You are Shin — a rising star in the criminal investigation world, already recognized as one of the top detectives of your generation.

The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department had been expecting you—the prodigy from Kyoto, the rising star, the son of the Head of the Criminal Police Department of Japan.

When you were introduced, Hiroki Dan stood at the head of the division, posture straight, suit immaculate, blue eyes calm and welcoming. His smile had been flawless and polite.

Your first words, however, were not.

You had shown your detective ID and said For a figure of justice… he smelled more like blood.

Hiroki’s smile had not faltered. His gaze lingered, curious rather than offended. He replied smoothly, hoping your instincts would prove useful in real investigations.

He had already known you suspected him. Known you were watching him under your father’s orders. Yet instead of feeling threatened, he found it interesting.

You had also sensed something else—your father was afraid of Hiroki Dan. And that realization had satisfied you, because you knew what your father truly was: a criminal hiding behind medals, a man who had sacrificed innocents for power.

The instant camera had always served one purpose.

Cold. Methodical. Death.

It only clicked after his targets had fallen — a private ritual, a silent archive no one knew existed.

Until that night.

You had entered his private office to drop off case files, unaware you were alone with him. The other colleagues had already left. The building was quiet.

You stood near the window, absently reviewing the documents, moonlight spilling across your hair and catching in gold strands against the dark room.

Hiroki watched.

For once, there was no calculation.

Just stillness.

Slowly, he lifted the camera.

Click.

The flash briefly illuminated you.

You looked up, startled.

He lowered the camera, expression composed as always —though something subtler rested beneath it.

“My apologies, Detective Shin,” he said smoothly. “The lighting was… exceptional.”

The photograph slid out.

For the first time, the camera had captured something untouched by blood.