Ch.002 – Thither here – 05

Renji eased the scooter to a stop in front of WaraGyo, after turning off the engine, he could feel how quiet the street was.

So much shit happened in just… twenty-four hours…

He made his way toward the restaurant’s door, with steps so slow like his body hadn't caught up with his thoughts. And before he could raise a hand to push it open, the door opened in urgency.

“Renji!” Tetsuo stood in the doorway, his expression tight with worry, and he was about to say something but didn’t know where to begin.

“Heya… boss…” Renji forced a grin.

“… You okay?”

“Just spent the night in the worst hotel room imaginable.”

Tetsuo didn’t laugh. Just let out a resigned grunt. “Come on in.” With a pat on the shoulder, he nudged Renji inside.

Inside, afternoon light filtered through the smudged windows, casting soft stripes on the floor. Tetsuo moved around in the kitchen, his movements heavier than usual. Minutes later, he returned with a tray—two cups of tea, and a small portion of meal. He set it down gently on the table.

“Thanks, old man.”

But the silence that followed swallowed everything. Neither reached for the food or the tea. Neither looked at each other. They just sat there—two men, a table between them, both weighed down by things unsaid, as if they stuck in a marriage that’s not working for a decade.

Fuck... where do I even start…?

Renji stared at the floor before the words spilled out, cracked and dry.

“Apparently… my cargo had packed cocaine in it.”

“Yeah… I heard.”

“Police came here too I guess?”

“They showed up not long after you got taken in. Searched the place too.”

“Of course they did.”

Tetsuo rubbed his knuckles, then clenched them. His voice was careful now, like he was trying not to trip over broken glass.

“Renji… you’re not… actually involved in this kind of stuff, are you?”

“Old man, I legit thought it was your package.”

Tetsuo nearly choked. “No way! I’d never—hell no.”

“Neither would I.”

A pause. Another sigh in sync.

“Sorry… I believe you, Renji. I do. But I had to hear it from you. After what they said, I just…”

“It’s fine.” Renji’s voice was quieter now. “Everyone’s been asking the same thing… Starting to get used to it.”

The heavy silence returned. The kind that felt like mourning. Outside, the sun was still shining, but inside, the air felt like the aftermath of a storm.

So—

He about to speak, but Tetsuo spoke over him. “So how did it end up in there?”

“That’s what I’d like to know…”

Then something tugged at the back of Renji’s mind.

“Wait… how come you didn’t come to the station?”

Tetsuo hesitated while relaxing his clenched fists. “I was about to. After the cops left, I grabbed my coat and everything. But then…”

“But?”

“She said she’d handle it.”

She?

Then it clicked in his mind.

“Oh yeah… she—” Renji continues, already knowing the answer.

“Reika. Reika Hiraga. CEO of KHX.” Tetsuo said the name clearly.

His hand twitched above his pocket—where her name card still sat in his wallet.

“…What? Did she call you?”

“No,” Tetsuo said, shaking his head. “She came here. In person. Just as I was locking up to head to the station.”

Renji didn’t say anything. He just listened with confused expression.

“She told me the exact same story the cops gave me. Said it was a real problematic for her company’s.”

“That’s the part I don’t understand, why not just pin the whole damn thing on me and be done with it?” Renji asked, brow furrowed.

“She said… something about returning a favor to me.”

“Favor? You know each other’s?”

“...Uh yeah... oh... I never told you huh...”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me now old man...”

Tetsuo scratched the back of his neck. “Didn’t think it was worth mentioning… But she’s been ordering from here for a while. That red-ribboned batch.”

“That was HERS?”

Wait, why? did she have- no that’s not important!

The pieces in his mind started to connect—and then scatter again like blowing dust.

“Isn't that more like YOU owe her a favor?” Renji stares at Tetsuo that seems to grasp for answers too.

“My thought exactly... “

…Don’t tell me… the drugs were actually hers?

Renji shook his head violently, like trying to knock the thought out.

“Whatever… I still don’t get half of what’s going on, but… whatever.”

Tetsuo leaned back, his expression plastered with concern. “On a serious note, though… We’re gonna need to be careful from now on. I thought this neighborhood was safe…”

Renji pushed himself up from the chair. “Yeah… anyway… I’m dead tired. Think I’m heading home.”

“You should… Hey, want me to pack some dinner for later?”

“Nah. No appetite…”

Renji was already halfway to the door before the offer landed. Tetsuo followed him out, silent steps trailing behind.

At the entrance, Renji paused, hand on the doorframe. He gave a crooked smile over his shoulder.

“By the way… looks like I can’t get you to that massage parlor… Sorry, old man.”

Tetsuo chuckled, faintly. “Ah—yeah, about that…”

Renji turned halfway with a forced smile. “Yeah. Missed the deadline. Whatever. Not like I had a shot at winning anyway.”

“Renji, there—”

“There’s another chance. I know.” Renji cut him off, voice calm, but his eyes were dead. No spark left behind them.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Tetsuo stood in the empty threshold, staring at the spot where Renji had just been. Then, quietly, to no one.

“…Damn it, kid. You never catch a break, do you?”

--------

The cool white overhead lamp bathing the room in a clean, even lighting. The walls were spotless, like the woman behind the desk—still as a fine sculpture, calculating eyes beneath the glint of her glasses. Her fingers moved silently across the corner of a folder, the only sound in the office the soft shuffle of paper and the occasional scratch of pen against document. The bronze placard on her desk caught her reflection occasionally.

‘SENIOR SUPERINTENDENT Nagao Yamagami’

Then—

*SLAM*

The door bounced and rattled against the wall, shattering the silence.

A man barged in, clearly heavy with resentment. His hair combed neatly back with pomade, slick and neatly in place, white streaks crawling in stripes, shadows clinging to the sharp lines of his unkempt and bearded face. A cigarette hung from his lip, with defiant look, like he brought the storm in with him.

“Ms. Yamagami.” He marched forward and slammed both palms on her desk. “I’m asking nicely. Can you explain yourself?”

She didn’t flinch at the man’s appearance.

Didn’t even bother to look up.

A few seconds passed, she flipped a page with deliberate innocence.

“What?” she said at last, her voice soft, almost light. “Nothing is the problem, as far as I can see.”

Suwabe scoffed, yanked the cigarette from his mouth, and jabbed it toward her like a pointing knife.

“You’ve got a pair of working eyeballs behind those glasses. You need more to see?” He leaned in closer to her. “You let him walk.”

Now, she looked up. Her gaze wasn’t cold—it was detached, then she deliberately answered in a tone that almost like recalling last week impromptu grocery.

“Yes, I did.”

His laugh came, dry and bitter. The sound barely passed for human. Suwabe throws the cigarette into the nearby bin. It landed and burned slightly among shredded paper and half-buried wrappers, dead and useless.

“Well, shit. I guess justice really is dead. Or did we just start putting a price tag on it now?”

“If it could make you feel better,” she said, folding the file closed and putting it neatly above the stacks, “then yes. It’s always been dead. You just refused to attend the funeral.”

That ice cold tone of hers, made Suwabe’s anger burned even wilder.

“You think I don’t see it?? The way he looked. He’s clean now, sure, maybe. But he’s a lead, that’s for damn sure. A thread… A fucking crack in Kokuren’s wall that we could’ve widened into a goddamn door. And you just—” He gestured toward the air, toward nothing. “—waved him off like a traffic cone.”

Yamagami stood. Slowly.

“Is it justice,” she asked, tilting her head ever so slightly, “to use someone like him to justify your inability to put closure to your own past?”

She didn’t raise her voice.

She didn’t need to, as the words were sharp enough without volume.

For a second, Suwabe could feel he forgot how to breath, as his chest heaved with frustration.

“…Don’t start with that shrink-grade bullshit.”

“You talked about justice,” Yamagami adds, walking around the desk, her heels a quiet rhythm on the tile. “I agree. And that boy had nothing to do with the package.”

He stared at her with burning eyes.

“Then WHO?”

“I’m still investigating,” then she stops a step away from him. “And by the way, you’re never on my team. Private Detective.”

“Fine,” he said, while turning toward the door immediately. “You do you, I’ll do me.”

“Then I expect you, to do ‘you’ with clean hands,” she continues while changing her tone from playful, to one that laced with a gunpoint. “Otherwise, don’t pretend you’re any different, you won’t like it if ‘I’ll do me’ on you.”

Didn’t bother to look back, Suwabe paused and go. Just opened the door and walked out into the silence he’d shattered minutes ago.

After the door clicked shut, she sighs. Then turned, sat down, and resumed her work.

The same folder lay on top of the stack—case notes, schedules, maps. But beneath it, barely peeking out, was another with black cover.

Stamped with fine letters—

‘Subject: Renji Tohara – Observation Status: active.’

--------

By the time Renji reached his apartment, the sky outside had already given up its last light. He unlocked the door with a lazy twist. The place greeted him like a corpse—silent, still, and cold in that familiar way, and the hallway lamp flickered once before buzzing back to life like it resented being useful.

“Haaaaaaaaaahhhhh…”

A long, exaggerated breath dragged itself out of his lungs, loud enough to echo faintly off the bare walls. He dropped his bag onto the floor with a light thud, then kicked off his shoes away.

Never thought I’d be this glad to see my own crappy apartment…

The air stale and the lingering scent of a man who hadn’t opened a window in a while. Renji pulled out his wallet and fished out the name card that had been tucked away since afternoon.

‘Reika Hiraga’

Clean sleek matte black card etched in clean silver lettering

He held it between his fingers like it might start speaking if he stared long enough.

More important than who’s she actually is... is why…

The words from earlier kept circling his mind like a mosquito he couldn’t quite swat.

He flipped the card over again. The address stared back at him, just a few blocks away, nestled in a zone he vaguely recognized near KHX.

A managerial office…? Why the hell would she told me to come there…?

He turned the card sideways, upside down—half-expecting some secret message to reveal itself. But it was just a normal name card from a not-so-normal woman.

“Yeah, nah.” He placed it on top of the cabinet by the door and walked away. “Don’t think I’ll go.”

He stripped off his clothes, tossed them into a heap by the bathroom, and stepped into the shower. The water ran too hot and he clearly felt it. But he let it scald him clean. The steam fogged the mirror.

Yesterday’s grime, today’s sweat, the leftover stress clinging to his skin. He washed it all away until the heat made his muscles feel like rubber. Then, towel around his neck, hair damp and unruly, he padded barefoot to the kitchen.

Hunger tapped gently at his belly. He opened the fridge.

A banana bunch, apples and pear. And a lonely stick of butter greets him with a smile as he remembers.

“……”

Then, her voice echoed in his head, clear as if she were standing beside him.

“If you want your fridge to hold something other than ice—”

“............”

He picked the pear and shut the fridge door loud, letting the dull thud carry his frustration.

The business name card remained where he left it—waiting with a mocking smile.