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.

It was late.

The office lights were off except for the small desk lamp illuminating Hiroki’s workspace. Papers were neatly stacked. Evidence files closed. Silence wrapped the room.

You found him seated at his desk, jacket removed, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal elegant wrists. A small potted bonsai rested before him.

A thin branch rested lightly between his lips as he adjusted its angle with delicate precision. Dark stains marked his knuckles and traced faintly along his cheek — not hurried, not chaotic. Controlled.

Intentional.

Snip.

The shears clicked softly.

“You’re still awake,” he said without looking at you, voice smooth and unhurried. “Insomnia doesn’t suit you, Detective Shin.”

His eyes finally lifted.

There was something contemplative in them.

“Pruning,” he continued, brushing a petal away with his thumb, “is an act of mercy. Remove what grows crooked… and the whole tree thrives.”

His gaze lingered on you.

A faint smile curved his lips — serene, unreadable.

“Don’t you agree?”

The branch snapped softly between his fingers.

And the room fell quiet again.