Chapter 1: The Body in the Rain
The rain hadn't stopped for three days.
It fell in thin silver knives, slicing through the dim glow of the streetlamps. Puddles rippled with every drop, reflecting the neon sign of a closed bar—its light flickering, as if nervous.
Detective Kaito Renji pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders. He hated nights like this. Nights where the city seemed to bleed secrets from its shadows.
The call had come in at 2:17 a.m. Another body. Another alley.
But this one… was different.
He stopped at the edge of the yellow tape. Officers stood in silence, their faces pale. The rookie on the scene couldn't meet his eyes. That was enough to tell Kaito this wasn't ordinary.
The corpse lay slumped against the wall, rain washing blood into the gutter. A young man, no older than twenty, his lips curved upward—not in peace, but in something grotesque. A smile carved into his skin, too wide, too deliberate.
Kaito crouched, lighting a cigarette. Smoke curled into the storm, refusing to vanish. His gaze locked on the victim's hand.
Clutched tight between stiff fingers was a playing card.
The Queen of Spades.
Kaito's pulse slowed. A message. No doubt.
And if his memory served him right, this wasn't the first time.
"Detective…"
The rookie's voice trembled. "Why the smile? Why the card?"
Kaito stood, his shadow stretching long under the streetlight. His voice was low, steady, almost tired.
"Because," he said, exhaling smoke into the rain, "he's telling us the game has started."
Thunder rolled across the city like a warning drum. Somewhere in the dark, someone was watching, waiting.
And for the first time in months, Detective Kaito Renji felt the familiar chill of a hunter stepping into his trap.
The rain didn't stop. Neither did the smile carved into the boy's face. Kaito slipped on his gloves, crouching again beside the body. The blood hadn't fully clotted—fresh kill. Less than an hour old. Whoever did this was confident, bold… maybe even nearby.
He examined the card more carefully. The edges weren't just damp from the rain—there were faint smudges of ink, numbers scribbled on the back.
**4:13**
That was it. Nothing more.
The rookie leaned in, whispering like the rain might hear him. "A time? A date?"
Kaito pocketed the card in a plastic sleeve. His tone was sharp. "Neither. It's an invitation."
He scanned the alley. Broken bottles, rusted pipes, an overflowing dumpster. Ordinary filth, masking something deliberate. His eyes caught a smear on the wall—paint, not blood. A dark red circle, drawn almost perfectly, just above the victim's head.
A mark. A signature.
The storm swallowed the city's noises, leaving only the echo of rainwater rushing into drains. Kaito's instincts burned. He'd seen patterns like this before, long ago—before the department buried the case, before the killer vanished.
The **Crimson Joker.**
Everyone thought he was gone. Everyone except Kaito.
He straightened, cigarette dimly glowing between his fingers, eyes heavy but unyielding. "This isn't random. It's a stage. He wanted us to find him."
The rookie's voice cracked. "Detective… if this is the Joker—"
Kaito cut him off, eyes never leaving the crimson mark. "Then the city's about to bleed again."
For a moment, the storm seemed to pause, like the world itself was listening. Then thunder roared once more, drowning out the last trace of silence.Kaito's lighter clicked as he lit another cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his tired eyes. He stared at the crimson mark on the wall—sharp, deliberate.
"This isn't a murder," he muttered. "It's a performance."
The rookie shifted uneasily, glancing around the alley. Something about the detective's words made the shadows feel heavier, the rain sharper.
Kaito crouched again, scanning the ground. That's when he saw it—barely visible, pressed into the mud by the dumpster. A footprint. But not just any footprint.
A polished leather sole, expensive, clean—untouched by the filth of the alley except for that single step. It was pointed directly toward the crime scene.
The rookie bent down beside him.
"Someone was standing here… watching?"
Kaito's jaw tightened. He didn't answer. Instead, he raised his eyes to the rooftop above. The storm howled, rain cutting down in sheets, but for an instant—just an instant—he swore he saw the faint silhouette of a man.
A cigarette ember glowed back at him.
And then—gone.
Kaito dropped his own cigarette to the wet ground, crushing it beneath his heel. His voice was low, like a verdict:
"He's not just back."
A pause, heavy as thunder.
"He's already ahead of us."
Lightning split the sky. The alley lit up in white.
When darkness returned, the crime scene suddenly felt smaller. Trapped.
And somewhere in the city's veins, the Joker was smiling.