The Web Tightens

Three Days After the Azabu-Juuban Massacre - Tokyo, Japan

The dark blue SUV pulled to a quiet stop across the street from the gleaming tower of Kage no Tech. In the passenger seat, Officer Haruto adjusted his tie, his young face a mask of professional neutrality that couldn't quite conceal his nervousness.

"Remember," Inspector Tanaka's voice crackled through the police radio, "Just a routine follow-up. You're confirming his whereabouts. He's a witness who found a child, nothing more. Do not spook him."

"Understood, sir," Haruto replied, his voice tighter than he intended.

At that same moment, a black SUV idled in the upscale Shinjuku neighborhood. Inspector Tanaka watched the high-rise apartment building, his eyes tracing the lines of the modern architecture. It was the kind of place for successful, anonymous professionals. The perfect place for a ghost to hide.

He had sent Haruto to the office in the marked SUV, but he had kept the home address for himself. He needed to see the man in his own space, away from the curated professionalism of his workplace.

With a final glance at the building directory confirming Apartment 42B, Tanaka moved toward the elevator. The silence of the ascent did little to quiet the thoughts racing through his mind, each one amplifying the weight of the service pistol concealed beneath his jacket.

He stood before the door and pressed the bell. 

The doorbell chimed in a quiet suburban home. From inside, a woman's voice called out, "I'll get it!" A woman wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and walked to the door, two children peeking curiously from around the living room wall.

She pulled the door open.

Standing on the porch was Detective Miller. But he was not the composed man who had left for work that morning. His shirt was untucked, his hair was a wild mess, and his eyes were wide with a kind of frantic, theatrical despair.

Before the woman could utter a word, Miller threw his hands in the air and let out a long, high-pitched, utterly dramatic wail.

"HE'S TRYING TO GET ME KILLED!"

The sound echoed through the quiet neighborhood. The woman flinched back in shock. Behind her, her son's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and her young daughter clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Miller staggered across the threshold as if he'd been physically pushed, pointing a trembling finger back in the direction he'd come from.

"That old man! That beloved, delusional client of mine! He has signed my death warrant! He wants to send my corpse to Japan as a souvenir!"

He collapsed against the doorframe, slapping a hand to his forehead.

"Tokyo! He wants me to go to Tokyo! To a massacre scene! Based on what? A feeling! A father's assumption that his missing son must be the one tearing people apart! There's no evidence, no proof—just a grieving man's desperate hunch, and he's ready to send me to the other side of the world for it! I find lost scooters and settle property disputes! I am not an international fugitive hunter!"

He let out a heavy sigh, his entire body slumping with the weight of his imagined fate. "I should have stuck to catching cheating husbands. A little emotional torture, sure, but at least the biggest life threat is an angry wife throwing a plate. Not a... a demon in Tokyo tearing people limb from limb!"

The woman looked at her dramatic husband, a small smile playing on her lips. She shook her head and reached for his arm.

"Stop being so dramatic and get inside. You're scaring the neighbors. Come on, I'll make you a very, very strong drink."

Tokyo, Japan

Officer Haruto stood in the open-plan office of Kage no Tech, the air buzzing with the quiet hum of computers and focused energy. He had already spoken with the HR manager and was now talking to a young, earnest-looking junior developer named Kenji, who had been assigned to work closely with Kukoshiro Akuma.

"Kukoshiro-senpai?" Kenji said, his face lighting up with admiration. "He's one of the best developers here. Seriously, sir, he's a genius. He's quiet, keeps to himself, but he's always willing to help. Just last week, he spent hours teaching me how to fix a complex memory leak. He said... um... 'Inefficient code is a different kind of monster.' He's very dedicated, very professional."

A female colleague from the art department, who had introduced herself as Yumi, nodded in agreement. "He's always polite, very focused. We brought him mochi once, and he was very gracious, but he's... distant. Not in a rude way, just... private. He seems like a good man, just very serious about his work."

Haruto took notes, the picture forming of a model employee—intelligent, helpful, and reclusive. It was a perfect, unremarkable facade.

The doorbell rang in the Shinjuku apartment.

Kukoshiro Akuma opened the door. Inspector Tanaka stood there, his face a mask of professional calm. He held up his badge. "Kukoshiro Akuma? I am Inspector Tanaka. I have a few questions. May I come in?"

Kokushiro's expression remained neutral as he stepped aside. "Of course, Inspector. Please."

As Tanaka entered, a voice, silent to all but Kokushiro, hissed in his mind. I told you, Hebrew snarled, his tone dripping with contempt. Leaving that boy alive was a weakness. A mistake. You should have killed him when you had the chance.

Silence, Kokushiro's thought echoed back, a cold wave of intent. The choice of who lives and who dies is mine to make. Do not question it.

Hebrew's mocking laughter reverberated through their shared mind. Oh, so the beast still clings to his humanity? How pitiful. The apex predator, swayed by a child's tears. How disappointing.

Tanaka, unaware of the internal dialogue, noticed the brief, distant look in Kokushiro's eyes. "Is everything alright, sir? Can you answer my question?"

Kokushiro blinked, the perfect mask of civility back in place. "My apologies, Inspector. Yes, I found the child. To be completely truthful, I was in a considerable hurry. I was on my way to the airport—a family emergency in New York. My car's brakes... they failed."

He gestured with a calmness that belied the story. "I crashed in that very area. The impact was severe. I lost consciousness. When I came to, the boy was there, crying. He was standing near... near where his parents had been killed by that monster."

Tanaka's eyes sharpened, his detective's instinct seizing on the detail. "You were there? At the scene of the massacre?"

"Yes, I was there," Kokushiro confirmed, his voice even. "But I was unconscious for most of it. I saw nothing. I heard nothing. The last thing I remember before the crash was the road, and the first thing I remember after was the sound of a child weeping."

Inspector Tanaka's eyes narrowed, his gaze sharpening. "Then how are you alive?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral but laced with skepticism. "The information I have states that every single person in that area was eradicated. Wiped out. No survivors. So how did you and the boy survive when everyone else was torn apart?"

Kokushiro met his gaze, his own expression one of grim recollection. "When I woke up," he explained, "the first thing I saw was that little boy, crying as that... that thing was devouring his parents. I acted on instinct. I sneaked quietly, grabbed the child, and covered his mouth to keep him quiet. The beast... it was tearing bodies apart with its bare hands. Seeing its raw power, it was clear I had no strength to compete. My only choice was to hide and pray the cruelty would end."

He paused, letting the horrific image hang in the air. "When the beast finally left the area, I took the boy, who had fainted from terror, and got us out of there."

Tanaka processed this. "So why didn't you come to the police immediately?"

"Sir," Kokushiro's voice dropped to a confessional whisper, "I was afraid. If that... person... discovered a witness had survived, he would hunt us down. I wasn't just fearing for my life. I was more concerned for the boy who had just lost his parents. I didn't want him to lose his life, too."

Tanaka gave a slow, understanding nod. It was a reasonable, even prudent, fear. "That was the right decision, considering the threat," he conceded. Then he leaned forward slightly. "But tell me, are you absolutely sure this person was acting alone? And can you describe what he looked like?"

Kokushiro nodded, his expression grim. "I will tell you what I saw," he said, his voice low. "But you must understand, it was dark, the chaos was overwhelming... and I was terrified. What I remember most was... the sheer presence of him. The air grew cold. The sounds he made were not human."

Inspector Tanaka studied the man before him. The story was just a bit too neat, the details a little too convenient. He needed to push, but gently.

"You have been very helpful, Akuma-san, and I thank you for your cooperation," Tanaka said, his tone deliberately polite and measured. "To help us complete our records, would you be free to come to the station this evening? We would like to get a more formal, detailed statement about the killer's description. And, if you would not mind, for the sake of thoroughness, we would also like to have a sample of your blood. It is a standard procedure to exclude the blood we found at the scene that does not match the victims. It would greatly help us confirm your account and narrow our investigation."

Kokushiro's posture remained relaxed, but a subtle tension tightened around his eyes. "I can only tell you what I remember, Inspector. Perhaps it was a miracle we survived. Or perhaps the monster was simply... distracted by the carnage."

Distracted. The word hung in the air, and Tanaka's instincts sharpened. He was certain now—Kokushiro was hiding the core truth. The question was, what was the real story? And what was this man's true role in it?