...06/10/2009 Tuesday; Nightfall...
Night arrived slowly, tinting the sky a deep blue that gradually surrendered to black.
The streetlights flickered on one by one along the streets of Tatsumi Port Island, and the sidewalks emptied as people retreated into their homes.
Minato and Junpei walked side by side toward the dorm.
Junpei's enthusiasm—which had bravely held out during the first half hour in line—had completely wilted after sixty minutes standing in the same spot without getting anywhere near the Arcade entrance.
Now he gestured as he spoke, still trying to salvage something from the lost afternoon.
Minato answered with short responses and nods. His mind was elsewhere—in the blue elevator, in the cards that still seemed to burn in his hands, in Igor's question that reverberated in some corner of his head.
When they turned the corner and the dorm appeared ahead, something stood out from the scenery.
Koromaru was sitting at the edge of the entrance stairs. Alone.
The dog kept his ears pricked, his head turning from side to side in a state of alertness that wasn't common outside the Dark Hour.
His posture wasn't that of someone waiting patiently—it was that of someone searching for something. Or someone.
Minato furrowed his brow. He approached and crouched down, running his hand over the dog's head. "Hey, boy... what's wrong?"
Koromaru wagged his tail once. Then let out a low, sad whine, and lowered his head again. His eyes remained fixed on the street, as if expecting to see someone appear around the corner.
Junpei scratched the back of his neck, his eyes narrowed. "Huh... did something happen for him to be like this?"
Minato didn't answer. He stood up and looked at the dorm doors. Something was wrong.
The silence coming from inside was different from the silence of ordinary nights.
He entered.
The lounge was lit, but the air was dense. Fuuka stood beside the sofa, her hands wringing one another. Aigis remained motionless near the window.
On the sofa, Yukari sat between Mitsuru and Akihiko—all three with expressions ranging from worry to apprehension.
No sign of Hiro. No sign of Ken.
Fuuka turned as soon as she heard the door. Her eyes jumped to Minato, then to Junpei, then to the door behind them—as if expecting someone else to come in.
When the door closed and no one else appeared, her shoulders dropped.
"Minato, by any chance did you see Amada-san?"
Relief and worry fought in her voice. The relief of seeing Minato and Junpei. The worry over what they didn't bring.
Minato blinked, surprised. "No. Junpei and I didn't see anything. What's going on?"
Yukari leaned forward on the sofa. Her tone was calmer than Fuuka's, but her eyes didn't hide the unease. "Fuuka came back early with Aigis to check on Amada. But he wasn't in his room."
Minato and Junpei exchanged surprised glances.
The entire way back, between complaints about the line and jokes about the arcade, they hadn't seen Ken. Not from afar. Not even a glimpse.
"What do you mean he's not in his room?" Junpei stepped forward, his voice louder than he intended. "He's not anywhere?"
Mitsuru sighed. Her fingers drummed on the arm of the sofa. "No. We already searched the whole dorm for him. But there was nothing." She paused. "Hiro went to the command room a while ago, to see if he can find him on the cameras."
As if summoned by her words, the sound of footsteps echoed from the stairs.
Everyone turned. Hiro descended the steps slowly, his hand sliding along the handrail.
He still carried the dark circles from the night before, his shoulders still slightly slumped—but there was something different.
A spark of focus that hadn't been there before. He reached the sofas and let out a frustrated sigh.
"Nothing. Ken's not in the dorm area."
Yukari ran a hand over her eyes, pressing her eyelids as if she could erase the exhaustion. "Great... just what we needed. Where did he go?"
Akihiko crossed his arms and lowered his head. His mind worked fast, discarding possibilities.
The shrine? Maybe. His house? Unlikely. The blocks around the dorm? They had already looked.
Then the image came.
The alley. The concrete walls stained by time. The ground where Shinjiro had fallen. The place where everything ended—and where, for Ken, perhaps nothing had ended.
"I think I know where he went."
Akihiko's voice cut through the silence. He rose from the sofa, his eyes sweeping over the group. "He must have gone to the alley where Shinjiro died. I'll go check."
Mitsuru stared at him. Indecision passed through her eyes like a swift cloud. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." Akihiko nodded. "He must have gone there to... try to think things through."
Hiro stepped forward. "I'm going with you."
Akihiko turned to him. The surprise was genuine. "Are you sure you want to go?"
Hiro took a deep breath. The air came in heavy, as if carrying the weight of every sleepless night since Shinjiro's death. He didn't want to go back to that place.
Every detail was still etched in his mind—the smell of iron, the blood on the asphalt, Shinjiro's hand on his neck. But there was something stronger than the pain.
He needed to talk to Ken. He needed to find out what happened. He needed to look at the alley and see something beyond death.
"I'm sure." Hiro's voice came out steady. "I need to go there."
...06/10/2009 Tuesday; Night...
The alley was a scar between two buildings.
The silence that filled it was not peace—it was judgment. The concrete walls seemed to lean inward, like mute witnesses that held every detail of that night.
The echoes still reverberated somewhere, invisible: the crack of the gunshot, the muffled screams, the argument cut short by the sound that changed everything.
And the smell—the smell that was no longer there, but that Ken still felt. Blood. Its warmth seeping into clothes, into hands, into memory.
Ken stood in the center of the alley.
His eyes didn't blink. His body didn't move. He stared at the ground as if the asphalt could give him back something that had been lost. In the middle of the dirty gray, a darker stain—reddish-brown, half faded by a poorly done cleaning, but still there. Still recognizable.
Shinjiro's blood.
He protected me.
The thought came without asking permission. Shinjiro throwing himself in front of the shot.
His body collapsing. The arms that embraced Ken before falling over him, as if saying something without needing words.
Ken couldn't forgive him. For his mother. For the revenge. For the two years of solitude he lived with a rage that had nowhere to be placed.
But... Does he deserve a thank you? Does he deserve to be acknowledged?
Until footsteps echo.
Ken turned. His eyes found Akihiko first—the firm stride, the determined shoulders, the silver hair reflecting the dim light of the streetlamp. Behind him, Hiro.
Ken's chest tightened. Hiro... he couldn't look at Hiro.
The boy turned his face away and looked back at the ground. At the stain.
Akihiko and Hiro stopped beside him. One on each side. Three silent figures before a pool of dried blood.
None of them spoke for a long time. Perhaps because they didn't know what to say. Perhaps because they knew any words would be too small.
It was Hiro who broke the silence.
His hand rested on Ken's shoulder—a firm but gentle touch. He didn't look at the boy. His eyes remained fixed on the stain on the ground, as if he too were hypnotized by it.
"Why did you come here, Ken?" Hiro's voice came out heavy. Tired. But there was no accusation in it. Only the question. Only the waiting.