Hunting

Miku's Residence, Den-en-chōfu, Tokyo - Midnight

Miku Takasawa

The mansion felt too silent that night.
No music, no chatter from the maids, just the soft tick of the old clock and the faint hum of the rain against the windows. Every sound made the silence sharper.

Father was in his study again, as always. The scent of cigar smoke and brandy floated through the doorway the moment I stepped inside. He sat behind his oak desk, reading something under the golden glow of the chandelier, the man who owned half of Shibuya.

“Papa,” I called softly.

He looked up at once, removing his glasses and giving that familiar half-smile. “Miku. You’re home late. You’ve been out often these days. Is everything alright?”

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. “Mm-hm. I just… wanted to ask you something.”

“Ask away.”

I hesitated before speaking, keeping my tone as gentle as I could. 

“Do you remember Kenta Todoroki? The one who worked at Heaven’s Kiss?”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking briefly to the side as if he had to recall the name. “Ah. The dropout host boy. What about him?”

“You said you… handled the place because of his 'rudeness' towards me. Is it true it’s closed now?”

“Yes, the license was under my jurisdiction. The bar wasn’t exactly a respectable venue in the first place, was it?”

I forced a small smile, trying to sound casual. “I suppose not. But… you didn’t do anything else, did you?”

His brows rose slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...You didn’t… make sure he left town or something?”

A chuckle left his throat. “Of course not. Why would I waste my time chasing after a small fry like him? I told my men to close his workplace, that’s all. If he disappeared after that, it wasn’t by my hand.”

He said it with that usual calm certainty, the kind that made his words feel like law. 

“Alright, thank you, Papa...”  I said softly, bowing my head

“You shouldn’t worry about people like him. They come and go.” his eyes are already back on his papers.

I nodded, excused myself, and left before he could see my face.

The hallway lights felt colder than usual. My hands trembled as I pulled out my phone, scrolling through old messages from Kenta. Nothing since that night. No activity. No sign of him anywhere. Not even a notification of his last online activity.

Maybe Papa really didn’t do anything.
But then, where was Kenta?

Something wasn’t right. I could feel it. Like the world had shifted just slightly out of place.

I slipped on my coat, ignoring the faint drizzle outside. If Kenta’s gone, there’s one place that might still hold answers.

If anyone knew what happened to him… it’d be there.

And this time, I wasn’t going to ask nicely.

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Blue Moon Host Club, Kabukicho District, Tokyo - Late Midnight

Despite the light drizzling rain, the alleys throbbed with neon and perfume, laughter spilling from behind red curtains and glass doors. Almost every venue here is about to close in a few minutes. The club that used to buzz with flirtation now stood half-empty. 

I pushed through the doors, heels clicking against the marble floor.
A few hosts lounging by the counter looked up instantly. I didn’t need to say who I was; they all knew me, half of Shibuya is under my papa's jurisdiction, and this club is also related to one of our subsidiaries. 

“Evening, Miss Takasawa,” one of them greeted nervously. “Did you…...come to see someone?”

“I came to ask about Kenta Todoroki. He told me he works for this club.”

Their glances flickered between one another like guilty lights. Finally, a tall host with bleached hair and a trembling hand around his glass, spoke up.
“Kenta? He hasn’t shown up in, uh… four days, I think? Last time anyone saw him was after his final shift with a client.”

“Final?” I repeated.

“Well.., he didn’t say he was quitting, but…” The host rubbed his neck. “We left him drunk here that night with a woman. That woman insisted on chatting with him that night, so we let her through. We figured he was taking time off for a few days because he seemed stressed out, chugging a lot of liquor like a madman...”

Drunk? Four days ago?
That matched the night everything started going wrong.

“Show me the CCTV footage from that night.”

They froze. One of them tried to laugh it off. “Miss Takasawa, we can’t just-”

My gaze cut him short. “I’m not asking. You know who I am, don't you?”

They were silent and looked frightened. Honestly, these leeching worms are so annoying. If it wasn't because of Kenta, I wouldn't even interact with them. Then, without another word, one of the hosts nodded shakily and led me to the back office.

The room was dim, the hum of the old monitors filling the silence. He tapped at the keyboard, pulling up the feed from the booth cameras, and the footage came alive.

I leaned closer, scanning the screen.

A girl entered the frame near the receptionist's table. Long platinum blonde hair and emerald eyes. Looks definitely like a contact lens from here. Her red dress shimmered under the dim lights, thin straps barely covering her shoulders. She walked inside one of the VIPs' rooms, and the room was so fucking dark with weird neon light.
And there he was in the VIP room—Kenta, slouched in a booth, laughing too loudly, glass in hand. His movements are sluggish. 

Eh? What was it again? There's something above her right breast? A tattoo? It looked like a butterfly, It's red in color, and somehow it glows brightly. She slid into the seat beside Kenta, leaning close. Kenta laughed, almost boyishly, and poured her another drink. 

As the minutes passed, the girl’s eyes lifted.
Just for a second.
She looked straight into the camera.

That gaze froze me.
Like she could see me watching from across time. A chill crept up my arms. I didn’t blink. My reflection in the screen wavered beside hers.

“Who the fuck is she?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“We don’t know,” the host said. “Never saw her before that night. She used the name Misa in the reservation name. Paid in cash. Came in just before closing.”

“Misa…” I repeated the name, tasting wrong on my tongue.

The footage flickered as she leaned closer to Kenta again. Her lips moving by his ear, her hand brushing through his hair. Kenta’s head dropped onto her lap like he’d fallen asleep.

Then I saw both of them leave the club not long after that.
The timestamp froze at 02:31 AM.

"Stop it." 

They paused the video. I stared at the frozen image, her face half-turned toward the camera, and I saw it. That curve of the cheek.
That faint, innocent smile.
Those emerald green eyes were not hers, but the expression…

My breath hitched.

No way.

I leaned closer, studying every pixel, every shimmer of that smile.
It couldn’t be.
That woman’s gaze carried the same gentle sharpness, that same concealed cruelty…

Chisa. 

It was her.

I'm 100% sure it was her.

The thought struck like lightning.
My nails dug into my palm.

I straightened, forcing my voice to steady. “Send me a copy of this footage.”

The hosts hesitated, exchanging glances again. “Is...is... that… allowed?”

I smiled thinly. “You’ll make it allowed. Or I'll have Papa close this fucking place if you dare to speak otherwise.”

They didn’t argue. They gave me the tape recordings not long after that. As I stepped out into the neon-soaked street again, the rain had stopped, but my pulse hadn’t. The image of that crimson butterfly tattoo, that emerald gaze, stayed seared behind my eyelids.

“Misa huh...."