KAGE NO HODO NEWS TV, JAPAN
"I'm Fujisaki Mirei reporting for KAGE NO HODO TV. Today's biggest headline—the mysterious disappearance of Kenzo Ishido, one of Japan's top male models. Ranked among the nation's finest for three consecutive years, Kenzo vanished without a trace three nights ago."
The reporter pauses, eyes flicking toward the teleprompter. Her voice drops slightly.
"Authorities confirm that his last known location was Emika Café, where he was seen with another renowned model, Yuzuha Hinamiyo. Sources state that the two were close friends, but Yuzuha left the café early. Kenzo's phone has been turned off ever since."
Before the reporter can say more, the television screen goes black. A trembling hand lowers the remote.
Yuzuha stares at the dark screen, her breath uneven. Three days. He's been gone for three days. The weight of it presses against her chest like an iron hand.
First, her dog died under strange circumstances. Then her landlord vanished. And now Kenzo.
Coincidence? No. She doesn't believe in coincidences.
Kenzo's voice echoes in her mind. "Everything is a game, Yuzuha. But the rules… the rules are never fair."
Something cold creeps down her spine. A shadow of understanding.
She swallows hard and reaches for the glass of water on the table. The tremor in her fingers makes it ripple. If Kenzo was right… A single thought snakes into her mind.
What if he was killed because he was right?
A soft creak sounds behind her. Yuzuha freezes.
The air in her apartment feels heavier than before.
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
A dimly lit room. The scent of whiskey and leather lingers in the air.
A man sits on an expensive Lazanyova couch, his fingers drumming against the glass table before him. His features are obscured by the dim glow of a chandelier.
Across from him, a broad-shouldered man with dark, slicked-back hair pours himself a drink. His lips curl into an amused smirk.
"Take it. I hope you'll enjoy."
The seated man doesn't move. His ocean-blue eyes, striking against his sharp features, remain unreadable. "No, thank you. I don't drink."
The Russian mafia boss, Alex Levonio, chuckles as he swirls his whiskey. "No drinking, huh? What about women? Or do you have no interest in pleasures either?"
The man across from him, known as Dametri, finally lifts his gaze. His voice is cold, detached.
"I don't like sluts."
Alex lets out a booming laugh, clinking his glass against the table. "Tough enough, huh?" He leans forward, studying the masked figure before him.
Dametri wears a sleek black mask that covers half of his face. His presence is calculated—every movement controlled, every word deliberate.
Alex smirks. "Your eyes, though… Those are dangerous. A shame you keep them hidden. My wife would probably fall for you at first sight."
Dametri doesn't react.
The mafia boss exhales, gesturing toward the room's decor—priceless statues, gold-trimmed furniture, a luxurious Persian rug beneath their feet. "Let's talk business."
Dametri leans back. "I have 20 human organs. They will cost you two million dollars."
Silence blankets the room.
Alex sets down his whiskey glass with deliberate care. His fingers tap against the table.
"Two million? For 20 organs?" His voice is slow, deliberate. His eyes flicker with something dangerous. "Where did you get them?"
Dametri doesn't answer.
Alex watches him carefully. Then he smirks. "You're hard to read, you know that? Mysterious heritage, too. Half Japanese, half Russian… You ever feel torn between the two?"
Dametri's gaze remains steady. "Depends on my mood. Sometimes I feel Japanese, sometimes Russian."
A pause.
"But mostly, I feel like neither."
Alex chuckles. "Cold. Detached. You're not an easy man to crack, are you?"
He slides a sleek black case across the table. The polished silk gleams under the chandelier's light. "Your two million, as promised."
Dametri nods, his subordinates picking up the case. As he stands to leave, Alex speaks again.
"Wait."
Dametri stops.
Alex watches him carefully. "Earlier, you said something strange. About greed. That people only look greedy when they lack something they desire."
Dametri's lips barely move. "Yes."
"And what about you?" Alex leans forward, his voice softer now. "Do you lack anything?"
A strange smile flickers across Dametri's face. His ocean-blue eyes reflect the chandelier's light, but there's something beneath them. Something hollow.
"Yes."
Alex raises a brow. "And what is it?"
A long silence stretches between them. Then, Dametri speaks.
"Something no amount of money can buy."
He turns and walks away, his coat billowing behind him.
As he steps outside, the cold Moscow wind bites at his face. Snowflakes brush against his skin, melting into his lashes.
He pulls out his phone. The screen is filled with headlines.
KENZO ISHIDO, JAPAN'S TOP MODEL, STILL MISSING.
A smirk tugs at Dametri's lips.
"Justice," he murmurs. "He got exactly what he wanted to give others."
He exhales, watching the mist of his breath curl into the night.
Then, almost absently, he whispers, "Love. Affection. Care."
His lips curve into something almost like a smile. But beneath it—beneath the cold, unreadable mask—there is a flicker of something else.
Something that almost resembles longing.