Kasumigaseki, Tokyo, Japan — Morning, September 25, 2024.
The black sedan came to a smooth halt amid the steel-and-glass surroundings of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department headquarters.
Its arrival drew a few brief glances from passersby, creating a momentary pause in the district's steady rhythm before everything returned to its disciplined normal.
Government buildings stood in parallel rows, their flags stirring gently with the passing wind. The entire exchange lasted only seconds, as though the district itself had acknowledged the arrival of someone new—and then moved on.
The rear door opened first.
A woman stepped out.
click for image*
She moved with the unhurried precision of someone accustomed to being watched.
Tall—just enough to command attention without demanding it—she wore a tailored Interpol field uniform, slate-grey with deep navy accents, cut to fit function rather than vanity. The insignia on her shoulder bore the familiar crest: a globe crossed by a sword, authority without ornamentation.
Her hair was blonde, drawn back into a tight low bun that exposed sharp cheekbones and a face shaped by discipline rather than softness. There was grace in her posture, but no fragility—her frame was lean, athletic, built for long hours, pursuit, and confrontation. The kind of body forged by training grounds, not gyms.
Her eyes were like a pale steel-blue which swept the surroundings in a single measured glance, cataloguing exits, distances and people.
She closed the car door herself and showed her badge to the upcoming officers.
She was "Elena Weiss."
Senior Field Officer, Interpol. (~European Central Bureau, headquartered at Lyon, France)
Two Japanese officers who approached her curiously, straightened themselves immediately. Their uniforms were immaculate as their caps aligned perfectly.
Their expressions were neutral but alert. One stepped forward, offering a formal bow.
"Welcome to Tokyo, Weiss-san. We have been expecting you."
She returned a polite nod, but not a bow. It was a different decorum but underlined same respect.
Inside, the headquarters was exactly as she expected—security cameras lining the ceilings, clean architectural lines, muted colors, and glass partitions everywhere. The efficiency of the place felt almost surgical.
Everything was precise. Everything was in order. Unlike many other countries, Japan operated by its own exacting benchmarks.
Officers moved with quiet purpose. Conversations were kept low, their eyes occasionally flicking toward her as she passed. Only their footsteps echoed through the corridors as if they were soft, rhythmic clicks against the polished floors.
The air smelled faintly of paper, metal, and brewed tea.
Elena followed her escorts through a series of corridors, past secured doors and digital checkpoints, until they reached an elevator reserved for senior personnel.
As it rose, she adjusted the cuff of her gloves, as she maintained her expression unreadable. There was a hidden nervousness that could never be exposed in foreign lands.
She had crossed seven seas for this.
The doors opened onto a restricted floor.
Waiting inside the conference room were two men.
The first sat at the head of the table—Commissioner Hiroshi Takeda, head of a special division under the Tokyo Metropolitan Police.
He was a broad-shouldered man, with a few silver strands beginning to creep into his hairline. His presence carried the weight of decades of service.
Beside him stood his assistant, Deputy Superintendent Kenji Mori.
He was younger and sharper, with the confident stillness of a man who believed fully in the system he served.
They were in mid-conversation, but paused and stood as she entered.
"Interpol Officer Weiss," Takeda said, inclining his head. "You are welcome."
"Thank you, Commissioner," Elena replied evenly.
Tea was poured. Silence filled the atmoshphere but it was intentional.
Once seated, Elena opened the slim folder she had carried from the car. She was confident. Her movements carried no hesitation.
"I will be direct," she said with authority.
"The individual we are discussing today operates under the codename 'Phantom'. He is wanted in twenty-three jurisdictions across Europe, Africa, Southeast Asia, and the United States. The charges include large-scale financial destabilization, arms facilitation, international bank robberies totaling billions, and direct or indirect involvement in multiple assassinations."
Mori raised an eyebrow. Takeda leaned back slightly in his chair.
"And this man," Takeda said calmly as he went through the first pic, "is a Japanese national?" The folder and other details were still lying the table.
"He is."
A brief glance passed between the two men—something close to amusement.
Takeda allowed himself a restrained smile. "Then I believe this operation can be handled internally. Our resources.."
—are more than sufficient, the unspoken implication lingered.
Mori nodded in agreement and hurriedly interjected, careful not to let his senior's words be misunderstood. "Interpol assistance, aside from providing location intelligence, may not be necessary. You may observe from base if you wish."
Elena lifted her teacup.
She took a slow, deliberate sip.
Only then did she look up.
"If he were an ordinary criminal," she said quietly, "I would agree."
Her voice was calm—unnervingly so.
"But this man has collapsed three financial institutions without ever appearing on official records, redirected weapons through shell companies that no longer exist, and erased entire operational networks the moment they began to suspect him. Classifying him alongside conventional criminals would be… foolish."
She closed the folder and slid it across the table.
"This is not a matter of jurisdictional pride, gentlemen. This is a matter of containment."
The air in the room shifted.
This time, Takeda took the entire folder and began to go through its contents. The further he read, the more his brow began to glisten with sweat. Initially, they had expected only to assist Interpol in arresting a fugitive, with no prior details provided. But with every page he turned, his shock deepened.
Oblivious to Takeda's reaction, Mori leaned forward, arms crossed over his chest. "Weiss-san," he said sharply, "I believe you are underestimating our security capabilities. While we are willing to cooperate, we are by no means incompetent."
Elena's lips curved—not into an apology, but a faint smirk.
"Perhaps reviewing his case in detail will help you reassess," she said. "Phantom is not merely daring—he is a once-in-a-generation prodigy. He currently possesses Japanese gold reserves valued at over fifty billion dollars, stolen and laundered without triggering a single domestic alarm."
Takeda's expression hardened as he flipped through the documents.
"You're suggesting.." his eyes still reeling with shock "... is Night hawk? The same individual who survived the Shanghai Tower jump?"
Mori's composed expression faltered as he shot out, "That man was reported dead!"
Without a word, Takeda slid the files across the table, leaving him to see the truth for himself.
"We are certain," Elena replied. "They are the same."
Mori scanned the files rapidly, his expression draining of color. "Sir… there's more."
He swallowed. "They are also linking him to Ghost blade—the mysterious entity responsible for the Nagoya massacre. Five hundred confirmed casualties."
Silence.
"For nine years," Elena continued, "Interpol believed Phantom to be a myth. A placeholder name. A convenient explanation for cases that made no sense."
She paused.
"Until he left a trail. On purpose."
Takeda's voice was lower now, stripped of earlier confidence. "If he is this dangerous, "he gulped ," and this elusive... are you certain your presence alone will be sufficient? And what assurance do we have that this location isn't a false flag?"
He hesitated. "I think—"
"No," Elena cut in smoothly. "I am not enough. That is why my team is already en route, and why I require your full cooperation."
She leaned forward slightly.
"As for the location—it is solid. He won't anticipate our move. By all outward appearances, he has retired. Living quietly."
Her gaze locked onto Takeda's.
"This was one of the key realizations we came to far too late."
She slowed her speech, each word deliberate.
"He wasn't running from us."
"He was watching—in plain sight, under the cover of darkness."
A heavy silence filled the room, no longer formal, no longer polite.
"This time," Elena finished, "we have a lead that cannot be ignored. And that is why I am here."
She straightened.
"And I will not be taking refusal as an answer. If necessary, you may escalate this to your superiors."
Her eyes were cold, unwavering.
"But the operation proceeds—with or without your comfort."