We had been walking for about twenty minutes when the building's silhouette finally appeared, towering over the district like a national monument.

  The Hero Association wasn't just an administrative office: it was a massive complex of pale stone and sprawling glass bays, built to impress. The architecture felt solemn, almost official, as if the place housed an entire ministry. The sun glided over the flawless facades, giving the whole ensemble an air of perfectly cultivated prestige.

  At the entrance, large display panels showcased the most famous heroes, their portraits carefully retouched and their exploits summarized in a few lines. No blaring music, just an elegant staging almost too elegant.

  Seeing all this, I couldn't help but think of my station. Back there, the walls were crumbling, the coffee machine had been in its death throes for years, and we had to fight just to get a ream of paper. Here, the lobby alone must have cost more than our entire building.

  "It's… it's magnificent," Okiku breathed, her eyes wide.

  "It's indecent," I muttered.

  So this was where the taxpayers' money went. Not into patrols, not into equipment, but into the branding of these "idols" in their brand-new uniforms. Every stone of this building seemed to remind me that the Police were nothing more than a relic a tool tolerated out of habit.

  Security guards in pristine uniforms monitored the gantries. Nothing futuristic, but everything breathed unlimited budget: latest-model body armor, brand-new radios, meticulously maintained gear.

  "Stay behind me, Okiku," I whispered, feeling the adrenaline surge. "We're not here for sightseeing."

  I slipped my hand into my pocket and touched my old metal badge. Beside all this luxury, it felt pathetic… but it was the only thing still reminding me why I was there.

  We reached the reception area. It was organized anarchy: a crowd of fans jostling, holding out notebooks for autographs, hoping to catch a glimpse of their idols. There were heroes of all types, from rookies hungry for fame to world-weary veterans.

  But the moment I stepped into the hall, gazes began to pierce through me. My old police uniform clashed violently with these colorful costumes and luxury outfits. And I wasn't the only one attracting attention. Okiku, with her unusual look, was drawing eyes… a bit too many, in fact.

  A Hero approached us. He wore light armor with golden reflections, no helmet, revealing perfectly gelled hair and the face of a male model. He gave off a scent of expensive cologne that immediately gave me a migraine.

  "Good morning... what can I do for you?" he asked with a dazzling smile.

  His eyes made an unmannerly round trip, starting from Okiku's feet and slowly climbing to her face, totally ignoring my presence.

  Okiku, ever polite, returned his smile.

  "I'm just following a friend," she replied before pointing at me.

  The Hero's gaze slid toward me, and his smile evaporated instantly. It was as if I were a mud puddle on his silk rug. Around us, the roar of the crowd seemed to dim. I felt heavy stares falling on me from every corner of the room cold, contemptuous, as if I were an intruder in a sanctuary.

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  The unease was so heavy that I felt as if I would be crushed by this invisible pressure if I let my guard down. I couldn't help but let out a small, mocking smirk.

  This is what happens when you poke a hornet's nest: you get stung from all sides.

  The Hero put on a forced smile, a grimace that showed only his teeth, and began to approach me. He closed the gap between us, his gaze plunging straight into mine, seeking to intimidate.

  "A policeman? Here?" he murmured in a honeyed but sharp tone. "You've got the wrong address, pal. Lost and Found is three blocks over."

  "I'm in the right place," I said simply, holding his gaze. "In fact, you just confirmed that I needed to come."

  The Golden Hero frowned, caught off balance. "Huh?! What are you talking about, cop?"

  Suddenly, hysterical screams of excitement ripped through the air, cutting us off. The crowd moved as a single wave. At the center of the agitation, a man was advancing. White hair impeccably slicked back, a suit of blinding white that cost more than ten years of my salary, and blue eyes of absolute coldness. Bodyguards struggled to keep the fans at bay.

  In the scramble, the Golden Hero and I were separated. I lost sight of Okiku, swept away by the flood of people screaming the name of this new idol.

  OKIKU'S POINT OF VIEW

  Kenji and the Hero disappeared behind a wall of backs and cameras. I found myself alone in the middle of the chaos, but I no longer saw the crowd. My eyes were fixed on him.

  "Kaiden?" I whispered, my lips moving on their own.

  As if he had heard my breath despite the din, his gaze shifted. Our eyes locked. A glacial unease instantly washed over me. Surrounded by this adoring crowd, he stared at me with a hard, almost stern expression. I lowered my head, unable to hold that gaze, my heart pounding wildly.

  KENJI'S POINT OF VIEW

  "Thank you for your help," I told the receptionist with obvious weariness.

  Her fingers continued to hammer at her keyboard a sharp, repetitive sound that grated on my nerves. She didn't even deign to look up.

  "I have recorded your statement regarding the hospital incident, Mr. Tanaka," she replied in a monotonic voice.

  "'Statement'?" I repeated bitterly. "I pulled a schoolgirl from the flames while your Heroes stood on the sidewalk like they were waiting for a bus."

  She paused imperceptibly, her eyes scanning the lines on her screen.

  "Your testimony contradicts the official version of events. The file will be forwarded to the appropriate administrative department."

  In plain English: it's going in the shredder. I leaned a bit closer over the counter, lowering my voice.

  "And the man in the bandages?"

  Her fingers froze mid-air. The silence that followed was louder than any answer.

  "Excuse me?"

  "A man covered in bandages, in the corridors. He stepped in just before the collapse. No uniform, but a combat technique that was anything but amateur."

  She tapped frantically on her keys, opening several windows with surgical speed. She searched, but the more she searched, the more her face remained stone-cold.

  "No registered Hero matches that description," she finally declared.

  "So what? He doesn't exist? We both imagined him?"

  "He is not in our records," she replied curtly. "If he is not registered, he is not under our jurisdiction."

  She resumed typing immediately the universal signal for me to get lost.

  "You will be contacted if additional elements are deemed... necessary."

  Sure, I thought, clenching my teeth. That "if" weighed a ton. They weren't looking for the truth; they were looking to protect their script.

  I turned around and let out a long sigh, scratching the back of my neck. Nothing. Once again, I'd been given the runaround. Was it my rank as a simple cop blocking them, or had they truly received orders to hold the line?

  "Now, where is Okiku?"

  I walked through the hall. The calm was slowly returning; the "Idol" and his trail of fans had just left. I finally spotted a familiar silhouette sitting on a bench, off to the side. Okiku seemed to have collapsed into herself. She looked profoundly miserable.

  "Hey? What happened?" I murmured, worried.

  MEANWHILE, IN A BLACK CAR WITH TINTED WINDOWS

  Kaiden stared at the road, his face like marble. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

  "Hello? Mother? Yes, it's me. I just saw Okiku at the Hero Association. What is she doing there? Shouldn't she be at the estate?"

  He listened to the answer, and his hand tightened on the device. His knuckles turned white.

  "What do you mean? She left the clan?!"

  A heavy silence filled the interior.

  "I see."

  He hung up abruptly. Through the window, he watched the city fly by, his expression darker than ever.

  "Big sister... what are you up to?"