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It was another scorching day in Tokyo. The two partners were making their way toward the melon truck after picking up some food from the market, just a few hours before the end of their shift. Shima looked unusually at ease, sipping on a cold coffee in the sweltering heat.
“Ahh, this feels good,” Shima sighed in relief.
Ibuki smiled at his partner’s reaction. He, too, was holding a cold can of Sprite, which he pressed against his neck with a contented sigh.
Everything was routine. Nothing unusual had happened all day, and with their 24-hour shift nearing its end, they were simply waiting to return to the station without incident.
Until that moment.
While Shima was mid-sentence with Ibuki, someone abruptly slammed into his coffee-holding arm, causing him to flinch. The person responsible was a young girl—slender, slightly shorter than them, and wearing a hoodie. Despite being the one who was hit, Shima addressed the girl in a gentle voice.
“Sorry, are you okay?”
The girl looked up at him with an unreadable expression. Her face was a strange mix of anger, panic, and fear. Clutching her arm tightly, she snapped back,
“Are you blind? Watch where you’re going!”
Without waiting for a response, she picked up her pace and walked off quickly. Shima simply stared after her as she disappeared into the distance.
Ibuki, however, bristled at her reaction.
“Oi! Come back and apologize!” he shouted, then muttered in frustration, “Teenagers these days… so damn rude. And she acts like you ran into her… Shima-chan?”
Noticing Shima’s silence, Ibuki glanced at him. Shima was staring at the ground, brows furrowed. Ibuki followed his gaze—and frowned.
“This…” Ibuki’s eyes widened. There were red stains on the pavement.
“Doesn’t that look like blood? I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Shima immediately turned in the direction the girl had come from, scanning for anything unusual. Seeing nothing, he turned back to Ibuki.
“Let’s go.”
Ibuki didn’t argue. He had known Shima for nearly two years now, and he was not one to act on a whim. When he did follow a hunch, it meant something. Like a bloodhound catching a scent, Shima was already moving—following the trail of blood drops without another word.
Ibuki silently followed.
They entered the narrow alley the girl had headed into. And there, lying in the middle of the street, was the girl herself—collapsed.
“Oi, Shima? Shima-chan?” Ibuki called out as Shima rushed to her side and knelt down, checking for a pulse.
“Is she alive?” Ibuki asked, voice tight with panic.
Shima nodded. “She’s alive.”
He’d noticed the blood soaking through her jacket sleeve. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it firmly to the wound.
Judging by the size and saturation of the bloodstain, it was clear she had lost a significant amount of blood. But what haunted Shima wasn’t just her injury.
It was the question: Who had she been running from, bleeding, in the middle of Tokyo?
“Call an ambulance, Ibuki. Now!”
-
While Shima was briefing his captain over the phone, Ibuki sat silently in a chair in the hospital corridor. His mind raced with a storm of thoughts. He hadn’t felt this shaken since that day on the yacht. Something in his gut told him things weren’t right. And for the first time in months, fear crept back in.
When Shima ended the call, he let out a deep sigh and dropped into the seat beside him. It was impossible not to notice the change in Ibuki’s demeanor. Truth be told, Shima wasn’t feeling much better. The same thoughts plaguing Ibuki were swirling in his own head.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence hung heavy until Ibuki finally broke it.
“Shima?”
“Hmm?” Shima murmured, leaning his head back against the wall.
“What do you think happened to her?”
Shima opened his eyes and gave a small shrug. “I don’t know… But honestly, it smells bad.”
After a brief pause, Shima turned to him.
“Ibuki?”
Ibuki slowly shifted his gaze toward him.
“We need to be more careful this time, okay? The wound on the girl’s arm—looks like a bullet wound.”
Ibuki nodded in silence. More careful, huh? His eyes returned to Shima. He looked tense too. Was he thinking the same thing?
They had no idea how long they’d been sitting there. Shima’s eyes were closed, his posture still. Ibuki had his head buried in his hands, lost in thought. Eventually, he looked up and glanced over at Shima, whose eyes remained shut.
How long had they been partners? Almost two years now? Yet Ibuki had never truly shaken the fear from that yacht. Not for a single moment.
He had feelings for Shima. He liked him. No—he loved him. What happened on that yacht had made him realize just how terrified he was of losing him. And now, this new incident—guns, violence—it brought those fears back to the surface with brutal clarity.
He wanted to solve the case, yes. But more than anything, Ibuki was afraid. Afraid of losing Shima again. And he couldn’t let that happen.
Just then, as a doctor and nurse approached, Ibuki gently tapped Shima on the arm.
“Oi, Shima-chan.”
Shima’s eyes snapped open. They both stood as the medical team arrived. After showing their badges and identifying themselves, the doctor smiled.
“The surgery went well. Both are doing fine.”
They blinked at each other, startled.
“Both?” Ibuki asked.
The doctor nodded with a gentle smile.
“She’s seven weeks pregnant. She might not even be aware of it yet.”
She added that the young woman’s life wasn’t in danger, and they’d be able to visit her in a few hours.
As for Shima—he had been right. It was a bullet wound. They needed to launch a proper investigation, and they were going to take the case—no matter what.
After a firm conversation with their captain and a bit of persuasion, Shima secured the case for them. Both he and Ibuki were determined to uncover who hurt this girl and the truth buried beneath it all. Even if that gnawing feeling in their guts remained, they were going to help her.
“Pregnant, huh? That just made things a whole lot messier,” Ibuki muttered, sinking back into his chair.
“But I’m glad they’re both okay.”
Not long after, a nurse returned and informed them that they could now visit the girl. She also handed Shima her personal things.
A wallet, a set of keys, a few coins, a metro card… and a phone. That was it.
Shima pulled out her residence card and read aloud.
“Yuka Akashi. Age 20.”
He also found a student ID. “Chemistry major.”Ibuki nodded quietly. Twenty? Just a girl. A girl with a bullet wound. And pregnant.
The more he thought about it, the tighter his jaw clenched.
“Any sign of family?”
Shima shook his head.
“I’ll ask the team at the station to dig deeper. For now, let’s go talk to her.”
Ibuki gave a small nod, then knocked gently on the hospital room door.
-
When they opened the hospital room door and saw the girl trying to remove the IV drip from her arm, both men immediately panicked.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing? You just got out of surgery!”
The young girl looked at the two men who had rushed to her side, her eyes wide with fear. Recognizing them as the ones she had bumped into on the street, her expression shifted from confusion to alarm.
“I have to go! If they find me… they’ll kill me too!”
Shima raised an eyebrow. “You too?”
The girl nodded, trembling. Ibuki couldn’t bear to see her so terrified. He stepped closer, softening his voice.
“Yuka-chan? That’s your name, right?”
She nodded silently. Ibuki offered her a gentle smile.
“Look, we’re both detectives. We want to help you. Please, try to calm down.”
Yuka stared at Ibuki’s reassuring expression. Could she really trust the police? She didn’t know. But she had no one else to turn to. She gave a small nod and sat back down on the hospital bed. When Ibuki smiled at her again, warm and calm, Shima let out a relieved sigh.
The two men slowly approached, standing at either side of the bed. Yuka adjusted herself on the mattress and studied their faces. For the first time that day, a small smile touched her lips. Ibuki couldn’t help but admire the sight. He found himself wondering what kind of person she had been before all of this.
“It really is a small world, huh?”
Shima nodded, his expression serious, eyes searching.
“We need to ask you a few questions, Akashi-san—“
“You can call me Yuka, like your partner does.”
Shima gave another nod.
“Then Yuka-chan, we need to know what happened. The bullet wound, who you were running from, why you were running… If you can tell us everything, we’ll be able to help.”
Ibuki remained silent, his eyes fixed on the girl’s changing expressions. When Shima asked his questions, her face shifted in a way that made Ibuki’s chest tighten. He knew that look all too well—the one that came after losing someone dear, when the world lost its color and meaning.
Yuka took a deep breath and asked for her phone. Shima handed it to her. After a few moments, she held out the screen to them.
It was a photo—bright and full of life. A sweet, smiling young man around her age, posing with her. Yuka couldn’t help but smile at the memory.
“Naoto-chan… Naoto Suzuki. He was in the same class, a year older than me…” Her voice trembled. “He was also my boyfriend.”
Shima listened silently.
“Naoto got involved with the wrong people.”
The moment she sighed, both detectives leaned in, listening even more intently.
“Naoto… He found out that our professor was involved with those people. That he was helping the mafia manufacture drugs. Naoto said it would be a huge scandal since the professor had political ties too. But… the professor found out and…”
Her voice faltered again.
“They killed Naoto. They made it look like a suicide—but it wasn’t.”
As her breathing became rapid, Ibuki gently patted her back. She nodded, grateful.
“I found a USB in Naoto’s things. He’d hidden it in the watch box I gave him before he died… I don’t know how they found out I had it, but now… they want to kill me too.”
Ibuki clenched his fists, his silence now full of fury. He hadn’t said a word for minutes, but all he wanted at that moment was to protect this girl.
“Yuka-chan… I’m so sorry about Naoto-kun. But I promise you—we’ll catch them. And we won’t let anything happen to you or your baby, okay?”
Yuka’s eyes widened in shock.
“Baby?!”
It was clear she didn’t know. Ibuki gave a small nod, while Shima exhaled.
“I guess you hadn’t been told… The doctor said you’re seven weeks pregnant.”
There was no sign of joy on Yuka’s face. Only fear. Understandable, for someone facing her first pregnancy under such circumstances. But her next words made the depth of that fear unmistakably clear.
“They’ll kill us both…”
-
While Yuka remained under observation at the hospital, Shima and Ibuki drove to her apartment that afternoon. The car was quiet, the air thick with tension. Shima, focused on the road, looked calm as always—but Ibuki noticed the crease between his brows. It always appeared when he had a bad feeling. Ibuki felt just as uneasy.
No words had passed between them. While Shima drove in silence, Ibuki replayed Yuka’s words in his mind:
“They’ll kill us both.”
No. He wouldn’t let that happen. They’d find that USB, expose the professor’s connection to the mafia, and Yuka would live safely with her baby.
At least, that’s what Ibuki desperately hoped.
Yuka’s life had already been shattered. Once again, the powerful had crushed the powerless. A girl barely in her twenties had been shot. Where had the police been when it happened? The thought alone drove Ibuki mad with frustration.
His eyes drifted to Shima again. There was a darkness in his gaze—determination, too—that Ibuki hadn’t seen in a long time. When was the last time he’d looked like that? On that yacht? No… in the dream he’d had on that yacht.
Ibuki wouldn’t let anything happen to Yuka, her baby, or Shima.
When they finally pulled up to a small apartment building, Shima removed his seatbelt and stepped out. Ibuki followed. Shima quickly scanned their surroundings. No one in sight, but something still felt wrong. He took a deep breath and turned to Ibuki.
“Ibuki, listen.” Ibuki looked at him, serious. “Be careful, alright? I need to know you’re safe too—so I can focus on helping Yuka-chan.”
Ibuki blinked in surprise, then gave a familiar grin. He placed a reassuring hand on Shima’s shoulder. No words were needed—Shima understood. He nodded, and they headed up to the second floor.
Shima tried the door. It was already open. He raised a finger to his lips; Ibuki nodded. Instinctively, both men reached for their weapons. They slowly pushed the door open and entered.
They swept through the apartment quickly. No one was inside.
But the scene before them was worse than expected.
Every corner was a mess. Broken picture frames littered the floor, chairs were overturned, pillows torn. Ibuki let out a frustrated sigh.
“Damn… They’ve already been here,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
After ensuring the place was clear, Ibuki rushed to the closet and grabbed the watch box Yuka had described. But it was empty. He searched every shelf, every drawer, but the USB was gone.
He kicked the closet door in fury, shouting in frustration.
“They got it!”
-
Ibuki and Shima were both visibly unsettled. The heavy atmosphere of the station clung to them as they walked down the dim corridors in silence. When they reached Captain Moriyama’s office, Shima knocked twice.
“Come in.”
The voice from inside was cold and stern, as always. They stepped in. Moriyama looked up at them from his desk as Shima took a step forward.
“According to Yuka Akashi’s statement, her murdered boyfriend, Naoto Suzuki, witnessed their university professor’s involvement in drug production tied to the mafia. He had a USB drive containing evidence. Yuka was also threatened and later shot. We went to her apartment to retrieve the USB, but the place was completely ransacked. It’s likely they already have it.”
Moriyama leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes with an unreadable expression. He had taken over after Kikyo—strict, rigid, always sticking to the rules. He made things particularly hard for Ibuki, who was not exactly known for following protocol.
“You’ve really landed us in a mess, haven’t you?”
At those words, Ibuki clenched his fist but stayed silent. Shima pressed on without hesitation.
“Yuka is vulnerable in the hospital. If they already have the USB, she’ll be their next target. With your permission, we’d like to place her under protection and investigate the connections further.”
Moriyama was quiet for a moment, then exhaled deeply and began fiddling with the pen on his desk.
“If this professor truly has political ties, we could be facing serious backlash.”
Then he looked at them directly.
“But still… fine. I’ll allow it. But the moment you screw up, I’m pulling you off this case. Understood?”
Ibuki answered immediately, “Understood.”
Shima nodded as well. “Yes, sir.”
Moriyama leaned back again. The tension in the room thickened. Finally, he gave a small nod.
“Be careful. And trust no one. You’re dismissed.”
As they exited the office, Shima muttered under his breath.
“This stinks worse than we thought, Ibuki.”
Ibuki remained silent, troubled. His instincts were screaming that this case was going to spiral out of control. But he couldn’t let Yuka-chan down. He simply couldn’t.
Shima glanced at his partner, frowning. Ibuki had been unusually quiet since the case began, and that worried him.
“Hey, Ibuki?”
Ibuki turned his eyes toward Shima.
“We’re definitely going to be back here tomorrow morning because of all this. Before we call it a night, how about grabbing something to eat?”
Ibuki immediately picked up on what Shima was trying to do—but he smiled anyway.
“Ahh, couldn’t resist spending more time with me, could you, Shima-chan? Alright, let’s grab something quick. I’m dying for some sleep.”
Shima rolled his eyes as Ibuki wrapped his arm around him, but he didn’t pull away. Just this once, he could let him be a little clingy.
-
When Ibuki arrived at the station the next morning, he found Shima already at his desk, buried in research. Yawning, Ibuki dropped a small package onto Shima’s desk.
“Good morning, Shima-chan! I brought you a sandwich. I figured you didn’t have breakfast.”
Shima glanced up from the file he was reading, then looked at his partner. With a small word of thanks, he unwrapped the sandwich and began eating. Of course he hadn’t eaten—Ibuki knew him too well.
Ibuki, ever the energetic one, brewed coffee for the both of them. He placed one cup in front of Shima and the other at his own desk, then leaned over to glance at the documents Shima was analyzing. There were pages upon pages, all focused on the professor.
Without hesitation, Ibuki began flipping through them. Shima had already highlighted the important parts, making it easier for his reckless partner. Ibuki chuckled and shook his head.
“Shima-chan… what would I ever do without you?”
Shima didn’t reply, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he turned back to the computer screen.
Ibuki read aloud from the documents. “Professor Hiroshi Kuroda. Chemistry department, University of Tokyo. Even official reports mention his political affiliations—there are photos of him with local government figures.”
Ibuki leaned back in his chair with a frustrated huff.
“If this guy really got involved in something like this, it’s not just some gang job… He has serious protection.”
Shima nodded silently.
“And we’re probably just seeing the tip of the iceberg.”
-
After conducting some research, Shima and Ibuki found themselves standing in front of the University of Tokyo’s Chemistry Department. The gray, oppressive weather only added to their unease. Shima pulled a small notebook from his bag and reviewed Yuka’s statement once more.
“Naoto’s professor… Hiroshi Kuroda,” Ibuki muttered, glancing at the notebook.
Shima nodded, eyes fixed on the building.
“Our primary suspect.”
The faculty building was relatively quiet. Students moved silently through the halls. Since neither of them wore uniforms, they didn’t attract much attention, though their eyes scanned every detail, alert and ready.
At the secretary’s office, they were directed to Professor Kuroda’s room.
Standing before the wooden door, Ibuki turned to Shima with a wry smile.
“Are we going with good cop or bad cop?”
Before Shima could reply, Ibuki smirked. “Looking at your face, you’re already the bad cop, Shima-chan.”
Shima raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. He knocked, then they stepped inside.
Professor Kuroda appeared calm—gray-haired, bespectacled, seated at his desk, quietly examining paperwork. He looked up at the pair.
“Come in. How can I help you?” he asked in a mild tone.
Ibuki offered a polite smile as he approached.
“Sorry to take up your time.”
Shima remained silent but flashed his badge, carefully observing Kuroda’s reaction. The professor tensed for a moment before quickly regaining composure.
“Of course. Please, have a seat.”
Ibuki sat while Shima stood. The former casually scanned the room—the bookshelves, the corners of the desk, the pictures on the wall.
“We have a few questions about one of your students. Naoto Suzuki. You knew him, right?” Ibuki asked.
Kuroda’s hand paused mid-writing, but then he nodded with a slight smile.
“Yes, of course. A tragic loss. He was a bright young man.”
“We’ve heard some rumors,” Ibuki continued. “It’s said he had some… issues with you.”
Kuroda raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise.
“What sort of issues?”
Shima stepped forward. “Drug manufacturing, for example.”
This time, Kuroda’s composed expression faltered briefly before he masked it with an arrogant smile. Shima didn’t break eye contact.
“We know Naoto was afraid of you. We also know you pressured him—intensely. And now he’s dead.”
“These are very serious accusations, Shima-san,” Kuroda replied coolly.
Ibuki glanced at Shima, who now spoke with more intensity.
“Serious accusations?” he repeated, voice sharper. “After Naoto’s death, his girlfriend Yuka was shot. You think all of this is just a coincidence?”
Kuroda was visibly rattled now, eyes darting as if looking for an escape. Watching him, Shima was convinced—the man was hiding something. More than that, he was likely at the center of everything.
Shima leaned forward, bringing himself to Kuroda’s eye level.
“If you continue hiding the truth, the consequences will only worsen. Cooperating is the only way to prove your innocence.”
Kuroda gave a calm, calculated smile and folded his hands on the desk.
“I will assist the police however I can, Shima-san. But these accusations are baseless. I have a class to attend now, so I must ask you to leave. Please come back if you need anything.”
Ibuki rolled his eyes and rose. Shima offered a measured nod.
“We’ll leave… but we’ll be back.”
Kuroda said nothing, merely turning his gaze away.
As they walked down the hall, Shima whispered,
“This man hiding something.”
Ibuki nodded.
“And we’ll find a way to make him talk.”
-
Later that day, they headed to the hospital after hearing Yuka was being discharged.
After the nurses helped her get dressed, Ibuki and Shima entered her room. Ibuki pushed aside his concern and offered a warm smile.
“You ready, Yuka-chan?”
Yuka nodded softly, resting a hand on her stomach.
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
Ibuki gave her a gentle look.
“Of course we came. Did you really think we’d leave you here alone?”
Yuka smiled faintly.
“Uhm… where are we going? They know where I live, and I’m not in contact with my family. I can’t endanger my friends either. I… I have nowhere else to go.”
Ibuki and Shima exchanged glances. Ibuki had already discussed his idea with Shima back home. Now, Yuka needed to hear it too.
“Yuka-chan… You can stay at my apartment, at least until this case is resolved and they’re caught. We need to keep you safe. But if you’re uncomfortable—”
“It’s okay,” Yuka interrupted softly, understanding. “Thank you. I’m not afraid for myself. I just want to protect my baby. I’ve thought about it a lot. I’m going to have this child. Naoto would have wanted that too… So please, Ibuki-san—take care of us.”
Ibuki smiled and nodded. Shima, knowing his partner’s heart, saw the joy in his eyes. He smiled quietly to himself.
But the peaceful moment was short-lived.
Two knocks at the door. Two unfamiliar detectives entered. Ibuki and Shima glanced at each other in confusion. The older one stepped forward.
“Shohei Kagawa, First Investigation Division. I assume your superiors haven’t informed you yet. This case has now been transferred to us.”
Ibuki froze.
“What did you say?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
Kagawa, amused, continued.
“The case was officially reassigned this afternoon. Yuka Akashi must come with us to the station for questioning.”
Yuka clutched Ibuki’s arm in fear. He stepped forward protectively, eyes blazing.
“You can’t do this.”
Shima placed a calming hand on his partner’s arm, but Kagawa clearly enjoyed provoking them.
“You know the rules,” he said smugly, before turning to Yuka.
“Akashi-san, please come with us. It won’t take long.”
-
The moment Yuka was taken from them, Shima and Ibuki rushed back to the station. Neither spoke, but Ibuki’s fists were clenched so tightly, his knuckles turned white.
Shima sighed. He knew Ibuki was about to lose—and this time, it could be worse than ever before.
They reached Moriyama’s office. Shima raised a hand to knock, but Ibuki had already burst through the door.
Moriyama looked up, removed his glasses, and greeted them with his usual unreadable expression.
“What’s going on?”
Ibuki stormed up to the desk, voice raised in fury.
“Why the hell did you take this case from us?!”
Shima closed the door quietly behind them as Ibuki’s voice echoed louder.
Moriyama leaned back, fingers interlocked.
“Orders from above. This wasn’t my call.”
Ibuki’s voice trembled.
“How could you let this happen? We promised to protect her! The professor is clearly involved—doesn’t any of this seem suspicious to you?!”
Shima reached for his shoulder.
“Ibuki…”
But Ibuki pulled away, stepping even closer.
“Yuka is still in danger, and you’re turning a blind eye! They’re going to kill her—and you’re letting it happen!”
Moriyama’s voice remained level, but his eyes had narrowed.
“I told you. This order didn’t come from me. You’re off the case. End of story.”
Ibuki was on the verge of exploding.
“Captain! You can’t just—!”
Shima suddenly stepped between them, pressing both hands to Ibuki’s chest and forcing him back.
“Ibuki, enough!” he hissed. “If you keep pushing, we’ll lose everything!”
Ibuki’s eyes were blazing, but Shima’s firm gaze finally reached him. He relented just enough for Shima to grab his arm and turn toward the door.
“We’re leaving,” Shima said coldly.
Moriyama remained silent. Just as they stepped out, he called after them.
“Shima… stop digging into this. You can’t win.”
Shima slammed the door shut behind them.
In the hallway, both men stood breathless. Ibuki closed his eyes, trying to suppress the rage inside him.
Shima faced him, his expression both pained and resolute.
“We’ll find another way… but not from here.”
Ibuki was furious, ready to punch something. But he didn’t want to drag Shima down with him.
“Do you hear me, partner?” Shima continued. “We’ll find a way. I won’t give up. We won’t.”
Ibuki nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the floor.
Shima gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. And began thinking—urgently—about what they could do next.
-
The sky was beginning to dim, casting long golden streaks across the city as the sun dipped behind the skyline.
Shima parked the car in front of the precinct. Ibuki leaned back in the passenger seat, one leg bouncing with barely restrained tension.
Within minutes, Yuka stepped out of the building’s side entrance—shoulders hunched, eyes downcast. Shima exited the car to greet her while Ibuki stayed by the door, watching silently.
“You okay?” Shima asked gently.
Yuka gave a small nod. “They asked a lot of questions… but they didn’t listen to any of the answers.”
Shima didn’t reply. He only opened the back door for her and offered a quiet, “Come on, we’re leaving.”
Ibuki didn’t speak during the drive back. Neither did Yuka. But the silence wasn’t heavy—not this time. It felt like all three of them had simply run out of words.
When they arrived at Ibuki’s apartment, he motioned them inside with his usual bright grin.
“Welcome to my castle,” he joked, unlocking the door. “It’s not much, but it’s clean—mostly.”
Yuka smiled faintly, following him into the small apartment.
It was warm. Lived-in. There were some mangas, a few half-finished puzzles on the kitchen table, and the faint scent of citrus and detergent. A home.
Shima helped Yuka settle in while Ibuki rummaged through the linen closet. He pulled out spare sheets and fluffed a pillow with more care than he would ever admit.
“I’ll get the room ready,” he said, disappearing down the hall.
When Yuka followed him a moment later, she found him smoothing out the last corner of a blanket.
“You didn’t have to…” she murmured.
Ibuki turned around, brushing his hair back with one hand.
“It’s no trouble. You should rest somewhere quiet.”
She lingered at the door.
“And you? Where will you sleep?”
He grinned.
“Me? I’m crashing on the couch. That thing’s survived many things. It’ll survive me a few more nights.”
Yuka lowered her gaze.
“I’m sorry. For dragging you into all this.”
Ibuki’s smile faded, just slightly. He stepped closer.
“Don’t be.”
His voice was softer now. There was no teasing, no bravado.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you, Yuka-chan. For what they did to Naoto. You didn’t deserve any of this.”
He paused, then added, more firmly this time:
“And I promise—we’re not letting this go. We’re going to find who did this. No matter how far it goes, we won’t stop. I swear.”
Yuka’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she nodded. There was something in his voice that told her he meant every word.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Ibuki rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly awkward.
“Alright, well… I’ll be in the living room if you need anything. Don’t hesitate to wake me, okay?”
She nodded again.
As he turned to leave, she called out softly.
“Ibuki-san?”
He glanced back.
She hesitated—then gave him a tiny, fragile smile.
“Good night.”
Ibuki blinked. Then smiled back.
“Good night, Yuka-chan.”
-
Ibuki peeked his head into the guest room before fully stepping back inside. Yuka had changed into a fresh shirt—one of his, actually—and was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, looking unsure of what to do.
“So,” he began with a grin, holding up a tray with two mugs and a small plate stacked with snacks, “I brought the essentials. Hot cocoa, some biscuits, and the last two pieces of that terrible matcha cake Shima brought over last week.”
Yuka blinked in surprise.
“You’re serious?”
“Deadly,” Ibuki said, setting the tray down on the nightstand with exaggerated care. “My hospitality game is top-tier.”
He handed her one of the mugs. “Careful, it’s hot.”
She took it, the warmth seeping into her hands.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” she said quietly.
Ibuki sat down on the floor beside the bed, resting his back against the frame.
“I know.”
They sat in silence for a moment, sipping from their mugs.
Yuka finally let out a small, tired laugh.
“You’re really nothing like the cops I imagined.”
Ibuki raised an eyebrow.
“Was that a compliment or an insult?”
“A compliment,” she said, smiling for real this time. “I think.”
He grinned.
“Well, just so you know, Shima’s the serious one. I’m the charming, chaotic and the more handsome half of the duo.”
Yuka leaned back slightly, more at ease. Her shoulders were still tense, but the air between them was softer now.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But for the first time in days, maybe weeks, she didn’t feel alone.
Meanwhile, back at the precinct, the soft hum of fluorescent lights cast long shadows over the desks. The station was quieter now but Shima wasn’t there to socialize.
He was alone in the records room, sitting in front of an old case file.
The name printed in bold on the tab made something in his chest clench:
Naoto Suzuki – Suicide
He flipped through the pages slowly. Photos. A witness statement. The official police report.
Everything about it was clinical. Clean. Too clean.
As he scanned the lines, the familiar unease in his gut returned.
There was no follow-up investigation. No inconsistencies addressed. No interviews beyond the initial statement.
The case had been closed just a few days after his death.
Shima’s fingers tightened around the edge of the file.
He turned to the back page. A stamped signature from the officer in charge of the initial inquiry.
Yui Hayame.
He repeated the name under his breath.
Yui Hayame.
He didn’t recognize it. Not from memory. Not from their circle. But he would find her.
Whatever connection this had to the current case—or to Kuroda—he couldn’t ignore it. Not anymore. And this time, he wouldn’t let the truth get buried.
-
The morning sunlight streamed through the thin curtains of the precinct, casting soft lines across the floor and the couch near the back wall—where Shima Kazumi lay fast asleep, one arm folded over his eyes.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep at the station. But after hours of digging through files and reading every word three times over, exhaustion had finally dragged him under.
Ibuki arrived just after 8:00 a.m., holding a paper bag in one hand and two canned coffees tucked under his arm.
He spotted Shima immediately—jacket tossed carelessly over the armrest, buttons loosened, and a stack of paperwork still cradled under one arm like a makeshift pillow.
Ibuki sighed.
“Geez, Shima-chan…”
He walked over quietly, set the bag on the desk, and gently nudged his partner’s shoulder.
“Hey. Shima-chan, wake up.”
Shima stirred with a groan, blinking against the light. “Ibuki…?”
“Yeah. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Ibuki teased, placing a can of coffee in his hand. “I figured you’d pull an all-nighter. You should’ve texted me.”
Shima sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.
“Yuka?”
“She’s fine,” Ibuki replied softly. “Slept through the night. I left a note before coming here. She was still asleep when I left.”
Shima nodded, his mind already shifting gears. He picked up the file he’d slept next to, flipping it open to the page he’d stopped at before passing out.
“I found something last night. About… her.”
Ibuki’s teasing grin faded.
“Her?”
Shima looked up, eyes clear now despite the fatigue.
“The officer who handled Suzuki’s case. Yui Hayame.”
Ibuki froze. For a split second, he didn’t breathe.
“What did you say?”
Shima’s brow furrowed.
“Yui Hayame. The name was stamped on the final report. Why?”
Yui Hayame…
His gaze lingered, not with dread—but with recognition. A flicker of memory passed behind his eyes: the old days, a gentle voice, a sweet smile.
A slow smile curved on his lips.
“I know her. We’ve worked together in the past. She was good. Really good. Stubborn as hell, but honest. If anyone buried something, it wasn’t her.”
Shima raised an eyebrow.
“You think she’ll talk?”
Ibuki’s grin widened, not cocky—confident.
“I know she will.”
He leaned back in his chair, cracking open his coffee.
“We just got our first real lead, Shima-chan.”
-
The local precinct was smaller, quieter. The kind of station where not much ever happened—or wasn’t supposed to, anyway.
Shima parked the car a short distance away. As they stepped out, Ibuki’s eyes immediately scanned the front steps of the building.
And there she was.
Leaning against the outer wall, one hand in the pocket of her jacket, the other holding a lit cigarette between two fingers. Short, dark hair. Calm stance. Same old sharp-eyed stare lost in thought.
Yui Hayame.
Before Shima could even speak, Ibuki was already moving toward her.
In one smooth motion, he reached out, plucked the cigarette from her lips, and dropped it into the nearby ashtray.
Yui blinked, stunned.
“Oi—!”
But the surprise barely lasted a second.
Her face lit up.
“Ibuki-san?!”
Her voice cracked halfway between laughter and disbelief. Ibuki gave her a look—one eyebrow raised, one hand on his hip.
“How many times did I tell you to quit smoking?”
Yui laughed, short and warm, like it had been weeks—not months—since they’d last spoken.
“Still dramatic as ever.”
She stepped forward and threw her arms around him without hesitation.
“Damn, I thought I’d never see you again.”
Ibuki returned the hug without hesitation. Over her shoulder, Shima watched—quietly, curiously.
When they pulled apart, Yui turned to him.
“And you must be Shima Kazumi,” she said, “I’ve heard of you a lot.”
Shima gave a polite nod— even though he was surprised.
“Likewise.”
Yui looked back at Ibuki, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.
“Alright. Two detectives from Tokyo HQ, showing up unannounced at my station. That can’t mean anything good.”
Ibuki gave a sheepish grin.
“Depends. Are you in the mood to dig up ghosts?”
Yui took a long breath, then nodded.
“Let’s talk there.”
-
They sat beneath the soft rustle of leaves—three detectives on an aging public bench tucked behind the station. Yui sat alone on one side, legs crossed casually, while Ibuki and Shima shared the opposite seat, shoulders nearly touching but not quite.
Ibuki leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on Yui with a familiar ease that came from years of shared laughter, frustration, and midnight coffee in forgotten precincts. Shima, ever composed, leaned back slightly, but his gaze rarely left the woman across from them.
Yui took a drag from the cigarette she’d lit the moment they sat down.
Ibuki reached out and tried to snatch it from her fingers again but Yui stopped him smiling.
“Still smoking?” he asked, feigning disapproval. “How many times did I tell you to quit?”
Yui raised a brow in mock offense, but the moment she really looked at him, her expression softened. The corners of her lips lifted into something quieter. Warmer.
“Ibuki-san,” she said, a little breathless. “Still bossy after all these years.”
He rolled his eyes, but Shima caught the way Ibuki’s shoulders relaxed slightly. The way his eyes lingered a little too long. And he noticed something else, too.
The way Yui looked at him.Not romantically. No, it wasn’t that. It was knowing. Yui tilted her head, eyes flickering from Ibuki to Shima, and then back again. And then she smirked.
Not smugly. Not cruelly. Just knowingly.
Like someone who’d seen this kind of thing before.
Shima stiffened ever so slightly. Yui caught it. And smiled again.
Ah… so he knows too.
There was something sharp in that smile—something playful and just a bit dangerous. She was teasing them both, silently. And Ibuki, ever the sensitive one, caught on quickly.
He narrowed his eyes.
“Yui-chan…”
But she only grinned wider, completely unbothered.
“Oh, don’t mind me.”
Shima glanced away, jaw tight.
Yui didn’t push it. She leaned back and took a sip from her vending machine coffee, her expression turning more somber.
“Suzuki’s case,” she said finally, voice lower now. “It wasn’t supposed to end like that.”
The tension shifted. They both leaned in.
“He didn’t kill himself. I was the first on the scene, and I know what I saw. Bruises. Broken fingernails. He fought back.”
Shima’s hands curled into fists.
“But before I could finish my report, I got a call. Higher-ups. Cold voices. They said it was suicide. Nothing more. And I…”
She hesitated.
“I didn’t want it to end like that. I filed an objection. Quietly. But the orders came in hard. Shut it down, or lose your badge. Or worse.”
Silence.
Ibuki’s voice was soft. “So you stopped.”
“I had no choice.”
Yui’s gaze dropped to the ground.
“But… There was someone else, though. A journalist. Kota Masaki. He’d been digging into a series of strange ‘suicides’—all connected to the university somehow. He came to me once. Asked about Suzuki. He said he wasn’t the first.”
Shima tensed.
“What happened to him?”
Yui didn’t look up.
“He disappeared. Completely. Phone disconnected. Apartment cleared out. Couldnt reach him ever again.”
Ibuki and Shima exchanged a glance. The kind that didn’t need words. This went deeper than they’d feared.And now, they had a name. And a target.
-
Ibuki had one hand on the wheel, the other tapping idly against his thigh in time with the music playing low on the radio—some mellow pop song that neither of them really registered.
Shima sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the passing cityscape. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he spoke.
“She’s really cute huh ? Really quite charming.”
Ibuki glanced sideways, amused.
“Hmm?”
“Yui-chan,” Shima clarified, arms folded. “Sweet smile. Sharp eyes. Definitely your type.”
There was a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Ibuki snorted.
“My type?”
Shima nodded, straight-faced.
“Smart. Stubborn. A little reckless.”
“Sounds familiar,” Ibuki shot back, a grin forming. Then he shook his head and looked back at the road.
“Nah. Yui-chan’s like a little sister to me. Always has been. I never looked at her that way.”
Shima raised an eyebrow.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Ibuki’s voice softened a bit as the next words came out.
“She had it rough back then. Fresh out of training, posted to a precinct full of fossils who didn’t take her seriously. She tried to hide it, but… I saw it.”
Shima turned slightly to watch him. Ibuki’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, just a little.
“One day, I heard rumors—bad ones. About her senior officer. The guy who was supposed to be mentoring her.”
He paused, jaw tightening.
“When I asked her, she tried to laugh it off. But her eyes said everything.”
Shima was quiet. Ibuki exhaled through his nose.
“So I paid him a visit. Had a little ‘chat’ with him.” He glanced at Shima with a lopsided, unapologetic smile. “And by chat, I mean I punched him in the face.”
Shima blinked.
“Wait—you?”
“Right in front of the locker room,” Ibuki said, almost proudly. “Broke his nose.”
Shima let out a short laugh, caught between disbelief and admiration.
“Ibuki…”
“He had it coming,” Ibuki said simply, eyes on the road. “No one else was going to stand up for her. So I did.”
A pause. The kind that held weight without tension. Then, lighter:
“Anyway, after that I got transferred. But I never lost contact with her.”
Shima looked out the window again, but something lingered in his gaze. Not jealousy—not exactly.
Something quieter. A new layer of understanding. And maybe, just maybe… Something protective.
He didn’t say anything more for the rest of the drive. But he didn’t stop thinking either. He sat silently beside Ibuki, the steady rhythm of the car engine and the soft hum of the radio providing just enough noise to hide the storm of thoughts in his head.
He’d teased Ibuki earlier—called Yui his type, tried to sound amused. But it had only been half a joke. The other half had been something else entirely.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at Ibuki’s profile in the fading light—his focused eyes on the road, the way his fingers curled instinctively against the steering wheel with every turn, his lips twitching faintly at the memory of past for someone he cared about.
He’s always been like that, Shima thought. Throwing himself into other people’s pain, carrying things that don’t belong to him just so they won’t have to.
It was reckless. It was frustrating. It was also why Shima…
He closed his eyes for a second. He hadn’t meant for it to happen.
It was supposed to just be partnership. Mutual respect. The rare trust that formed between people who’d run through fire side by side.
But somewhere along the line—somewhere between the laughter and late-night stakeouts, between Ibuki’s chaotic energy and unshakable heart—something had shifted.
And now, when Shima looked at him… He didn’t see just a partner. He saw the person he thought about when things went quiet. The person whose voice he could pick out across a crowd without even trying. The person he worried about first, every fucking time things went wrong.
He saw home.
And it scared him.
Because Ibuki was sunshine and warmth and life. Because Shima had always been better at silence and shadows. Because what if knowing ruined everything they already had?
Shima opened his eyes again, staring forward. Ibuki was humming softly now, barely aware of the way Shima’s gaze lingered. He didn’t say anything.
But the words sat in his chest like a stone.
I love you.
And maybe, someday, he’d find the courage to say them out loud.
Just…
Not yet.
-
By the time they reached Ibuki’s apartment, the sun had fully disappeared behind the city’s edge. The hallway was dim and quiet as Shima followed Ibuki up the stairs, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
Ibuki unlocked the door and stepped inside, calling softly,
“Yuka-chan? We’re back.”
From the kitchen, her voice came gently.
“Welcome home.”
She peeked out, wearing one of Ibuki’s oversized sweatshirts, sleeves pulled over her hands. When she spotted Shima, she gave him a small smile.
“Good evening, Shima-san.”
Shima nodded politely. “Good evening. I just came to drop him off.”
Ibuki glanced sideways.
“You don’t want to stay for dinner? I’m making curry.”
Shima shook his head.
“Another time. I’ve got some reports to finish.”
“Always working,” Ibuki muttered, but the edge in his voice was fond.
Shima turned to Yuka with a small bow.
“Take care of him, would you?”
She smiled.
“I will.”
Shima lingered at the door for half a second too long—just long enough for Ibuki to notice. Their eyes met. Neither said anything.
Then the door closed softly behind him.
-
Later, the apartment was filled with the comforting scent of warm spices. Ibuki placed two bowls of curry on the table, handing chopsticks to Yuka as he flopped into the seat across from her.
“You know,” he said, “for a girl who nearly died last week, you have a pretty healthy appetite.”
She took a bite and smiled.
“I’m pregnant. Of course I’m hungry.”
He chuckled.
They ate in silence for a few moments. The television murmured in the background, some variety show Ibuki hadn’t bothered to change.
Then Yuka set her bowl down gently.
“Ibuki-san?”
“Hm?”
She looked at him with the kind of expression that made people nervous—not unkind, just… clear.
“Is there something going on between you and Shima-san?”
Ibuki nearly choked on his rice.
“W-What?! No—what? Why would you—?!”
Yuka didn’t look away. Didn’t laugh. Just tilted her head a little.
“I’m not judging. I just… noticed things. The way you talk. The way he looks at you when you’re not watching.”
Ibuki’s ears were red now.
“It’s not—it’s complicated. It’s not like that. I mean, he’s my partner. We’re close, but not—”
“You love him.”
He froze. Yuka gave a soft smile.
“I’ve seen that look before. Naoto used to look at me like that.”
Ibuki lowered his gaze, lips pressed into a line.
“I never said anything. Not even to myself, really.”
Yuka’s voice was quiet now.
“You know, sometimes people wait too long to say what matters. And then life gets in the way. Or worse.” She paused. “I would give anything to hear Naoto say my name one more time.”
Ibuki said nothing.
“Don’t wait, Ibuki-san,” she added gently. “You might not get another chance.”
The spoon in his hand hovered over his plate, unmoving. And in the quiet between them, a part of Ibuki finally let the truth sink in.
-
Shima sat at his desk long after the station had gone quiet.
The clock on the wall blinked 00:47.
His coffee had gone cold hours ago, forgotten beside a pile of newspaper clippings, printouts, and scribbled notes. All of it circled around one name: Kota Masaki.
Freelance investigative journalist. Known for ruffling feathers in university scandals and local politics. The last article he published before vanishing was half-finished—an exposé on institutional corruption titled “Silence in the Halls.”
Shima had read it three times already. There was no mention of Suzuki, no direct reference to the university’s chemistry department—but the undertones were clear. Masaki had been circling something, and whatever it was, someone had made sure he never published the rest.
Shima leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. This wasn’t just about one case anymore. This was a system. A chain of cover-ups so well-oiled, it erased people without leaving a trace. And yet… his thoughts kept drifting back to something smaller.
Something far more personal.
Ibuki.
The way he looked at him when he joked with Yui. The familiar lilt in his voice when he talked about the past. The way his smile faded ever so slightly when Shima said he was heading home.
Shima had told himself for months that it was one-sided. That if there were feelings at all, they were his alone.
But tonight…
There had been something in Ibuki’s eyes.
And he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
On the other side, Ibuki sat curled up on the living room couch, the TV playing quietly in the background. Yuka had gone to bed an hour ago, leaving her half-empty tea mug on the table. But Ibuki hadn’t moved.
He stared down at his phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Yuka’s words wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Don’t wait, Ibuki-san. You might not get another chance.”
He tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling, breath shallow.
He loved Shima. He’d known it for longer than he wanted to admit. But he’d spent just as long convincing himself that silence was safer. That if he spoke, he might lose the only person who truly saw him.
But what if Yuka was right?
What if silence was the real risk?
He brought the phone to life again, opened his messages.
[To: Shima-chan]
Still awake?
He stared at the blinking cursor. No reply yet. Maybe that was answer enough. Maybe—
Ping.
[From: Shima-chan]
Couldn’t sleep. Still working.
Ibuki smiled faintly—soft, tired, and full of something that hovered painfully close to hope.
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard again.
[To: Shima-chan]
Let me know when you’re done. I want to tell you something.
The words stared back at him, pulsing silently. His heart beat a little too loudly in the quiet room.
But his thumb… didn’t move. His hand froze, the weight of everything he couldn’t say pressing down on him all at once. What if it ruined everything? What if Shima didn’t feel the same? What if—
He sighed.Then slowly, quietly… He deleted the message. Letter by letter. And instead, typed something else.
[To: Shima-chan]
Don’t stay up too late, Shima-chan.
He hit send.
And set the phone face-down on the table, chest heavy with the words he still couldn’t bring himself to say.
-
Shima did go back to his apartment—small, quiet, and just barely lived in. He dropped his bag on the floor, loosened his shirt’s buttons, and moved through the familiar motions—jacket over the chair, kettle on the stove, lights dimmed low.
His body ached with exhaustion, but his mind refused to quiet.
He sat down on the edge of his bed, scrolling absently through news alerts and old notes from the investigation. Then, almost on instinct, he opened his calendar app. Today’s date blinked softly at him.
May 20th.
He stared at it for a moment. Then blinked again. And felt something twist in his chest.
“…Damn,” he muttered under his breath. Ibuki’s birthday. Of course he hadn’t said anything. He never did. Ibuki had always been the kind of person who gave joy freely but rarely accepted it back. Shima could picture him now—grinning through a yawn, brushing off any mention of celebration with a wave of his hand.
“Just another day, Shima-chan. Let’s go solve a murder instead.”
Shima allowed himself a smile, small and warm.
He glanced at the wall clock. Almost 2:00 a.m. Still time to find something. Something simple. Something meaningful.
He could pick it up in the morning. Ibuki would pretend not to care, but he’d notice. He always noticed.
The thought of it made Shima’s chest tighten again.
Because lately, noticing wasn’t the problem.
It was feeling.
And there were too many of those now. All twisted up between late-night stakeouts and quiet looks across interrogation rooms. Between the way Ibuki said his name when he was tired, and the way he didn’t say what Shima desperately wanted to hear.
Shima laid back on the bed, one arm folded under his head, eyes on the ceiling.
I think I love him, he admitted to the silence.
No. I know I do.
And just as sleep began to pull at the corners of his thoughts—just as his eyes started to slip shut—
Buzz.
The vibration jolted him. He blinked, then reached for his phone.
Unknown Number. One new message. He tapped the screen.
[UNKNOWN]
If you’re still looking for the truth, meet me this morning. Don’t trust anyone.
—K.M.
Shima’s breath caught.
K.M.
Kota Masaki.
He is alive.
-
Shima didn’t sleep much.
After Kota Masaki’s message, adrenaline had taken the place of exhaustion, and by the time the first pale rays of sunlight crept through his blinds, he was already dressed and out the door.
He didn’t message Ibuki. Didn’t tell him where he was going. Not today.
Because today… was Ibuki’s birthday.
And Shima had decided that if he could do just one thing—just one thing right—it would be this. They’d both spent days circling shadows, chasing silence. But if Masaki truly had what he claimed…
Shima could finally bring light to all of it.
-
The cafe was quiet. Tucked away in a narrow alley two stations outside central Tokyo, its windows fogged slightly from the steam of early morning coffee.
Shima spotted him immediately.
Kota Masaki looked thinner than the photo Yui had shown. More tired. His beard had grown in unevenly, and his clothes looked like they hadn’t been changed in days.
But his eyes were sharp.
When Shima sat down, Masaki slid a worn envelope across the table.
“I’ve been in hiding,” he said without preamble. “And I don’t trust anyone anymore. But if Hayame-san sent you… I figured you were one of the few left who might still care.”
Shima opened the envelope slowly. Inside were photographs, printed emails, copies of lab reports—links between the university’s chemical supply funding and a network of shell companies connected to organized crime. At the very bottom, a USB marked in red ink.
Back-up copy. Shima’s pulse quickened.
“This is all real?”
Masaki nodded.
“I lost everything getting that. Friends, reputation, safety. But I couldn’t let it die in some locked drawer.”
He looked Shima dead in the eye.
“You’re not like the others, are you?”
Shima didn’t answer directly. Instead, he gathered the documents carefully.
“Come with me.”
Masaki tensed.
“To the police?”
“To me,” Shima clarified. “To HQ. We’ll do this right. I’ll handle the rest.”
Masaki studied him for a long beat. Then nodded.
-
The rest of the day passed in a blur of red tape, signatures, files, digital transfers, security clearances, and one very intense conversation with Captain Moriyama—who for once didn’t argue.
The weight of the evidence was too much to ignore. Shima didn’t check his phone once. He didn’t call Ibuki, didn’t text. He didn’t even stop for lunch.
By the time everything had been properly submitted, by the time Masaki had been formally placed under protective custody and the USB logged into evidence—
It was past 5 p.m.
Shima walked out of the office with the weight of the entire case finally, finally lifted.
And for the first time in weeks… he let himself exhale.
He sat on a bench outside HQ, phone finally in hand.
One unread message.
[From: Ibuki – 2:23 p.m.]
Hey, just wondering if you’re alive. Also, we’ll make some curry and buy a cake. Yuka-chan will help too. You need to come (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و
Shima smiled to himself.
He didn’t reply immediately.
Instead, he whispered quietly to no one in particular:
“Happy birthday, Ibuki.”
This is the best gift I could give you.
-
That same evening, just a few blocks away, Ibuki and Yuka were weaving through a quiet shopping street, arms full of groceries and lighthearted bickering trailing behind them.
“I told you we didn’t need this much tofu,” Ibuki huffed, balancing three bags in one hand. Yuka laughed, holding a small bag of pastries in triumph.
“And yet, here we are. Also, I earned these.”
“You’re pregnant. You don’t need to earn carbs.”
“Then why did you steal half of mine before we even got home?”
Ibuki pretended to gasp.
“False accusations! Defamation!”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered.
The streets were mostly empty, only a few shopkeepers closing for the night. The city had softened, wrapped in a kind of peaceful stillness.
But neither of them noticed the two figures on the opposite side of the street.
Men in dark coats. Walking too close. Watching too carefully. They didn’t notice until it was too late.
-
As they turned the final corner toward the apartment, the two men stepped forward—blocking the narrow sidewalk.
Ibuki stopped immediately. His body shifted. In a single motion, he stepped in front of Yuka, forcing her back behind him.
“Hey,” he said cautiously, voice calm but alert. “Can I help you?”
One of the men smiled—thin, sharp.
“No need for help. Just a little message from a friend.”
Ibuki narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t look like you want to talk.”
Behind him, Yuka clutched his jacket, trying not to tremble. Ibuki raised his free hand slightly, instinctively preparing to de-escalate—buy time, read the situation.
But he never got the chance. In the split second that his attention focused on the man in front, the second figure moved.
A flash of silver.
A sharp grunt.
Pain.
Ibuki staggered back, eyes wide.
He looked down.
A knife was buried in his side.
Yuka screamed.
“Ibuki-san!”
He gasped, one hand flying to the wound, warmth already blooming beneath his palm. But even then—bleeding, reeling—he twisted his body just enough to shield Yuka completely.
“Run,” he choked out. “Yuka-chan—go!”
But her feet wouldn’t move. She was frozen. Eyes locked on his.
The men closed in.
-
Time fractured into pieces.
At first, there was only the sound of Yuka’s scream and the thud of Ibuki hitting the pavement—knees first, then sideways, crumpling to the ground as if the weight of the city had finally broken him.
The attackers didn’t expect witnesses.
A couple walking their dog, a delivery man on a bike, an elderly woman coming out of the corner store—suddenly, there were too many eyes.
“Hey! Someone call the police!”
“What happened?!”
“Is that—blood?!”
The two men exchanged a glance. Panic. Without another word, they turned and bolted—disappearing into the alleyways before anyone could stop them.
But Yuka didn’t see them go. She only saw Ibuki.
His lips were parted, gasping through clenched teeth, one hand pressed against his side where the blood soaked through his jacket in thick, angry red. The other hand still held tightly to the small paper bag of pastries, now torn and smeared with frosting and gravel.
The birthday cake had fallen beside him, crushed and ruined. Yuka dropped to her knees beside him, hands trembling as she tried to press against the wound.
“Ibuki-san—Ibuki!”
His eyes fluttered open, dazed but still locked onto hers.
“Yuka…” His voice was hoarse. “You okay?”
“You’re the one bleeding!” she sobbed, frantically trying to keep pressure on the gash. “Why would you—why would you do that?!”
He tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.
“I told you… I’d protect you.”
People surrounded them now. Voices blurred. Someone said they’d called an ambulance. Someone else offered their jacket. But none of it registered.
Then—
The sound of rapid footsteps against pavement. A sharp inhale.
Shima.
He froze at the mouth of the street.
His eyes locked first on the discarded cake box, then on the blood trail smeared across the sidewalk.
And then on Ibuki.
Collapsed. Pale. Hands shaking.
In the middle of it all—Yuka sobbing over him, trying desperately to stop the bleeding, the crushed remains of what had once been a celebration scattered like confetti around them.
Shima couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
His heart stopped cold.
“Ibuki—”
The name barely made it past his lips.
Then instinct kicked in.
He ran.
-
Shima dropped to his knees before he even realized he was moving.
Ibuki lay on the pavement, his face pale, skin clammy with sweat, and breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Blood soaked through his jacket, pooling beneath him, staining the gravel beneath his body.
“Hey—Ibuki!” Shima’s voice cracked.
Ibuki’s eyes fluttered open just enough to register the blur of someone leaning over him. His lips parted in a half smile.
“Shima-chan…”
“Don’t—” Shima pressed his hand over the wound, replacing Yuka’s trembling fingers. “Don’t try to talk. Help’s on the way.”
Ibuki chuckled weakly.
“You always say that… even when it’s not.”
“Damn it, Ibuki, shut your mouth.”
But his voice broke on the last word.
Yuka had stepped back, letting Shima take over, tears streaming down her face as she rocked in place, arms wrapped tightly around her abdomen like she was trying to hold herself together.
“I turned around for one second…” she whispered. “One second…”
Shima didn’t hear her.
His entire focus was on the man bleeding beneath his hands.
Ibuki’s hand reached up, shaky, fingers brushing Shima’s wrist.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t get to eat the cake…”
“Idiot,” Shima whispered.
And then, quieter:
“You were supposed to stay safe today. Just for one damn day.”
Ibuki blinked slowly. “Was a good day.”
“Stop talking like this is goodbye.”
The sirens came then—distant, but gaining volume, a rising wail that tore through the city and through Shima’s chest like broken glass.
He looked down at Ibuki again, and for the first time, let it show. The fear. The ache. The thing he’d buried so deep he didn’t know if it could ever surface again.
“Just stay with me,” he said, voice barely audible. “Please.”
Ibuki’s lips twitched, but this time there was no smile.
The ambulance screeched to a stop nearby, and the paramedics swarmed in, pulling Shima back, taking over, speaking in rapid bursts of instructions.
But Shima’s feet wouldn’t move.
Not until the stretcher disappeared behind the doors and the sirens started again—this time carrying everything he couldn’t say down the road and into the night.
-
The fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room buzzed faintly, casting a cold glow over the cheap vinyl chairs and scuffed linoleum floor.
Shima sat motionless, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly they trembled. Across from him, Yuka sat curled in on herself, oversized sweatshirt sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes red-rimmed but dry. She had cried all she could.
Now, like Shima, she waited.
The silence between them was thick—not uncomfortable, just heavy. The kind of silence that wraps around people in moments when words become meaningless.
Shima hadn’t spoken since they arrived. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked much, hadn’t looked at anyone but the sliding double doors that led to the operating room.
Yuka finally spoke, her voice a rasp.
“They said he lost a lot of blood.”
Shima didn’t respond. Just nodded once, as if anything more might break him.
Yuka watched him for a long moment. Then, gently:
“You love him.”
Shima flinched. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t look at her either. Yuka folded her hands tightly in her lap.
“He never said it out loud,” she murmured, “but I saw it in the way he looked at you. Especially today. He kept checking his phone… I think he was waiting for you.”
Shima’s throat tightened.
“I wasn’t there,” he whispered. “He needed me, and I wasn’t there.”
“You were trying to protect him,” she said softly. “He would’ve done the same. He has done the same.”
Shima closed his eyes.
“I kept thinking… if I could just finish the case, if I could take the burden off his shoulders—then maybe I could finally tell him. That he meant more than just being my partner. That he—”
His voice broke.
Yuka didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.
The doors finally hissed open. A doctor stepped into the room, mask pulled down, expression weary but composed.
Both of them stood up instantly.
“Is he—?” Shima asked, the word catching in his throat.
“He’s stable,” the doctor said. “The blade missed any major organs, but he lost a dangerous amount of blood. We’ve stopped the internal bleeding and transfused him. He’s still unconscious, but he made it through surgery.”
Yuka gasped in relief. Shima couldn’t breathe for a moment.
“He’s alive?” he asked, barely daring to hope.
“Yes,” the doctor confirmed. “You can see him once he’s out of recovery.”
Yuka covered her face with her hands, shoulders shaking. Shima just sat back down—hard—like the world had let go of his chest.
Alive.
Still here.
Still with him.
He bowed his head, whispering into the silence:
“Thank you.”
-
The hallway outside the recovery room was quiet—too quiet.
Shima sat on a bench tucked into the farthest corner, away from the nurses’ station, away from the world. His head was bowed, hands gripping the hem of his coat, knuckles white.
And for the first time in a long time…
He cried.
Silently. Harshly. Like he hated himself for every tear.
His shoulders shook with the effort to hold back the sobs, but they came anyway—quiet, choked, and full of all the things he never let himself feel.
All the moments he’d stayed quiet.
All the things he should’ve said.
All the times he’d chosen the case over the person.
He didn’t hear the footsteps. Didn’t sense her presence until a gentle hand touched his shoulder. Yuka stood beside him, still pale, eyes rimmed red, but steady. She sat next to him without saying anything at first. Then softly:
“You don’t have to hold it in.”
Shima didn’t look up.
“I thought if I worked fast enough,” he whispered. “If I moved just a little quicker, kept it all together—then maybe I could finish this before anyone else got hurt.”
Yuka watched him carefully, quietly.
“I spent all day with Kota Masaki. He has the evidence—everything we need to take down the people behind this. I brought it in. Filed it. Sealed it. We’re going to get justice.”
He laughed bitterly, wiping his face with the sleeve of his jacket.
“That’s what I was supposed to tell him tonight.”
Yuka’s heart ached.
“He would’ve been proud of you.”
Shima finally looked up, eyes glassy and hollow.
“I thought… I was doing it for him. To protect him. To take the weight off his shoulders. But…”
His voice broke again.
“I should’ve just gone home.”
Yuka placed her hand gently over his.
“There’s no perfect choice in love, Shima-san. There’s only trying… and hoping the other person still hears you, even if it’s too late to say it out loud.”
Shima let out a breath, shaky and low. And whispered,
“I can’t lose him.”
Yuka squeezed his hand.
“Then when he wakes up… tell him everything.”
-
The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the first thing Ibuki heard as he drifted back toward consciousness.
It was faint at first—like a sound underwater.
Then came the sterile scent of antiseptic. The stiff pressure of hospital sheets. The dull, aching throb in his side.
And finally—
A soft, almost disbelieving voice:
“…You’re awake.”
Ibuki blinked, eyes adjusting slowly to the too-bright lights overhead. He turned his head slightly—every movement sore and heavy—and saw him.
Shima.
Sitting in the chair beside his bed, hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, like he didn’t know what to do with them.
Ibuki’s lips curved, weakly, painfully.
“You look like shit.” “But still beautiful”
Shima exhaled a sound between a laugh and a sigh, shaking his head.
“Still making jokes. Of course you are.”
Ibuki let out a slow breath.
“Did… did we win?”
Shima swallowed hard.
“Yeah. We did.”
Ibuki nodded slowly, eyes drifting shut for a moment in relief.
When he opened them again, he caught the expression on Shima’s face. Raw. Open. Unfiltered in a way he almost never saw.
“Hey…” Ibuki rasped. “Why do you look like someone kicked your puppy? Actually you look like the puppy…”
Shima let out another breath, and for a second it looked like he might laugh again.
But instead, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the side of the bed, lowering his voice.
“I thought I lost you.”
Ibuki blinked. “Shima—”
“You don’t get to scare me like that,” Shima said, voice tight. “You don’t get to throw yourself in front of someone like it’s nothing. You don’t get to smile at me with blood in your mouth and act like it’s just another day.”
Ibuki stared at him, momentarily speechless. Then, more softly:
“I’m sorry.”
Shima closed his eyes. And when he spoke again, it was quieter. But every word trembled with weight.
“I should’ve been there. I should’ve told you—before any of this. I kept thinking I had more time.”
He looked up, meeting Ibuki’s eyes directly.
“But I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Ibuki’s breath caught in his throat. And for once…
He didn’t joke. He just reached out, weakly, fingers brushing over Shima’s hand. And Shima didn’t pull away.
The silence between them wasn’t awkward.
Not anymore.
It was charged—warm and fragile and real. Shima’s hand rested gently beneath Ibuki’s, still unmoving. Still holding.
Ibuki studied his face, voice quiet.
“You said you didn’t want to wait anymore.”
Shima inhaled sharply. And something inside him finally gave way.
“Ibuki,” he said, voice rough with restraint, “I’ve lied to myself about you for so long, I almost forgot what the truth sounded like.”
Ibuki blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his tone. Shima continued, words tumbling out like a confession long buried.
“I told myself it was just work. That we were just partners. That what I felt didn’t matter—as long as you were safe, as long as you stayed in my life, even if it wasn’t the way I wanted.”
He looked down for a moment—ashamed, afraid.
“But when I saw you on that pavement—when I saw the blood, and your face going pale, and your voice fading—something in me broke. I’ve never been more terrified in my life. Not even when I held a gun to my head during that case. Not even when I was in that yatch.”
His voice cracked.
“I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I could do was beg—beg—that I wasn’t too late.”
Silence.
And then—his eyes lifted to meet Ibuki’s.
“But I am tired of hiding. Tired of silence. Tired of pretending this doesn’t mean everything to me.”
He leaned in, his voice no longer trembling—clear, resolute.
“I love you, Ibuki.”
Ibuki stared at him.
Not smiling.
Not joking.
For a long, long moment… he just looked.
And then, with a hoarse breath:
“God… I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”
Shima’s eyes widened.
Ibuki reached up, his hand cupping the side of Shima’s face, weak but certain.
“I love you too. I just didn’t know if I was allowed to say it. I thought you’d walk away if I ever said it out loud.”
Shima caught his hand and held it tightly.
“You could’ve told me.”
“And you could’ve kissed me.”
And so Shima did.
Shima leaned in slowly, his hand brushing gently against Ibuki’s cheek—testing, waiting for hesitation.
There was none.
Their lips met in a soft, quiet kiss—no rush, no desperation. Just a promise. Just them.
And in that still, fluorescent-lit hospital room, the world paused.
For just a second, it was only theirs.
Until—
The door opened.
“Oh—I just wanted to—!”
Yuka-chan…
She stopped mid-step, eyes wide.
They froze—still close, still touching, still completely guilty.
Yuka blinked. Then spun on her heel and bolted out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her.
A beat of silence.
Then Ibuki burst out laughing, wincing as he clutched his side.
“Shit—that hurts—but that was so worth it.”
Shima groaned and buried his face in his hands. Ibuki just smiled wider.
“This was the best birthday ever!”
“Idiot.”