That night, a neon lantern buzzed fitfully above the entrance of a tiny backstreet izakaya in western Tokyo. The safehouse had identified this bar as Sako's favorite watering hole – a discreet spot where minor officials often drank their worries away. Sure enough, through the fogged glass window, Hiroshi spotted Section Chief Sako hunched at the counter, nursing his second or third whiskey. The traitor's face was already flushed, and he gestured animatedly as he spoke to the bartender, perhaps spinning some tale to mask his own conscience.
Hiroshi stepped into a nearby alley out of sight. In that dark recess, the transformation began. With steady hands, he affixed a thin latex mask over his own face, smoothing the edges carefully until they blended seamlessly with his skin. The mask was a perfect replica of another man's features – the face of Sako's closest friend, a former college roommate named Kenshi. Hiroshi's team had done their homework: Kenshi and Sako met up to drink only rarely, but they'd kept in touch. By coincidence, the real Kenshi was away on assignment in Osaka this week, giving Hiroshi the opening he needed. He'd sent a cryptic text from Kenshi's phone (lifted by Madoka's hacking) to Sako that afternoon: "In town for a night, let's catch up at our old spot?" Sako's reply – equal parts surprise and eagerness – had sealed the plan.
Now Hiroshi tugged a worn baseball cap low on his head and donned a voice-modulation patch at his throat. He glanced at his phone's blank screen, catching his reflection: he was Kenshi to the life – down to the faint scar on the chin and the crow's feet at the eyes. To further ensure success, a colorfully feathered Pokémon perched unseen on the fire escape overhead: Daisy the Gardevoir had cast a subtle psychic veil around Hiroshi. In the eyes of any onlooker, the disguise would be perfect; even Sako's potentially hazy, drunken perception would be gently nudged to see his old friend. Daisy's telepathic presence also hovered at the edge of Hiroshi's mind, monitoring Sako's emotional state from afar. Ready when you are, her thought brushed against Hiroshi's, calm and reassuring.
Hiroshi drew a slow breath, centering himself. This was a delicate psychological dance – he needed Sako vulnerable and remorseful, not defensive. With a final adjustment of his cap, he pocketed a small vial of clear liquid (a powerful truth serum diluted to be just potent enough when mixed with alcohol) and strode out of the alley toward the bar's entrance.
A jangling bell announced "Kenshi's" arrival as Hiroshi pushed open the door. Inside, the izakaya was dim and cozy – lacquered wood counters, red paper lanterns swaying gently in the draft. Only a couple of patrons sat in corners. Sako occupied the far end of the counter, shoulders slumped. He blinked blearily at the newcomer.
Hiroshi flashed a broad grin that he'd practiced from photos and videos of Kenshi. "Oi, Sako!" he called in a warm, familiar tone. "Long time no see, old pal."
Sako's eyes widened in disbelief, then delight. "K-Kenshi?! You— you actually came!" he stammered. He stood, nearly tipping his stool in his haste. "I can't believe you're here!"
In two strides Hiroshi was upon him, pulling Sako into a back-slapping hug. "Had to surprise you, didn't I?" he laughed. Up close, the reek of whiskey on Sako's breath was evident. His speech was loose – he was already tipsy. Good. That would only make this easier.
They settled at the counter, side by side. Hiroshi signaled the bartender. "Whatever he's having, one for me, and another for him." He shot Sako a teasing smirk. "You started without me, you dog!"
Sako chuckled guiltily. "Ahh, sorry, rough day at work… could not wait." He drained the last of his current glass. "But now you're here! By all means, let's catch up."
As the bartender turned to fix drinks, Hiroshi's hand moved in a practiced blur. He tipped the vial of odorless drug into the fresh pour intended for Sako – a dose calculated by their team medic to loosen tongues and blur short-term memory, nothing more. The amber whiskey foamed slightly, then settled. Hiroshi clinked his own glass to Sako's when the drinks arrived. "Kanpai, my friend!"
They drank. Sako downed half his whiskey in one swig, sighing in contentment at the burn. Hiroshi sipped lightly at his, merely wetting his lips – he needed a clear head. The mask's voice modulator mimicked Kenshi's gravelly tone perfectly as he launched into small talk. "How's life treating you, Sako? You've got that fancy government job. Still catching bad guys and saving the world?" he joked.
Sako gave a hollow laugh, swirling his glass. "Heh, something like that. Paperwork and meetings mostly. It's not all glamor, Kenshi." He peered at "Kenshi's" face, eyes glassy yet searching. "What about you? Still… still with the trade ministry?"
"Osaka branch, yes," Hiroshi lied smoothly, drawing on the cover story they'd prepared. "Boring stuff. I envy you, you know. Working in Tokyo, in intelligence. Must be exciting."
Sako grimaced, then gulped the rest of his whiskey. "Exciting… sure." His words slurred slightly. The serum was taking hold, lowering his inhibitions. "Sometimes too exciting."
Hiroshi cast his line gently. He let a moment of silence hang, then spoke in a softer, concerned voice. "You mentioned it's been rough lately. Something on your mind, man? You know you can tell me anything. We go back twenty years." He clapped a reassuring hand on Sako's shoulder.
Sako's face worked as if he were chewing over a secret. His eyes unfocused, staring into the rows of bottles behind the bar. "Kenshi… ever feel like… like you did something real bad, but you had no choice?" His words were barely above a whisper.
Hiroshi felt a cold twist of triumph in his gut – the guilt was rising. He kept his expression gently curious. "We all make hard choices. But if it's eating at you, maybe it wasn't the right call," he murmured. "What happened?"
Sako swallowed. A sheen of tears made his eyes wet. "Hypothetically… say you knew some guys at work doing wrong. And you… you let it happen. Because they're powerful and you're…" He bit off the rest, shaking his head violently. "Nevermind. Sorry, that was stupid."
He tried to laugh it off, but it turned into a choked sob. The bartender glanced over in concern, but Hiroshi shot him a quick smile – I've got this. The bartender politely busied himself away from the emotional scene.
Hiroshi gently slid Sako's empty glass away and pushed a fresh drink (with a second dose deftly added) into his hand. "No judgment here, Sako. Sounds like you've been carrying something heavy. I'm all ears, and it stays between us, promise."