Crimson - I am back fuckers, thx for your support mamedh you are some real dude man. . . you are a man, right?
-Good news now I will post with 1-day gap, Bad news- there is no bad news now READDDD!
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Somewhere hidden from the common eyes, a vast boundless room glistened under the faint sickly yellow light, whereas the floor was white as light, the ceiling above an abyss, black as darkest night, the walls yet to be found in the dim lit room.
The light flickered slightly, adding a pulsating rhythm to the tense silence.
Ten silhouettes sat on black metallic chairs which ate the yellow ambient light Between them, a round, milky white table seemed almost luminous in its purity, a lone beacon in an this dungeon.
A subtle tension crept in the room, each flicker of person only added to the tension.
"If I may, why am I the only one in a white chair?" a voice, a pitch higher than normal but smooth like butter, tinged with a sly playful note, came from pure black silhouette.
It's dark fingers drumming on the armrest, only his eyes and chair indicated his presence in the room full of shadow.
The room remained deathly still. The response was more palpable in the slight rustle of a chair or the exasperated sighs than any spoken words. A few figures exchanged knowing glances—some weary, others had a curve of smirk.
"Is that because I am blac—"
"Ahh! Seriously? Change with me or Shinso if you like" a single gentle yet strict voice cut through the silence. The voice was sharp, annoyed, The woman's bright yellow gaze was a knife, slicing through the shadow's playful facade.
"Ah, ha ha f-forgive me elder sister, I was merely trying to break the ice. . . although, dark blue doesn't quite aid me." The words tumbled out, half-defensive, half-joking. A shift of posture.
"You can get the spare ones," Shinso's voice interjected, calm yet tired, his finger pointing behind them, half a dozen chair lined up, like soldiers in reserve.
". . . They are all white." The silhouette's voice dropped, a hint of defeat and annoyance.
Shinso's mouth twitched—a smile almost too small to notice. "If you were to open your eyes, edge lord, you might see that one is crimson."
"You!" The shadow flared.
Tap! Tap!
A sharp, steady pat on the table brought the building energy to a halt.
The room turned as one, eyes locking on the figure who had broken the brewing conflict. He stood slowly, His suit, was light grey with a milky white shirt underneath, and his silver tie glinted like a subtle weapon.
His spiky brown hair cast slight shadows over his smooth face, which held a smile that could have belonged to a well-practised salesman.
"I know you guys have your questions and doubts." he began, his voice travelling through the room pulling the attention of every pair of eyes. Some shifted uneasily, fingers tapping restlessly against the armrests.
Others settled into stillness, their expressions masks of unreadable intent. One person massaged their temple.
"Maybe a little lost too, which would be. . . weird if you weren't," he added, the corners of his lips pulling up just a fraction more. . . the humour fell flat.
A woman in the room clenched her jaw, eyes narrowing, the steel in her voice ringing out when she spoke.
"Will you JUST get started?" Her tone sliced through the space like a blade. Eyes shifted to her, meeting her fierce dusky green glare, her arms folded tightly across her chest, as hereyes locked on the man in the grey suit.
BAM!
Her fist met the table with a force that echoed around the room. She leaned forward, eyes ablaze, every word a bullet.
"I didn't come here for chit chat, I came here for answers! Where did that shit come from? And why did you three never mention anything to us?"
"H-hey, Setsu! B-be a little more polite." The small girl next to her had a big blob of brown hair which shock as she peeked nervously between Setsuna and the man who now wore a careful, composed smile.
"It's fine." Kenta's voice was gentle, calm.
"And I just don't want to know, I want f.u.c.k.i.n.g proof, okay?" The demand left an echo that settled uncomfortably in the air.
"And answers we will, as for proof, what better option than the police?"
"Oh and welcome to light"
"Tsk! so who was he."
"He was an angel."
The answer rang in a different room, it felt too small, the walls pressing in, burdened with a thousand other cases, each one a testament to the weight word can carry. the detective was harfly fighting the exhaustion that clawed at him.
"Officer, officer… HELLO!" The banker's hand, fleshy and insistent, cut through the air like a pendulum, pulling Naomasa back into the moment.
"Oh!" The officer's voice cracked with forced alertness. The realization slapped him 'The interview' His mind scrambled for composure.
"Umm, sorry about that, just a little, these days." His lips twitched in a weak smile, a failed attempt to mask the toll of sleepless nights and caffeine-stained mornings. The shadow of stubble and hollows beneath his eyes betrayed him.
The banker chuckled, the sound hollow, rehearsed. His skin-tone suit strained against the curve of his stomach, and the shine on his balding head glimmered under the lights. "I totally get it, officer. Pulled a lot of sleepless nights for the promotions." The laugh settled in his throat like a dying ember.
". . . .what question did I ask, if I may?" Naomasa's voice thinned, the question hanging like a lifeline he wasn't sure he wanted to grasp.
"You asked who he was."
"Ah, yes, sorry." He leaned back, eyes scanning his phone, searching for the rote words that he already knew but needed to read again to center himself. The device's glow reflected in his weary eyes. "Let me repeat again, in case I forgot. This whole conversation is being recorded, and according to the law, it shall be used in the ongoing case, code—20."
He cleared his throat. "So, Mr. Suzuki, henceforth called Mr. Banker, according to our reports, you have been maintaining Jin Asano's account and funds for nearly half a decade."
"Onasa… yes, I have been working on his accounts for four years, and as I said, he really is an angel."
A pause. Naomasa's expression tightened imperceptibly, his mind racing. A thousand threads of logic and suspicion wove through his thoughts, tangled in disbelief. An angel? This case, twisted and grim, was not one where such claims fit neatly. He bit back a groan. 'This is the worst case of the fucking century.'
His lips curved into a blank smile. "Is it because he's an angel. . . that your bank didn't bother to check on Mr. Asano, or Onasa, on his," he pecked at his phone's screen, "207 transactions?"
A heavy breath filled his chest, then left in a slow exhale. The room closed around him, the sterile air tasting bitter with the memory of sleepless nights, the case had lot more details then he let out, only hispers and secrets he couldn't report without violating his word to Yagi, the case was bigger than both parties understood, only he knew how much of a mess this is.
The banker shrugs with a soft smile. "That's why he's the angel"
'In the name of Jesus Christ. . . please just take me to sleep.'
He set his jaw, the line of exhaustion in his face hardening. "Mr. Banker, from what I know, the bank has a security system that warns them about these kinds of transactions and suspicious activity?" His voice was steady, probing.
The banker's eyes widened in a slow, deliberate movement, the flicker of surprise breaking through his polished demeanour. "Oh. . . did they only give you records till last month?"
Naomasa's brow furrowed, the twist of confusion deepening the lines of fatigue. He checked his phone, fingers stiff with the weight of apprehension. "Yes. . . why?"
"Hahaha ha haa , Cough! Cough!"
"Excuse me for that. . . But if we exclude the bigger transactions, over the past six years, Mr. Onasa has donated a total of $18 million through nearly 527,000 small transactions. We did discuss the matter, but. . . it's just charity, you can not stop him"
"When the bank deemed he was safe, we started giving routine inspection. . . and then the rest history, not that anyone can prove it was used for illegal work" The banker's face became a little flustered, something that naomasa missed.
Naomasa's head throbbed as if it might split apart. His vision blurred, struggling to process the figures. Forty-three million and he's only turning 17, eleven years old when this started'
It was unfathomable. His thoughts spiralled, unable to piece together the details. It felt like the ground beneath him was shifting, the case slipping from his grasp. 'Maybe I should withdraw from this… Ah, but my quirk.'
In the past few days, Naomasa had cursed more than in his entire life.
"And officer." the banker continued, a pause following his words "the bank monitors accounts if we suspect any suspicious activity. . . We froze his account in the first week it was created."
"Nearly a million vanished in few hours, officer. We. . . my junior shat their pants."
Naomasa's breath caught a sharp intake that nearly choked him. His hands shot up in front of him, palms out as if to halt an oncoming train. "Wait wait wait—nothing, I mean, it just doesn't make sense to me."
"Sign~ Tell me if I'm lying." unblinking.
"What is your quirk?"
"I don't have any. He donated 700,000 dollars to random people on the streets—addicts, homeless, lost, anyone. . . been doing it ever since, you never know what goes in his mind, The best day to meet him is when you're at your worst."
'Well it seems those children weren't having a bad day' he chuckled at his own dark humour.
Naomasa's mind raced, and stumbling over the revelation, he rubbed his hands on his eyes ever so harshly, the banker carefully looked at the detective "Forget that, what did senior management tell you? Or did they just hand you stacks of records?"
The banker broke a small smile
"Well, yes. . . only 2 months, first time a bank has been this incorporative, so what are you implying?"
"Nothing." the banker said slowly. "What could I imply? I'm also the bank, you know."
The banker's gaze flickered subtly to the microphone resting between them—a silent signal understood in an instant. Naomasa's eyes narrowed, his eyebrow arching as he caught the unspoken exchange.
Cough!
The man cleared his throat. "Would it be possible to take a break, Detective? I'm just a single salaryman and haven't had the luxury of food today. . . i am risking my health for you"
Naomasa's gaze shifted momentarily to the corner of the ceiling, where the red light of the security camera glowed with an ominous presence. It seemed more unsettling than ever, a sharp reminder of the dark realities embedded in his line of work—cases so grim they left scars on any who dared to probe too deeply.
"Sanasa, close the room." He met the old man's eyes, seeing a flicker of understanding before a slow nod. "The interview is over for now."
Click.
The lights on the CCTVs and the recorders in the room dimmed to nothing.
Tap. Tap.
The banker leaned forward, gently tapping the now-dead devices to check their status. Naomasa's sharp eyes tracked each movement, reading the language of his body.
Stressed and scared? The thought crossed his mind as he noted the tremor in the man's fingers.
"Four years ago, a brand-new account with a history of 2 years under the name Onasa appeared. No photo, no full name, no address—just a paper proving Japanese citizenship and another saying it was open for 2 years. . . no records either, but it contained a million dollars."
"When I asked senior management what was going on, they said it belonged to a high-ranking individual and the identity was protected."
"How is that possible? Even if it's a spy, there would be a photo or some fake documents." Naomasa said sceptically.
"That's what I thought. But I didn't press the issue, maybe they chose me because they knew, people like me hardly get job and we would clung to what we have."
Naomasa's expression softened, a twinge of guilt making its way to the surface. He had seen too many cases of discrimination—the society was very good at alienating others. "I'm sorry."
The man shook his head dismissively. "The interesting part is, a few days ago, a woman with the surname Asano died in a villain attack. Some of the juniors were talking about it. She had a small child and no known relatives."
Naomasa's eyes widened. "You mean—"
"No, I'm not implying a conspiracy. My memory isn't the best, but it felt like I'd heard that name somewhere before."
"She worked as a nurse in the same mental hospital where my mother was admitted. I recalled her name when the doctor informed me that she'd died in a villain attack. . . they didn't want to tell my mother."
Naomasa detected no signs of deception, but confusion clouded his thoughts. 'Were they friends or what'
"In high school, I lost both my little brother and my father in a villain attack. From then on, my mother. . . she was taken care by her, she was a little to paranoid and superstitious so we just told that the nurse moved abroad."
"That story just stayed with me, and I was just promoted to a full-time private banker"
"I was assigned to this Onasa figure. I still don't know how or why they picked a newbie like me, but they did."
Naomasa took a steady breath as the banker's voice droned on.
"Asano and Onasa . . . Onasa and Asano," the banker said, the syllables rolling off his tongue like a whispered confession. "I didn't think it was some sick coincidence."
A slight smile ghosted on banker's lips. "I just couldn't hold my curiosity, so I looked around. Nothing illegal, officer."
"Huff." Naomasa returned the smile, a reflex that betrayed his own unease.
The banker's gaze sharpened, his expression flickering "The weird fact is, I didn't find any trace of Miss Asano's account . . . not even her son's account. It was erased—no record, no nothing. Like it never existed."
The words settled like ash in the silence that followed. Naomasa's mind churned, the gravity of it all pulling him deeper into a web he wasn't sure he could untangle.
"And that's when things started to click for me." the banker continued, voice low, nearly conspiratorial. "If only her account was gone, that would be one thing, but the son's too, and then this new account with no record . . . Look, I know I work great, but not great enough to be working on an account like this."
Naomasa's brows knit, the pulse at his temple thrumming a steady beat. "Maybe you got the wrong name."
". . . . . . . . . . . . . . ."
"Cough! Please continue." he urged.
"The time we froze his account instead of him . . . a government official paid us a visit. I don't know what for, but it probably had to do with the donations. This happened 2-3 times more."
Naomasa leaned forward, eyes narrowing as the banker's voice dropped.
"Then we finnaly met onasa, the seniors were werdly respectable of this small guy, He had the voice of an adult and always wore a white mask. Every time he came, there was a new hair color, different eyes. Unlike others, I didn't think it was a quirk or some bizarre side effect. I knew it was a kid. It was her son."
". . . How?"
The banker swallowed, his face a canvas of conflicted emotions. "Paintings. Onasa is one of the most famous painters in the chambers. He . . ." His voice faltered, the hesitation palpable. He pushed on, determined.
"Miss Asano once gifted one of her child's paintings to my mother. It was not something a kid could draw, I mean, usualy. It was a little mockingbird, rendered with such detail and intricate designs . . . just like Onasa's work."
Naomasa nodded, even though art was as foreign to him as the language of the wealthy elite. The banker noticed, a flash of impatience breaking through his composed exterior. "You do know that art can be sold for millions, if not hundreds of thousands, right? and. . . " The banker's voice trailed of.
"Either way, that's what I believe." he finished, the tension coiling in the room like a drawn bowstring.
Naomasa pressed his lips together, feeling the weight of every unanswered question. "But this doesn't explain the secrecy around the bank." he said, his voice edged with frustration.
The banker looked at him, eyes distant, then shook his head as if dismissing a thought. For a moment, Naomasa felt as though he were dangling by a thread over a chasm of uncertainty. The world spun around him, uncaring, as the case twisted into a deeper maze.
"This case just keeps getting worse and worse" Naomasa murmured, almost to himself. He met the banker's eyes, searching for any sign of hope. "So, did you ask the management about it?"
The banker leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he peered beneath the table, searching for unseen spectres.
"There is only one recording device" naomasa explained.
"Look, kid, there are only two places where your kind face _the_ most accidents. One of them is here." Before Naomasa could even let a frown form, the banker waved a dismissive hand. "Don't make faces at me, kid. I've been here for 30 years—your whole damn lifetime I've spent working."
Naomasa held his expression still, but his mind stirred uneasily. The man's words carried the weight of bitter experience, like weathered iron clanging against fragile glass. "And nowhere," the banker continued "have I seen more accidents than when your kind snoops around a bank's secrets. You get me?"
A weary nod was all Naomasa could muster, his head dropping slightly. The exhaustion gnawed at him—whether it stemmed from the sleepless nights, the relentless pace of the case, or the possibility that this jaded man's words held some grim truth, he couldn't tell.
"If the bank wants to hide something, they'll bury you with the evidence" the banker muttered, voice dropping to a growl. His eyes softened for a brief, uncharacteristic moment. "Look, kid. Go home. Meet your loved ones, start a family, have kids, and stay. with. them. No one, not a single soul except your loved ones, is going to remember you or the extra you give here."
A muscle in Naomasa's jaw twitched, and his face fell. The conversation was straying into dangerous, disheartening territory and he knew it wasn't wrong, everything was wrong with the case.
WHIRR!
WHIRR!
The sound of the coffee machine rumbled to life, slicing through the silence with mechanical indifference. The old, once-pristine white machine rattled as it dispensed the dark liquid into a flimsy, disposable cup, a few hesitant drops splattering onto the counter. Naomasa's gaze settled on the trickling coffee, the glossy, black surface reflecting his thoughts—the unresolved case and the maze of dead ends.
Tap!
A firm touch on his shoulder jolted him from his trance. He turned to see the banker, holding a cup of coffee and offering a tired nod. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Suzuki," Naomasa said, his voice carrying a formality that felt empty. The banker took a long sip, his eyes barely meeting Naomasa's . "Stay safe, kid, " he whispered.
As the banker's back receded, steps heavy toward the exit, Naomasa's thoughts were just as leaden. This case was proving more elusive than he'd imagined, spiraling into murkier depths, with even Mr. Suzuki seeming like he harbored risks of his own. Another secret to guard, another question unanswered.
Naomasa bent low, offering a respectful 90-degree bow. "Once again, thank you for your help. I will keep your advice close to heart."
A crooked grin appeared on Suzuki's face, half-hidden as he glanced over his shoulder. "You'd better find yourself a young Latino, kid. They've got an angelic grip on this game."
The other officers, clad in orange uniforms, exchanged uneasy glances and nodded to Naomasa as if keeping their distance from the old man's brazen comment.
'Lecherous old man' Naomasa thought, a reluctant smirk shadowing his tired face.
"Well, there goes your angle." one officer with cat-like face muttered, eyes flicking toward the departing banker.
Naomasa straightened, resting his arms in his pocket, an almost defiant spark igniting in his weary eyes. "More like my death angels" the bitterness of truth settling around him like a shroud.
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Under the oppressive shroud of night, a figure stood, cloaked in shadows that swallowed even the moonlight filtering through the jungle's dense canopy. His outfit mirrored that of the assassin woman on the lighthouse—a shade darker blending seamlessly into the night.
The rhythmic chirping of insects provided an unsettling soundtrack, the cool breeze whispered, The whites of his eyes, the only mark of his existence as he stood blending in shadows.
Before him, a set of stone steps descended into the earth, their surface fractured, Moss oozed down their uneven edges, clusters of fungi and stubborn vines that coiled into the black abyss below.
His gaze fell to the fresh indentations in the crumbling steps, footprints that spoke of someone else's descent into whatever awaited below.
"An angel for sure" he muttered.
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UGHH! UGHH!
The muffled cries echoed through the suffocating void, each sound trembling with terror. The darkness was alive, pressing down on the chamber with a sentient weight.
The faint gasps and fragmented sobs of a woman drifted like a ghost's wail, trapped and restless. Her pleas for mercy crumbled against the damp, unfeeling walls.
SUHFF!
FUSHH!
A desperate rustling of fabric followed, a panic-driven struggle that only fueled the tightening grip of dread.
Eeeer-chkk!
Eeeer-chkk!
The chair groaned under her weight as she thrashed, metal against wood singing in protest. Chains, coiled around her arms and legs, mocked her efforts with their hollow jingle—a morbid applause echoing in the chamber of horror. Each rattle was a song of defeat.
UGH! UHHH AGHH!
A stifled, throaty scream forced its way out, dying beneath the gag that smothered her voice. Blood, warm and slick, trickled down from where it matted her pinkish-black hair, dripping onto her trembling, nail-less fingers.
tap!
Tap!
TAp!
Her eyes snapped widened terror shining in the pink depths as the soft, deliberate rhythm of footsteps sliced through the dark, carving the seconds into painful shards of anticipation.
UUHHH! UGHHH!
The footsteps grew louder and louder, tears surged, spilling hotly down her bruised cheeks. She strained against the bindings, the chains biting deeper as she quaked with panic.
Tap!
Tap!
Tap. . . TAP!
Click. CHINK!
NUGH NUHHHHH! NUGHHHHHH!
Metal met metal as the locks on the door released, her muffled cries spiked, a chorus of desperation.
Click!
A sudden flick, and light flooded the room. She blinked rapidly, pupils shrinking against the harsh glare.
For a moment, confusion silenced her. The figure before her wasn't cloaked in the demonic visage she had dreaded—no monstrous mask, no shroud of death. Instead, he stood there with hair as red as fresh blood, a stark white mask concealing all but the most chilling detail eyes. Yellow, reptilian eyes, narrow and cold, tracing her bound body with meticulous interest.
Yet her her gaze drifted past him, the body bags Yes! they had to be i-it can't l
Thump!
Thump!
Thump!
Her dreams shattered as the three black bags, tied in coarse brown ropes, writhed grotesquely like worms, smearing thin trails of blood across the cold, unforgiving concrete. The muffled groans of pain that seeped from within them clawed at her mind, striking a dark chord of familiarity that sent a violent shiver racing down her spine. A sickening churn rose in her stomach, bile creeping up, acidic and sharp, as her knees threatened to give way beneath her.
The figure in the room, cloaked in shadows that seemed to shift and breathe, turned his head toward her and the wriggling bags. A small, cruel chuckle slithered from his lips, filling the silence like poison.
"No, i-i—"
Her voice faltered, cracking into a stifled sob that barely escaped her throat. The terror gripped her chest like a vice, suffocating, immobilizing. Her wide, horror-stricken eyes followed the man as he strode toward the largest bag. Each step echoed, heavy a prelude to a nightmare.
Whump!
His boot came down with a sickening thud, pinning what could only be the bag's head to the ground. The grotesque bundle squirmed desperately beneath him, He reached behind him, the metallic gleam of a gun emerging into the dim light.
Her breath caught as realization struck, sharp as a blade.
Creakkk! Crackk!
The chair beneath her screamed in protest as her body quaked uncontrollably. She sobbed, helpless and bound, watching the man's foot press harder into the bag.
"UGHHHH NUH NUHHH PLUUUUHHHH"
"Should have raised them right, old man." the voice rasped.
Tears poured down her face in torrents, scorching her cheeks as they fell. The agony carved its way through her, raw and tearing. This wasn't just her torture; it was the annihilation of everything she had ever loved. The specter of death loomed close, but the death of her loved ones cut deeper than any blade.
The red-haired man's head tilted slightly as he turned his gaze back to her. A flicker of amusement curled his lip. "Oh, right." He approached her, his boots dragging crimson streaks in their wake as he lifted his foot off the motionless bag. His voice dropped to a whisper, laced with mockery. "Any last words for your father?"
A hand reached down, ripping the suffocating cloth from her mouth. The sudden rush of air stung as she gasped, her chest heaving. The words spilled out in a hoarse, desperate cry.
"Dad, I am—"
THOFF!
The sound was sharp, final. The bullet met its target before her voice had even faded. Time seemed to shatter around her; the shell casing fell with a metallic _clink_ that resonated in her soul, final and cruel. Her lips hung open, the unfinished word hovering like a ghost in the air.
". . . . . . . .sorry"
The silence that followed was unbearable. She met his eyes, those cold, lifeless windows devoid of anything human. He didn't blink, didn't flinch. He was a predator, and she was already dead inside.
THOFF! THOFF! THOFF! THOFF!
The gun roared again, each shot a thunderous punctuation mark that silenced any hope left in the room. Her father's body stilled, and the room itself seemed to inhale, holding its breath. The rattle of bullet casings on the floor was a sound lost to her, the cries from the other two bags were a distant wail, muted by the thick fog of grief.
Her vision blurred, tears blending with the blood that painted the scene in red. She slumped forward, silent, shattered beyond repair. She stared at the floor, the cold reflecting her numbness as the room dimmed around her. Her captor's eyes never left her eyes.
"They will kill me."
"And i will kill your entire bloodline."
". . .I-i—"
Click.
"NOOOO! I-I WILL TALK"
The air shifted, shadows deepening into a living, rippling blackness. From the dark emerged a figure, head bowed, fist pressed to the ground with the bearing of a knight pledging loyalty.
"Welcome back, teacher, welcome to night"
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-I will post photos in morning