Thin cigarette smoke drifted in the air, forming abstract patterns before vanishing under the softly humming neon office lights.
The smell of coffee and paper filled the Special Division room, a distinct aroma that always greeted me every morning. Outside the window, the Tokyo sky was a pale gray, promising a gloomy day.
I stared at the stack of files on Mikami's desk. He stood there, his back slightly hunched, his rough fingers turning the pages of the forensic report with slow, deliberate movements. The creases on his forehead deepened, shadows of fatigue etched clearly under his eyes.
"So?" I asked, breaking the silence filled only by the sound of shuffling paper.
Mikami let out a long sigh, a heavy sound that seemed to carry the weight of the entire department. He tossed the file onto the desk.
"No progress," he muttered, his voice hoarse from too many cigarettes.
"A complete dead end."
I picked up the file, feeling the slightly rough texture of the paper under my fingertips.
"The Forensic Team couldn't give us anything more?"
"Read it yourself." He waved his hand, a gesture of frustration I knew all too well.
"As you suspected, with only blood DNA, it's impossible for us to know who the victims were. No matches in the national database, no missing persons reports that fit the profile."
I scanned the dense lines of text, medical and chemical terms trying to explain a senseless slaughter.
"Right," I said, closing the file with a soft slap.
"If only… if only the recording also showed the shooters' faces. At least we'd know who they were."
"But we don't, Mitsuha." Mikami turned, staring at the whiteboard on the wall filled with blurry photos and red strings connecting empty points.
"We're chasing ghosts."
"Did you check the CCTV footage in the surrounding area again?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. I just needed confirmation, something to calm my restlessness.
"They must have come in a group. A group of armed men can't move without a trace in this city."
Mikami chuckled, a dry, humorless laugh. "I've been doing that since day one, Mitsuha. I've combed through CCTV footage within a two-kilometer radius of the crime scene. The day of the incident, a week before, a month before… nothing. No suspicious groups, no black vans, nothing."
He took another cigarette, tapping it on the desk before lighting it. Blue smoke curled up.
"Even the woman's voice the residents claimed to have heard has no physical trace," he continued.
"I checked every camera angle pointing at that alley. Absolutely nothing. It's as if they appeared out of thin air and vanished into the earth."
I fell silent for a moment, remembering another report that came in a few days ago.
"What about the other cases?" I asked, trying to connect the disparate dots. "I heard a building suddenly collapsed in the next district. And there was another building, not far from there, with a wall that looked like it had been hit by a very long, deep horizontal slash. Any updates on that?"
I looked at Mikami sharply. "I'm sure it's the work of the same perpetrator. The pattern… has similarities."
Mikami took a deep drag of his cigarette, then exhaled slowly. White smoke hid his expression for a moment.
"About that…" He shook his head slowly. "Same as the shooting case in this alley. completely clean."
He walked to his desk, rummaging through a pile of papers, then pulled out a thin folder.
"Both the cracks in the collapsed building and the horizontal slash marks in that dark alley… no traces of heavy machinery, no residue of conventional explosives. No progress."
He handed the folder to me. "But… we found something strange in the alley where the slash happened. We found ash."
"Ash?" I opened the folder. Photos of piles of black ash on white snow greeted me.
"Correct," Mikami said. "After the forensic team examined the ash, they said it was human ash."
My brow furrowed. I read the chemical analysis report on the next page. Calcium, carbon, phosphorus… the composition was unmistakable.
"Do you know whose ash this is?" I asked without looking up.
"No idea," Mikami replied, his voice sounding tired. "The identity of the corpse is unknown. The DNA was completely destroyed by extreme heat."
He leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's truly bizarre, Mitsuha. The Forensic Team said the ash had been burned only minutes before the police arrived at the scene after receiving reports of an explosion and building collapse. But how is that possible?"
He pointed to the location map on the whiteboard.
"The burning time was too short. Burning a human corpse into such fine ash requires very high crematorium temperatures and hours of time. Doing it in an open alley, in the middle of winter, in a matter of minutes? Without leaving traces of fuel or incendiary devices?"
He shook his head again, frustrated. "This is truly strange. Just as absurd as the shooting case."
"I also checked the CCTV around that alley," he added before I could ask. "The result was the same. No one was found entering or leaving."
Frustration began to creep into my voice, turning my flat tone into a suppressed growl.
"This is so weird," I muttered, closing the folder roughly. "Is what the higher-ups said true? That the culprits are the same aliens as the ones on Mars and in Shibuya?"
I stood up, grabbing a stack of work documents from my desk. My chair creaked softly.
"I don't know," I answered firmly, straightening my uniform collar.
"Whether they're aliens, monsters, or ghosts… I will catch them."
I walked toward the door, my heels clicking clack-clack-clack on the dull linoleum floor.
I stopped for a moment in the doorway, turning to Mikami who was still staring at his cigarette smoke.
"They have to pay," I said, my voice cold. "They have to know that Japan is not a playground where they can come, slaughter, destroy buildings, and just leave."
"I will definitely catch them!"
Mikami didn't answer, just nodded slowly.
"I'm going to give this report to the chief," I said, then stepped out.
The hallway of the special division office was busy as usual. Officers in black and white office uniforms bustled about, carrying files, coffee. Phones ringing in the distance, the rhythmic sound of a photocopier, and the murmur of conversation created a bureaucratic atmosphere.
"Good morning, Ms. Mitsuha," greeted a young officer carrying a tray of coffee.
"Good morning, Sato-san," I replied briefly, continuing to walk.
My steps halted as I passed the break room. There, several police colleagues were gathered in front of a television hanging on the wall. Breaking news was playing, a bright red banner at the bottom of the screen.
"…Breaking news: a mass shooting has just occurred targeting the Jewish community by a gunman in Australia…"
The female reporter's voice sounded tense but professional. The image switched to aerial footage of a synagogue surrounded by police cars and ambulances.
"According to our reporter on the scene, the shooting occurred during a service at 12:00 PM local time. A man armed with a semi-automatic rifle entered the place of worship and opened fire indiscriminately. The perpetrator is reported to have died at the scene after shooting himself."
I moved closer, my eyes fixed on the screen.
*"The provisional death toll is estimated to reach 50 people, with dozens more injured. We will continue to update the information…"*
"Seriously? Fifty people?" whispered one of my police colleagues, his eyes widening in disbelief.
"The culprit must have had a deep grudge against Jewish people," another remarked, shaking his head.
"Crazy."
"Well, it's undeniable," murmured a senior detective while sipping his coffee. "Jewish people are being hated all over the world right now because of their actions in Gaza. No wonder some crazy person was desperate enough to do this."
"But an automatic rifle?" cut in a younger colleague. "Isn't Australia a country with gun laws as strict as ours? Where did the culprit get something that heavy?"
The question hung in the air.
"Didn't we experience something similar?" said the senior detective, glancing at me briefly.
"Last month, there was a shootout here too. The difference is, here the victims aren't even known. The weapons are also missing."
"You're right," his colleague muttered.
I turned my face away from the screen, continuing my steps toward the chief's office. My mind raced.
A shooting in Australia. Fifty people dead. Damn terrorist.
But my young colleague's question echoed in my head. Where did he get that weapon?
Is there a connection to the case in the alley?
I shook my head, trying to banish the thought.
No, I denied.
If I start thinking like that, I'll connect every criminal event in the world to that case.
That will only take me further from the truth.
However, as I knocked on the mahogany door of the chief's office, the uneasy feeling still lodged in my chest, like a pebble in a shoe that you can't ignore.