Aftermath

"-kurai! Sakurai! Sakurai! Haruki!"

Takahiro's voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present. Haruki flinched, the sharp tone slicing through the fog clouding his mind. "Sakurai, help me with this," he called, gesturing towards the drug dealer bleeding out on the ground. "I need to check the others."

Haruki blinked, his breath shallow and uneven. For a moment, the scene in front of him blurred, the blood pooling on the ground mingling with a memory he had fought hard to bury.

"R-right!" Haruki nodded sharply, his voice shaky as he forced himself to focus. Pushing aside the phantom images clawing at his thoughts, he knelt beside Takahiro. His hands trembled as he moved, a flicker of hesitation in his every action.

He quickly switched with Takahiro, looking down at the pale, rapidly cooling body. The dealer’s lifeless eyes seemed to burn into Haruki’s soul, and for a fleeting moment, they weren’t the drug dealer’s eyes.

He could hear Takahiro's voice somewhere behind him. "Dispatch, this is Sato. We have a situation at the alley behind the Velvet Lounge on 10th Street, Hanako District. Shots fired, multiple casualties. Send backup and medical assistance immediately."

The words barely registered. Haruki’s blood-stained hands shook violently, his grip faltering as adrenaline coursed through him. He could feel the weight of the past pressing down on his chest, suffocating him.

This wasn’t how he had expected the night to go. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint tang of gunpowder. His stomach churned, and he glanced around the alleyway, searching for any sign of the mysterious figure. But they were long gone, leaving only a gnawing unease in their wake.

When the paramedics arrived and took over, Haruki and Takahiro stepped back, allowing them to work. Haruki’s hands still trembled slightly as he watched the paramedics load the drug dealer onto a stretcher and rush him into the ambulance.

Once again, the image overlapped with another incident in his memory—a night much like this one—with blood, chaos, and the suffocating helplessness that came with it.

As the backup team arrived on the scene, Takahiro briefed them on what had happened, providing as much detail as possible while Haruki stood in a daze. The other officers listened intently, their expressions serious as they got the scope of things.

The sounds of the alley faded, muffled by the roar of his thoughts. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms as he fought to keep himself anchored in the present.

Takahiro’s reassuring hand on his shoulder jolted him slightly. "We did what we could, Sakurai," he said softly. "Let's head back to the precinct and debrief with the Chief."

Haruki nodded numbly, yet to find his voice. The ride to the precinct was a blur, the city's lights smearing into streaks as they sped through the streets.

It took them little time to the precinct since it was very late into the night.

Surprisingly, the rest of the team was also there. Rekka and Aya stared at them worriedly while Ryoji leaned against a table, a deep frown on his face. Haruki waved off their concerned looks. They must look like a mess with their rumpled bloodstained clothes.

"We've received reports of a shooting at the Velvet Lounge," Kenji frowned at them, "What happened? This was supposed to be intel gathering," his eyes flickered to the blood still on Haruki's hands.

Haruki followed his gaze and paled. He didn't remember to get it cleaned.

"We didn't do anything aside from watching Chief!" Takahiro saluted. "We found the suspect we believe was the last contact with Aiko-san so we followed him."

"And?" Kenji raised an eyebrow.

"And we heard him talking to some people about the drugs. We didn't hear much, but I have it all on recording,"

Takahiro took out a phone and dropped it on the table.

Haruki looked at the phone with wide eyes, 'You're a genius! Why didn't I think of that?'

He wanted to hug Takahiro, but the chief was too pissed off to be fooling around in front of him.

Kenji looked at the phone and back at them, the unimpressed glare still in place. "We were waiting when we heard gunshots and had to dive for cover," Takahiro continued.

"We don't know who attacked them or why. It could be a rival faction, a random thug or one of their own."

Kenji's brows furrowed as he processed the information given. His eyes went to the phone on the table.

"This changes things," he said, his tone grave. "We need to reassess our approach and figure out our next move.

"We could wait for information from the forensic team," Aya pointed out.

"Where is the suspect now?" Ryoji asked.

"Hospital, we already asked that he be guarded well," Takahiro said, turning to face him.

Kenji nodded, his expression sombre. "Good, let's start from there," he said. "Now, go home and get some rest. We'll reconvene tomorrow to discuss our next steps."

Haruki and Takahiro nodded, rising from their seats with exhausted sighs. It was a stressful night.

*****************

The ride home was quiet. Haruki leaned against the cold metal of the armbar on the train, lost in thought.

Most people gave him a wide berth because of the blood on him. Some kind old ladies had come to ask if he needed help. He had given what he thought was a reassuring smile as he tried to tell them he was fine.

Thankfully, his home wasn't too far from the precinct, and not many people were on his way.

When he got home, he stripped and threw the clothes in the bin. Blood was hard to wash off.

He would know that well.

He walked straight to the bathroom and turned on the shower. His hands shook as he reached for the bar of soap, the scent of blood and gunpowder still in his nostrils.

Haruki scrubbed his hands under the scalding water, the soap lathering into pink suds that swirled down the drain. But the smell of blood lingered, taunting him.

He scrubbed harder, his hands raw and red, tears pricking his eyes as frustration bubbled over.

"Why won’t it go away?!" The words echoed in the empty bathroom, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

He still couldn't get rid of the smell. Why couldn't he get rid of the smell?!

Haruki leaned against the tiled wall of the shower, eyes closed. Steam filled the small bathroom as he stood beneath the spray, the water pounding against his skin as he tried to push aside the thoughts that threatened to consume him.

Haruki's mind raced with questions. Who was the mysterious figure? Who sent them? And why did they attack the drug dealer and his men?

He felt a surge of frustration and anger rising within him, threatening to overwhelm him.

Haruki scrubbed a hand through his damp hair, frustration evident in his furrowed brow.

There was something about the person he couldn't quite put his finger on.

As he stood there, lost in his thoughts, the sudden ring of his phone pierced the silence, snapping him out of his daze.

Haruki blinked in surprise, the sound jolting him back to reality. He felt drained, both physically and emotionally, but he knew that he couldn't afford to let himself fall apart now.

With a heavy sigh, Haruki turned off the shower, the water slowing to a trickle before stopping completely. He stepped out of the steam-filled space and dried himself off.

Haruki wrapped a towel around his waist and went to his bedroom, where the phone rang.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he mumbled, walking into his room.

The phone stopped ringing as soon as he grabbed it. His eyes stung a bit as he read the pop-up message.

Haru darling, how are you?

Your father and I have been worried about you lately, love.

We don't want to disrupt your work, so we decided not to come over to your place.

Try visiting home once in a while, baby.

Make sure you are getting enough food and rest, okay?

We are cheering you on!

He sunk to his knees at the edge of the bed. He was so tired.

**********

"It seems you were right. The dogs are on our trail, boss," a soft voice from the shadows said.

The boss leaned forward slightly, his features obscured by the room's dim light. "Is that so? Were you able to finish your task?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

The other figure nodded. They leaned across the table to light the boss's cigar. "Yes, everything went according to plan," they replied.

The boss took a long drag from the cigar, the smoke curling around him as he exhaled slowly.

"Good," he murmured, his tone filled with satisfaction. "And what of the shipment? Is it ready to go?"

The other figure nodded once again, "Yes, boss. The shipment is prepared and awaiting your orders," they confirmed, their voice calm and lithe, as though they hadn't just gunned down five people a few minutes ago.

"Excellent." The boss nodded in approval, taking another puff of his cigar.

"And what of the survivor in the hospital? Have they said anything?"

The other figure shook their head. "Not yet, boss. But I'll make sure they don't," they assured him.

The "Boss" hummed, standing up from his leather seat.

"You mentioned the police?" he asked.

The other figure hesitated for a moment before replying, "They've been asking questions, poking around where they shouldn’t be."

The boss's brow furrowed slightly as he thought of possible countermeasures for the police.

"We'll need to keep a close eye on them," he said, then a thought came to him.

"The dogs are hungry," he smirked, "Let's throw them a bone."