't keep you from heading home, Inspector. See you around."
"See you."
Ritsu stepped into the elevator and watched the retreating figure disappear into the distance.
So close… Yet he couldn't tell him that he was still alive.
'Sorry, Date-san. Forgive me for not being able to tell you the truth. At least until everything is over… just think of me as dead.'
The elevator doors slowly closed.
The crimson in his eyes dimmed lifelessly. He extinguished the cigarette hidden behind his back and tossed it into the evidence bag, wondering how he should spend the rest of his free time.
After becoming such a workaholic, he truly hated idle vacations.
Taking a taxi back home, he washed up briefly and changed into a dark blue bathrobe.
Ritsu walked over to the bar counter and took out an old-fashioned glass. After dropping in a sphere-shaped ice cube, he poured himself a little bourbon whiskey.
Carrying the glass into the study, he sat down. He still hadn't gotten around to reviewing the laboratory mouse experiment data he had picked up from the research institute a few days earlier.
Taking small sips of bourbon, he compared each set of data carefully. He didn't notice any particular problems.
Looks like the experiment's progress is pretty slow… Though that suited him just fine.
His slender fingers rapidly tapped against the mechanical keyboard, producing crisp, pleasant clicking sounds. Finally, he lightly pressed the Enter key and sent the email to a mysterious address.
[Augier: Sir, the APTX4869 experiment is currently still in the testing stage. Mice that consumed 0.05 grams showed no abnormalities in bodily function. Of the mice that consumed a 0.1 gram dosage, 70% showed no issues while 30% died. For the 0.15 gram dosage, the mortality rate has currently exceeded 80%.]
[Augier: APTX4869 is still only a half-finished prototype in the experimental stage and contains highly lethal toxins. Judging from the condition of the dead mice, no toxins can be detected in their bodies after death. Should I acquire a batch from the research institute for Gin and the others?]
About several dozen minutes later, a reply arrived.
[Boss: Continue monitoring it. At the moment, I'm not particularly interested in APTX4869. Any recent activity from those two sides? As for the prototype, there's no need to provide it to Gin and the others.]
[Augier: Neither side has made any notable moves recently. Perhaps it's just the calm before the storm. I'll continue watching.]
[Boss: Mm. Good children get cake. I'm going to rest now. Goodnight, Augier.]
[Augier: Goodnight, sir.]
Slowly rising to his feet, he carried the empty whiskey glass into the living room. Pouring himself another drink, Ritsu walked lightly toward the floor-to-ceiling window.
Sure enough, comparing experimental data was the fastest way to kill time. Night had already fallen, and the entirety of Tokyo was cloaked in darkness.
Looking at the scattered neon lights below, he couldn't help but think back to the past a year ago.
In March of last year, he had still been living in a villa in Zurich, Switzerland.
Thinking about it carefully, those first few months had been the most depressed period of his life. There were even times he had considered ending everything.
Day after day, night after night, insomnia tormented him. Getting even a single hour of sleep felt luxurious.
He had cut off all contact with the outside world, sealing himself inside the villa while endlessly practicing.
Practicing how to become an entirely different person.
Appearance.
Dominant hand.
Eating habits.
Behavioral patterns.
Everything.
This time, inside and out, he had completely transformed into another person who should never have existed in the first place.
If fate had a human form, it would surely be a child obsessed with cruel pranks. Otherwise, it wouldn't have made such a complete mess of his life.
23:59.
Not the current time, but the activation time for the specially made contact lenses. The crimson gradually faded away, returning to a deep ocean blue.
Within those phoenix-like eyes tilted slightly upward, there wasn't the slightest trace of joy.
The corners of his tightly pressed lips drooped faintly downward.
Overlooking Tokyo's nightscape, he wasn't sure when exactly he had started enjoying scenery from high places.
Perhaps it was some strange sense of domination at work. Standing above everything made Ritsu feel…
As though he could control everything.
As though he could perfectly play every different identity.
Gently swirling the liquor in his glass, he lifted the corners of his mouth without truly smiling. Raising the glass slightly forward in a toast, it was impossible to tell whether he was toasting some stranger somewhere sharing a drink at the same hour.
Or the reflection of himself in the window.
He drained the glittering liquid in one gulp without even furrowing his brows, his alcohol tolerance clearly no longer what it once was.
With a self-mocking curl of his lips, he murmured softly, "Looks like… I should ask Vermouth how she treats insomnia."
Though…
She probably doesn't know either. Otherwise, she wouldn't hate her so much.