The world narrowed to the sound of Yumiko’s weeping. Ryūta held her, the tremors of her sobs shaking them both. Then something inside him snapped. Grief became a tight, burning rage. He guided the woman to a bench, turned, and marched back into the building, heading straight for the front desk.

  His palm slammed down on the polished counter with a crack that silenced the lobby.

  “What the hell do you mean you dropped the case?!”

  The officer, startled from his paperwork, looked up with professional calm.

  “Sir, please calm down.”

  “Her body is gone! Someone desecrated her grave, dug up her coffin, and you’re just... what?! Filing it under ‘weird stuff’ and moving on?!” The words tore from his throat, ragged and loud.

  “I understand your frustration, but yelling isn’t going to help.”

  “I wouldn’t be yelling if you were doing your damn job!” The boy’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the counter.

  A gentle touch landed on his shoulder. He flinched, ready to shrug it off, but as he turned, Yumiko stood behind him, her face streaked with tears and softened by desperate pleading.

  “Ryūta... please, don’t.”

  Her voice, barely a whisper, cut through his anger more effectively than any shout. The fight drained out of him. His shoulders slumped and his hands fell limp at his sides.

  The officer watched them, his guarded expression easing for a fraction of a second. He leaned forward, voice low enough that only they could hear.

  “Listen, kid. We didn’t drop the case. It was taken from us. Higher?ups came in and ordered local precincts to stand down.”

  The boy’s head shot up.

  “Who? Who took it?”

  The man leaned back, his professional mask sliding back into place.

  “I’ve already said more than I should have. I can’t tell you anything else. I’m sorry.”

  A heavy silence settled between them. The fight was over and there was nothing more to say. Ryūta gave a short, stiff bow.

  “I’m sorry as well, and thank you.”

  Then, with Yumiko at his side, he walked out of the station into the indifferent afternoon sun.

  The moment they stepped outside, the boy’s legs gave out. He collapsed onto the same bench where he had seated the woman earlier and buried his face in his hands. The cool autumn air bit at his skin, but he barely noticed. His mind churned through everything, the missing body, the blood, the scratches, and that sudden intervention from above.

  Yumiko settled beside him, warm despite the chill. She shifted closer, her hand rising toward his face, fingers poised to offer the comfort only a mother could give. But before she could touch him, Ryūta lifted his head.

  His eyes burned, not with the wild rage from minutes before but with something harder, sharper. Determination. He had no plan, leads, or idea where to start. However, he was sure of one thing. He wouldn’t let it go. Someone had taken Himeko’s body, someone knew why, and he would find them.

  “Let’s go home,” he said. His voice was steady as he rose and offered Yumiko his hand.

  The woman’s lips curved into a faint smile as she took it and nodded, more sad than glad.

  They walked in quiet through busy streets. The city moved around them in its usual rhythm, businesspeople rushing past and students laughing in little groups.

  At the train station, a sudden prickle ran down the boy’s spine. He couldn’t put it into words, but he felt like someone was watching them. He turned, scanning the crowd. A salaryman read his newspaper, two schoolgirls giggled over their phones, and an elderly woman counted change for a vending machine. Nothing suspicious. No one even glanced his way. The feeling, however, persisted.

  “Ryūta?” Yumiko’s voice pulled him back. “Are you all right?”

  Her eyes, still red?rimmed from crying, now held concern for him. The last thing she needed was more worry. He forced his features into calm and managed a smile.

  “Yes. Everything’s fine.”

  She studied him a moment, then nodded. The train pulled in, and the doors slid open to a soft chime, as she squeezed his hand once more. After she boarded, he watched until the vehicle disappeared around the bend, but that crawling sensation still clung to him.

  Nothing happened. No one approached. No shadow detached itself from the wall to follow him. He began the long walk home, hoping the rhythm of his steps might quiet the storm in his head.

  The boy’s feet carried him through the apartment door on autopilot. Silence greeted him, no clatter of dishes or Ninel’s soft footsteps could be heard. The emptiness pressed against his eardrums. He could not decide if the solitude brought relief or disappointment.

  He dropped onto the edge of his bed. A sigh escaped him, then another, each loosening something in his chest, and eventually the realization settled. What could a sixteen?year?old accomplish against forces that could make police departments stand down, against people who stole corpses for reasons no one would say?

  The answer sat heavy in his gut. Nothing.

  Outside, the sun bled away behind the buildings, painting the walls orange and red before fading to gray. Darkness crept in through the windows. The apartment grew colder, and the silence turned more and more oppressive, wrapping around his throat.

  He wanted someone there. Anyone. Someone to fill the void with words, presence, the simple lie that everything would be fine. But the voice he needed most, that gentle tone that could scold and soothe in the same breath, that laugh that made his chest ache, was gone. Himeko’s voice lived only in his memory, fainter each day.

  Near breaking and on the verge of tears, as his composure thinned to glass, his phone vibrated. He fumbled for it, the screen’s glow was a pain to his eyes in the dark.

  A message from Shinji blinked up at him.

  “Hey. Wanna hang out?”

  Four simple words, precisely the kind of message his friend would send on any ordinary evening. Ryūta stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, then he replied.

  “Now? Where?”

  A few moments later another message came in.

  “At the teahouse.”

  “By the time we get there, it’ll be closed.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “We’re not going in. We’re just meeting out front.”

  “Then where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  Still confused, the boy went straight to the meeting spot. By the time he arrived, his friend was already waiting for him in front of the building, which, as expected, was no longer open.

  Without further explanation, Shinji led him to a large family home. It wasn’t a mansion like the Aizawa residence, but its design and size still spoke of wealth.

  “Where are we?” Ryūta asked.

  “At my family’s house,” the boy with glasses said with a smile.

  “What? You live here?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ryūta stared at the large, modern building for a while before snapping out of it and continuing:

  “And why are we here?”

  “Because we would love to have you for dinner.”

  The boy did not know what to say. Part of him wanted to go in and try to enjoy himself. Another part, however, worried about the first impression he would make. And in the end caution won.

  “I appreciate the invitation, but you could have told me. I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t dress up or bring a gift.”

  “Why would you need to? It’s just one friend inviting another to dinner. No big deal,” Shinji said.

  “Still, it’s my first time meeting your family.”

  “Well, that’s true, but still, no need. They know I didn’t give you a heads?up, so they aren’t expecting anything. Besides, it’ll be just my mom at home, so you won’t meet everyone.”

  Ryūta finally gave in.

  “All right.”

  “Great. Then let’s go in,” his friend said, placing a hand on his shoulder and taking the lead.

  As they stepped into the entryway, the boy with glasses called out,

  “We’re home!”

  A gentle, enthusiastic voice floated back at them, tinged with panic.

  “Ah, I’m not ready yet! Oh well, whatever happens, happens!”

  A kind woman’s face peeked from behind a wall. The moment she spotted the two boys, she hurried to Ryūta.

  “You must be Ryū?chan, right?” She took his hands in both of hers, looking him straight in the eyes. “I’m Takeda Izumi, Shinji’s mother. It’s a pleasure to meet you!” She studied him a beat, wonder in her gaze. “My, you look so much like someone...”

  Behind his friend, Shinji groaned.

  “Mom, you’re going to scare him off before he even gets inside.”

  “I’m sorry! I’m just a little nervous. It’s the first time Shinji has invited a friend over and I want everything to be perfect,” she said sheepishly.

  Although Ryūta was surprised by the woman’s directness, he actually didn’t mind it at all. Quite the opposite. He found it genuinely pleasant.

  “Please, don’t trouble yourself on my account... um...” he began, but he wasn’t sure, how to address her. When she saw his struggle, she jumped in.

  “Just call me Izumi! No need for formalities!”

  “All right… I-Izumi?san.”

  “Oh my, he is so cute when he is flustered!” The woman’s eyes lit again.

  “Mom...” Shinji warned her again softly.

  “Sorry, sorry! Come in, have a seat,” she said, ushering him toward the dining room.

  “Thank you for having me,” Ryūta said, yielding to the gentle push.

  Inside, a large table waited for them, already set.

  The boy took a seat politely at one of the chairs while his hosts returned to their kitchen tasks.

  They moved in practiced rhythm. Steam lifted from a pot, oil hissed in a pan, and vegetables fell in a bright pile under Izumi’s knife.

  “Please, tell me about yourself,” she called around the counter, eyes bright. “Shinji has told me a lot about you, but I’d love to hear your version as well.”

  “I don’t really know what to say. I’m just an average boy.”

  “And modest too,” she added, clasping her hands. “But you know, Shinji doesn’t befriend just anyone. It’s true he has a big heart and always helps people, but he chooses his friends really carefully, so he must see something in you.”

  At the woman’s words, both boys flushed. It would have been hard to tell which one of them was more embarrassed, but neither of them could be mad at her.

  “And tell me, do you have a girlfriend yet? I keep nudging Shinji to find one, but he’s so shy.”

  The wooden spoon froze in Shinji’s grip, panic flashing across his face. It wasn’t about himself, though. He was worried about his friend.

  Ryūta folded his hands in his lap, one corner of his mouth lifting.

  “No. I haven’t found the right one yet.”

  The boy with glasses let out air like a leaky tire and went back to stirring. Relief, however, didn’t last long. Izumi’s eyes widened and her palm flew to her mouth.

  “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! Shinji told me what happened. I did not mean to...”

  “It’s all right, don’t worry about it.”

  He held her gaze, steady as he could make it. He did not blame her. He just had no words that wouldn’t make things worse.

  Then the doorbell rang. No one could tell if it was just luck or if someone from above helped him out, but he successfully escaped the awkward situation.

  Shinji touched his mother’s shoulder.

  “Ryūta, would you mind getting that? I have something to take care of in here.”

  “Sure…”

  As the boy walked to the door and opened it, he spotted a uniformed man on the doormat. The man had short, dark brown hair, almost black, eyes of the same deep shade, and faint stubble across his jaw and cheeks. POLICE was printed across his jacket, and his cap bore a metal emblem.

  “Are you Kagayaki Ryūta?” he inquired with a grim tone.

  The boy asked back with piercing eyes,

  “And you are?”

  The man reached inside his jacket and produced a leather wallet that opened to his badge and ID.

  “Arima Hayato, special detective. Can we talk inside?”

  “Afraid not. I don’t live here.”

  The words came out sharper than intended, but he didn’t care. He would not drag Shinji’s family into whatever that was.

  The man’s mouth quirked, as if he was suppressing laughter.

  “All right, you got me. Still, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go in. I was invited here as well, after all.”

  Ryūta blinked.

  “You were?”

  “Yeah. This is my sister Takeda Izumi’s house.”

  “What?!”

  Only then did it dawn on the boy who was standing before him. Shinji’s uncle, the detective who had worked on Himeko’s case.

  He bowed his head politely and in shame.

  “I am terribly sorry for earlier, and thank you for your hard work!”

  Arima smiled and removed his cap, a little embarrassed himself.

  “No, I should apologize. Shinji said you have a quick temper, but I couldn’t help but test it myself.”

  Ryūta looked aside, unsure how to respond. The man’s face turned serious again.

  “I also need to apologize for something else.”

  “For what?” the boy asked confused.

  “As you know, the investigation didn’t go well, and now the case was taken from us.”

  “That is not your fault.”

  Although he meant it, he couldn’t meet the detective’s eyes.

  Arima, however, held his gaze with steady resolve.

  “That doesn’t mean I gave up. If all goes well, I will be transferred soon and I will be able to keep going.”

  Ryūta didn’t react. He wouldn’t have said it out loud, but he was already starting to let hope go.

  The man set a hand on his shoulder.

  “Let’s go in. The others must be waiting. After dinner, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  The boy wasn’t eager, but he finally lifted his head and looked the detective in the eye.

  “All right…”

  Then they went inside. Through dinner, Ryūta wasn’t impatient. Sometimes his thoughts even drifted, as if he didn’t care anymore. That wasn’t true, however, which only sharpened his guilt further. But even if there were developments, knowing about them wouldn’t change anything. He finally understood, and slowly began to accept it.

  When they finished eating and Izumi cleared the table, Shinji set a mug of coffee in front of each of them, then they left them alone.

  For a while they sat without saying anything, steam rising between their hands.

  “You aren’t going to ask anything?” Hayato spoke at last.

  “To be honest, I’m not sure I want to know anymore,” Ryūta replied uncertainly.

  The man furrowed his brow.

  “We set up this little gathering for that exact reason.”

  “I’m sorry you went to the trouble. But I don’t think I can keep doing this.” He paused for a moment, then went on. “When I first met her, she got on my nerves. I didn’t understand what she wanted from me. Then I realized we were the same. Neither of us fit with the others, and that held us together. Over time, convenience turned into something real, and I knew I didn’t need anything else. I never imagined I would lose her so soon. But it happened, and I didn’t say anything to her because I only cared about myself.”

  Hayato looked surprised but serious.

  “If that’s how you feel, why are you unsure now?”

  “Because I haven’t changed since then. I’m still weak and pathetic. One moment I think I can fix the world on my own, and the next, like now, I wish I knew nothing so everything would be easier.”

  As Ryūta spoke, his voice lost its grief and self?loathing. He sounded neutral, like he had accepted everything, including himself.

  The man remained silent for a while, then took a sip of his coffee and let out a slow breath.

  “In my career I have seen a lot. Not always intentional crimes but harmless pranks, careless mistakes and accidents that ended in tragedy. What you went through is one of the worst. It was planned and utterly depraved. No one would blame you if you gave up hope.”

  The boy’s hands tightened.

  “If I did, I would feel like I betrayed her.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “What could I do then? Sit and wait to see if something happens?” He looked the detective in the eye pleadingly, asking for a road to follow.

  “For now, yes. There’s nothing else we can do.”

  “All right... I will keep still… and be patient,” Ryūta said, relaxing his fingers with a sigh.

  After that, silence returned. Then he blinked and leaned forward.

  “Wait… You didn’t invite me just to calm me down, right? You know something they couldn’t tell us at the police station.”

  Hayato grumbled, realizing he was about to pour oil on a fire.

  “Tell me, what do you know about Aizawa?san’s illness?”

  “Not much. It came on suddenly and knocked her down fast.”

  “Don’t you find it strange? We have treatments for almost everything, her family is wealthy, and yet she didn’t recover.”

  Ryūta looked at the man in shock.

  “What are you trying to say? That they let her die on purpose?”

  “No, quite the opposite. I think she’s still alive.”