Kazami Yuya stood on a higher floor, holding binoculars, peering toward the corner of the street.
It had been more than half an hour since Teitan High School's dismissal time, yet Kazawa still hadn't shown up. That made him anxious.
"It's fine, Kazami." A fellow Public Security Bureau (Zero Division) colleague standing behind him patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Kazawa Akira sometimes stops by Shibuya after school. It's not unusual for him to be late."
"Mm…" Kazami Yuya lowered the binoculars from his face, revealing a pair of dark eye circles. He tried his best to ignore the strong instant noodle smell in the room.
With Amuro-san absent, the entire deployment was now under his responsibility. Lacking confidence in tailing Kazawa properly, he had simply rented an apartment near Poirot Café, setting up 48-hour surveillance shifts. Heaven knew how he had survived these past two days.
"Hang in there a bit longer. It'll be over soon." The colleague who patted him added encouragingly.
Kazami Yuya pressed his throbbing temples and still gave orders to the surveillance team: "It's the last day. No slacking."
The others responded in unison, and the room once again returned to silence. Taking a deep breath, Kazami made a rotating gesture and stepped away from the window. "I'll nap for an hour. Rotate shift."
But before he could reach the makeshift couch, a commotion came from the team.
"Target sighted."
"Target sighted."
Kazami Yuya staggered but straightened up firmly. He took a deep breath.
This guy Kazawa… might've been born just to mess with him.
Feeling bleak inside, Kazami still calmly pressed the walkie-talkie clipped to his chest: "Team Two, the target has arrived at the designated location. Prepare to move."
After speaking, he opened the tightly sealed apartment door, breathed in some fresh air from the stairwell, and headed to the rooftop.
"Help—!" A scream rang out from the rooftop. Passersby on the street stopped and looked up. A woman wearing Teitan High School's uniform leaned out over the building's balcony, shouting loudly.
Some people whispered nervously, others pretended not to see and kept walking. Kazawa, who was passing by the café entrance, also looked up at the balcony.
After another desperate, brief scream, the woman on the balcony seemed to be dragged back inside.
Yes—this is it!
Seeing that, Kazami Yuya clenched his fist with excitement.
With Kazawa's usual behavior, he would definitely rush up, and then—
Kazawa stood below for a few seconds, looking up, then silently pulled out his phone.
He pressed it to his ear, said something, then turned around and walked straight into Poirot Café.
Kazami Yuya: "?!"
—One hour later—
"Thank you very much for your help." With a polite smile masking his inner despair, Kazami Yuya shook the young man's hand.
"No need to thank me. Assisting the police is every citizen's duty." The brown-haired high schooler smiled brightly, causing several girls behind the police line to whip out their phones to snap photos.
"Isn't he that famous high school detective in all the recent reports? Akechi… Goro, right?"
"Sounds like your dad's name! He must be a really smart detective too."
"Well, uh…"
"Whatever! He looks so good on camera…"
While the surrounding crowd murmured praises, Kazami looked back at his colleagues, now disguised as both the high school girl and the criminal, being escorted into a police car. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"A situation like this—where someone disguises an incident as a case—might be a prank at best… but based on my overseas experience, there have been cases where this tactic was used to lure and kill bystanders—or even police officers," Akechi Goro said seriously. "So please don't let your guard down, officer."
"Sir, there's a report from headquarters—someone called in a suspicious public disturbance that might've been a hoax…" A junior officer approached Kazami and whispered just as Akechi was finishing his advice.
Kazami Yuya: "…"
So Kazawa did call the police. That's why he didn't go upstairs—he figured something was off?
Was that necessary? Did he have to be that sharp?
Did Amuro-san say something to him before leaving that made him suddenly start acting so cautious?
Did you really pass on the proper message before you left, Amuro-san?! Don't throw your overworked subordinates under the bus like this!
————
Over a hundred kilometers away, Amuro Tooru, of course, could not hear the mental cries of his subordinate.
He was speeding through the winding roads of Mt. Akina, eyes locked on the car ahead.
His steering was bold and aggressive, skimming the drainage ditch as he drifted through turns, steadily closing the distance.
"Bang!"
A sudden sniper shot rang out, and the unbalanced force yanked him off-track. He cursed twice, clutching the steering wheel tightly to regain control of the car, reluctantly slamming on the brakes.
The scenery outside the window spun wildly, drawing a long white smoke trail on the mountain road. After a full 360-degree spin, the car skidded to a stop right on the edge.
Amuro glanced into the rearview mirror. The black car he had been chasing was now completely out of sight. He pounded the steering wheel in frustration, the impact sounding the horn.
"You lost him?" came Gin's cold voice over the earpiece.
"Front tire got shot. It was Shuichi Akai," Amuro replied grimly.
"I told you not to chase," a lazy female voice chimed in, followed by the click of a lighter. "Catching a few FBI agents means nothing if Akai is giving them sniper cover. You can't do anything."
"Tch." Amuro clicked his tongue, fingers tapping irritably on the heated leather surface.
"Don't gloat, Vermouth," Gin growled. "Tracking Kazawa Ichikawa in the organization was your assignment. Missing him is on you."
"I didn't miss anything," Vermouth exhaled a smoky breath into her mic. The sound made everyone's ears itch. "I submitted his name on the suspect list. You're the one who insisted on joining the mission. Without that list and Rum's probing on-site, you'd be en route to a U.S. prison right now."
So it was because Rum was exposed?
Vermouth's tracking Kazawa's parents… and Shuichi Akai's somehow involved with them?
Amuro kept tapping the wheel, thoughts racing.
"Get in," Gin ordered. Amuro turned to see a black Porsche pull up. Gin, cigarette in mouth, looked over from the front passenger seat.
Amuro got out, walked to the right front wheel, gave the smoke-spewing tire a kick, then climbed into the Porsche's back seat.
"Chianti, did you find the sniper?" Gin asked again as the car started.
"Damn it! He shot from a helicopter! Why the hell do they have a helicopter?!" Chianti screamed in the wind.
Vermouth sneered: "Heh… FBI…"
Amuro folded his arms, slumping into the back seat, staring out the window, brows tightly furrowed. He echoed: "Tch, FBI…"
Gin took a long drag of his cigarette, smoke drifting out the window. He seemed to be suppressing his fury as he spoke low: "Abort the mission. Might be a U.S. military attack helicopter. If this escalates, we'll draw too much attention."
"Hmph…" Vermouth let out two mocking nasal snorts, full of sarcasm.
Amuro glanced over, but since he was riding in Gin's car, he held back from mocking further. He simply said, "Drop me off in Ōta. My car and gear are still there."
Gin, ever impatient with these overly cryptic colleagues, snapped, "If you hadn't wasted so much time, that rat would be dead already."
Amuro snorted back with a smirk: "Who was the one outplayed by that rat and had to call us for backup?"
"If you don't value our intel, Gin," Vermouth teased, "then don't use it."
"Beep—" Gin cut the comms and ripped off his earpiece, throwing it aside.
Clenching the cigarette in his mouth, he inhaled deeply—then again—fighting the urge to pull out his Beretta and shoot the mocking brat in the backseat. He waved to Vodka and said, "To Ōta."
And just like that, amid a round of friendly bickering among the codenamed agents, the operation to kill Shuichi Akai officially ended in failure.