Chapter 1: The Collision

Tokyo’s night was too bright for crime, yet crime thrived like ivy on old stone. Neon lights flickered over puddles that still remembered the last rain, and Detective Arata Fujimoto cursed under his breath as he crouched behind a ramen stand.
He’d been tracking a drug courier for three days. Three days of stale vending machine coffee, zero sleep, and an umbrella that had given up on life halfway through the week.
“Metropolitan Police,” he whispered into his comm, “suspect spotted—wearing a coat uglier than sin. Moving west.”
Silence. Then static. Then his partner’s voice:“You’re supposed to be off duty, Arata.”He sighed. “Yeah, well, my sense of justice doesn’t get weekends off.”
The suspect darted into an alley, and Arata followed, long coat snapping in the cold wind. His eyes sharp, brain calculating routes, timing. He could almost taste the arrest… until—
A loud honk tore through the air.
A car — black, sleek, expensive enough to pay off half the police department’s rent — screeched into the street. Arata spun, almost dodging it—almost.
What followed was a cinematic disaster.Ramen bowl in midair.Detective on car hood.Driver screaming.And Arata yelling, “WHAT THE—watch the badge, lady!”
The car skidded to a halt. A woman stepped out—no, stormed out—heels clicking like bullets. Sunglasses at night. Too glamorous to be normal, too calm to be innocent.
“Do you have a death wish, Detective Drama?” she snapped. Her voice was cool and sharp, like silk hiding a knife.
He blinked. “Do you have a driver’s license, Miss Fast & Furious?”
The woman crossed her arms. “Do you have a sense of direction? You ran in front of my car.”
Arata’s lip twitched. “You ran in front of justice.”
For a second, they just stood there—Tokyo’s lights painting them in red and gold, two egos in a standoff neither understood. Then—click click click—camera flashes.
Paparazzi. Because of course.
Arata looked around. “Oh great, who invited the press?”The woman’s face went pale. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”Someone yelled, “It’s Hanae Kirishima! She’s with a man!”
Hanae froze.Arata blinked.Then both simultaneously groaned.

---
Next morning: Tokyo woke up laughing.
Every news site, every gossip blog, every feed—filled with one viral headline:“Superstar Hanae Kirishima Caught in Midnight Rendezvous with Tokyo’s Genius Detective!”And the photo? A perfect slow-motion disaster: Arata leaning over her car window, eyes locked with hers like it was some forbidden love story.
At the police station, Arata’s colleagues refused to stop snickering.“Hey Raven Detective, when’s the wedding?”He pinched the bridge of his nose. “When the city stops producing idiots. So never.”
Meanwhile, Hanae sat in her dressing room, a tabloid clutched in her perfectly manicured hand, her manager pacing like a dying hamster.“Do you know what this means, Hanae? Sponsors! Interviews! Fans!”“Headaches,” she muttered.“And the detective?”“None of your concern,” she said, though her mind whispered something else.She knew that man. That voice. The way he glared like he’d seen the worst of humanity but still believed in its better half.
She’d heard that voice once before—years ago. A promise whispered by two children in an orphanage, hands clasped, eyes burning with grief.We’ll destroy the Underworld, together.Her chest ached. Impossible. He was gone. That boy was gone.

---
Across the city, Arata leaned against his desk, scanning through the drug case files. Something about last night’s suspect didn’t add up.He replayed the dashcam footage—and froze.The woman’s car had turned exactly where the courier vanished.
Coincidence?No. Arata didn’t believe in those.
Before he could dig deeper, the commissioner called him in.“Fujimoto, congratulations—you’re trending.”“Fantastic,” he deadpanned.“Also—PR’s got a brilliant idea. You’ll be working closely with Miss Kirishima. Public trust, media spin, you know the drill.”Arata’s jaw dropped. “You’re telling me I’m fake dating a celebrity?!”The commissioner shrugged. “Pretend to like her. How hard can it be?”
Somewhere else in the city, Hanae’s earpiece buzzed with her spy handler’s voice.“Crimson Fox. You’ll stay close to Detective Fujimoto. He’s investigating the drug syndicate we’re after.”“Stay close?” she repeated flatly.“Yes. Befriend him. Charm him. Make him trust you.”Hanae smirked. “Or irritate him until he confesses everything.”“As long as it works.”

---
That night, under Tokyo’s humming skyline, two lives prepared to collide again—this time deliberately.
He thought she was a spoiled celebrity.She knew he was the detective who almost uncovered her mission.
Neither realized they were chasing the same ghost from the same haunted past.Neither realized they’d already loved each other once.
And as the city buzzed below, two nicknames whispered through the underworld like an old legend reborn—The Crimson Fox.The Raven Detective.
Fate smirked. “Let the chaos begin.”