The city bled neon into the rain, a thousand flickering signs reflecting in puddles that smelled of oil and regret.
Kuro Arakawa stood under a streetlamp, cigarette glowing faintly as he stared at the body sprawled across the alley. Male, mid-20s, throat slashed with surgical precision, eyes wide like he'd seen the devil before it took him.
The scene was too clean—no prints, no struggle, just a single crimson smear on the wall, like a painter's afterthought.
"Another one," Kuro muttered, exhaling smoke. His gray eyes scanned the scene, cataloging details with the cold efficiency of a man who'd seen too many corpses to flinch. He didn't need to feel. He just needed to solve it.
"Hey, boss!" a voice chirped, too bright for 2 a.m. in a murder alley.
Shiro Odagiri jogged up, his silvery hair catching the neon like a halo, his blue eyes too alive for a place like this. He was chewing on a straw from some overpriced bubble tea, grinning like he wasn't standing over a dead man.
"Got the prelims from the drone scan. No DNA, no fibers, no nothing. Killer's a ghost." Kuro didn't look at him.
"Stop calling me boss."
"Captain? Senpai?" Shiro's grin widened, but his eyes flicked to the body, and for a split second, the brightness dimmed. He crouched, studying the victim's face. "Poor guy. Looks like he was running from something.".
"He's not running anymore," Kuro said, voice flat. He crushed his cigarette under his heel and walked to the crimson smear, tracing its edge with a gloved finger. "This isn't random. Too deliberate. Third clean kill this month."
Shiro stood, brushing rain from his jacket, revealing a glimpse of scar tissue peeking from his sleeve. "You think it's our guy again? The one the precinct's calling the Phantom?"
Kuro's jaw tightened. He hated nicknames. They romanticized monsters.
"No prints, no witnesses, no motive. Just bodies. It's him."
Shiro tilted his head, watching Kuro too closely, like he could see the cracks beneath the senior detective's iron facade. "You sound tired, Arakawa-san. When's the last time you slept?"
Kuro ignored him, pulling out his notepad. "Victim's ID?"
Shiro sighed, tapping his wrist device.
"Hiroshi Tanaka, 26, low-level coder for Nexus Corp. No priors, no enemies. Just a guy who liked cheap ramen and bad VR games."
He paused, voice softening. "Had a dog. Neighbor's got it now.
Kuro didn't respond. He didn't care about the dog, or the ramen, or the life this guy had before he became a case number. Caring gets you killed. Or worse, it leaves you alive, carrying ghosts. Like her. He shoved the thought down, focusing on the smear. "This mark's new. The others didn't have it.
Shiro crouched again, pulling a small scanner from his pocket. "Symbol, maybe? Could be a signature. I'll run it through the database." His fingers moved fast, but his eyes kept darting to Kuro, like he was solving two puzzles at once. "You know, you don't have to do the lone wolf thing. I'm not useless."
"You're loud," Kuro said, walking past him toward the street. "Stay focused."
Shiro followed, undeterred, his sneakers splashing through puddles. "Loud's my charm. Keeps the ghosts away." He tossed a piece of candy at a kid hovering near the police tape, earning a shy smile before the kid scampered off. Kuro saw it from the corner of his eye and felt something twist in his chest. He ignored it.
The precinct was a hive of flickering screens and stale coffee. Kuro sat at his desk, jazz playing faintly from a vinyl player he kept hidden under files. Shiro was across from him, typing furiously, his screen casting blue light over his scars. "Got a hit," he said, spinning his chair. "That smear? It's a kanji. 'Hour.' Weird, right? Like the killer's marking time."
Kuro leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Time for what?"
Shiro shrugged, popping a piece of candy in his mouth. "Dunno. But the other victims had traces of a rare sedative in their systems. Untraceable unless you know what to look for. I found it because I'm awesome."
Kuro didn't acknowledge the brag. "A serial killer with a timetable. Great." He stood, grabbing his coat. "We're checking Tanaka's apartment."
Shiro scrambled after him. "You didn't say no to me coming!"
"Stop talking."
Tanaka's apartment was a shrine to mediocrity—cheap furniture, unwashed dishes, a dog bed in the corner. Kuro moved methodically, checking drawers, while Shiro scanned the walls with his device. "No cameras, no bugs," Shiro said. "But… hang on." He paused at a cracked mirror, prying it open to reveal a hidden compartment. Inside was a single vial of clear liquid and a note: Midnight, the 8th. Hour comes.
Kuro's blood went cold. Today was the 8th. He checked his watch: 11:42 p.m. "We're out of time."
Shiro's smile was gone, his blue eyes sharp. "Another target?"
Kuro nodded, already dialing the precinct for backup. "Get the drone logs. Every camera in a ten-block radius."
Shiro worked fast, his usual chatter replaced by focus. "Got a hit. Warehouse district, abandoned lot. Drone caught a figure moving ten minutes ago."
The warehouse was a skeleton of rust and shadow, rain hammering its roof. Kuro moved first, gun drawn, his steps silent. Shiro followed, his scanner glowing faintly. They found the next victim tied to a chair, alive but sedated, a fresh crimson "Hour" smeared on the wall. The killer was gone.
Shiro cut the ropes, checking the man's pulse. "He's okay. Just out cold." He looked at Kuro, rain dripping from his hair. "We got here in time. That's something, right?"
Kuro holstered his gun, his hands shaking slightly. He hadn't saved her, all those years ago. But tonight, he'd saved someone. He met Shiro's gaze, and for once, didn't look away. "Yeah. Something."
Shiro grinned, soft but real. "Told you I'm not useless."
Kuro turned toward the rain, hiding the faintest curve of his lips. "Don't push it."
They sat in Kuro's car afterward, jazz crackling through the radio, the city's neon bleeding through the windshield. Shiro offered him a piece of candy. Kuro took it, surprising himself. "You're annoying," he said, unwrapping it.
"You're welcome," Shiro replied, leaning back, his smile a quiet defiance against the dark.
A silence settled between them. A comfortable one.