Kill Sector: Tokyo

Miyuki's consciousness returned in a quiet room.

The Western-style wooden chamber had white plaster walls and somber antique furniture, arranged with understated elegance. A simple brass chandelier, resembling candles, hung from the ceiling. Two storage cabinets and a bookshelf stood against the walls. At the center, a table and sofa set rested on a muted carpet.

Old but not flashy, it felt austere and heavy.

Miyuki lay on the sofa.

"Where…?"

He tried to sit up, but a dull pain throbbed in his head, making him wince.

Where was he? It didn't seem dangerous, but it wasn't a typical home. His clothes—black hooded coat and jeans—were unchanged from his arrival in Tokyo. He'd likely been carried here after passing out. Glancing at a nearby window, he saw twilight settling, the outside dim.

Memories trickled back. Where were Akagami and Shiro, the girl he'd called? As suspicion stirred, something lunged from his blind spot.

"Morning!" a voice chirped.

"Gah!" Miyuki yelped, startled.

Something pounced onto him. Looking up, he met Shiro's gleeful gaze, the girl straddling him on the sofa, peering down.

"You awake? You hurt?" Shiro asked, concern flickering as she noticed Miyuki's reaction.

Miyuki wasn't injured, just rattled by the sudden tackle. "What the hell, you!?" he shouted, voice cracking.

Shiro puffed her cheeks. "Not 'you,' I'm Shiro! Shinonome Shiro!"

"Just—get off!" Miyuki snapped.

"Why?" Shiro tilted her head, puzzled.

Miyuki tried to push her away, but Shiro, clueless about the rejection, only looked more confused.

"Shiro, don't scare him," a voice interrupted.

Miyuki glanced over. A figure emerged from one of two doors in the room—a tall Westerner, perhaps 180 centimeters. Flowing blond hair, like spun gold, reached his shoulders. Behind glasses, his eyes shone with intellect and a gentle smile.

Dressed in black from head to toe, a scarf-like cloth draped over his shoulders, he wore white gloves and carried a tray with three teacups of steaming tea.

Beautiful—that was Miyuki's first thought. Odd to think of a man that way, but no other word fit. Beyond his striking features, he exuded a sacred, otherworldly purity, distinct from Shiro's innocence. Not unapproachable divinity, but an untainted essence.

Who was he? A Ghost? Miyuki sensed no hostility, which only deepened his unease.

The man, unperturbed by his scrutiny, met his eyes, then Shiro's, his expression turning mildly stern. "Shiro, didn't you hear me?"

"Fine…" Shiro mumbled, sliding off Miyuki and plopping onto the sofa.

The man smiled, as if praising a child. Their exchange felt like a teacher and student. Relieved, Miyuki sat up.

He set the tea on the table and settled into a single armchair beside him. "Please, have some. I learned from someone long ago—I'm quite proud of my tea."

Miyuki didn't touch it, his gaze catching a cross at the man's chest. Noticing, he smiled gracefully.

"I'm Olivier Noah," he said.

"Ol's a priest!" Shiro chirped, beaming.

What Miyuki thought was a scarf was a cassock. Confused, he blurted, "Is this… a church?"

"Not a church," Olivier replied. "This is the Shinonome Detective Agency."

"Detective… agency?" Miyuki echoed.

"Yes."

"You're… Ghosts too?"

"Indeed," Olivier confirmed with a smile.

"I'm a Ghost too!" Shiro added cheerfully, dropping sugar cubes into her tea.

So, they were Ghosts. Miyuki's heart raced, his fists clenching to hide his tension. Olivier's clear blue eyes studied him.

"Are we frightening?" he asked softly.

Miyuki looked down, dodging his gaze. "No… I just… don't like people dying because of Ghosts."

"I see. Good. I feel the same. Ghost or human, death is tragic. That's why I'm here."

His final words carried a faint discord. Miyuki looked up. His eyes, fixed on him, seemed to gaze elsewhere, their bright blue dimmed slightly.

The moment passed. He smiled again, then sighed. "Sadly, some Ghosts in this Prison City don't share that view."

"Like Akagami?" Miyuki asked.

Olivier chuckled, shaking his head. "Ryusei's rough around the edges, but he's decent. A former cop, actually."

"A cop? Him?" Miyuki gaped. Akagami didn't scream villain, but his red hair and flippant demeanor didn't fit the rigid image of a police officer. Weren't cops bound by strict rules? His style seemed too wild for even the academy.

Olivier gave a wry smile. "I don't know the details. Just what he's told me."

Miyuki nodded faintly. Akagami was a mystery, but so was a priest running a detective agency. Before he could ask, Olivier spoke.

"The problem is those with worse glares, worse behavior, and worse personalities—total societal menaces. I won't name names."

His tone stayed pleasant, but a sudden venom laced his words.

(Not my imagination, right?) Miyuki thought. Had he angered him? Frozen, he didn't know how to respond.

A low voice cut in from behind. "No names, huh? That's totally me."

Miyuki startled. Another person? The room had only held him, Shiro, and Olivier moments ago.

He hadn't sensed him enter. Swallowing hard, he faced the newcomer.

Silver hair, a scarlet eye. Everything else was black—eyepatch, leather gloves, a long military coat. His height matched or exceeded Olivier's, but his chiseled physique, evident even through the coat, set him apart. His sharp features felt both Japanese and foreign, hard to pin down.

His single crimson eye gleamed, likely altered by high Animus levels—Ghosts' pupils turned red when using their powers, sometimes permanently.

Their eyes met briefly. His gaze was cold, emotionless, like a predator sizing up prey. Not overt hatred, but a calculated assessment that chilled Miyuki. He quickly looked away.

Olivier's earlier barb—bad glare, bad behavior, bad personality, a societal menace—was aimed at this man. He'd slipped in unnoticed, but Olivier had sensed him.

"Welcome back, Naraku!" Shiro chirped, unfazed.

Olivier's eyes narrowed coolly. "You're self-aware, then. Surprising. Also, stop sneaking in like a ninja or burglar."

Naraku, ignoring the jab, lit a cigarette from his coat. "Cut the sermons. This isn't a church, and it's not Mass."

"Rest assured, that was a complaint, not a sermon. I'm a humble priest, not idle enough to save hopeless cases like you," Olivier shot back.

"Too bad. I was hoping to see your brainwashing in action," Naraku sneered.

"We conduct honest faith-based outreach, thank you. Calling it fraud is your prerogative, but selling indulgences with shady pots might suit you better—more profit."

"Mind your manners before nitpicking others. Smoking in front of a kid?" Olivier snapped.

Their verbal sparring crackled with mutual disdain. Miyuki, a stranger, could only watch. Glancing at Shiro, he saw the girl unfazed, as if this was routine. Resigned, he stayed silent.

After a pause, Naraku exhaled smoke calmly. "Hey."

"What?" Olivier replied.

"Tea."

Olivier blinked, incredulous, then scowled. "I'm not a vending machine!"

"Hurry up, useless. Incompetent?" Naraku said coolly.

Olivier's face twitched, veins bulging. Without another word, he stormed out through the same door he'd entered.

Naraku turned to Miyuki. "So, who's this?"

"Yuki's a stray! So we brought him here," Shiro answered brightly.

Naraku snorted. "A stray? That's for the pound."

Miyuki's eyes narrowed. Treated like a lost pet? In his head, he added, The pound's gotta be cozier than this place.

Naraku's single eye sharpened, as if sensing his thoughts, his gaze a clear threat. Cold sweat poured down Miyuki's back, his nerves fraying.

The tense air lingered until Akagami strolled in through another door. "Yo, don't bully the newbie. You're scary, man."

Naraku glared, his voice low and dangerous. "You're late. Wanna die?"

Miyuki flinched, but Akagami, used to it, shrugged. "Can't help it. This time of year, Prisoners go wild, fighting over newbies like it's all-out war. Scared newbies blast Animus like there's no tomorrow. Over thirty casualties already. No time to eat."

Similar chaos to Miyuki's run-in with the thugs seemed rampant. Was Akagami quelling it? That sounded more like police work than a detective agency's job. What was this place?

The thugs called Akagami a Reaper. What did that mean?

Noticing him awake, Akagami grinned. "Hey, you're up. Feeling okay?"

"Uh… not bad…" Miyuki started, then stopped.

Another figure stood behind Akagami.