The Minato district was unusually restrained under the daylight.
Most of the nearby shops had their shutters pulled halfway down, and pedestrians avoided the area altogether, choosing to cross the street rather than walk past the police cordon. A quiet tension hung in the air, the kind that made people lower their voices without realizing why.
Yellow tape blocked off the entrance of the private bar, stretching from wall to wall. The building, once known for its refined Japanese-style cocktails, looked painfully ordinary in the daylight. Sunlight exposed every scratch on the door, every footprint left behind—details that had gone unnoticed in the dark.
Several officers stood guard, speaking in low voices. No sirens, no flashing lights—just control.
Aqua approached with measured steps.
He was dressed as a press reporter: a black suit that blended easily into the scene, a white shirt worn open at the collar, and thin-framed glasses resting on his nose. His naturally blond hair was neatly styled, framing a calm, professional expression that betrayed nothing.
A small notebook rested in his hand, pen tucked between his fingers.
To anyone watching, he was just another reporter doing his job—observing, waiting, gathering fragments of a story.
This wasn't an act for the camera.
This was real.
"Excuse me, officer." His voice was steady but edged with urgency. He flashed the pass. "Hayato Aoki. Freelance media. The public's already buzzing—I just need a brief statement."
A large officer, eyes shadowed with fatigue, stepped forward.
"No one gets in. Orders from above. We're securing the scene."
Aqua's mind raced. He needed in. He needed to see it for himself—compare it to the vision burned into his mind. Director Gotanda's old words echoed in his head about reading people. He studied the officer: tired eyes, slouched shoulders… not the unshakable wall he appeared to be.
"I get it," Aqua said softly, lowering his tone to match the officer's fatigue. "It's a tragedy. Especially for Kamiki-san. I won't touch a thing, I just… need to get the feel of the place for the piece I'm writing. A quick walk-through, that's all."
The officer hesitated, then exhaled. "…Five minutes. Don't touch anything. You get in the way, you're out."
Aqua nodded in silent thanks and stepped past the tape.
The air inside hit him immediately—cold, stale, heavy with the faint metallic tang of blood. The bar was exactly as in his vision: overturned tables, shattered glass, scattered wine bottles. His eyes darted over everything.
This wasn't a dream.
He scanned every corner. Not a single stray hair. No fingerprints. No fabric thread left behind. The killer had erased themselves completely. Even the air felt wrong—too clean, too sterile, like someone had scrubbed away every trace of their existence.
Aqua crouched near where Kamiki's body had been. He switched on the UV torch. The dark bloodstain marked the spot, but the surrounding wood shone unnaturally clean. This was no sloppy crime of passion—this was surgical precision.
Who was this guy?
Whoever they were, they didn't just kill Kamiki. They removed themselves from reality, leaving nothing behind. That kind of control… Aqua knew it too well.
His phone suddenly buzzed violently. He pulled it out—Akane.
"Aqua! Thank god—" her voice cracked with panic, "It's Ruby! A stalker is trying to attack her!"
Aqua froze. "Where is she?!"
"The dance studio! Where she practices with B-Komachi!"
"How do you know this—"
"We don't have time! Just hurry!" The call cut abruptly.
His grip tightened around the phone. The crime scene, the killer, all of it vanished from his mind.
Without another thought, he bolted from the bar, tearing past startled officers. His disguise meant nothing now. His legs burned as he sprinted into the street, one desperate thought pounding in time with his heartbeat—
"Ruby."
To be continued…
Next Chapter: "Portal of Blood"