The guard didn't place a hand on him or raise his voice. He simply gestured for Ryunosuke to follow, and together they walked in silence through the pristine underbelly of the garage.
Concrete turned to tile. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as they passed a row of elevators and turned into a hallway Ryunosuke hadn't noticed before. Wide windows lined one side of the corridor, revealing rows of identical conference rooms. Everything looked polished, controlled, sterile—like no one had ever actually worked here, just posed for architectural photos.
They reached a narrow security door, and the guard keyed in a code before waving Ryunosuke inside.
The security office was tucked behind a frosted glass divider. The space was small but sharp—white walls, dark floors, a brushed steel desk with a monitor array mounted above. A sleek water dispenser burbled quietly in the corner. No clutter. No noise. Just the faint tap of a keyboard from a receptionist behind the front desk.
Ryunosuke stood awkwardly in the center of the room, unsure of where to sit—or if he was even allowed to.
"You're not in trouble yet," the guard said, almost kindly. "Just need someone to clear things up. Someone'll be with you shortly."
And with that, he left.
The door shut with a soft click.
Ryunosuke sat down slowly in one of the low-backed chairs lining the far wall, his eyes scanning the cameras on the monitor. He caught a glimpse of himself on one feed—blurry, grainy, stepping into the garage like a trespasser who didn't quite believe he was trespassing.
His fingers twitched against his leg.
He thought of the car.
He thought of the dream.
He thought of the name, Lilith, and how it now felt like something more than a dream could hold.
The silence stretched.
Then came the ding of the elevator just outside.
Soft footsteps approached. Not hurried. Not heavy.
Measured.
The frosted glass door opened.
And a man stepped inside.
The man who stepped inside didn't look like security.
He wore a deep gray suit, tailored flawlessly. His tie was understated, his shoes polished to a shine, and his presence carried something weightless and dangerous—like smoke in a glass box.
He was tall, maybe early forties, with close-cropped dark hair and eyes too sharp to ever be casual.
Ryunosuke stood without meaning to.
The man smiled faintly. "You must be the young man from the garage."
There was no hostility in his tone. No impatience. Just a detached curiosity.
"I—yeah," Ryunosuke muttered. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."
The man held up a hand. "No trouble. Just… protocol. People wandering around private floors tend to raise questions. Especially if they do it more than once."
He walked over to the small counter by the wall and poured himself a cup of water before gesturing loosely at Ryunosuke.
"Water?"
Ryunosuke shook his head.
The man sipped once, then turned fully to face him. "I'm Victor Navarro. I oversee most of the properties on this block, including the one you visited this morning."
He didn't offer his hand.
Ryunosuke swallowed. "I wasn't trying to steal anything."
Victor smiled again, polite but unreadable. "Of course not. You don't look like a thief."
There was a pause—brief, but charged.
Ryunosuke took a breath. "I just… I remembered the car. I saw it once before and… I wanted to see it again. That's all."
Victor's brow lifted slightly. "A specific car?"
Ryunosuke nodded. "An old BMW E30. It used to belong to my father."
Victor studied him for a moment. Then, quietly: "And your father's name?"
"…Akito. Akito Hayashi Omeo."
The air seemed to shift, just slightly.
Victor tilted his head.
"I thought so," he said, as if confirming something to himself. "Akito. Quiet man. Very disciplined. He spoke very little, but when he did, people listened."
Ryunosuke's throat tightened. "You… knew him?"
Victor's smile widened by a hair. "In passing. Not well. But enough."
He walked slowly toward the desk, placing his cup down with careful precision.
"Your mother sold that car about a year ago. She offered it at a modest price. I paid above her ask."
"Why?" Ryunosuke asked before he could stop himself.
Victor's gaze didn't waver.
"Because I saw the position she was in. And because your father was worth more than what she asked."
He said it simply. No theatrics. No boasting.
Just fact.
Something cold settled in Ryunosuke's stomach.
Victor leaned back slightly against the counter. "I didn't expect to see his son staring into my garage window today. But… life has a way of repeating shapes, doesn't it?"
There was a long silence between them.
And then Victor asked, "Was that the only reason you came? Nostalgia?"
Ryunosuke hesitated.
Then nodded.
Victor nodded too—but his eyes said he didn't quite believe it
Victor's gaze lingered on Ryunosuke for a moment, as if weighing something behind his calm expression.
Then he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a business card—sleek, black, matte.
No name.
No title.
Just a single silver-embossed emblem at the center: an ouroboros—a serpent devouring its own tail. Beneath it, in faint serif type, a single phone number.
He extended it between two fingers.
Ryunosuke stared at it.
"What's this?"
Victor tilted his head. "In case you keep seeing things you shouldn't."
The card felt heavier than it should've when Ryunosuke took it. The surface was cool, too smooth—like it had never been touched before.
"I don't understand."
"You will," Victor replied simply.
Ryunosuke started to rise, but Victor held up a hand—not threatening, but firm.
"I'm not finished."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his knuckles on the counter behind him.
"You're curious. That's natural. You've lost something. You're trying to find a shape in the noise. I understand that."
His voice lowered.
"But some puzzles… aren't meant to be solved. Not yet."
Ryunosuke's heart kicked in his chest. "Why are you telling me this?"
Victor's smile thinned.
"Because your father was a good man. But he didn't know when to stop looking either."
A beat of silence passed.
Then Victor walked toward the door, holding it open. "You can go now, Ryunosuke. This time."
The card felt like a weight in his hoodie pocket. It wasn't large. It wasn't sharp. But it pressed against him like a secret that didn't want to be forgotten.
Ryunosuke walked with his head low, shoulders tense, the city washing over him in waves of car horns, bus brakes, and snippets of overheard conversations. He couldn't remember exactly how far he'd walked. His feet carried him like they had a plan—some route mapped by instinct alone.
Victor's voice echoed in the back of his mind.
"Because your father was a good man. But he didn't know when to stop looking either."
Why had he said that?
It hadn't sounded like a warning. It hadn't even sounded cruel. It had been... tired. Like someone recounting a lesson they'd seen play out too many times.
Ryunosuke's thoughts tangled.
His father had died in a car accident. That's what they were told. That's what Amelia had whispered through her grief—that it was sudden, that it was clean.
But now he was thinking about things that hadn't made sense.
About how his mother had never talked about who bought the car.
About how she avoided the topic of his father's last job.
About the nights she stared at the closed restaurant door after locking up, like someone might walk through it.
The ouroboros on the card pulsed in his pocket. Symbol of cycles. Of endings feeding beginnings. Of secrets swallowing their own truth.
Why did Victor know that symbol would mean something to me?
He passed a bakery where the scent of warm pan dulce should've comforted him—but it didn't. He passed a mural painted by students he knew—but it blurred behind the fog in his mind.
All of it was noise now.
And beneath that noise, a single question clawed to the surface:
What if my father didn't just die?
He clenched the card tighter in his pocket.
And for the first time in years, the memory of his father's voice came back—not laughing, not cooking, but warning him:
"You don't need to chase every answer, Ryuu. Some truths change you."
He looked up.
He was almost home.
But he didn't feel safe.
Not anymore.
The apartment was still when Ryunosuke stepped through the door.
No voices.
No Emily. No Lucas. No William.
The late afternoon light cast a golden haze over the kitchen counters, and the ticking clock on the wall sounded louder than usual. He left his shoes by the door, walked quietly past the living room, and headed for the hallway closet—the one Amelia never opened unless she was drunk.
The door creaked faintly as he pulled it open.
Inside were stacked plastic bins, old coats, and his father's toolbox. Dust layered everything like sediment, like proof that time had done its best to bury whatever was left behind.
He dropped to his knees and pulled out the largest bin. His name—Ryuu—was written in faded black marker on the lid, though he didn't remember writing it.
He hesitated, hands resting on the edge.
"You don't need to chase every answer."
But he was already here.
He opened the lid.
Inside: an old scarf that still faintly smelled like cologne. A leather-bound sketchbook—his father's, filled with detailed drawings of architecture, grids, blueprints, and symbols he didn't recognize. Folders stuffed with receipts and maintenance records. A photo album. A silver watch that no longer ticked.
He dug deeper.
Loose papers. Old restaurant invoices. Some business cards from investors… one of them bore the same ouroboros from Victor's card.
He froze.
It wasn't a coincidence.
The card belonged to a consulting group—Aetherion Holdings—no website, just a phone number and an address in Beverly Hills.
The handwriting on the back was unmistakably his father's.
"Final contact before deal closes. Be careful."
Ryunosuke sat back, heart pounding.
His father had known Victor.
His father had warned himself.
And now… it was Ryunosuke's turn to understand why.
He placed the card beside Victor's, the two symbols staring back at him like matching eyes.
He didn't know what the truth was yet.
But he could feel it now, moving toward him.
Slow. Heavy.
Inevitable.