"Boy"

[Meantime Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department – Investigation Office]

Stacks of case files lay across the desks — some stamped CLOSED, others still open, waiting for new leads that would probably never come.

Nakamura stood near the bulletin board, his eyes moving across the photos: crime scenes, maps, and names connected by red string. At the center — Hideaki.

A yellow note below it read:

Last confirmed sighting: Tokyo General Hospital.

Across the room, Tanaka was closing a cardboard box full of files.

He let out a quiet sigh.

Kisaragi was in her office, browsing again photos of Hideaki's crime scenes.

"Prosecutors took it this morning. Watanabe's case is off our hands." Tanaka said.

Inoue leaned against the desk, arms crossed.

"Yeah. The Ministry's already cleaning house. Half the hospital's staff are getting transferred or suspended."

He flipped through a printed report, his voice calm.

"Formal status update says it all:
'Suspect Hideaki Miyahara remains at large. Last confirmed contact — Tokyo General Hospital. Direction of movement — unknown.'"

He set the page down.

"So... we're back to nowhere."

A silence hung in the air for a few seconds. The ticking wall clock seemed louder than usual.

Nakamura turned from the board, cigarette between his fingers, eyes shadowed with thought.

"Tokyo's General Hospital... It's the place he was last seen..."

He gazed at the Tokyo's horizont. The skyscrapers glimmered with golden shine as the last rays of sun rayed at their tall glassy windows.

Nakamura's gaze moved toward a folder on his desk — Oyakata's field report.

He tapped the folder lightly.

"Oyakata found nothing at Sekiguchi's apartment. And there's nothing linking him to Miyahara directly. No calls, no sightings, no financial trace. And no registered pick up even in hospital's recovered files."

Nakamura's jaw tightened.

"We need more information. Maybe we missed something along the way?"

He sighed heavily. 

Then he turned toward Inoue.

"Inoue, keep checking Watanabe's last known contacts — anyone who might have communicated with him after the hospital incident. Tell Kisaragi, to go through financial logs and transport records once again."

He paused, then looked at Tanaka.

"And Tanaka — talk to Fukuda again. He's closer to this than anyone. If he notices anything strange, I want to know immediately."

Tanaka hesitated.

"You mean use him as a source? He's not an officer."

"I know. But he was the one who lead us to unknows of our own case," Nakamura said, his tone flat.

Tanaka and Inoue exchanged glances but didn't argue. They'd seen Nakamura like this before — when something gnawed at him and wouldn't let go.

"And what do we write in the official log, sir?" Inoue asked.

Nakamura looked back at the board — the photo of Hideaki.

The tape holding it had begun to peel at the edges.

He exhaled a thin trail of smoke.

"Write that the Watanabe case is closed."

He paused, eyes still fixed on the wall.

"But keep the board up."

He didn't need to explain why.

As the others slowly packed up, Nakamura remained by the window.

Tokyo sprawled before him — endless lights flickering beneath the growing darkness of the night.

The cigarette burned low between his fingers.

'Somewhere out there, Miyahara’s still breathing,'  he thought.

'You could ask why such a person got a second chance in life…'

He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray and stared at the skyline a moment longer.

Outside the window, the city lights blurred into thin golden lines against the glass — and in one of those countless offices across Tokyo, another light was still burning.

---

[Profiler Kisaragi’s private office – same night]

The lamplight cast a warm circle on the desk, scattered with notes, report printouts, and a stack of photos.

Kisaragi wiped the bridge of her nose and went back to reviewing Watanabe's report.

"Dr. Watanabe Kouhei — head of internal medicine. Known for his calm demeanor, never involved in disciplinary cases. Treated patient Miyahara Hideaki, male, twenty-four…"

Her eyes moved down the lines.

Nothing unusual — no private messages, no signs of personal involvement. Just the clinical account of a man trying to save a life.

"Hippocratic oath," she muttered under her breath. "There was no obsession here, no hidden motive. Watanabe had simply done what he believed was right. A human gesture in an inhuman world."

She leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling.

She had come here to show them how to conduct an investigation scientifically — without guessing, without problems.

And yet… they were stuck in the same place.

No data. No lead. No meaning.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting her thoughts drift where they shouldn’t.

'Miyahara’s wounds he left on his victims are explosion — bursts out of emotional extremes… his own katharsis.'

She took a sip of her steaming green tea and took the note she had under her hand.

She read it once again, pondering...

'He plays with blood as his ink... If he left the hospital, where would he go?'

'Not to his family. Not to old friends — he has none.'

"Knowing his impulsivity, by the day he was discharged from the hospital, it wouldn't take long when he started his killing spree again…" she murmured. "And yet... There's silence."

Her gaze fell on one of the photographs — a dark alley sealed off with police tape.

At its center: blood, deep maroon, splattered in blotches like spilled ink on paper.

She leaned closer, her analytical mind kicking in.

'Blood oxidizes faster in this kind of heat,'  she thought. 'The higher temperature, the quicker the coagulation — the color fades, the texture dries, the pattern stiffens.'

She tilted her head slightly.

'In this humidity, even blood loses its life. It’s no longer fluid — no longer red. Just residue.'

She paused, her expression tightening for a moment.

'And that lack of color... Could move him. For someone like Miyahara, the act isn’t only killing — it’s the creation. If the medium changes, so does the urge.'

Her eyes returned to the photo.

'He went somewhere else. Somewhere he could hide — from the heat, from the sun. One - A place where his artistic vision wouldn't be destroyed... And two - A place to rest from this suffocating summer… and from people. Maybe somewhere no one asks questions. Or to someone else who’s also running from the world.'

Her eyes caught on a name she’d seen before in the report — Seiji Sekiguchi.

For a moment, she stared at that single line.

'No… he was just an intermediary. A programmer who most probably picked him up that day. Nothing more,'  she told herself, pushing the thought aside.

'If there were any connection between Sekiguchi and our “artist,” there’d be a trace of it in the records. But here — nothing. Clean. As if he never existed. Unless...'

Kisaragi closed her eyes, sighed quietly, and reached for her cup.

Her hands were cold, and the only sound in the room was the low hum of the air conditioner.

Beyond the window, the city stretched in darkness, sliced by ribbons of light.

Kisaragi finished her tea and set the cup down.

"Sekiguchi Seiji… a programmer, an IT specialist… people like that are usually introverts. And introverts — they hide. From others, from crowds, from the world… If Fukuda's statements would turn out to be true..."

Something stirred in her mind — the faint spark of an idea.

"Sekiguchi… Could it be? Is that where Miyahara’s hiding?"

She reviewed the possibilities again — all the for and against.

Her gaze drifted to the photograph of Hideaki again — and then, lower, to the printed line that kept returning to her mind:

Sekiguchi Seiji.

She touched the paper lightly, tracing the name with her fingertip, as if the motion itself could draw meaning from it.

"He seems to not be the type to help a killer," she murmured, "but maybe the type a killer would seek. If he did pick him up that day afterall, there must be some connection between them. Only, what is it..?"

She sighed and took another sip of tea and exhaled, this time more wearily.

Beyond the glass, the city blinked in distant patterns of light — silent, countless, indifferent.

For a moment, her reflection met her gaze in the darkened window — a faint, tired outline in the city’s glow.

After a moment, she returned to the reports —

but the thought of Seiji Sekiguchi refused to leave her mind.

The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence.

She turned off the lamp.

Outside, one light in the building went dark — and somewhere across the city, another stayed burning.

[Saturday]

Seiji, Hideaki and Akemi had arrived in town and were on the lookout for a suitable store to purchase a yukata.

They decided to start their hunt at a vibrant flea market.

The narrow paths were lined with stalls decorated with colorful banners waving in the breeze. The air smelled of delicious street food. Shopkeepers proudly showed off their goods, including trinkets, antiques, clothing, and souvenirs. Brightly colored yukatas and traditional clothes hung on racks.

Amid the busy crowd, the trio searched each stall, hoping to find the perfect yukata for Hideaki. But despite their efforts, the flea market didn't have the one they wanted.

Seiji sighed with disappointment, realizing they would have to keep looking for a yukata elsewhere.

"I expected we'd find it quicker. Hideaki's complaining was relentless - 'too tight, not my style' He fusses more than necessary." faint edge of irritation seeped through his voice.

Eventually, they decided to visit a yukata boutique.

As they approached the boutique, they were drawn to its unique charm. It was set in an old Japanese house that felt full of history and tradition. The weathered wooden beams showed its age and added character. Next to it, a modern block of flats blended with the old building, showing Tokyo's changing landscape.

As Seiji opened the door, a bell chimed, signaling the arrival of customers.

A friendly elderly woman, with gray hair neatly tied up and glasses resting on her nose, greeted them. "Hello. How may I assist you?" she asked, her lips curved in a warm smile.

"Good day," Seiji greeted her with a polite nod, briefly noting the boutique's original aesthetic. Then, he pointed at Hideaki. "We need a yukata for him. As someone with extensive knowledge of these garments, I trust you can assist."

The old lady agreed and stepped out from behind the counter. She approached Hideaki and carefully examined him, muttering something under her breath. "Hmm... Yes, yes... Alright... Please, follow me," she said, motioning for them to come along.

They all followed the elderly woman as she led them further into the shop. Along the way, they noticed mannequins adorned with beautifully decorative yukatas.

Seiji grew concerned, "Let's hope the price reflects the quality." he remarked in a dry tone.

Shortly after, they arrived at the dressing room area. 

The woman made her way to the shelf, where a collection of neatly stacked and folded yukatas awaited. 

"These will suit that boy." she said, as she selected a few of them.

"Boy!?" Hideaki felt a surge of shock and annoyance. "Do I really look that young!?"

Seiji couldn't help but let out a small, controlled chuckle.

Hideaki noticed his laughter and shot him an intense glare, his anger simmering within.

The saleswoman handed Hideaki a pair of yukatas "You can try them on in the changing rooms. I'll help you dress up." She said kindly "I'm sure your older brother will be pleased with how you'll look in them."

Hideaki felt his blood boiling, 'My older brother!?!? Does she think that Seiji is my older brother!?!?!?!'

Seiji, sensing an opportunity, smirked. "Let's not take all day, Hideaki. I'm sure that your 'older brother'- will be pleased." The dry sarcasm in his voice was clear.

"Tch!!! I will kill you for this, you dick!!!"

"Ah, youth," Seiji said with mock seriousness, glancing at Hideaki with a satisfied expression, pleased by how easily he'd provoked him.

Hideaki wanted nothing more than to tear him apart.

With a sudden burst of aggression, he flung open the door to the changing room. The old lady went after him.

After removing his shoes, he stepped inside and... no, no. He didn't close the door — he slammed it behind him.

Akemi flinched a little.

"Let us know when you're ready. We're curious to see how you look in each of them!" Seiji quickly added, grinning.

"Tch!!" He hissed with aggression.

Inside, Hideaki was feeling even double irritated. The discomfort of the old lady touching him was visible on his face and manners.

From the outside could be heard his curses, angered moaning and moving (clearly to avoid the help from the woman).

After some hard time, Hideaki showed them each of the yukatas.

His expression filled with a mixture of uncertainty and discomfort.

The first one was a simple, solid red.

The second one featured a crimson hue with delicate white birds scattered across the fabric.

The third yukata was predominantly gray, with a red belt and a black design.

Seiji observed each yukata on Hideaki with a calculated eye, carefully weighing the options.

"The one with the birds is more fitting." he said coolly, as though the choice was obvious.

"Huh...? Why?" Hideaki asked, curious about Seiji's reasoning.

"It complements your personality," Seiji explained, his voice calm and certain. "Don't you agree, Akemi?"

"Mhm! The others seem too plain and boring. Mine, for instance, has vibrant cherry blossoms all over it! It looks so cheerful!" she added enthusiastically.

"You see? This yukata will be perfect for you," Seiji affirmed, his decision final.

Still unsure, Hideaki glanced at his reflection in the mirror, wearing the bird-adorned yukata. "I don't know... I don't want to attract too much attention..."

"You won't stand out excessively. Trust me, this is far from over-the-top." Seiji said. His voice carried a sense of finality, leaving little room for further debate.

"It's absolutely perfect!" Akemi added with  enthusiastic agreement.

Seiji rolled his eyes on his sister's exagarrated cheerfulness and scanned the shop, contemplating the idea of purchasing a new yukata for himself.

"I should replace my old one." he pondered aloud,  remembering in what state was his previous yukata.

He combed through the shelves, until eventually, he found it - a vibrant blue garment adorned with intricate waves that resembled the sea. 

He put it on and felt a surge of satisfaction as he showcased his new look to his sister, Hideaki, and the saleswoman. 

Applause filled the air, though Hideaki remained hesitant.

In the end, Seiji decided to purchase both yukatas, pleasantly surprised that they were more affordable than expected.

As they made their way to the exit, the elderly lady affectionately tousled Hideaki's hair and remarked, "You must be very careful at the festival with such a energized boy!"

"Tch! I'm not a boy! I'm a grown man!" Hideaki bristled at being mistaken for someone younger again.

The old lady chuckled softly. "Yes, yes, hehe. Every young man your age insists the same. But don't worry. A little bit more of discipline and you will grow into a great adult man, my dear boy!"

Seiji couldn't suppress a laugh. "Thank you. Heheh. Apologies for his behavior earlier - he'll grow into his own in time."

The woman nodded approvingly. "Indeed. Well... You have everything you needed, so I must say, see you at the festival!" she waved at them cheerfully.

Returning the friendly gesture, they waved their goodbyes and began making their way back to the apartment.

Throughout the journey, Hideaki glared at Seiji, his annoyance clear. "Why did you lie about me not being an adult?"

"Heheh. I just wanted to tease you a little," Seiji responded, "Let's be honest, sometimes you act more like a child than a grown man. And, well, your height doesn't help... Hehehe..."

"HUH!? What's wrong with my height!?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing! Just poking fun, you little dwarf," Seiji smirked.

"DON'T CALL ME A DWARF!!! WHEN WE GET HOME, I'M GOING TO RIP YOU APART FOR THIS!!!"

"Go ahead and try, Hide-chan! Hehehe" Seiji replied, the amusement never leaving his voice.

"DON'T CALL ME HIDE-CHAN!!"

Akemi watched their banter with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes,

'They are indeed behaving like a couple! A old long married couple!'  she clearly entertained by the dynamic between the two.

---

[Tokyo General Hospital – Late Afternoon]

The corridor was almost empty. Daisuke Fukuda stood by the coffee machine, a fresh ministerial badge pinned to his chest — glinting under the fluorescent lights.

He knew the award was more for “cooperation” than heroism, but still, a faint sense of pride stirred inside him.

From a distance, Tanaka approached — neat suit, folder under his arm, sharp, unreadable gaze.

When Daisuke noticed him, he straightened up immediately.

"Inspector Tanaka…" he greeted with a small bow. "I didn’t expect you here. I thought the Watanabe case was already closed."

Tanaka stopped in front of him.

"Officially, it is," he replied curtly. "Watanabe will answer for data tampering. The prosecutor’s office is already handling it."

He paused for a moment, watching as Daisuke nervously rubbed his thumb against the edge of the metal badge.

"But you know, Fukuda…" Tanaka said quietly. "Sometimes what’s ‘closed’ isn’t really finished."

Daisuke looked at him uncertainly.

"You think Miyahara…?"

"I think a man like that doesn’t just disappear," Tanaka said. "And I also think someone might’ve helped him do it. Someone other than Doctor Watanabe."

'Sekiguchi...'

Daisuke thought but said nothing.

That same cold feeling twisted in his stomach — the one he’d felt the first time he heard the name Miyahara.

Tanaka continued,

"I’m not asking you to officially cooperate. But if…" — he paused briefly — "if you notice anything strange around anyone connected to Watanabe after his arrest… just let me know. No protocol, no reports."

Daisuke hesitated.

"That’s… not exactly legal, is it?"

Tanaka gave a faint half-smile, the kind that carried a trace of irony — maybe the first hint of warmth all day.

"You know, Fukuda, in this job, the legal things rarely lead to the truth."

He turned to leave, footsteps echoing down the empty hallway.

But before disappearing around the corner, he added,

"Congratulations on the commendation. Just remember — sometimes heroes end up as witnesses."

Daisuke stayed by the coffee machine.

The cup had gone cold long ago, and Tanaka’s words kept circling in his mind.

He didn’t know what scared him more — the thought that Hideaki might still be out there…

or that the name Seiji Sekiguchi kept coming up more often than it should. And Aoi... Knew that guy way back before.