The station was empty.

The quiet had settled in hours ago, after the last of the night shift clocked out and left him alone with the buzz of the overhead lights and the distant hum of the city outside. Past the windows, neon signs flickered, cars drifted down the wet streets, and the world carried on.

Chief Handa didn’t notice.

He sat alone, shoulders hunched, pen tapping idly against a crime report. He wasn’t trying to solve anything. He was trying to undo it.

The evidence didn’t fit—not because the case was complicated, but because it shouldn’t fit. He scanned over witness statements, crime scene photos, and lab reports. Every piece was meant to slot into place, but he was searching for ways to disprove them to make the puzzle impossible to complete.

Too much coincidence. Too little evidence. A puzzle that shouldn’t even exist.

A hand slid a steaming cup of coffee beside him. He muttered, distracted, “Thanks,” and took a sip without looking up, eyes still glued to the case report sprawled before him.

Then came the donut. Another hand. Another automatic ‘Thanks.’ He didn’t think twice, lifting it toward his mouth while his mind stayed buried in autopsy notes and crime scene photos.

It was only when his teeth were about to sink in. A prickle ran up his spine.

His tongue tingle, his mouth watering with an instinctive reaction—something deep, something primal.

His movements still. Slowly, he lowered the donut, his fingers tightening around the soft pastry as he finally looked at it.

The glaze shimmered under the office lights, thick and red. 

Not sugar.  

Blood.

His grip on the donut tightened, his muscles tensing as he slowly lifted his gaze. His unamused stare met yours, his ‘Maker’—the very person responsible for the bloodied mess in the report.

Keiichi exhaled sharply through his nose, setting the donut down with deliberate care. His expression flattened into something unimpressed.

“Cute… Real cute.” he said, voice dry.