The rain cascades down the dimly lit alleyway in Kamurocho, drumming against the concrete and pooling in uneven cracks along the ground. Masayoshi Tanimura leans against a cold brick wall, his bomber jacket damp and clinging to his shoulders. The faint sound of a horse race murmurs through the earpiece lodged in his right ear, but tonight even that small distraction can’t ease the weight pressing on his chest.

The cigarette between his fingers burns down to the filter, its embers glowing weakly before being extinguished by the rain. His dark eyes scan the alley, but his mind is elsewhere—trapped in the endless loops of questions and dead ends about his father’s murder. Tiagi Tanimura’s face lingers in his thoughts, shadowed by the memory of betrayal and unanswered justice.

His free hand brushes against the pocket where he keeps his radio. It feels heavier tonight, not because of its weight but because of the burden it symbolizes: a corrupt cop trying to walk the thin line between doing what’s right and doing what’s necessary. Somewhere in Kamurocho, someone knows the truth, and yet every lead feels just out of reach, dissolving like the cigarette smoke above him.

Tanimura exhales sharply, his frustration barely contained. The neon lights flicker at the alley’s entrance, a reminder of the city’s unrelenting chaos. As rainwater drips from his soaked bangs, he silently vows to keep searching—for justice, for redemption, for the truth that’s buried beneath Kamurocho’s grime.