In this city, there existed a district that served as a safe fortress for humans and a living hell for ghouls.
It was the 1st Ward, the heart of the CCG.
As if issuing a silent proclamation to every ghoul lurking in the shadows of the city, the CCG headquarters towered toward the heavens, a monolith of authority. Hitokawa spotted a man standing near the main entrance, smoking, and hurried toward him.
"I'm sorry I'm late, Mr. Hashimoto!"
"No, you've arrived at just the right time."
Noticing Hitokawa, the man pulled out a portable ashtray and extinguished his cigarette.
This was Senior Investigator Shinichi Hashimoto.
Though he possessed a youthful face that made him look like Hitokawa's peer, he was a veteran of seven years, a man of formidable skill who had survived countless battlefields. Promoted to Senior Investigator two years ago, he had been Hitokawa's mentor and teacher for the past year, guiding the rookie through his first steps in the force.
"What's going on, sir? You called me quite suddenly."
"Well... it's about the murder case from yesterday. There's something bothering me, and I'd like to investigate it further."
In Hashimoto's hand was a file regarding the ghoul-related murder case transferred from the police to the CCG. It was the very same case in which Koma was the primary suspect. Between the pages, Hitokawa caught a glimpse of that vaguely familiar composite sketch.
Hashimoto pulled the sketch out and showed it to him.
"This sketch... I suspect it might be someone I know."
"Sir?"
Hitokawa was stunned. He had been just about to bring up the same topic himself; to hear his superior say exactly what he was thinking was disorienting.
"Mr. Hashimoto... you know Koma?"
"Hm? Koma... Do you mean Koma Takaki?"
Good grief, Hitokawa thought. The world was far too small. To think that the first superior he was assigned to as a Ghoul Investigator turned out to be an acquaintance of his childhood friend.
Ah, I suppose it makes sense since his father was a Ghoul Investigator...
More accurately, he 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 one. He was gone now. A dead man could not hold a rank in the CCG. Watching Koma struggle after his father's death was one of the reasons Hitokawa had hesitated to join the academy in the first place—a memory he couldn't easily shake.
"He's the son of my former mentor. ...He was killed in the line of duty, and I met the boy during the funeral arrangements."
So that's how they're connected.
Relieved by the coincidence, Hitokawa shared the details of his meeting with Koma earlier that day. Hashimoto listened, shaking his head with a look of pity—sorrow for the son of a man he had deeply respected.
"So he's been suffering from such a mental illness.... It's tragic, but there is nothing we can do for him. Problems like that can only be resolved if the individual overcomes them himself. Interfering might only make things harder for him."
"I suppose you're right...."
"However, if his story is true, things become even more peculiar."
"Sir? What do you mean?"
"I know young Takaki is not a ghoul. The fact that his mental state caused him to flee a police checkpoint... while odd, is not entirely beyond comprehension. But then... what was that 'human blood' discovered at the scene where he was standing?"
"...!"
Hitokawa cursed his own oversight. He hadn't asked about the most crucial detail. While he didn't believe the blood was linked to Koma in a criminal sense, he should have cleared it up for the sake of proof. To ensure Koma was exonerated, he should have asked for a more detailed account of his movements.
"According to the lab results, the blood did not belong to the murder victim. It belongs to a different individual. Based on the rate at which it dried, we estimate the blood was spilled roughly ten minutes before or after Takaki fled the checkpoint. Was Takaki injured when you saw him?"
"...He didn't look particularly hurt."
"If he wasn't injured, then the possibility of it being his own blood is low. Then to whom does this blood belong, and why was it dropped there? That is what is bothering me."
As he listened, Hitokawa began to feel the weight of the mystery. There were too many inconsistencies to simply dismiss the case as being unrelated to Koma.
"Also, according to the police statement, he fled just as they were about to 'inspect the contents of his guitar case.' Does Takaki play the guitar?"
"Ah, now that you mention it, he's been carrying that case for a while now, but... wait."
Hitokawa furrowed his brow and placed a hand on his chin. He had seen the guitar case at Koma's apartment, but he had never once seen his friend actually play an instrument. Furthermore, Koma claimed he had gone to a suicide hotspot for a change of pace—why on earth would someone bring a guitar to a place like that? If he was going to a cliff to casually play rock music, that was a reason to send him to a mental ward, not an excuse for a panic attack.
"What is this...?"
The more he thought about it, the more awkward it felt. The beginning and the end of the story didn't connect. It was as if a vital piece was missing, or something had been deliberately distorted.
Missing? Distorted? For what reason?
As the answers eluded him, Hashimoto seemed to read the conflict on Hitokawa's face.
"Shall we go? To young Takaki's house."
Hitokawa nodded. He had to confirm this with his friend once more.
Koma, what on earth are you hiding?
The place where I work is a tavern called '𝘐𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳-𝘉𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴.' If you have questions about the naming sense, take it up with the manager. According to her, it's a metaphor for a "bomb drink" (a mixture of spirits), but as someone who frequently sees corpses, it only brings to mind the image of a person dying from an explosion in their stomach. I'm certain the name of this shop is at least partially responsible for my worsening panic disorder.
The reason I was at a tavern in the middle of the day was that the place doubled as a restaurant. Apparently, it was purely a restaurant when it first opened. However, the manager—being the type who could never wake up in the morning—found it too troublesome to open early and transformed it into a pub.
Nevertheless, the food was still excellent, attracting a large crowd for lunch. Despite the manager's questionable sanity, the quality of the alcohol, snacks, and meals was impressive enough to maintain a loyal following of regulars.
Among those regulars was my father. He had been high school classmates with the manager. Despite not being a drinker, he had worried about me being home alone as a child and often brought me here to eat, which is how I met the manager. After my father passed, she took me in and gave me a job.
During the day, I helped with the restaurant duties. By nightfall, I finished the preparations for the tavern and handed over the shift to the night staff before heading home. I could have made more money by working the night shift, but that would mean Eto would have to spend the night alone and handle dinner by herself. That was a line I refused to cross. I, better than anyone, knew how lonely it was to eat a meal in silence.
I arrived at the shop after parting with Mr. Kuzen. Sliding open the door, I saw a woman in her forties looking back at me. She had a stout build and eyes that slanted upward, giving her a perpetually foul-tempered appearance.
Tokie Kazama.
The manager of '𝘐𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳-𝘉𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴' spotted me and immediately began barking.
"Hey, you brat, Koma! Why are you so late? The shift already started!"
"Yeah, yeah. But I'm here now, aren't I?"
"You've got your father's brass neck. It makes me want to slug you!"
"Please refrain from violence in front of the customers."
Seriously, that woman's "playful" hits carry the weight of a sledgehammer. Once, she swatted my back as a compliment and left a bruise that turned purple for a week. Eto saw it while I was bathing and started tearing up, asking if Papa was being bullied at work.
Wanting to avoid a blow, I quickly threw on an apron and began taking orders, assisting Tokie with her cooking. As I was prepping onions, I remembered my grievance and grumbled.
"By the way, please don't make threatening phone calls to my house. You scared Eto."
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
Tokie, who was currently juggling a wok and open flames like a Chinese chef from a manga, arched an eyebrow. Her already fierce expression grew even more menacing.
"I haven't called your house once today."
𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘱.
The knife slicing the onion came to a halt. What did I just hear? I turned back to Tokie to confirm.
"You're saying you didn't call my house today?"
"That's right. It's not like you haven't skipped work before using Eto as an excuse. I figured you were just being you and let it slide."
"...You didn't talk to Eto?"
"I told you, no. Why do you keep asking? Hey, why are your hands idle! Can't you see the orders are piling up!?"
The manager's roar washed over me, but I wasn't listening. I remembered what Eto had said to me at home.
—While you were gone, the manager of the place you work called.
That meant... she lied?
Eto? Why? What reason could she possibly have to lie?
The questions swirled, and I organized them rapidly.
What was the goal? To get me out of the house.
For what reason? That was still unknown.
What was the trigger? The trigger....
The conversation I had with Hitokawa outside the apartment because I didn't want Eto to hear.
Did she... hear it?
Using the superior auditory senses of a ghoul that far surpassed my own.
Hiding beneath the balcony railing, perhaps, so I wouldn't notice.
She heard that conversation.
She heard everything.
𝘚𝘯𝘢𝘱!
"H-Hey!? Koma!!"
Ignoring Tokie's shout, I tore off my apron and sprinted out of the shop. I ran. I retraced my steps, running back the way I had come. The path that had felt so leisurely just a short while ago now seemed agonizingly long.
I saw my apartment building. I slammed the elevator button. The numbers were dropping too slowly. I couldn't wait. I bolted for the emergency stairs.
First floor, second, third... fifth. I burst into the hallway.
I saw the nameplate on the door. I grabbed the handle and twisted.
"ETO————!!!"
Before I even set foot in the foyer, I screamed her name, lunging into the apartment. And....
......….
Only the heavy, oppressive silence of the home greeted me.