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"I told you, kid. The word on the street for this case is 'untouchable.'"
Midnight. The wharf was veiled in a thick, smoky rain. Saito Hajime pulled up the collar of his soaking wet jacket and let out a deep, weary sigh at the young partner walking beside him. Before them lay the Royal Fortune Shipping’s state-of-the-art high-speed transport ship, moored silently with its lights extinguished.
"But Saito, my information comes from a reliable source. There are suspicions that this vessel is involved in arms smuggling to conflict zones, or even human trafficking. If we leave it be, many lives will be lost."
Even in the darkness, Percival’s eyes had not lost the light of justice. Rainwater slicked his handsome features—a face that clearly carried the blood of British nobility—as he ran up the gangway without a moment’s hesitation.
"Good grief... this is why I hate dealing with sheltered rich kids. You can’t be a detective on a sense of justice alone. Sometimes, looking the other way is the only right answer."
Saito grumbled, but he couldn't let his partner go in alone. He lazily flicked off his gun’s safety and followed.
Strangely, there was no sign of life aboard. No security guards, no night crew. The only sounds cutting through the silence were Percival’s heavy footsteps and Saito’s practiced, silent tread.
"I have you now, Bartholomew Roberts!"
Percival kicked open the bridge door and called out the name.
There stood a man alone, operating a console and gazing at a navigational chart. To the public, he was the young CEO of a global shipping empire. Tonight, he was dressed casually. He didn't seem surprised; he simply turned around slowly.
"My. For midnight visitors, you’re quite noisy. Especially you, young detective. You’re offending my sensibilities—that well-tailored coat of yours is absolutely drenched."
Bartholomew stopped mid-sentence. He cut his own words short and stared intently at Percival’s face.
"...No, I retract that. The way your hair clings to your forehead because of the rain... that exquisite way it hangs down. The beauty of those uneven shadows partially veiling your eyes... Yes, it’s good. A truly magnificent angle. I feel I could almost forgive the rudeness of your trespassing because of it."
"Wh-what are you—!? Do not mock me! Explain the cargo on this ship!"
Percival shouted, though clearly bewildered.
"You are fueling conflict for personal gain and sending innocent people to hell. It is unforgivable! The hand of the law will reach your partner, Miss Drake, as well!"
Bartholomew smirked and leaned back against the console.
"Careful now. If Drake heard that, a half-killing wouldn't be the end of it. And for the record, I’ll deny that myself. She is a business associate, nothing more. I make it a point not to have a personal partner."
Bartholomew narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Even so. Weapons, kidnapping, pillaging... I see. The dark rumors you’ve gathered are indeed the fields I once excelled in. ...Detective Saito, do you agree?"
Saito shrugged.
"If you were just a common crook, I’d have put you in irons ages ago. The reason the old farts in the upper brass are so desperate to keep a lid on your name isn't because of your 'crimes.'"
Bartholomew laughed delightedly and flipped a switch on the console.
"I hate to be uncouth... but it would be a shame to break this hot-blooded boy's sense of justice right here."
A monitor flickered to life, showing internal camera footage of the containers. There were no firearms. Instead, there were mobile water purification plants, crates of antibiotics, and—vibrantly colored tins of tea leaves, alongside hundreds of letters.
"This is...?"
Percival gasped.
"I received word that the strait will be completely blockaded by tomorrow morning. Official routes won't make it in time. It was necessary to cross borders and break laws to deliver this. It is water to sustain life, tea to connect hearts, and—hope."
"Hope..."
"Well, I can’t involve my employees. From here on out, it’s the underworld. Pulling the trigger is a task for me alone."
"Why do this by yourself? You’re taking such risks... Surely a man of your wealth has other ways?"
"It’s precisely because I’m misunderstood that I can use that reputation to get things done. In fact, as a 'courier,' I’m aided by connections I can't speak of here."
"You... you are using your status and power for the sake of the weak."
Percival holstered his gun and bowed deeply.
"I apologize. In your actions, I see true noblesse oblige. Risking yourself to deliver hope... I am deeply moved."
"Oh? Hahaha! Noblesse oblige, you say?"
Bartholomew burst into genuine laughter.
"Don't misunderstand me. I’m no noble knight like you. This is my ego. I am simply spending the rest of my life settling the debts of the sins I committed on some sea, somewhere, to get to the top. I simply wish to carry out the rules I’ve set for myself to perfection. A merry life, and a short one."
"I see. He’s certainly different from the rumors."
Saito, who had been watching the monitor, turned back to Bartholomew. His gun was still leveled firmly at the CEO.
"Saito?"
Percival looked at him, puzzled.
"Listen, Courier. I don't care if the cargo is a gift from a saint; the fact remains that the route you used is filthy. You used the network of 'Atlantis,' didn't you?"
Bartholomew, still leaning against the console, gave a short whistle.
"Your nose is as sharp as ever. Now, don't be so prickly. To them, it’s just money-making. To me, it’s a means to an end. It's a simple case of mutual benefit."
"It’s the 'mutual' part that makes me want to puke,"
Saito spat.
He pulled out a mobile device, tossing it in one hand as he spoke.
"Get this ship moving now. I'll let you go tonight. But in exchange, give me the Atlantis communication logs and the remittance routes you used. You’re going to open the backdoor of that data to us."
Percival held his breath. It was a blatant act of coercion—using their position to shake down the underworld.
"Saito, that’s...!"
"Quiet, Percival. ...What’s it going to be, Courier? Do you want your cargo confiscated and go down with us? Or will you sell the info and deliver your 'hope'?"
Bartholomew fell silent for a moment, then gave a dramatic shrug and laughed.
"Hahaha! Incredible. To think a mere detective would demand the backdoor to my information. ...Very well. I’ll take that devil’s bargain!"
Bartholomew operated his device, and an encryption key was transferred.
"I have high expectations. I look forward to seeing how well you police handle that data."
He checked his watch.
"Now. It’s time for departure. I can’t afford to be caught just yet. Detective Saito, can I leave the cleanup to you?"
"I’m putting it on your tab."
Bartholomew cast one last, elegant glance toward Percival.
"Detective. I pray that those straightforward eyes of yours never go cloudy. I can’t say 'until we meet again,' but... farewell."
The ship pulled away from the pier without a sound. Percival stared at the departing silhouette of the vessel in silence for a long time.
"...Yes, this is Saito. The matter has been settled. He showed his hand for once. Also, I’ve obtained the passkey for that organization. Yes, sir. I’ll fabricate—I mean, organize the report appropriately on this end."
Hanging up, Saito Hajime walked over to Percival with a wry smile.
"See? That’s what 'untouchable' means. When you get involved with that man, your moral compass starts spinning in circles."
"He said he was delivering hope. Even if he had to break official routes. And you took advantage of that, Saito. You used the fact that he’s connected to the underworld."
"Sorry to burst your bubble, Percival, but we police aren't exactly clean, either. The 'higher-ups' let him swim free specifically for cases like this. He knows that better than anyone."
"But he... he goes that way alone. On such a lonely, proud course."
"Yeah. He never entrusts his heart to anyone; he only intends to go down with his own aesthetics. That stubbornness is probably why you liked him, isn't it?"
"...I simply hold respect for his convictions."
"Sure, sure. Well, believing in people too much makes you a failure of a detective. But that guy probably liked that straightforwardness of yours too. ...Though, if you really wanted him to like you, kid, you should have tried covering your eyes a bit more with that hair. Just kidding."
Saito thrust his hands into his pockets and looked up at the clearing sky. Percival stood beside him, straining his eyes toward the horizon.
"You said you couldn't say 'until we meet again.' But... please, be safe."
The lights of the distant ship left a single, steady wake of hope upon the midnight sea.
***
The moment he opened the door to his flat, Bartholomew exhaled deeply. He shed his heavy fatigue onto the expensive carpet.
He went straight to the shower and let the hot water wash over him. The droplets washed away the cold rain and the scent of crime—or perhaps the "scent of the underworld" that he habitually wore.
After a quick dry, he threw on a bathrobe and boiled water in the kitchen. He brewed his favorite Earl Grey and sank deep into the sofa. The sun was high now, but he didn't open the curtains. In the dim center of the room, feeling the warmth of the mug against his fingertips, he noticed the notification for a voicemail on his business phone.
He tapped the screen to play it.
"—Mr. Roberts, regarding next week's European market, the speculators are making a move..."
"Bartholomew! Send the corrected data for the quarterly report immediately!"
"Regarding the Business Weekly interview, the dress code is..."
The mundane reports and demands of his daily life as a CEO passed by. Just as he was about to delete the last one, his finger stopped.
"...Mr. Roberts. It’s me."
An earnest, slightly crackly voice echoed from the speakers. Bartholomew instinctively frowned.
"I couldn't stop thinking about the other night. ...No matter what anyone says, what you did was noble. If... if you are ever in trouble, please contact me. If possible, try not to use 'underhanded' means too much. ...I'm not sure myself why I'm saying all this."
Bartholomew sighed. That hot-headed detective... despite his position, despite witnessing the dark side of both the man himself and the police, he left a message like this? He was beyond help. Too straightforward.
With a beep, the audio cut out. Delete message? Yes.
Bartholomew set his cup on the table and closed his eyes.
"Don't use underhanded means, he says... How dazzling. In a way, it’s almost arrogant."
His monologue dissolved into the empty room.
To be told he was "noble" with such honest eyes. Nobility, justice, and...
Even knowing all his cunning and filth, to have such words directed at him—internally, he felt the slightest bit of bashfulness.
He knew who he was. He had decided to live by the rules he had carved out for himself. The day would soon come when that detective would learn firsthand that the world doesn't run on justice alone.
And yet, his finger stayed on the phone, hovering over the number, unmoving.