"The celebration had ended in triumph, in cheers and applause, in lights dazzling like fireworks.But dawn broke to screams."
The Warehouse Corpse
The Hakodate warehouse district reeked of iron and salt, the smell of seawater carried inland by a bitter winter wind. Police cordons choked the alleys, their red-and-blue strobes flickering against rusted shipping containers and stacked crates.
Inside one warehouse, fluorescent lights flickered weakly, illuminating a nightmare.
Yazu Murakaze—Mizuna's father, head of the clan's custodianship—lay sprawled on the concrete floor. His ceremonial robes were torn open, Stomach and gut carved into grotesque art. The wound was deliberate, almost surgical, precise in its savagery. Blood had pooled around him and dried into black varnish.
The wound wasn't just a killing blow. It was a message.
Etched into his flesh was the outline of a fox mask, jagged lines stitched in crimson. It was the Phantom Analyst's signature, burned into Mizunashi's memory, seared into the collective panic of Tokyo.
Mizuna collapsed to her knees, screaming. Her voice echoed through the steel chamber, brittle and broken. She clawed at the floor, hands shaking, tears mixing with her father's blood. Guards restrained her, but she fought like a cornered animal.
"Papa! Papa! Why? WHY!?"
Akio Hukitaske stood in the doorway, his Pharmacy Family behind him. His body stiffened, stomach turning with acid at the sight. His breathing slowed, shallow. His eyes fixed on the wound.
It was the exact precision of a scalpel. The kind of cut his brother Kenji had once perfected in medical school, before dropping out.
The realization hit Akio like a blade to the ribs.
"Kenji... what have you done?"
Inspector Sheriff Takiuna
Inspector Sheriff Takiuna stormed into the crime scene, trench coat flaring, his rage uncontained. His boots slapped against the concrete with a rhythm like war drums. He shoved officers aside, teeth clenched around an unlit cigarette.
When his eyes fell on Yazu's corpse, his whole body trembled—not with grief, but fury.
"Fox mask." His voice rasped like sandpaper. "The bastard taunts me again."
He whirled on Akio, grabbing his collar, slamming him into a pillar so hard dust rained from above.
"This is your brother, isn't it!? Your blood killed this royal. Your blood brought this curse back into Mizunashi! I can tell by your face, because I've seen his real hidden identity like you probably have."
Hikata lunged forward, joking tone absent, fists ready.
"Oi, keep your hands off him, Sheriff! You don't get to pin your failures on Akio just 'cause you can't catch a shadow."
Raka's shoulders squared, her Gucci jacket crinkling like armor as she stepped forward. "Touch him again, and you'll be chewing concrete, alright."
The tension nearly snapped the air in half. Officers reached for their sidearms, but Rumane cut in, her voice calm, steel hidden in silk.
"Inspector. Rage clouds judgment. We need answers, not a witch-hunt."
Takiuna's hand shook. He released Akio, breathing hard, veins pulsing in his temple.
But his glare never softened.
"Then give me answers. Because if your brother is Phantom, I'll put him in the ground myself."
The Missing Documents
Rumane crouched beside the corpse, gloves on. Her eyes scanned not just the body but the surroundings—the torn satchel, the scattered scrolls, the fragments of parchment soaked in blood.
"These were taken." She lifted a scrap carefully with tweezers. Ancient ink bled across rice paper, Edo-era kanji scrawled in meticulous hand. "Research on pharmaceutical forging. This was more than a family heirloom. These swords were... engineered."
Akazuchi, trembling but eager, tapped furiously on his tablet. He projected an overlay, reconstructing the missing documents with fragments uploaded from the estate's archives.
"They... they describe experimental forging methods," he stammered, voice barely audible. "Combining metallurgy with... with pharmacological compounds. Herbs, minerals, poisons, cures... melted into the steel itself. That's why the blades heal and kill."
The revelation rippled through the group like a shudder.
Akio clenched his fists. "Kenji stole one blade. Now these documents. He's after more than theft. He's after... power."
Rumane's eyes narrowed. "Or he's being used. Look."
She pointed to a smear of unfamiliar red powder along the wound. "Not blood. Compound residue. Smoke crystal derivative. Synthetic. Illegal."
Riki cursed under his breath. "Red Smoke Bandits. I busted some of those freaks years ago. Thought they were wiped out. Guess the roaches crawled back."
At the mention, Mizuna's grief sharpened into fury. Her fists clenched.
"They killed my father. They want the swords. I'll burn them all."
The Bandit Rumor
Night deepened in Mizunashi. The group gathered in a cramped izakaya, the smell of fried fish mixing with spilled sake. Locals whispered nervously, eyes darting to the Pharmacy Family as if they carried curses in their pockets.
Riki leaned forward, voice low, gravelly.
"Red Smoke Bandits weren't just thugs. They had ties to the Yaka Lab. That was the government's dirty secret—bioweapon research dressed up as pharmaceutical innovation. Half the scientists vanished when it collapsed. The other half... well, rumor says they became mercenaries. Selling science like crack on the streets."
Hikata broke the tension with a sharp laugh, though his eyes stayed cold.
"So, lemme get this straight. We've got a fox-masked brother with a god complex, a dead dad with a gut bleeding doodle, and now a syndicate of science-terrorist zombies crawling outta the grave. Sounds like the perfect Tuesday."
No one laughed.
Akio's face hardened. He drank his sake like medicine, forcing it down bitterly.
"If Kenji is working with them... he's gone too far. But if they're using him—"
Mizuna slammed her fist on the table, rattling dishes.
"Does it matter!? My father is dead. His blood demands justice. If your brother stands with them, then he stands as my enemy."
Silence.
Akio lowered his head, torn. His heart ached like the wound carved into Yazu's gut.
Was Kenji truly a murderer? Or just another pawn in a game darker than either of them understood?
The Ambush
The answer came in blood.
On their way back through Mizunashi's abandoned docks, fog rolling thick off the sea, shadows slipped through the mist. Figures emerged—gas masks, red bandanas, blades coated in chemicals that dripped and hissed.
The Red Smoke Bandits.
"Targets acquired," one rasped, voice muffled by his filter. "Bring the pharmacist alive. Kill the rest."
The docks erupted in chaos.
Raka roared like a titan, swinging a steel beam ripped from the ground, crushing two bandits into pulp. Her Gucci jacket gleamed with blood spray as her Nike kicks stomped a skull flat.
Hikata cracked jokes even as fists cracked jaws. "Careful, alright, cameras aren't rolling! Don't embarrass yourselves!" He dodged a blade, spun, and slammed his microphone—yes, he carried it everywhere—into a thug's throat, crushing his windpipe.
Rumane moved with surgical precision, turning her calm into terror. Every step was planned, every strike calculated. She slit tendons, shattered knees, and left bodies twitching in silence.
Riki fought like the delinquent he once was, rage in every punch. He head smashed one bandit so hard the mask shattered, then stole the man's blade to cut down three more.
Akazuchi, shaking, nearly froze—until his tablet beeped. His code burst through hacked signals, scrambling the bandits' comms. Their formation faltered, their coordination collapsed. "G-got them! J-j-jam complete!"
Through the fog, Akio's vials ignited. He hurled one—green smoke engulfed a squad, flesh melting, screams echoing across the harbor. Another vial burst blue—Raka's shattered shoulder knit itself back together mid-swing.
But the Bandits fought with fanatic resilience. And then the leader emerged.
A towering figure in crimson armor, gas mask adorned with painted tusks, carrying a blade dripping with synthetic venom. His voice growled like gravel.
"For Yaka Lab... for the revival. Tonight, Mizunashi drowns in red smoke."
He swung. Sparks rained as Akio caught the blade with a vial-hardened steel rod. The force shook his bones.
The battle became a slaughter. Screams echoed through fog. Blood painted the dock planks. Rats fled into the sea, carrying pieces of flesh in their teeth.
By the end, dozens of bandits lay broken, twitching, or drowned. The leader retreated, vowing return. But not before leaving his words burned in their minds:
"Yaka Lab rises. And the Twin Blades will carve the future."
Aftermath
The fog thinned. Bodies floated in the water. Mizuna knelt on the blood-slick planks, her reflection distorted in the crimson tide.
Her voice broke. "This is just the beginning, isn't it?"
Rumane's silence confirmed it.
Akio stood at the edge, stomach heaving, vials clinking against each other in his coat. His brother's face haunted him in the mist.
Kenji. Phantom. Brother. Murderer. Pawn.
Which was he?
He whispered to himself, unheard by the others:
"I'll find the truth. Even if I have to cut fate itself."
And the sea, black and endless, seemed to whisper back.