The next day dawned gray and wet, the kind of rain that soaked into the bones and made everything feel heavier.

Hana and I were back at the detention center, where Nagasuki Mitsuo had taken his last breath.

His death, still officially labeled a suicide, didn’t sit right with either of us.

The previous night’s revelations felt incomplete, as if we were standing on the edge of something much darker, something we hadn’t yet seen.

We walked through the narrow halls of the detention center, the sterile smell of disinfectant sharp in the air.

The hum of fluorescent lights and the distant murmur of guards and inmates echoed through the facility.

Hana was quiet beside me, her face set in that calm, calculating expression she wore when she was deep in thought.

I knew she was feeling the same thing I was—a nagging suspicion that there was more to Nagasuki’s death than we had uncovered so far.

As we approached Nagasuki’s cell, Officer Morita was waiting for us, a tired look in his eyes.

Morita was an older man, his face lined with the kind of weariness that comes from years spent in this place.

He gave us a nod and stepped aside as we entered the small cell.

The walls were bare, the single bed neatly made, and the barred window was closed tight, offering no view of the outside world.

The surveillance camera in the corner was still pointed directly at the bed.

“This is where it happened?”

Hana asked, her voice low.

Morita nodded.

“Yeah. He was found here, lying in bed. No signs of struggle, nothing out of place. Just… dead.”

I crouched down, inspecting the bed, running my hand along the frame.

“Was there anything unusual about his behavior in the days leading up to his death?”

I asked, my tone measured but probing.

Morita scratched his chin, glancing over his shoulder as if checking for eavesdroppers.

“Now that you mention it… yeah. Nagasuki had been acting strange for the last few days. Real paranoid. Kept asking for more guards, even though he was already under constant surveillance.

He didn’t sleep much—just stayed awake, pacing. Muttering to himself about someone coming for him. He wouldn’t say who, but he was definitely scared.”

Hana shot me a quick look.

Paranoia.

Fear.

That didn’t match the image we had of Nagasuki—the careful, meticulous planner who always seemed to be one step ahead.

What had spooked him so badly?

“He said anything else?”

Hana pressed, her eyes narrowing.

Morita shrugged.

“Not much. Just kept asking if the cameras were working, if the guards were watching. It’s like he didn’t trust us. Like he thought we wouldn’t be able to protect him.”

I stood up, frowning.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the cell? Anything out of place?”

Morita shook his head.

“Nope. Everything was in order. The cameras didn’t catch anything either. It’s like he just… gave up.”

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As Morita spoke, something caught my eye beneath the bed.

I crouched down again, this time sliding my hand under the frame.

The cold metal felt smooth until my fingers brushed against something rough, something carved into the underside of the bedframe.

“Hana”

I called, motioning for her to come over.

“Look at this.”

Hana knelt beside me, her brow furrowing as she peered under the bed.

There, crudely scratched into the metal, was a series of letters.

“Is this an address?”

She muttered, pulling out her phone.

“Why would Nagasuki scratch an address under his bed?”

I stood up, watching as she typed them into her phone.

The map loaded slowly, the spinning icon on the screen adding to the tension in the air.

After a moment, the location popped up.

Hana’s eyes widened slightly.

“It’s in the outskirts of Kyoto. Looks like an old neighborhood.”

I felt my pulse quicken.

Nagasuki had left us something—a clue hidden in plain sight.

But why?

And what would we find there?

“I think it’s worth checking out”

I said, my voice steady but filled with curiosity.

Hana nodded, her eyes still locked on the phone screen.

“Let’s go. Whatever this is, it might be the key to understanding what really happened.”

The rain hadn’t let up by the time we reached the outskirts of Kyoto, the streets slick and gleaming under the pale morning light.

The coordinates led us to a run-down neighborhood on the edge of the city, where crumbling buildings lined the narrow streets, their windows dark and lifeless.

It was the kind of place that had seen better days, where time seemed to have stopped, leaving the area to decay.

We parked a few blocks away from the location.

The house we were looking for stood at the end of a dead-end street, its roof sagging under the weight of years of neglect.

The windows were boarded up, and the front door was hanging slightly ajar, swaying in the wind.

“This is it”

Hana said, her voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, my hand resting on the handle of the car door for a moment before I stepped out into the rain.

We approached the house cautiously, the wet pavement slick beneath our feet.

The air smelled of mildew and rot, the faint scent of something long forgotten.

We paused at the front door, exchanging a glance.

“You ready?”

I asked.

Hana gave a short nod, her hand resting on the grip of her sidearm.

“Let’s go.”

I pushed the door open, and it creaked loudly in the silence.

Inside, the house was just as decrepit as it looked from the outside.

Dust covered every surface, the furniture was sparse, and the air was thick with the smell of damp wood and decay.

It didn’t look like anyone had been here in years, but there was something off—something about the way the place felt, like it had been left in a hurry.

We moved through the house carefully, our footsteps echoing in the empty space.

The living room was barren except for a faded couch and a small wooden table, both covered in a fine layer of dust.

The kitchen was empty, its cupboards bare.

But it was the study that caught our attention.

The room was small, cramped, with a single desk pushed up against the wall and a filing cabinet in the corner.

Papers were scattered across the desk, and the floor was littered with crumpled notes.

Hana walked over to the desk, her eyes scanning the mess.

“Looks like someone was in a hurry”

She muttered.

I knelt down beside a stack of papers on the floor, my fingers brushing over an old, weathered envelope.

It was tied with a piece of string, the edges yellowed with age.

“Take a look at this.”

I said, holding it up for Hana.

She took the envelope, untied the string, and pulled out a letter.

Her eyes moved quickly over the page, and as she read, her expression darkened.

“These are addressed to Nagasuki”

She said, flipping through the stack of letters.

“But they’re signed by someone else. The initials ‘R.K.’”

I frowned.

“R.K.? Who the hell is that?”

Hana shook her head, her brow furrowed.

“I don’t know. But these letters… they’re about business deals, payments, and…”

She paused, her eyes narrowing.

“They mention someone else. Someone above Nagasuki and ‘R.K.’ They refer to this person as ‘The Benefactor.’”

I felt a chill run down my spine.

A benefactor?

Someone pulling the strings behind the scenes?

“These letters prove it"

I said, my voice tight with realization.

“Nagasuki wasn’t working alone. He was part of something much bigger.”

Hana nodded, her jaw clenched.

“And whoever ‘R.K.’ is, they’re still out there. Along with this so-called Benefactor.”

We spent the next hour searching the house from top to bottom, but there were no more clues—just the letters and a lingering sense of unease.

Whoever had been working with Nagasuki had covered their tracks well.

But we had something now—proof that Nagasuki had been part of a larger conspiracy.

As we left the house, the rain had turned to a light drizzle, the clouds hanging low over the city.

The weight of what we had discovered pressed down on me, the implications slowly sinking in.

Nagasuki wasn’t just another criminal.

He was a cog in a much larger machine, and now that he was dead, we had to pick up the pieces and find out who was behind it all.

Back in the car, Hana was silent for a while, staring out at the rain-soaked streets.

I could tell her mind was working through the possibilities, just like mine.

“We need to find out who ‘R.K.’ is”

She said finally, her voice steely.

“And this Benefactor… if they’re still out there, they’re dangerous.”

I nodded, gripping the steering wheel.

“We’re going to need more than just these letters. We need to dig deeper, find connections.”

The road ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, but one thing was clear—we had stepped into something much larger than we had anticipated.

And whoever was behind it was still out there, watching, waiting.

This wasn’t over.

As we drove back toward the city, the storm clouds hung over us like a looming threat.

The pieces were starting to come together, but the full picture was still out of reach.

And something told me that once we uncovered the truth, there would be no going back.