Sasaki's fingers tingled the moment Miyo Okamoto said her name. He closed his hand over hers as if anchoring himself, trying to hide the tremor. The name was more than familiar — it belonged to a legend. Back when he'd worked under Aoi, Miyo's name had been one of those things people spoke in half-whispers: the mayor's only daughter, beautiful in a way that silenced rooms, a woman who lived in shadow while her father basked in the light.
Most people never saw her. Those who had didn't speak of it lightly. Yet here she was, standing straight before him as dusk pooled around the estate— hair loose at her shoulders, eyes both soft and razor-sharp. Her presence made him straighten without thinking.
Heavy footsteps closed in. Two men in fitted black suits moved down from the mansion gates, their expressions a practiced mix of caution and authority. Sasaki felt their regard— assessing, waiting for confirmation.
"She's with me," Miyo said before they could speak. Her voice had a quiet authority that made the men pause mid-step. "He saved me from my captors. I brought him home as my thanks."
The shift was instant. The guards' posture softened, then turned ceremonial. They nodded once to Miyo, then gave Sasaki the slower, appraising look of servants checking for threats.
They led them through the gate and into a courtyard that felt unreal. The mansion was not only wealthy —it was curated. The driveway curved like a stage set, stone polished to a quiet sheen. Windows glowed with warm light; every arch and column looked measured and deliberate.
Inside, the scent of jasmine and burnished wood wrapped around him. The marble floor underfoot gleamed; crystal chandeliers stained the air with gold. Paintings lined walls in sympathetic tones; nothing was gaudy. It was a house that wore its riches with restraint— an artful, intimidating kind of opulence.
Movement on the staircase drew Sasaki's attention. A man descended with measured steps, a woman at his side who carried grief and relief in equal measure. They moved toward Miyo with the quick, private intimacy of family reunited.
"Miyo," the woman breathed, wrapping her daughter in an embrace that seemed to fold years away. Sasaki stood a few steps back, uncertain whether to intrude on something private.
When Miyo explained— calm, unembellished— that Sasaki had rescued her, the parents listened with the bruised looks of those who'd feared the worst. Her mother crossed the room, took Sasaki's hands, and thanked him with a trembling, earnest gratitude.
"You brought our daughter back," she said. "We can never fully repay that debt. But please —stay the night. Let our doctor tend your wounds."
Sasaki tried polite refusal. "I appreciate it, ma'am, but—"
Her husband, Mayor Ryu Okamoto, interrupted with a steadiness that carried steel. "Then allow us to reward you," he said. "Thirty million yen. That's what those thugs demanded." He paused. "We'd rather that money go to the man who brought her home."
Sasaki's mouth went dry. Thirty million. The number landed with the weight of an impossible dream. At the mayor's signal, two men produced large black duffel bags and set them at Sasaki's feet on the marble. The bags thudded with a heft that made the whole room feel unreal.
Before he could speak, Miyo stepped forward and offered a slim black card, gold lettering catching the chandelier light. "If you ever need anything," she said, her gaze deliberate, "call me. Anytime."
"And," she added with a slight, almost offhand motion toward the driveway, "take one of the cars. Walking with that much cash will make you a target."
A gleaming silver sedan waited; it looked like a thing from another life —too pristine for the hands that had once gripped a steering wheel for a living. Sasaki loaded the bags into the trunk as if half expecting the marble to crumble under their weight. He said a clumsy thank you to Miyo, to her parents, even to the silent guards.
When the gates closed behind him and the city's familiar grit filled the windshield, something small and flat slid back into his head: the voice.
> "Congratulations on completing your first task."<
It was not Miyo's voice. Not the mayor's. It was the same smooth, inhuman tone he'd heard in the alley —the voice that had stitched power into his bones.
Sasaki tightened his grip on the wheel. The headlights carved a clean path through the dark. The game, whatever it was, had not ended with a rescued girl or paid reward. It had only just begun.