Ren ran until his lungs burned and his legs gave out.
He collapsed in a small park—the same one where he had met the old man by the river, or maybe a different one; he couldn't tell anymore. The USB drive was still in his hand, small and plastic and heavier than it should have been. He clutched it like a lifeline.
The sky was still dark. The city was still sleeping. But somewhere behind him, Kenji was probably already on his phone, calling his contacts, warning them that the evidence had been stolen.
Ren had maybe an hour before the trap closed.
He pulled out his phone and called Takeshi.
"I have it," he said, his voice breathless. "Everything. Documents. Photographs. Bank records. Everything."
"Where are you?"
"A park. Near Suginami. I don't know the name."
"Stay there. I'm coming."
"No. Meet me at the police station. The one in Shinjuku. Detective Watanabe's precinct."
"Ren—"
"If we go to the police now, with this evidence, they have to act. Kenji can't stop them. His contacts can't stop them. Not with what I have."
Takeshi was silent for a moment. Then: "The Shinjuku station. One hour. Don't talk to anyone until I get there."
The line went dead.
Ren stood up. His legs were shaking, but he forced them to move. He walked toward the station, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the main roads. A convenience store glowed in the distance—blue and green and white. He ducked inside and bought a bottle of water. The cashier looked at him strangely—a teenage boy in dark clothes, covered in dust and sweat, at 3 AM. But she didn't ask questions. In Tokyo, no one asked questions.
He drank the water in one long gulp, then bought another. The USB drive was in his pocket, wrapped in a napkin, safe.
At 4 AM, he arrived at the Shinjuku police station.
The building was gray and imposing, even in the dark. A single light burned in the lobby. Ren pushed open the door and walked to the front desk.
The officer on duty was young—maybe twenty-five—with sleepy eyes and a bored expression.
"Can I help you?"
"I need to speak with Detective Watanabe. It's urgent."
"She's not here. Come back during business hours."
"It's an emergency. I have evidence in a criminal case. Human trafficking. Kidnapping. Corruption."
The officer's expression shifted. He picked up his phone and dialed a number. Mumbled something. Listened. Then hung up.
"Wait over there," he said, gesturing to a row of plastic chairs. "Someone will be with you shortly."
Ren sat down. The chairs were hard and cold. The fluorescent lights hummed. A clock on the wall ticked too loudly.
He waited.
At 4:30 AM, Takeshi arrived. He looked exhausted—his jacket rumpled, his eyes red—but his face was determined.
"Did you show them the evidence?" he asked.
"Not yet. I wanted to wait for you."
"Good." Takeshi sat down beside him. "We do this together."
They waited another thirty minutes.
At 5 AM, a door opened at the end of the corridor. A woman walked out—not Detective Watanabe. Someone older. Gray hair. Sharp eyes. A uniform that fit too perfectly.
"I'm Captain Ishida," she said. "Detective Watanabe is unavailable. You'll be speaking with me."
Ren stood up. "I have evidence against Kenji Takahashi. Financial records. Photographs. Witness statements."
Captain Ishida's expression didn't change. "Let's see it."
Ren hesitated. Something felt wrong. The way she looked at him—too calm, too collected, like she already knew what he was going to say.
"Not here," he said. "In an interview room. With a witness."
Captain Ishida's eyes narrowed. "This is a police station, young man. You're safe here."
"I'll feel safer with a witness."
Takeshi stepped forward. "I'm his witness."
Captain Ishida looked at Takeshi, then back at Ren. After a long moment, she nodded.
"Follow me."
---
The interview room was small—gray walls, a metal table, two chairs. Ren sat on one side. Takeshi sat beside him. Captain Ishida sat across from them, a notebook open in front of her.
"Show me the evidence," she said.
Ren pulled out the USB drive. "This contains everything. Financial records linking Kenji to Sakamoto Tetsuya's trafficking network. Photographs of Kenji's safe house. Documents showing his shell companies. And a folder labeled 'HIKARI' with dozens of surveillance photographs taken without her consent."
Captain Ishida reached for the USB drive.
Ren pulled it back. "Before I give this to you, I need your word that you'll act on it. That you'll arrest Kenji. That you'll protect Hikari."
"I can't promise anything until I've seen the evidence."
"Then we have a problem."
Takeshi put a hand on Ren's arm. "Ren. Give her the drive."
Ren looked at Takeshi. At his tired eyes, his steady voice. He wanted to trust him. He wanted to trust the system.
But the system had failed him before.
"Captain Ishida," Ren said slowly, "how long have you known Kenji Takahashi?"
The room went silent.
Captain Ishida's expression didn't change. But something in her eyes shifted—a flicker, gone before Ren could read it.
"I've never met the man."
"Then why did you flinch when I said his name?"
"I didn't flinch."
"You did." Ren stood up. "We're leaving."
"Sit down, Akiyama-kun."
"No. You're not going to help us. You're going to take this evidence and bury it. Just like the others."
Captain Ishida stood up too. Her voice was hard. "Sit. Down."
Takeshi stood between them. "Captain Ishida, with respect—"
"With respect, Tanaka-san, this doesn't concern you."
"Hikari Tachibana concerns me. Kenji Takahashi concerns me. And if you're not going to help us, then we'll find someone who will."
Captain Ishida stared at him for a long moment. Then she sat down.
"Fine. Leave. But if you walk out that door with that evidence, you're on your own. No protection. No backup. No police."
Ren looked at Takeshi. Takeshi looked at Ren.
"We're leaving," Ren said.
They walked out of the interview room, out of the police station, into the cold gray dawn.
The sun was rising over Shinjuku, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. But Ren didn't see any beauty in it. He saw only the long shadow of a system that had failed him again.
"What now?" Takeshi asked.
Ren held up the USB drive.
"We find someone who isn't corrupt. A journalist. A prosecutor. Anyone."
"And if there's no one?"
"Then we do it ourselves."
---
They went to Kobayashi's office.
She was already there, sitting at her desk, a cup of coffee in her hand. She looked up as they walked in, her eyes moving from Ren's exhausted face to Takeshi's grim expression.
"You look like hell," she said.
"We've been to the police," Ren said.
"And?"
"And the captain on duty was either corrupt or incompetent. Maybe both."
Kobayashi set down her coffee. "Show me the evidence."
Ren handed her the USB drive. She plugged it into her computer and scrolled through the files, her expression growing darker with each click.
"This is... this is everything. Bank records. Photographs. Names. Dates." She looked up. "Where did you get this?"
"Kenji's safe house. I broke in last night."
Kobayashi stared at him. "You broke into a man's apartment. Stole his private documents. And brought them to me."
"Yes."
"You know that's illegal, right?"
"I know."
"And you don't care?"
"I care about Hikari. I care about stopping Kenji. I don't care about the rest."
Kobayashi was silent for a long moment. Then she laughed—a short, surprised sound.
"Your mother would have done the same thing," she said. "She was reckless too."
"Can you use this? In court?"
"Some of it. The documents that can be authenticated—bank records, property deeds, things that came from official sources. The photographs are harder. They could be considered illegally obtained."
"Then we find a way to make them legal."
"There is no way. Evidence obtained through burglary is inadmissible."
Ren's heart sank. "So everything I did—the risk, the danger—it was for nothing?"
Kobayashi shook her head. "Not for nothing. The bank records—those came from Nakamura, not from the burglary. Those are admissible. And the photographs... well, we don't have to use the photographs. We have something better."
"What?"
"The folder labeled 'HIKARI.' The surveillance photographs. They prove that Kenji was stalking her. That's a crime. And we don't need to prove where the photographs came from—just that they exist."
Ren sat down. His legs were shaking. "So there's a chance."
"There's always a chance." Kobayashi pulled out her phone. "I'm calling the prosecutor's office. Not the local one—the special investigations unit. They handle organized crime. They're not corrupt. At least, I don't think they are."
"And if they are?"
"Then we go to the media. The real media. Not the tabloids—the journalists who actually care about the truth." She looked at Takeshi. "Your contact at the Tokyo Shimbun. Is she trustworthy?"
Takeshi nodded. "Murata Saori. She's the one who broke the first story. She's been asking for more."
"Then we give her more." Kobayashi stood up. "But first, we need to protect Hikari. The transfer to the new group home—is it still happening?"
"Today," Ren said. "This afternoon."
"I'll call the new home. Make sure they know about the threats. Make sure they have extra security."
"And Kenji?"
Kobayashi looked at him. "Kenji is your problem. You found him once. You can find him again."
Ren nodded.
He would find Kenji again.
And this time, he wouldn't run.