The sky overhead was so clear it looked unreal—like a massive ice-blue porcelain bowl inverted over the city. Not a wisp of cloud marred it. The blue was too pure, too deep, like a single slab of solidified crystal: transparent, beautiful, and somehow fragile.
Sunlight poured down without obstruction, gilding Sixth Street's roads, rooftops, and shop signs in flowing gold. It felt as if the world had been dusted with tiny grains of melted candy—sticky brightness that clung to hurried footsteps and was carried into the shadows of storefronts.
The city panted silently under the heat. Noise softened, steamed, and diluted by the scorching air until only a dull background hum remained.
Only the sunlight remained absolute—quiet, domineering, the unquestioned protagonist. It flooded everything, wrapped around every lively, shifting shadow, and burned those outlines sharply onto the blistering asphalt.
Wise stood beneath that unbroken blaze, leaning against the garage's corrugated metal door in the alley behind the video store. Heat rolled off the steel like breath from a furnace. Sweat beaded at his hairline, slid down his temple, and soaked into the crease between his brows.
We really should install an awning back here… he thought vaguely, fingertips absently rubbing the metal frame, hot enough to sting.
But this month's funds…
He sighed without sound, shelved the idea, and turned his attention back to the communicator pressed to his ear.
On the other end, Nicole's voice burst out—loud, incredulous, and very much unfiltered.
"Huh?! Seriously? Those two officers were telling the truth?! I thought they were just bluffing back then—trying to scare us!"
"You were there too," Wise replied, the faintest hint of helplessness in his tone.
Nicole snorted like she'd been personally insulted by the concept of "context."
"I didn't know if what they said was real! Besides—those two were all hands-on with Qianye right out of the gate. Bad vibes, okay? Massive bad vibes."
Wise's lips twitched as if he was fighting a smile, then gave up and let out a low, amused breath.
"…You're only mad because you thought Victoria Housekeeping left early, which meant you'd get first dibs on some 'close contact' with Qianye. Then that hope got crushed, so you took it out on them."
He paused, voice smoothing into something calm and annoyingly reasonable.
"I actually thought those two officers were quite sincere."
"No way! I'm not some… 'losing dog'!" Nicole's voice shot up like a cat with its tail stepped on. Then it turned sly, sharp-edged—threat dressed as banter.
"Hey, Wise. Don't forget—if you're going to contact that hacker, 'Rhein,' you still need me, Nicole Demara, the glorious middleman of Cunning Hares!"
Wise finally let himself chuckle.
"Nicole… I think you're the one forgetting something."
His voice stayed warm, but every syllable landed with clean precision.
"You still owe Random Play a rather impressive amount of dennies."
He added gently, almost kindly:
"So, it's not that we 'need' you. It's that you need us to not start collecting—immediately, right now, very urgently."
A silence on the line.
Then Nicole's voice returned—too fast, too bright, and unmistakably tactical.
"Ahaha! Wow! Look at the time! I've got a super—super—important deal to negotiate! Can't chat! Bye!"
"Nicole, are you—" Wise began.
The communicator answered with cheerful, heartless beeping: beep beep, doo doo.
He lowered it, rubbed his sun-baked temple, and exhaled in a long, resigned breath.
That was when he sensed movement behind him.
He turned.
Belle was already there, having appeared at the garage doorway like a cat with a mission—short navy hair catching a tiny shimmer in the sunlight, green eyes narrowed with a mischievous glint.
"Belle," Wise said softly, his voice turning naturally gentler the moment he saw her. Then he sighed, the fatigue returning as he thought of Nicole again.
"Nicole really knows how to jack up the price on the spot… thankfully she's still in debt to us. Otherwise this would actually be a hassle."
Belle lifted her chin, grinning like she'd just discovered a fun new weakness in the universe. Her eyes curved into crescents—predatory in the cutest way.
Then she raised a fist theatrically in the air, like she was gripping an invisible blade and delivering some grand performance line.
"Never fear! I have the peerless General Qianye at my command! Once I deploy him, mere Nicole of the Cunning Hares will be nothing but warm wine to be poured before surrender!"
Wise stared at her.
A small vein of frustration tried to form; he killed it with affection and turned it into a sigh.
"…Belle," he said, almost pleading, "what have you been watching lately?"
Belle's grin only widened.
Wise shook his head and—like he always did—let it go. He shifted his focus, eyes softening as he looked at her.
"Anyway. Since there's nothing especially urgent these next couple days…"
He hesitated, then spoke with the tone of someone proposing a family outing that definitely wasn't going to be fun.
"How about we go to the Security Bureau together?"
Belle's expression instantly turned strange.
Not confused. Not hesitant.
Strange, in the way a mischievous gremlin looks when it realizes it can weaponize a misunderstanding.
Her smile grew larger, her eyes narrowed further, and her whole body radiated I already know everything.
She dragged the words out in a theatrical, mocking sing-song.
"Ooooh? Big brother… is this you finally deciding to turn yourself in? Confess and you'll be treated leniently—resist and you'll be treated harshly, you know."
"Belle…" Wise said, pure helplessness now, but he sobered almost immediately. The teasing drained from his face. His green eyes sharpened—deep, focused, like a still pool.
He spoke slowly.
Low.
With the weight of an apocalypse announcement.
"Our… driver's licenses… are about to expire…"
The air at the garage door congealed instantly.
Sunlight still poured down, scorching and bright—yet somehow it couldn't dissolve the heavy shadow that fell between them. It was the sort of darkness only real life could cast: small, petty, unavoidable… and lethal.
That afternoon, Lumina Square was the city's noise made visible.
Giant holo billboards danced between towering buildings, spilling shifting color onto ground so glossy it reflected the sky—until countless rushing feet chopped it into fragments. Engine hum, street performers' electronic beats, vendors' cries, and conversations collided into a thick, chaotic wave.
The air carried fresh bread sweetness, coffee bitterness, and that hard-to-name scent of a massive city: metal and dust, warm circuitry and human heat.
Normally, Belle would've been alive in it.
Today, none of it reached her.
Her gaze was locked—horrified, fascinated—on a patrol officer in a relaxed stance, who flashed a grin that was almost honest…
And somehow made her skin crawl.
The officer moved so fast Belle only caught an afterimage, and a glaring ticket slapped onto a illegally parked car like a white snowflake of doom.
The officer muttered something—quiet, but sharp—about "the creed of the Star Badge Knights," words scraping the air like cold metal.
Belle's blood turned to ice.
Any last scrap of hope she had about "just parking for a minute" was ground into dust.
Even though the distant lot was full, she didn't dare hesitate. She took an unconscious half-step backward, as if distance alone could save her from the grin of the law.
With a silent, defeated sigh, she turned toward the Security Bureau's familiar Bangboo duty point and walked like a condemned woman.
"…Please don't take too long," she whispered, voice swallowed by the crowd.
After multiple layers of identity checks and security gates, HAND headquarters' Section 6 area felt like a different world entirely.
The lighting was gentle, the temperature perfectly regulated, the air carrying a faint edge of disinfectant—clean, cold, and clinical. Outside the massive window, the skyline glittered in filtered brightness; inside, the atmosphere was pressure without sound—information, authority, and danger braided into an invisible field.
The Section 6 office door stood open.
Inside, the space was wide and spare—minimalist to the point of severity.
Hoshimi Miyabi sat behind a large black desk, spine straight as the heirloom blade resting on the rack beside her. With measured patience, she ran a soft cloth over the scabbard, polishing faint, intricate patterns etched into the surface.
Cool light framed her sharp profile. Her long black hair fell like ink to her waist. Above it, her black fox ears turned with subtle sensitivity, catching every abnormal tremor in the air.
Her red eyes were still and deep—reflecting the blade, reflecting control.
Then—
BANG.
The thick alloy door slammed open, crashing against its buffer and shattering the office's quiet.
Tsukishiro Yanagi stumbled in.
For someone usually immaculate down to the last strand of hair, she looked… almost disheveled. Pink hair slightly messy, damp bangs clinging to her forehead. One hand gripped the cold metal doorframe as her chest rose and fell sharply, breathing in gulps of cool air like she'd sprinted the whole building.
Her purple-framed glasses had slipped down to the bridge of her nose, tilted at a subtle angle. Behind the lenses, her violet eyes burned bright—caught between lingering shock and something dangerously close to excitement.
A flush colored her cheeks, startling against her crisp uniform.
At the desk, Miyabi stopped polishing mid-motion. Her fox ears pivoted precisely toward Yanagi, then tipped slightly to the side—an unmistakable silent question.
"Yanagi."
Miyabi's voice was clean and steady, like cold spring water. No reprimand. Just inquiry.
"What happened outside?"
Yanagi drew in a deep breath—one meant to crush her racing heartbeat back into order.
Then she straightened.
With two gloved fingers, she pushed her glasses back into place. The act was so precise it felt like flipping a switch.
The faint chaos vanished.
In its place stood the Section 6 deputy captain again: composed, sharp, efficient.
Only the slight rise and fall of her chest and the lingering warmth in her cheeks betrayed the sprint.
"Captain," Yanagi said, voice crisp, words delivered with the speed of someone who'd just intercepted a critical message.
"I went to the public break room for coffee and… happened to overhear internal comms from Section 5."
She stressed the word "overhear" with a tiny edge of irony.
"They intended to bypass Section 6 and monopolize the assignment related to 'the Door.'"
Yanagi stepped forward, stopping at Miyabi's desk, and lowered her voice.
"After my… sudden appearance and direct questioning, they realized they were exposed—and also, likely, that I could have recorded evidence."
Her lips curved, controlled, faintly sharp.
"After weighing the cost, they voluntarily—more accurately, were forced to—transfer operational lead to us."
She adjusted her collar and tie with quick elegance, as if reassembling herself into perfection.
"However," she continued, the air around her tightening, "my instincts say Section 5 gave up too easily. There's a hidden reason."
Her gaze sharpened, hawk-like behind the lenses.
"Either the mission risk is far beyond the forecast… or they want us to become the stones they throw into the dark first."
Yanagi paused.
Then—without a trace of hesitation—she concluded, voice flat with certainty.
"But it's fine."
A small, cold smile.
"I have patience. I'll peel their secrets apart layer by layer, like cracking a deeply encrypted file. Nothing stays hidden from Section 6's eyes."
Her fingers brushed the handle of the folding naginata at her waist, an unconscious confirmation of steel and readiness.
Then her focus returned to Miyabi, and something in Yanagi's expression shifted.
The sharp professionalism remained, but underneath it stirred something heavier—older. A restrained heat, a buried fixation, a quiet hunger for answers.
Her voice dropped lower, carrying the weight of a personal vow.
"The most important part is this—Captain."
Yanagi's eyes narrowed slightly, violet deepening into a complex, unreadable storm.
"Now… I—we—have an indisputable, legitimate reason to contact him again."
The office was silent except for the soft ticking of a tactical map cursor.
Yanagi's words landed cleanly in that silence:
"Doctor Qianye…"
A trace of red bloomed at the edge of her cheeks again, faint but unmistakable.
"It's been… a long time."
She lowered her head just slightly, as if speaking to herself—yet every syllable was edged like a promise.
"This time…"
Her fingers curled, knuckles whitening imperceptibly beneath the glove.
"I will extract every secret you carry…"
Yanagi's lips curved by a fraction, not quite a smile.
"…and leave nothing behind."
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 178)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 115)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League ( 126 )
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter110)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter116)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter82)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter144)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 65
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 77
From Junkman to Wasteland 66
Weekly Refresh of Overpowered 31
I'm Grinding Proficiency Like 46
From Kiana, Lord Ravager, Onwa 118
Honkai: Is This Still the Prev 42
Elf: My Starter Pokémon Is Inc 65
Warhammer: My Primarch Is Remi 111
From Demon Slayer to Grand Ass 80
The Way the Umamusume Look at 68
Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 112
Naruto: Weaving the Future, Be 65
Zenless Zone Zero, but Kamen R 76
Multiverse Crossover: The Perf 66
My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 65
Uma Musume: The Dark Trainer 80
Uma Musume: A Calamity Born fr 74
I, a Reincarnation-Loop Player 48
The Violent Girl Group Is Beat 50
Uma Musume: The Horse Girl Who 47
Uma Musume: From Beginner 42
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