The morning after the snowfall, Tokyo's streets were lively once again. The city never rested, always moving forward, yet for some, time felt frozen.
The man from the bench sat in a dimly lit, cramped apartment. The jacket and scarf Hanako had given him were draped over the chair beside him. He stared at the untouched meal on his small table, the warmth long gone. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't sure if he had felt hunger in years.
His gaze drifted to a small, framed photograph beside the meal. The glass was cracked, but the image inside remained untouched—a young woman smiling gently while holding an energetic baby girl .
"Six years..." he muttered, rubbing his temples.
Suddenly, his phone vibrated on the table, its screen lighting up with a number he didn't recognize. He hesitated before answering.
"You still alive, Black Sparrow?" a deep voice on the other end asked.
His grip on the phone tightened. "...I told you to stop calling me that."
"Call yourself whatever you want, but the bodies piling up say otherwise," the voice chuckled. "You made a real mess last night."
The man remained silent.
"You left quite the message, didn't you?" the voice continued. "A warehouse full of bodies, missing fingers, missing… other things you have quite the reputation over these past few months. You know, the police aren't happy. Especially not that Chief Kurosawa."
He exhaled sharply. "What do you want Gin?"
"Same thing I always want. To know if you're still in the game."
The man let out a low chuckle. "I never was in the game. I only clean up the trash."
The voice laughed. "And yet, you're the one they're hunting like a rabid dog, they see your way of justice as a crime but you're doing them a favor that they won't admit."
Silence stretched between them.
"Look, you know the pattern. You know how this city works. The police won't get far. They never do. But you? You can do what they can't. And between you and me, there are a few names that need crossing off, I'll send you the details later and I want you to destroy anything that can reprimand our position."
"...I'm done," the man said, his voice flat.
"Hah! You always say that. And yet, every time, you go right back to it."
He hung up the phone.
Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his face. The scars on his knuckles were rough against his fingertips, reminders of the life he had tried to leave behind.
Then, a face came to mind.
That high school girl is really something else
The girl who, without hesitation, had stopped to help him. The girl who had looked at him with concern rather than disgust.
A bitter smirk crossed his face. If she only knew the monster I am.
At the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, the atmosphere was tense. Deputy Kirihara stood in front of a crime board covered in photos of mutilated bodies, red strings connecting them like a spider's web.
Chief Kurosawa leaned back in his chair, cigarette in hand and his patience dwindling. "So? You going to sit here staring at pictures all day, or are you going to actually do your job?"
Kirihara ignored him, focusing on a set of crime scene images.
"The victims," she said, almost to herself. "They all have records of crimes committed or they are at least suspects or accomplices. Drug trafficking, human smuggling, underground gambling… scum. Not a single innocent among them at all."
Kurosawa exhaled smoke. "Yeah, we noticed that too. Makes it hard to call them 'victims' at all. Makes me wonder if this black sparrow is an enemy or an ally. I mean he's practically doing is a favor."
Kirihara's jaw tightened. "This isn't justice. It's just a different kind of monster cleaning up the filth."
The chief smirked. "And yet, you're going to hunt him down, aren't you?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she turned back to the board, her eyes narrowing on the crime scene signatures.
"Black Sparrow," she muttered. "What exactly are you trying to do and who the hell are you?"
Hanako walked home from school that afternoon, her breath visible in the cold air. She couldn't shake the image of the man sitting alone in the snow.
Something about him seemed… broken.
I hope he's doing okay currently, he looks too young to be in that condition she thought.
As she turned the corner, her phone buzzed. A message from her father.
"Coming home late again tonight. Order dinner if you need to, I'm sorry my daughter I'll make it up to you."
Hanako sighed, stuffing her phone back into her pocket. She was used to it by now. The apartment would be empty when she got home, just like always. Her father barely had time for her and he's hardly ever home.
As she walked past an alleyway, a strange sound made her stop. A low, pained groan.
Her heart pounded. Was someone hurt?
Slowly, she stepped closer and peered inside.
A man lay slumped against the brick wall, his body partially obscured by shadows. Blood dripped from his mouth, staining his torn shirt. His right hand…
Hanako's stomach twisted. His right hand was missing its thumb and index finger.
She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.
Then she saw it.
A figure disappearing around the corner.
Tall.Muscular. Moving casually—like nothing had happened. He soon disappeared into a crowd of people out of Hanako's sight.
Hanako's breath hitched.
She recognized that jacket.
It was the same one she had bought for the man at the train station.