---
Kento blinked awake as golden sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the soft, cozy bed he lay in. The warmth of the blanket wrapped around him offered a rare moment of peace. For the first time in weeks, he had slept soundly—no midnight alarms, no gunfire in his dreams, no tension clawing at his chest.
But the illusion of peace shattered as his phone vibrated violently on the nightstand. Groggy, Kento reached over and picked it up.
136 missed calls. 99+ unread messages. All from John.
He sighed, a weight pressing against his chest. His thumb hovered over the call log for a second before he muttered:
"I'm sorry, John… but Akira has crossed the line."
He tossed the phone aside without opening a single message. As he rose from bed and walked to the washroom, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes. A faint bruise still visible near his collarbone. The case was draining him.
But this wasn't just a case anymore.
---
Scene Shift: Akira and Hinata – October 2, Thursday
Akira walked quietly through the hallway of their apartment complex, dressed in casual home clothes. It was an unusual morning. The neighborhood was quiet, the air unusually cold for early October.
He noticed movement in the open doorway across from his. Hinata was kneeling beside a large suitcase, folding clothes and fitting them with careful precision. Her long hair was tied up in a loose ponytail, and a few boxes of neatly wrapped gifts sat on her bed.
"You're at home too?" Akira asked, stepping into view.
Hinata turned, surprised. "Akira? You didn't go to school either?"
He shook his head. "No. I'm completely fine… just couldn't wake up early today."
His eyes drifted to the large suitcase. "Are you going somewhere?"
Hinata nodded. "Yes. Tokyo. Actually, my mother called. She asked me to come visit for a few days."
"Oh…" Akira's gaze shifted toward the gifts. "You taking those for your parents?"
"Yeah," Hinata smiled, then paused. "Why do you look so… off today?"
Akira didn't answer immediately. "When you leave, let me know."
He turned and walked back into his apartment, the door clicking shut softly behind him.
Hinata stood still for a moment, confusion flashing in her eyes.
Why is he acting different today?
---
Fifteen minutes passed.
A soft knock echoed from Akira's door.
"I'm coming," he called out from inside.
When the door opened, Hinata was greeted by the sight of Akira holding three beautifully packed lunchboxes—neatly tied with fabric and a handwritten note clipped to the top.
"Take these," he said, avoiding her eyes. "And take care. Don't forget to call or text me, okay?"
Hinata looked guilty. "I'm sorry, Akira… but I'm not going to central Tokyo. It's a remote village on the outskirts. Pretty backward, honestly. No network. I won't be able to text or call. My mom only calls me once a month—when she travels to the city."
Akira went quiet.
"When will you come back?" he asked finally.
"Probably in a week."
Silence stretched between them like a fragile string.
Then, Akira stepped forward. "Hinata."
She looked up, sensing the emotion in his voice.
He reached out suddenly, gently pulled her close, and kissed her on the lips.
It wasn't long. It wasn't perfect. But it was real.
"I'll miss you," he whispered, stepping back, his eyes still cast downward.
Hinata stood frozen, eyes wide in disbelief.
Akira gave her no chance to respond. He turned and walked back into his kitchen, disappearing from view.
Hinata slowly stepped back. The cab had arrived. Wordlessly, she handed her suitcase to the driver and sat in the back seat. As the car began to drive off, she looked back through the window.
Akira stood at the second-floor window, watching silently, hands in his pockets, face unreadable.
---
Scene Shift: Kento's Search for the Underground
The street was eerily silent.
Kento's footsteps echoed as he walked through a rundown alley in the industrial part of town. Trash bins overflowed with cardboard and broken crates. Vines crept across the rusted walls.
He checked his phone.
"Take a left at the red signboard."
He did. Ahead stood an old garage with a closed, corrugated metal shutter.
"I think I'm here."
He knocked three times.
A sliding slit opened in the center of the shutter. Two suspicious eyes peered out.
"Who are you?"
Kento answered flatly: "Two-six-two-five-three-seven."
The eyes narrowed. Then the shutter creaked upward with a groan. Behind it stood a tall man with tangled black hair falling to his shoulders, a leather coat draped over his thin frame, and a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips.
"…Come in."
Kento stepped into the dusty warehouse. Inside was a maze of crates, rusted lockers, and torn leather couches. Dim, flickering tube lights barely lit the space.
"Follow me," the man said. "I'll take you to the boss. First, a routine check."
He patted Kento down thoroughly. No weapons. No wire.
"Clear," he said, then pointed toward a heavy door behind a curtain of plastic sheets.
"Through there."
Kento stepped inside.
The room was dark—walls black, only a single bulb hanging low above a chair in the center. Shadows danced as the bulb swung slightly, creaking on its cord.
Kento sat down, arms folded.
"All your men are weak," he said into the gloom.
Silence.
Then, footsteps. A tall woman stepped forward from the shadows.
She was dressed in red—long coat, dark lipstick, golden earrings. Her presence was dangerous. Commanding.
"Apologies for the inconvenience," she said coolly. "But don't worry. This time, we're done playing games."
She turned away, giving a nod to someone behind her.
"This time… we're sending a Gold Rank to handle Akira Toizawa."
The light dimmed further.
The room went silent.
---