Chapter 3: The Police Station

The car rolled to a smooth stop. Ayaka Kuroda sat in the passenger seat, her face betraying no emotion as she turned to Takamura.

“It’s a formality, Takamura-san,” she said. “Yamada’s desperate, and the police are just trying to cover their bases. Nothing will come of this.”

Takamura didn’t respond immediately. He straightened his jacket sleeves, adjusted his tie, and finally met her gaze with a faint smile. “Desperation is a dangerous thing, Kuroda. It makes men reckless. Let’s see how far Yamada is willing to go.”

He stepped out of the car, his movements deliberate. Two uniformed officers were waiting at the station’s entrance. Their postures were stiff, their faces betraying unease as they saw him approach.

“Yagami-san,” one of them said, trying to sound authoritative but failing to mask the underlying respect—or was it fear? “We need to ask you a few questions. Please follow us.”

Takamura inclined his head slightly, his expression calm, even polite. “Of course, gentlemen. Lead the way.”

The police station buzzed with subdued activity, officers typing at desks and phones ringing in the background. As Takamura walked through the corridors, all eyes seemed to turn toward him. Whispers followed in his wake. He ignored them, his focus unbroken.

The officers led him to an interrogation room, its plain walls and single fluorescent light designed to make anyone feel cornered. Takamura, however, took a seat at the metal table as though he were settling into a chair at an exclusive lounge.

Opposite him sat Detective Hiroshi Tanaka, a grizzled man in his fifties with a permanent scowl etched into his face. He wore his badge like a shield, and his eyes gleamed with a mix of determination and skepticism.

“Takamura Yagami,” Tanaka said, leaning forward. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. But I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Takamura offered a small smile, folding his hands on the table. “I’m flattered, Detective. Though I imagine not everything you’ve heard has been complimentary.”

Tanaka snorted. “You’re not wrong. Let’s cut to the chase. Yamada Satoshi came in last night. He claims you’ve threatened him—and his family.”

Takamura’s smile didn’t waver. “Ah, Yamada-san. He does seem to have quite the vivid imagination, doesn’t he?”

Tanaka slammed a folder onto the table, the sound echoing in the small room. “This isn’t a joke, Yagami. He says you’ve been stalking his family, leaving notes, sending men to intimidate him. We take those kinds of accusations seriously.”

Takamura tilted his head, his expression serene. “And yet, Detective, you’ve brought me here for questioning, not arrest. Which means Yamada has, once again, failed to produce any evidence to support his claims.”

Tanaka’s jaw tightened. “Maybe. But we’ve got his statement, and we’ll be watching you closely. If there’s even a hint of wrongdoing—”

The door to the interrogation room opened, cutting him off. Ayaka Kuroda strode in, her heels clicking sharply against the tile floor. She placed a folder on the table in front of Tanaka and spoke with icy precision.

“Detective Tanaka, this is a formal notice requesting the immediate release of my client,” she said. “You have no grounds to detain him, and unless you want to deal with a civil suit for unlawful harassment, I suggest you conclude this farce quickly.”

Tanaka glared at her, but Ayaka didn’t flinch. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass. “Unless, of course, you’ve miraculously uncovered evidence in the last five minutes?”

The room fell silent.

Takamura chuckled softly, drawing everyone’s attention. “Detective,” he said, his tone almost conversational. “You’re a man of experience. Surely you can see what’s happening here. Yamada has lost his credibility, his standing, and his dignity. This… performance is his last, desperate attempt to save face.”

Tanaka frowned, but he didn’t respond.

Takamura rose from his seat, smoothing his jacket. “If you do find something worth discussing, you know where to find me. I’m always happy to cooperate with the authorities.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out, Ayaka following close behind. As they exited the station, he glanced at her. “How many reporters are outside?”

“A handful,” she replied. “The usual vultures.”

Takamura nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Good. Let them see me walk free.”

The cameras flashed as Takamura emerged, his composure flawless. He paused at the top of the station’s steps, allowing the reporters to swarm around him.

“Takamura-san!” one of them shouted. “What’s your response to the allegations made by Yamada Satoshi?”

Takamura met the journalist’s gaze with a faint smile. “My response? The truth will always prevail. Baseless accusations are nothing more than noise, and I have no intention of being distracted by them.”

Another reporter called out, “Do you deny threatening Yamada or his family?”

Takamura’s expression darkened just slightly, enough to command silence. “I am a man who values integrity and precision. I do not deal in threats. I deal in results.”

He turned and descended the steps, the cameras flashing relentlessly. The message was clear: Takamura Yagami was untouchable.

In his penthouse office, Takamura poured himself a glass of whiskey, the city skyline glittering behind him. Ayaka sat on the leather sofa, reviewing documents.

“What now?” she asked, not looking up.

Takamura swirled the whiskey in his glass, his gaze fixed on the lights below. “Yamada has overplayed his hand. He’s shown his desperation. Now… we make sure he understands the consequences.”

Ayaka raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to handle it?”

Takamura took a sip of his drink, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips. “No,” he said. “This one is personal. I’ll deal with him myself.”