Chapter 1 – The Agent and the City
The alley stank of blood, gasoline, and rain.
Sato pressed his knee against the back of the last man still conscious, grinding him into the wet pavement. The criminal groaned, spitting curses that carried no weight anymore, his wrists locked in steel. Around them, three others were already down—faces pressed to cold stone, hands bound, eyes swollen from the work it had taken to bring them down. Sirens washed red and blue across the walls, shadows bending with every flash. The chaos was over, and all that remained was the cleanup.
Sato tightened the last cuff until it clicked. He exhaled slowly, not out of fatigue but to steady himself. He was barely sweating.
"You're done," he said, his voice calm, detached. It was not a warning, not even an insult—just a fact.
The man beneath him twisted, lips cracked, muttering: "Agency dog…"
Sato ignored it. He had heard worse. His blue eyes swept over the scene once more, sharp, efficient, missing nothing. He straightened his back and dragged the man upright. Rain dotted his black hair, stuck to his jacket. His physique carried the weight of training, discipline, and battles beyond this back alley, but he never flaunted it. He simply was.
Patrol officers moved in quickly, their boots splashing puddles. One nodded at Sato, relief on his face. The younger agents always relaxed when he was around.
"Good work, Agent Sato. We'll handle the rest."
He gave a short nod, releasing his grip on the criminal. Without another word, he turned away, already fishing his phone out of his pocket.
It buzzed in his hand, the screen lighting up with a familiar name. He pressed it to his ear.
Before he could say anything, her voice poured out—bright, impatient, dramatic.
"Satooo! Don't tell me you're still out there beating up small-time crooks. You promised you'd be back ages ago!"
He allowed himself a quiet breath that might almost have been a laugh. "Aoi. I'm finishing up. Where are you?"
"Near the station! Waiting like a lost puppy. People are staring. It's humiliating, really."
"I'll be there in ten."
"Five. You owe me food." She hung up before he could answer.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and cast one last look at the alley. The criminals groaned under flashing lights. For them, the night was over. For him, it was just shifting into the next scene.
---
Aoi found him before he found her. She darted through the crowd like a silver streak of mischief, hair shining white beneath neon signs. She waved both arms, uncaring of the looks she drew, her silver eyes bright with delight.
"There you are!" she shouted. "I was about to call search and rescue."
"You could barely wait five minutes," Sato said, but his tone was lighter now.
"Five minutes is forever when you're starving."
She hooked her arm through his and tugged, ignoring the weight difference as if it didn't exist. He let her pull him along, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. Aoi was nineteen, reckless, but she had a way of flooding the world with her own rhythm.
"You didn't eat, did you?" she pressed, narrowing her eyes.
"I was working."
"You always say that." She pouted. "One of these days you'll collapse in the middle of a mission. Then what? You expect me to drag you back?"
He gave her a sidelong glance. "You'd manage."
She puffed her cheeks. "I'd rather not!"
They cut through the crowds together, weaving between vendors and glowing signboards. The air was heavy with the smell of food, oil, sweat, and rain. Aoi's voice filled the space between them with light chatter, teasing, questions he didn't answer, questions she didn't expect him to answer.
Then it hit—the smell of broth, pork fat, green onion, soy. A stall stood tucked under a neon sign, steam rising from pots that hissed and boiled. Aoi slowed to a stop, tugging his sleeve.
"Wait. Do you smell that?" Her voice was reverent.
She pointed toward the counter, where bowls of ramen steamed like treasures. Her silver eyes widened at the sight of one in particular, placed before a lone man at the far end of the counter.
He sat hunched slightly forward, chopsticks in hand, eating with slow, deliberate focus. Black hair hung loose around his face, casting shadows across features that were neither striking nor forgettable—just there. He didn't look up. He didn't look around. He existed only in the steam rising from his bowl.
"Look at him," Aoi whispered with mock solemnity. "That's a man who knows joy. Look at how much he's enjoying that ramen."
Sato gave her a look. "If you want ramen, order it. Don't point at strangers."
"But he makes it look so good…"
He sighed, steering her away. The man at the stall never looked up. He slurped his noodles in silence, part of the city, no different than the signboards above or the rain-slick street beneath.
---
The agency headquarters rose above the district like a blade of glass, sharp against the night sky. Inside, the air was cool and clean, untouched by the chaos outside. Polished floors reflected the embedded lights, and the hum of distant machinery blended into an almost comforting silence. Everything was ordered, efficient, immaculate.
Sato pushed open the glass doors. Aoi trailed behind him, arms folded, still muttering about ramen.
"Well, well."
The voice came before the man appeared. Sheng stepped out of a side hall, posture relaxed, eyes gleaming. His hair was streaked with gray, his face lined with age, but the smile he wore was mischievous. At fifty-six, Sheng carried himself with the ease of someone who had seen far too much and decided to laugh at it anyway.
"The city's golden boy returns," he said. His gaze slid to Aoi. "And the silver-haired whirlwind as well. Tell me, did you cause more trouble for him than the criminals did?"
Aoi puffed her cheeks, indignant. "I'm support, not trouble."
"Support," Sheng mused, stroking his chin. "Yes. In the way a cat supports a chair leg by scratching it."
Aoi gasped. "You're mean!"
Sato shook his head, faint amusement flickering in his eyes. "The arrests are done. Report filed."
Sheng waved a hand. "Always so serious. You'll wrinkle early, you know."
Before Aoi could retaliate, a figure breezed past them in the hall—a girl with hair the color of bubblegum and eyes to match, balancing a paper bag in one hand and a greasy burger in the other. She walked with casual confidence, biting into her food as if she owned the place.
Aoi's silver eyes locked on the burger instantly. She froze, then lunged.
The girl sidestepped smoothly, lifting the burger just out of reach without even breaking stride.
"Nice try," she said casually, not even glancing back.
Aoi's arms flailed in midair as she landed, empty-handed. Sheng's laughter echoed through the hall, rich and unrestrained.
Sato pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hopeless."
"But it looked so good…" Aoi muttered, defeated, shuffling back to his side.
---
Hours later, the resting lounge was quiet. The hum of ventilation was steady, soft enough to fade into background. Sato sat on a couch, head tilted back, eyes closed but not asleep. Aoi lay sprawled on the other end, scrolling through her phone with one leg kicking idly in the air.
For a moment, the city outside didn't exist.
Then his phone buzzed.
He answered instantly.
"Agent Sato," the voice said, clipped and urgent. "We've got a situation. Southern block. Multiple casualties. Possible gang conflict. You're the closest unit."
He stood, already reaching for his jacket. "Send me the details."
The peace of the lounge fractured. The weight of the city pressed in again, pulling him back to where he belonged.
Aoi sat up, eyes wide. "Another one? What kind of incident?"
"Criminal," Sato said, already moving for the door. "Stay ready."
She jumped up, grabbing her gear. The chatter was gone now, replaced by focus. She wasn't trouble—not really. She was part of this world too, no matter how brightly she smiled.
As the doors slid shut behind them, the city's neon glow spilled across the floor.
The night was only just beginning.