There was a district in this city that served as a fortress of safety for humans, but was a living hell for Ghouls.
It was the 1st Ward, where the CCG headquarters stood.
As if proclaiming its dominance to every Ghoul hiding in the city’s shadows, the CCG headquarters building rose so high it seemed to pierce the very sky.
Hitokawa spotted a man standing at the main entrance, smoking, and hurried over.
“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Hajimoto!”
“No, you’re right on time.”
Upon noticing Hitokawa, the man produced a portable ashtray and stubbed out his cigarette.
Shinichi Hajimoto, Senior Ghoul Investigator.
He looked young enough to be Hitokawa’s peer, but appearances were deceiving. He was a seasoned veteran with seven years of experience and countless battlefields behind him.
Having been promoted to Senior Investigator two years ago, he had spent the last year guiding Hitokawa—a green rookie who had only just entered the force. He was both a senior colleague and a mentor.
“So, what’s the occasion? You called me here so suddenly.”
“Hmm... About yesterday’s murder case. There’s something bothering me, so I want to look into it.”
In Hajimoto’s hand was a file regarding a Ghoul-related murder that had been transferred from the police to the CCG the previous day.
So that was it. It was the very case where Koma was being eyed as a primary suspect. Between the pages, Hitokawa caught a glimpse of the composite sketch—a face that looked like Koma, yet didn't.
Hajimoto held up the sketch and spoke.
“This sketch... I have a feeling it might be someone I know.”
“Huh?”
Hitokawa had been about to bring up the sketch himself, but Hajimoto had beaten him to it—and with the exact same thought. He couldn’t help but be taken aback.
“Mr. Hajimoto, do you actually know Koma?”
“Hmm? Koma... You mean Takaki Koma?”
What in the world? Hitokawa couldn't help but feel that the world was absurdly small.
To think that the first superior he met after becoming a Ghoul Investigator turned out to be an acquaintance of his friend.
Ah, right. His father was a Ghoul Investigator...
Strictly speaking, he had been one. Not anymore.
A dead man cannot hold a post in the CCG.
For Hitokawa, who had once hesitated to become an investigator after seeing how deeply Koma suffered following his father's death, it was a memory that remained vivid.
“He is the son of my former superior. ...He passed away in the line of duty, and I met the boy while helping with the funeral arrangements.”
So that’s the connection...
Now that he understood, Hitokawa took the opportunity to mention that he had just visited Koma.
After hearing the details, Hajimoto shook his head with a look of pity. It was the sorrow of a man mourning a respected superior and the tragedy of a child left broken by that loss.
“So he was suffering from that kind of mental illness... It’s unfortunate, but there is nothing we can do. These are the kinds of problems that can't be solved unless the person overcomes them on their own. Interfering would only make things harder for him.”
“I suppose you're right...”
“However, if what you say is true, then this situation becomes very strange.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“I am aware that Takaki-kun is not a Ghoul. The fact that he couldn’t handle the police questioning and fled due to a mental disorder... while a bit odd, it's not entirely incomprehensible. But then... what exactly was the ‘human blood’ found where Takaki-kun had been?”
“...!”
Come to think of it... Hitokawa realized he had failed to ask the most critical question and silently cursed his oversight.
He hadn't believed the blood was related to Koma, but that was exactly why he should have confirmed it. To prove Koma's innocence, he should have pressed for the exact details of the scene.
“After analyzing the sample, we confirmed it was not the blood of the murder victim. It belonged to someone else. Judging by the rate of coagulation, the blood was shed roughly ten minutes before Takaki-kun fled the police. Was Takaki-kun injured at the time?”
“...He didn’t seem to have any obvious injuries.”
“If he wasn’t hurt, then it’s unlikely to be his blood. So, who does it belong to, and why was it left there? That is what concerns me.”
Hearing it laid out like this, Hitokawa felt a chill of concern as well.
There were too many inconsistencies to simply conclude that this case had nothing to do with Koma.
“Furthermore, according to the police report, he fled the moment they attempted to check the contents of a guitar case. Does Takaki-kun own a guitar?”
“Ah, now that you mention it, he’s had a guitar case for a while... Wait.”
Hitokawa furrowed his brow, resting his hand on his chin.
He had seen a guitar case at Koma’s house, but he had never once seen the man actually play.
Moreover, Koma claimed he visited suicide spots because he needed a "change of pace." Why on earth would someone bring a guitar to a place like that?
If he had actually been lounging at a suicide spot playing rock music, he really would need to be admitted to a psychiatric ward.
“What is going on...”
The more he thought about it, the more unnatural it felt.
The beginning and end of the story didn't connect.
It was as if something had been omitted, or intentionally distorted...
Omitted? Distorted? But for what reason?
The more he searched for an answer, the further it seemed to slip away.
Reading the frustration on Hitokawa’s face, Hajimoto spoke up.
“Shall we? To Takaki-kun’s house.”
Hitokawa nodded readily.
He had to visit his friend again. He had to find out the truth.
Koma, what exactly are you hiding?
***
My part-time job is at a tavern called “Fireworks Bursting in the Belly.” If you have a problem with the naming sense, take it up with the manager.
According to her, it was a metaphor for a "bomb cocktail," but for someone like me, who sees corpses for a living, it only evokes the image of someone dying from fireworks exploding inside their gut.
I am certain that if my panic disorder worsens, this shop's name will be partially responsible.
The reason I head to a tavern in broad daylight is that the place doubles as a restaurant.
Apparently, it started as a proper restaurant. But since the manager is the type who can't wake up in the morning for the life of her, she found the early hours too much of a hassle and pivoted the business into a tavern.
Still, they serve food, so plenty of people stop by for lunch.
The manager's mental state is questionable, but the drinks, appetizers, and meals are genuinely impressive, which is why she has so many regulars.
My father was one of them.
He and the manager were high school classmates. He couldn't drink, but he often brought me along to eat because he worried about me being alone as a child; that was how I first met her.
After my father passed away, she took me in and hired me when I was searching for work.
During the day, I help run the restaurant side of things. Once night falls and the tavern preparations are complete, I hand the shift over to the night worker and head home.
I could make more money by working the night shift, but that would mean Eto would have to spend her evenings alone and fend for herself for dinner. I couldn't allow that.
I know all too well how lonely it is to eat alone.
After parting ways with Mr. Kuzen, I arrived at the shop.
The moment I slid open the door, I saw a woman in her forties turn toward me. She had a sturdy build and sharp, upturned eyes that made her look perpetually irritable.
Kazama Tokie.
The manager of “Fireworks Bursting in the Belly” spotted me and immediately began barking.
“Hey, you brat, Koma! Why are you so late?! Work has already started!”
“Yes, yes. But I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“You’ve got the same nerve as your old man. Makes me want to smack you!”
“Please refrain from violence in front of the customers.”
Seriously, even her "playful" hits pack a heavy punch.
Last time, she slapped my back as a compliment, and it left a deep purple bruise.
As a side note, when Eto discovered that bruise while I was bathing, she started tearing up, asking, “Daddy, are you being bullied at work?!”
Since I had no desire to be hit, I quickly threw on my apron and began assisting Tokie-san with the cooking while taking orders.
While prepping onions, a grievance regarding Tokie-san came to mind, and I grumbled.
“Still, please stop making threatening phone calls to my house. You're scaring Eto.”
“Hah? What are you talking about?”
Tokie-san, who was tossing pots and manipulating flames with the flamboyance of a Chinese chef from an old manga, raised an eyebrow, making her already fierce expression even more menacing.
“I didn’t call your house today.”
I froze.
The kitchen knife stopped mid-slice.
What did she just say? I turned back to Tokie-san to confirm.
“You didn’t call my house today?”
“That’s right. How many times have you skipped work using the excuse that you're busy with Eto? I was just going to let it slide this time.”
“...You didn’t speak with Eto?”
“I told you I didn’t! Why do you keep asking? Hey, why are your hands idle?! Can’t you see the orders are piling up?!”
The manager was shouting, but her voice was fading into the background.
I remembered what Eto had told me at home earlier today.
—The manager from where Daddy works called the house while you were gone.
That means... she lied?
Eto? Why? What reason could she possibly have to lie?
Questions flooded my mind, and I began to piece them together rapidly.
What did she want? She wanted me to leave the house.
Why? I didn't know that yet.
What was the trigger? The trigger...
The conversation I had with Hitokawa outside—the one I didn't want Eto to hear.
Did she... hear it?
Likely using a Ghoul's hearing, which is far superior to what I had estimated.
Likely crouching hidden beneath the hallway railing so I wouldn't notice her.
She heard that conversation.
She heard everything.
Whoosh!!
“H-hey!? Koma!!”
Ignoring Tokie-san’s call, I ripped off my apron and bolted out of the shop.
I ran.
I sprinted back the way I had come.
The path I had walked so leisurely just moments ago now felt agonizingly, hatefully long.
My apartment building came into view.
I slammed the elevator button. The numbers descended far too slowly.
Unable to wait, I lunged for the emergency stairs.
First floor, second floor, third floor... I burst into the hallway on the fifth floor.
I saw the nameplate with my name on it.
I stopped before the door and twisted the handle.
“Eto———!!!”
Before I had even fully stepped inside, I threw myself forward, screaming her name. And then...
....................................
Only a heavy, suffocating silence greeted me.
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