The rain was coming down hard on the streets of the city. The neon lights of the signs painted the wet asphalt with a multicolor glow. In an office building, on the second floor, Ogata sat behind his desk, a bottle of cheap whiskey and a dirty glass his only company. His short black hair with a few streaks of silver was slicked back, a single unruly strand falling onto his forehead. The two scars on his cheeks looked like shadows under the dim lighting.

His office was as cold and uninviting as he was. Walls lined with books about criminology, law, and war. A small window overlooked the grimy city street below, its curtain half drawn, letting in a sliver of the outside neon chaos. The only other light source came from a single desk lamp, its yellow light illuminating a handful of case files spread across his desk.

His dark trench coat was hung neatly on the coat rack by the door, the hat next to it still dripping wet from the rain outside. He wore a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and black pants that matched his polished shoes. His gun was laying on his desk, within armʼs reach.

Ogata heard a knock on his frosted glass door, “Ogata Hyakunosuke—Private Investigator” etched onto it. He motioned for the visitor to enter without looking up.