In Rishō's eyes, Anshin had always been this kind of man—unyielding, pure, governed by principle.
That was why the two had become friends. At their core, they were alike. The difference was that Rishō had walked further down the road, seen more, carried more burdens. He was smoother, more flexible. Yet the flame of righteousness in his heart had never dimmed.
Anshin, in his previous life, had ended alone. No friends, no family, no lover, no wife or children, no worldly comforts. He had turned himself into a man without weakness, without desire. Such men might exist in reality, but they were rare—almost like characters belonging only to stories and poetry.
Rishō, though, was flesh and blood. He had to live in this world, and so he learned how to adapt—how to hide his edges in the dust while never losing his moral compass.
That was why he had chosen Anshin as his brother in the first place.
But today, Anshin felt different.
In the past, if Rishō had invoked Director An's name to give them cover, Anshin would have bristled. And when facing the Tang brothers, he would never have struck with violence. Yet today, he had done both—calmly, cleanly, without leaving a trace of vulnerability.
It was astonishing.
The old Anshin was pure white—unyielding, uncompromising.
The Anshin today? He still burned bright, but now there was steel behind his flexibility.
…
"It's not that I have to press charges," Anshin said. "They just needed a lesson. You said it yourself—headquarters is buried in big cases. These small-time bullies will get brushed aside. But keeping them in a cell for ten days or so? That's still worthwhile."
Rishō shot him a look of disbelief."Whoa, who are you and what did you do with my friend? The old you would've fought tooth and nail until those two were serving life. What happened? Did you eat something bad? Were those dumplings poisoned on New Year's Eve?"
Still laughing, he reached over to check Anshin's forehead for fever.
"Get outta here," Anshin swatted his hand away."I've just… thought things through. I was too rigid before."
In this life, he couldn't afford to be that stubborn man again. Admirable, yes, but such a man couldn't climb, couldn't maneuver, couldn't survive long in the bureaucracy.
He had ambitions now—promotions, rank, influence. To do real good, he had to play the game.
But that didn't mean he scorned the old Anshin. He respected that man, deeply. The men who spent their lives battling evil, sacrificing everything without compromise—such people existed. They were rare, but they existed.
We may sit in silence, we may never lift a hand—but we have no right to mock those who are braver than us.
Anshin knew he could never again be that same uncompromising soul. But he would always honor those who were.
…
He owed Rishō an explanation. The shift in his character couldn't go unnoticed—not by the man who knew him best.
"That fight with the fugitive," Anshin said. "Facing death changes you. You see things differently."
Rishō paused. He, too, knew that truth. Brush shoulders with death, and your perspective shifts forever.
"Remember how we used to argue? I always accused you of lacking principle. I see now—I was wrong. Our masters, Director An… they told me the same thing: keep your uniform, climb higher, gain authority. Only then can you fight evil effectively."
"Back then, I thought they were just making excuses. Now… I understand."
He looked straight ahead, eyes calm and determined.
"There's a phrase. Hekō dōjin.""To hide your brilliance, to mingle with dust, to conceal yourself in the grime of the world… yet still remain, at your core, a beam of light."
Rishō's chest tightened.
To hide in dust, yet remain light.
His eyes grew hot. Looking at his partner, he felt both pride and joy. Pride in the man Anshin was becoming. Joy that he himself had found a comrade of like heart.
"You finally admit you were wrong, huh?" Rishō grinned."Good. Then let's walk this path together. Hekō dōjin, brother."
Their laughter filled the car, bright and unburdened.
…
In this life, Anshin would keep Rishō alive.
He remembered too well—Rishō, drowning in ideals, sacrificed in his prime. And Lukhan, his own disciple most like him, cut down without reason.
That fate… he would never allow it again.
He made a silent vow to himself.
…
"Good. Then you can treat me to dinner," Rishō said cheerfully.
"What? No way. I just joined the unit. Last month I was still in training. I haven't seen a dime of bonus yet. You want me to treat you now?"
Anshin laughed. He wasn't exaggerating. He was broke. His salary was meager, his pockets empty. He had no side income, no savings.
If not for the station canteen and mission expense reimbursements, he'd barely make it through the month.
And yet—he smiled anyway.