It was the late 19th century, a time of both industrial progress and mundane crimes. The moon hung heavily in the night sky, cascading its silver light over the sprawling city of Lakefield. The fog, thick and rolling, wove through the alleyways, swallowing the distant sounds of the city and leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Nestled between the gnarled branches of an old oak was a modest office. A single window illuminated the interior with a warm, amber light, contrasting starkly with the cold, pale hues of the night outside. Inside, the space was cluttered, with case files stacked precariously, dusty tomes on arcane subjects, and the faint but persistent scent of aged whiskey mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

"Break-ins, petty thefts, another missing dog... Bloody hell, this is child's play. Hardly worth the time! This city has gone soft. Same old song. No twists, no real danger. Just the usual rogues."

Hikaru sat behind his oak desk, huffing at his tobacco pipe. His sharp gaze fixed on an open file, with his strong fingers tracing the lines of each unsolved case with meticulous care. He tries to fill the gaps of his boredom by taking on some of it. After several minutes had gone by, a specific case caught his attention.