The click of the lock behind Kaito was the loudest sound Aiko had ever heard. It sealed her in. Alone. She looked at the gun sitting on the pristine marble counter. It was a cold, dark piece of metal that didn't belong in her world. Her first instinct was to push it away, to pretend it didn't exist. But Kaito's words echoed in her mind: I prepare for everything.
With a trembling hand, she reached out and picked it up. The weight surprised her. It was heavy, solid, and terrifyingly real. It was a burden. A responsibility. She was no longer just a convenience store clerk. She was a woman in a safe house holding a gun while a war was being fought over her. Holding it was the first real choice she had made in this new world—the choice to accept its reality. She placed it on the small table by the sofa, where she could see it.
The hours that followed were a special kind of torture. The luxurious apartment, once a cage, now felt like a tomb. Every sound was magnified. The hum of the air conditioning. The distant wail of a siren in the city below. The chime of the elevator down the hall made her jump, her heart hammering against her ribs as she stared at the door's security monitor until the hallway was empty again. She was a bundle of raw nerves, with only the purring Mochi in her lap to keep her grounded.
She couldn't just sit here. She couldn't just wait.
She went to the sleek laptop Kaito had given her. Before, she had only browsed news sites. Now, she had a purpose. She opened the search engine and, with hesitant fingers, typed in the words Kaito had used.
Kitsune. The search filled with folklore. Fox spirits. Tricksters and lovers, known for their powerful illusions. Bakeneko. Cat spirits. Stories of older cats growing second tails and learning to shapeshift, with powers over luck and the dead. Ishikawa-gumi. There were a few old, vague news articles about a powerful but notoriously private financial group with suspected ties to the Yakuza. Their leader was a ghost, never photographed. Kageyama-kai. This search brought up more results. More recent articles about arrests, territorial disputes in Roppongi and Shinjuku, and rumors of aggressive expansion. They were known for being loud, violent, and reckless.
She was falling down a rabbit hole, a world of myth and violence hiding just beneath the surface of her own. She was so absorbed in her research that she didn't hear the faint scraping sound at first.
But then she heard it again. A soft thump against the front door.
Aiko froze. Her blood turned to ice. She looked at the security monitor. The hallway was empty. But the sound had been real. She grabbed the gun from the table. It felt even heavier now. Her hands shook as she held it with both hands, pointing it at the door, just as he'd shown her. She remembered his words. Push it down to fire.
Silence. Her heart was a drum in her ears.
Then, she saw it. A piece of white paper was being slid under the door.
She held her breath, her finger trembling near the trigger. The paper was followed by a small, thin object. Then, silence again. She waited for what felt like an eternity before creeping towards the door.
It was a single, folded note and a USB stick. The note was written in clean, precise script. All is well. Watch the NTV news broadcast at midnight. Stay away from the windows. It was signed with a single, stylized 'K'. Kenji.
Aiko's knees felt weak with relief. She dropped the gun on the sofa and slid to the floor, her body shaking from the adrenaline. It was a message. A false alarm. But her reaction—the readiness to pull the trigger—scared her more than the noise had.
She waited. At five minutes to midnight, she turned on the massive television, her arm wrapped protectively around Mochi. The news broadcast began with politics and the stock market. Aiko was about to give up when a breaking news banner flashed across the bottom of the screen.
"We're getting reports of an incident in Roppongi," the news anchor said, her expression serious. "A suspected gas leak has forced the emergency evacuation of the popular and exclusive nightclub, 'The Midnight Lantern.'"
The screen cut to live footage. A chaotic scene outside the club. Fire trucks and ambulances with flashing lights. Well-dressed, wealthy patrons stumbling out onto the street, looking dazed and confused.
The field reporter spoke over the noise. "Details are still unclear, but witnesses are reporting a chaotic scene inside. While officials cite a gas leak, we're hearing bizarre rumors from patrons of mass hallucinations, sudden and unexplainable financial losses at the club's private gaming tables, and some are even claiming they saw... foxes inside the building. Truly a strange night here in Roppongi."
Aiko stared at the screen, mesmerized. A gas leak. Hallucinations. Foxes. It was brilliant. It was untraceable. A humiliation, not a massacre. It was Kaito's metaphorical fire.
Just as the report finished, she heard a sound that made her jump for a different reason. The soft click of a key in the front door lock.
The door opened and Kaito stepped inside. He looked exhausted, his tie was loosened, but he moved with the unmistakable energy of a victorious general returning from the front. He saw her on the sofa, the television still showing the chaos in Roppongi, and he saw the understanding on her face.
Their eyes met across the room.
"Message sent," he said, his voice quiet but ringing with absolute finality.