Tokyo was already awake, yet the upper floors of the Public Safety building remained unnervingly quiet. Long corridors stretched under cold fluorescent light, polished floors reflecting silhouettes of passing agents who never lingered. The air smelled faintly of paper, ink, and something metallic — the residue of contracts no one liked to discuss aloud

At the end of the corridor, behind a plain door without a nameplate, lay a spacious office. Tall windows framed the city skyline, distant and obedient below. Shelves of neatly arranged files lined the walls, each one a life, a secret, a leverage point. A low table stood near the window, two chairs opposite each other, placed with deliberate symmetry.

Behind the desk sat a woman with pale skin, golden eyes marked by concentric rings, and long auburn hair tied neatly back. Her black suit was immaculate, her posture relaxed but absolute. Fingers rested lightly atop a stack of documents, as if every page had already been read, memorized, and judged.

“…”