Detective Haruka Asano leaned over her cluttered desk, the scent of coffee long gone cold mixing with the stale fluorescent buzz of the office. Her sharp eyes flicked over the files, brow furrowed. Three teenagers—Yuji Nakahara, Daichi Morimoto, and Haruto Jin—all students at Asakusa High School. All missing. All last seen near the scene of violence: a small apartment in Minato Ward, where a single mother was beaten within an inch of her life.
The connection? One boy.
Ren Kurosawa.
A student known for his silence. For his bruises. For a gaze too old for his age.
"Three bullies vanish without a trace," Haruka muttered. "And the only common thread is their favorite punching bag."
Her partner, Sergeant Yūji Tanaka, tapped the side of his mug. "Security cams around the last known location went out. Not glitched—blacked out. And came back ten minutes later like nothing happened."
"You're saying it's coordinated?"
"I'm saying it feels like something didn't want to be seen."
Haruka stood up, shrugging on her trench coat. "Let's talk to the mother. If she wakes up, she might have answers. And I want a quiet meeting with Ren. No uniforms, no threats."
Tanaka raised a brow. "You think the kid's involved?"
Haruka paused. "I think... he knows something. And if he's not the key—someone handed it to him."
As they headed out, Haruka's phone vibrated. One message. No sender.
"Aoyama Shrine. The alley behind it. Midnight. The gate creaks. The guilty scream."
She showed it to Tanaka. "Someone's playing with us."
"Or warning us," he said quietly.
Later that night
Behind Aoyama Shrine
The air was unnaturally cold. The alley was empty—except for a faint glow on the brick wall.
Haruka stepped closer, her flashlight cutting the darkness. What she saw made her stomach twist.
A burn mark, perfectly round, with eerie lines curling outward. A keyhole.
And then, as she touched the wall—barely a graze—she heard it.
A clang, far off, like rusted chains being pulled. And a voice, so quiet she thought she imagined it:
"He has the Key. And Judgment is near."
Haruka took a slow step back from the wall. Her breath fogged in the air—it wasn't even cold enough for that. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight. Tanaka was still at the mouth of the alley, eyes scanning the rooftops.
She pulled out her phone, snapped a photo of the burn mark. Nothing. The image came out blank white. No wall. No alley. Just a smear of light.
"Tanaka," she called quietly. "I think we're dealing with something… way beyond human."
Tanaka stepped forward, glancing at the mark. "You thinking cult? Ritual stuff?"
Haruka shook her head. "I don't know what I'm thinking. But I know this much—this wasn't a kidnapping."
Suddenly, a soft creak echoed down the alley, like the hinges of a massive door being slowly pushed open. Both detectives froze.
Then came a sound that neither of them would ever forget:
Screaming.
Not loud. Not close. But from far, far below—as if the earth itself had cracked open and someone was falling endlessly inside.
Tanaka's gun was drawn instantly, but Haruka didn't move. She was staring into the space above the keyhole mark. Her pulse pounded in her throat.
A faint silhouette flickered for only a heartbeat—a massive gate, ancient and twisted, wrought from black iron and bone. It wasn't real… and yet it was.
Then it was gone.
She slowly turned to Tanaka. "We need to speak to Ren Kurosawa. First thing tomorrow. Quietly. Privately."
Tanaka nodded, clearly unsettled. "If he's connected to this… do you think he's dangerous?"
Haruka looked back toward the wall.
"No. I think he's in more danger than anyone else."
Elsewhere…
Unknown Location
A figure watched the detectives through a flickering pane of glass—the old man, his eyes glowing faintly beneath the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat.
He chuckled.
"The pieces are moving now," he said, twirling the very same key between his fingers. "But the Gate only favors the desperate."
He held up another object—a second key, identical… but its aura shimmered red.
"Let's see what she does with this one…"