Chapter 2 : Public Enemy, Private Scandals

Morning in Tokyo didn’t arrive quietly.It arrived with headlines.Headlines, talk shows, memes, and hashtags that refused to die.
“Love at First Crash: Superstar Hanae Kirishima’s Midnight Scandal with Detective Fujimoto!”“Raven Detective Caught in the Web of Japan’s Darling Diva!”“The Car Accident That Started a Love Story?”
Arata Fujimoto stood in front of his mirror, dead-eyed and coffee-deprived, watching the morning news replay that very headline—for the sixth time.
His reflection looked like a man who had already buried his pride somewhere near Shinjuku Station.“Fantastic,” he muttered, buttoning his shirt. “I finally make national television—and not for catching a criminal.”
His phone buzzed again.Boss: “Nice PR, Fujimoto. The department’s image has never been better.”Arata: “I’d rather be shot.”Boss: “We’re arranging an official statement. You and Miss Kirishima will appear together.”Arata: “I’d rather be shot twice.”

---
Across town, Hanae Kirishima was in her dressing room, surrounded by panicked staff, PR agents, and one very nervous manager.
“Breathe, Hanae,” her makeup artist whispered, dabbing powder like it could erase global humiliation.“Hard to breathe when the internet thinks I’m dating a cop,” Hanae replied, scrolling through a sea of fan comments.‘They look cute together!’‘That detective’s glare could kill—and I love it!’‘New power couple??’
She groaned. “People are insane.”Her manager straightened his tie. “Not insane, Hanae—invested. Sponsors love the attention. We just need to make it believable for a while.”“Believable?” she repeated. “I nearly killed him with my car.”“Exactly. That’s romance these days.”

---
By noon, the PR chaos had evolved into a full-blown press conference.
Flashbulbs, reporters, microphones. The entire country tuned in to watch the awkward collision between a detective and a diva.
Arata stood stiffly beside Hanae, expression blank.She smiled like she’d been trained to since birth, though her eyes sparkled with contained annoyance.
“Miss Kirishima, is it true you and Detective Fujimoto are romantically involved?”Hanae clasped her hands and answered sweetly, “He’s been… a close friend through a difficult time.”
Arata’s jaw nearly dropped.Close friend? He’d known her for exactly nine minutes and a near-death experience.
“Detective Fujimoto,” another reporter called out, “do you plan to continue seeing Miss Kirishima?”Arata stared at the cameras, then at Hanae.Her smile was pure PR magic.His was pure homicide.“…Apparently,” he said flatly.
Laughter rippled through the crowd.Hanae’s lips twitched. “You’re terrible at acting.”He leaned in, whispering through clenched teeth, “And you’re terrible at driving.”
The mics picked it up.The internet had new material within minutes.

---
After the circus, they ended up in a private hotel lounge—neutral ground, expensive decor, and an entire table of untouched snacks between them.
“Alright, Detective Drama,” Hanae said, crossing her legs elegantly. “We need rules.”Arata folded his arms. “We need therapy.”“Rule one,” she continued, ignoring him. “No flirting in public unless I say so.”He blinked. “Flirting?”“It sells the illusion.”“I’m allergic to illusions.”“Rule two—don’t look at me like you’re interrogating a suspect.”“That’s just my face.”“Rule three—smile.”“I don’t do that.”She sighed. “You’re hopeless.”
He leaned forward slightly, voice low. “You realize I didn’t ask to be your pretend boyfriend, right?”Her lips curved. “And yet, you’re very good at it.”
He opened his mouth—then stopped when her phone buzzed. She glanced at it briefly, eyes narrowing for a second before softening again.“Work call?” he asked.“Something like that,” she said, slipping it away.If only he knew “work” meant espionage briefing and intel drops, not fan events and perfume deals.

---
That evening, the city buzzed again.Their “first date” had been scheduled—thanks to PR geniuses with no mercy.A fancy rooftop café overlooking Shibuya, full of flashing cameras disguised as customers.
Arata looked like he’d rather face a firing squad.Hanae looked flawless, of course—effortlessly radiant under the city lights.
She sipped her drink with a practiced smile.He stirred his coffee like it had personally wronged him.
“Try not to look like you’re on trial,” she whispered.“I am on trial,” he muttered. “Public opinion court.”She leaned closer, pretending to whisper sweetly for a photo. “Smile.”He forced one—grim, awkward, terrifying.She almost laughed.
Then a photographer shouted, “Feed him something! Cute moment!”Before Arata could protest, Hanae picked up a fork and held it to his lips.He froze.“This is ridiculous,” he said.“Just eat it,” she hissed.He did—and immediately choked.
Reporters cheered. Flashlights burst. Hanae hid her laugh behind her hand.“Romantic,” she said.“Humiliating,” he coughed.
For the first time, though, she smiled genuinely—soft, amused, real.And for a second, Arata forgot to breathe.
Something in her laughter—it felt familiar.Like a melody from a memory he couldn’t place.

---
Later that night—
Arata sat in his dimly lit office, scanning through security footage from the drug bust.Frame by frame, a shadow flickered—a figure in red, graceful, precise.He zoomed in.A woman. Masked. Quick as flame.He muttered, “Crimson Fox…”The city’s most elusive operative.
Meanwhile, across town, Hanae sat alone in her high-rise apartment, the glow of the skyline reflecting in her eyes.She pulled a small silver locket from her drawer, opening it gently.Inside—a faded photo.Two children, smiling through tears.A promise carved in time.
“We’ll destroy the underworld… together.”
Her voice trembled just slightly.“You really don’t remember me, do you… Arata?”
The city outside pulsed with sirens, laughter, and danger.And somewhere in the dark, the underworld stirred again.
The Crimson Fox and The Raven Detective—destined to collide once more.