The city had changed at night.
Haruki knew this, of course. He’d been forced to accompany his father or his brother on “family business” enough times to recognize how the streets of Tokyo took on a different life after sunset. The bright lights that felt so inviting during the day became a glaring cover for the darkness lurking in the shadows. The cheerful chatter of passersby gave way to murmurs, low voices exchanging words that could never be repeated in public.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, wishing he could be anywhere else.
The air was crisp, carrying the faint smell of rain from earlier in the evening. It had been over an hour since he’d left the Nakamura estate, and now he found himself wandering through the labyrinthine backstreets of Shinjuku. His only lead was the name of a bar—Kurokawa’s—where the truck carrying his father’s “valuable goods” had last been seen.
Haruki turned a corner, his shoes crunching on the wet pavement. The alley he entered was dimly lit, the glow of a flickering neon sign casting eerie shadows on the walls. Somewhere in the distance, a cat yowled, its cry echoing off the brick buildings.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath. “What does he expect me to do? Interrogate people? I’m not a detective.”
He stopped in front of the bar, squinting at the faded sign above the door. The place looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the 1980s. Its windows were grimy, and the muffled sound of jazz music leaked out into the street.
Haruki hesitated, his fingers tightening around the door handle. He knew what kind of people frequented places like this. Drifters, small-time gangsters, men with chips on their shoulders and knives in their pockets. The thought of stepping inside made his stomach churn.
But he didn’t have a choice. Not really.
Taking a deep breath, Haruki pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The first thing that hit him was the smell: a mixture of cigarette smoke, cheap alcohol, and something metallic he couldn’t quite place. The bar was small and dimly lit, with a long counter on one side and a handful of booths on the other. Most of the patrons were hunched over their drinks, their conversations low and cautious.
Haruki tried to blend in as he walked to the counter, but he could feel eyes following him. He wasn’t sure if it was paranoia or if they really were watching him, but either way, it made his skin crawl.
The bartender was a grizzled man with a scar running down one cheek. He raised an eyebrow as Haruki approached. “You lost, kid?”
Haruki forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “I’m looking for someone.”
The bartender leaned against the counter, his expression unreadable. “And who might that be?”
Haruki hesitated. He’d been given a name by Hideo—some low-level contact who might have information about the missing truck. But now that he was here, saying the name out loud felt... dangerous.
“Someone who might know about a truck,” Haruki said carefully. “It went missing near here last night.”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed slightly. “A truck, huh? And why would I know anything about that?”
“I didn’t say you did,” Haruki replied quickly. “I just thought someone here might’ve seen something. That’s all.”
For a moment, the bartender didn’t respond. He just stared at Haruki, his gaze heavy and unsettling. Then, with a grunt, he turned and called out, “Oi, Kazuya! Someone here to see you!”
Haruki turned his head, watching as a man stepped out from one of the shadowed corners of the bar. Kazuya was tall and wiry, with a leather jacket that had seen better days. His hair was slicked back, and his eyes glinted with amusement as he approached.
“Well, well,” Kazuya said, his voice smooth and mocking. “What’s a kid like you doing in a place like this? You lost?”
Haruki clenched his jaw. “I’m looking for information about a truck that disappeared last night.”
Kazuya smirked, leaning against the counter. “A truck, huh? You don’t look like someone who’d care about a missing truck. What’s really going on?”
“I just need to know if anyone saw anything,” Haruki said, his voice firmer this time.
Kazuya chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve got guts, kid, I’ll give you that. But information isn’t free, you know. You want me to talk? It’s gonna cost you.”
Haruki’s stomach sank. He didn’t have any money—at least, none that he was willing to part with. But before he could figure out what to say, the bartender cut in.
“Just tell him what you know, Kazuya,” the older man said, his tone irritated. “We don’t need any trouble.”
Kazuya’s smirk faded slightly, but he shrugged. “Fine, fine. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
He turned back to Haruki, his expression more serious now. “Yeah, I saw the truck. Or at least, I saw it stop outside for a few minutes. A couple of guys got out and started arguing. Didn’t catch what they were saying, but it didn’t look friendly.”
Haruki frowned. “Then what happened?”
“They drove off,” Kazuya said with a shrug. “Didn’t think much of it at the time, but now that you mention it... the guys looked kinda sketchy. Like they weren’t supposed to be there.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“No idea,” Kazuya said. “But if you’re looking for people who know more, you might wanna check the warehouse district down by the docks. That’s where a lot of stuff ends up, if you catch my drift.”
Haruki nodded slowly, filing the information away. “Thanks.”
Kazuya grinned. “Don’t mention it. Seriously. Don’t mention it.”
Haruki left the bar feeling equal parts relieved and uneasy. The information Kazuya had given him wasn’t much, but it was a start. The problem was, it also meant diving deeper into his father’s world—a world he wanted no part of.
As he walked back toward the main road, the hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle. He glanced over his shoulder, his pulse quickening.
Someone was following him.
He couldn’t see their face, just a shadowy figure lingering a few paces behind. Haruki quickened his pace, trying to act casual, but the figure matched his movements.
Stay calm, he told himself, his heart pounding. Don’t panic.
He turned a corner, slipping into an alley. The footsteps behind him grew louder, closer. Haruki ducked into a recessed doorway, pressing his back against the cold brick wall. He waited, his breath shallow, his fists clenched.
The figure rounded the corner, their silhouette briefly illuminated by the glow of a nearby streetlamp. Haruki tensed, ready to run—or fight, if he had to.
But then the figure stopped, raising their hands in a placating gesture.
“Relax, kid,” the man said, his voice low and rough. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Haruki squinted, his mind racing. “Who are you?”
The man stepped closer, revealing a face that was weathered but not unfriendly. “Just someone who doesn’t want to see you get in over your head.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Haruki asked, his tone wary.
“It means you’re playing a dangerous game,” the man said. “And if you’re not careful, you’re gonna lose.”
Haruki stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. But before he could ask anything else, the man turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Haruki alone in the alley.