He went home feeling strangely satisfied with how the day had ended,

  and yet, beneath it all, unease lingered.

  His thoughts kept circling back to Sota.

  Where had he gone?

  What was the “job” he had mentioned so casually?

  Takashi made himself a coffee, though he barely tasted it.

  It struck him then...almost bitterly ironic.

  He had spent his life despising that world, everything it stood for.

  And now he was worried about someone who belonged to it.

  Or… who was supposed to belong to it.

  But Sota never truly did.

  Takashi had known that from the moment he first saw him.

  And somehow, that certainty was enough.

  And those scars...he couldn’t forget them.

  What had been done to him?

  It was clear Sota had suffered more than anyone should, yet he was still standing.

  Still proud.

  Still warm.

  No wonder his father had loved him, Takashi thought.

  And somewhere along the way, without realizing when or how…

  he had started to care too.

  “Sota Hayami,” he whispered into the quiet room, the name tasting unfamiliar yet intimate.

  “I want to know who you really are.”

  This was how he had always been.

  Once his mind fixed on something, he couldn’t let go.

  First it had been architecture.

  Then his father’s death.

  And now… Sota.

  This was exactly what Kenta had warned him about.

  Don’t get too close. Don’t care too much.

  But Takashi had never known how to do things halfway.

  He couldn’t see Sota as just someone helping him anymore.

  Not as a tool.

  No.

  He needed to know him.

  The morning at the office felt different than usual.

  There was a quiet tension in the air, mixed with excitement. People whispered to one another, voices low but animated, all of them talking about yesterday’s events.

  The Chief called a meeting to officially inform everyone about the arrest of the owner of Hotel Shion.

  He didn’t openly celebrate, but the satisfaction was clear on his face.

  Takashi and Kenta acted just as surprised as everyone else.

  When the meeting ended, Kenta leaned closer to Takashi.

  “Smoke?” he asked quietly, already nodding toward the terrace.

  “Yes,” Takashi replied, following him without hesitation.

  “Did you go to see him last night?” Kenta asked, his voice low.

  “Yes,” Takashi replied, lighting a cigarette.

  “I went to see him.”

  Kenta glanced at him.

  “What did he say?”

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  “Not much,” Takashi answered. He leaned back against the fence, smoke curling into the cold air.

  “He had some business to take care of, so we didn’t talk for long.”

  He took another drag.

  “He said he’ll find me when it’s time… and give me instructions for the next step.”

  “That’s good,” Kenta said, nodding as he smoked.

  “Those bastards…”

  Takashi muttered it more to himself than to Kenta.

  Kenta turned at once.

  “What? What happened?”

  Concern crept into his voice.

  “I saw his back last night.”

  Takashi turned toward him. His expression said everything before the words did.

  “It’s covered in scars, Kenta. Completely.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “It looks like he was tortured.”

  Kenta exhaled slowly and lowered his gaze.

  “My father told the Chief they were ruthless,” Takashi continued.

  “Now I know exactly what he meant.”

  Kenta crushed the cigarette under his shoe.

  “But listen,” he said firmly, lifting his head.

  “We can help him. You know that, right?”

  Takashi looked at him.

  “If we bring them down for good,”

  Kenta continued, determination hardening his voice,

  “then we give him a way out.”

  “Can we really help him, Kenta?”

  Takashi snapped, anger breaking through.

  “Can we fix everything?”

  He tossed the cigarette into the trash, far too hard.

  “I don’t think we can.”

  Kenta spun toward him.

  “And who’s going to fix you, Takashi?”

  His voice rose despite himself.

  “Who’s going to pay for what you lost?”

  “Who’s going to bring back whatever died inside you with your father?”

  Takashi froze.

  “The world isn’t fair,” Kenta went on, his voice rough, raw.

  “It never was. It never will be.”

  “But at least we’re trying to change something.”

  He stepped closer.

  “He’s not alone anymore,” he said more quietly.

  “And neither are you.”

  “We’ll get those bastards. I told you once, and I’m telling you again...we’ll bring them down. One by one.”

  Kenta was right.

  They weren’t alone anymore.

  With Sota on their side, they were finally close enough.

  It was time.

  Time to watch them fall... once and for all.

  Takashi was driving home; darkness had already settled over the city.

  His phone rang in his pocket.

  He pulled over without thinking and took it out.

  Sota.

  He answered immediately.

  “Yes, Sota. What is it?”

  “Are you home?”

  Sota asked quietly.

  “I’m in front of your building.”

  Takashi’s breath caught.

  “I’m on my way,” he said at once.

  “Wait for me. Don’t go anywhere.”

  He ended the call, started the engine, and pulled back onto the road

  this time driving fast.

  He parked the car and hurried outside.

  Sota was already there, leaning against his car, waiting.

  “Let’s go inside,”

  Takashi said, grabbing his arm as if it were a matter of life and death.

  Inside, he didn’t slow down.

  He hung his jacket on the hanger, then took Sota’s and did the same.

  “Come in,” he said immediately.

  “I’ll make us some coffee.”

  This time, he didn’t hesitate.

  Sota rubbed his hands together; it looked like he’d been standing in the cold for a while.

  “It’s freezing outside,” Takashi said from the kitchen.

  “Why didn’t you call me earlier?”

  “It’s fine. I didn’t wait that long,” Sota replied

  .

  He walked slowly around the apartment, his gaze curious but quiet.

  His hand stopped at the photo on the commode in the living room. He picked it up.

  “Your mother…” he said softly, studying the picture.

  “How did she die?”

  Takashi entered the living room, placing two cups of coffee on the table.

  “She got sick after my father died,” he answered calmly.

  “She passed away not long after.”

  He nudged one of the cups toward Sota.

  “Coffee,” he added lightly.

  “It’ll warm you up.”

  “Your father talked about her a lot,” Sota said softly.

  He placed the photo back where it belonged, then picked up another one.

  “And about you, too,” he added.

  “This one… is it from a trip?”

  He studied the photo of Takashi and Kenta in Tokyo.

  “Yes,” Takashi replied.

  “It was taken in Tokyo. I went there occasionally with my friend.”

  Sota returned the photo to its place.

  “I’ve never been to Tokyo,” he said quietly.

  “I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere outside Shirogawa… not even into town,” Sota added quietly.

  He exhaled deeply.

  “Your father promised me he would take me someday.”

  Takashi stayed silent, the weight of the night before still sitting heavy in his chest.

  “He kept telling me to wait,” Sota continued.

  “That when the time was right, he’d take me with him. To meet you… and your mother.”

  He finally sat down and took a slow sip of coffee.

  “It seems his will was stronger than any of us,” Sota said softly.

  “In the end… we met anyway.”

  “I think you wanted to know this, Detective,”

  Sota said, looking straight into his eyes.

  “I’m really glad you’re telling me this,”

  Takashi replied quietly.

  He took a slow sip of his coffee.

  “It makes me happy… to know about him. About his life during those two years when he wasn’t with us.”

  He lowered the cup slightly.

  “I’m really glad we met,” he added.

  “Just like he wanted.”

  “And… what about your parents, Sota?”

  Takashi asked softly.

  Then he hesitated.

  “You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to.”

  Sota was silent for a long moment.

  “I don’t know anything about them,” he said finally.

  His voice was calm, almost detached.

  “I don’t know if they’re alive or dead.”

  He looked down at his hands.

  “They took me into the organization when I was seven.” A pause. “From that moment on… I never heard about them again.”

  Sota set his coffee down on the table.

  “The reason I came tonight… you know it already,” he said quietly.

  “We need to continue what we started.”

  Takashi nodded without interrupting.

  “I’ll give you the location of a warehouse in Shirogawa,” Sota continued.

  “It’s owned by Keisuke Arata.”

  He paused briefly, choosing his words carefully.

  “They’re storing weapons and drugs there. It’s not well guarded.”

  His eyes lifted to Takashi’s.

  “It’ll be easy to get inside. No unnecessary risks.”

  “All right,” Takashi nodded.

  “But this time, we do it my way.”

  Sota’s gaze sharpened immediately.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “We can’t do this without the police,” Takashi said calmly.

  “But I promise you this”

  He met Sota’s eyes without hesitation.

  “I won’t let any suspicion fall on you. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.”

  “I’m not worried about myself, Detective,” Sota said with a faint smile.

  Then his expression hardened.

  “I’m worried that the moment your name enters the game, they’ll try to shut you up.”

  Takashi looked at him for a long moment.

  “I’m not worried about myself either,” he replied calmly.

  “I’ll do this my way...quietly. Without unnecessary noise.”

  He stood up and gathered the empty cups from the table.

  As he walked toward the kitchen, he spoke again, his voice softer now.

  “I think my father wanted us to be brothers.”

  He paused for half a second before adding,

  “Please… call me Takashi.”

  That was the moment he realized there was no turning back.