☆ Hiromi Higuruma ☆

The date was January 5th, 2026, in Kabukichō, Tokyo; a place where people came to party, lose themselves in neon lights, and bury secrets deep beneath the city's endless noise. The streets were crowded at night and slept during the day, filled with bars, clubs, and people looking for an escape from their ordinary lives. Yet tucked away on one of the quieter streets stood Higuruma Law Office, a small and aging office located above the empty lobby of a laundromat that had gone out of business years ago. The faded sign still hung outside the building, though nobody had bothered to take it down.

Inside sat Hiromi Higuruma, a weary man who looked older than his thirty-six years. He sat behind his cluttered desk, lazily flipping through a new file that had been delivered to his office that morning. Another case handed down by the justice system. Another client nobody else wanted.

"What's today's case?" Shimizu asked from her desk across the room. She took a small sip from a juice box before setting it down, watching him with curious eyes.

Higuruma skimmed through the file in silence. It didn't take long to understand why the case had been passed around for so long. "A sexual assault case," he finally muttered.

The defendant was a sixty-five-year-old man named Fujiwara Mishimura. According to the report, he had been caught groping a thirty-five-year-old woman named Isawa Himuri aboard a train traveling from Kabukichō to Isezakichō. When the train reached its stop, she had immediately chased after him through the station while shouting for help. Several bystanders responded, tackling the man before he could escape. Police arrived shortly afterward and took him into custody.

"It says here that he's been sitting in a holding cell for four months," Higuruma said as he continued reading. "No defense attorney wanted to take the case."

Shimizu grimaced. "Can't really blame them."

Normally, Higuruma would have declined as well. Cases like these were simple. There was rarely any mystery, rarely any challenge. He preferred cases where there was actually something to uncover. Something worth fighting for. But a small law office couldn't survive on principles alone. Waiting months for a perfect case meant waiting months without income, and he couldn't exactly stop paying Shimizu because he was feeling picky.

With a sigh, he closed the file and tucked it under his arm. "Come on," he said as he stood. "We've got a bus to catch." As he walked past her desk, he casually spun her chair around.

"Hey!" Shimizu snapped, immediately grabbing the armrests to stop herself from turning further. Ignoring her glare, Higuruma headed for the door.

"We're going to Kabukichō Public Jail."

Shimizu grabbed her coat and hurried after him, muttering complaints under her breath.

At the time, Higuruma expected the case to be routine. Meet the client. Negotiate a lesser sentence. Finish the trial. Move on.

He would later realize how horribly wrong he had been.

---

Two weeks passed. The date on Higuruma's calendar now read January 19th, 2026.

The case had finally reached trial, though the most difficult part hadn't been preparing a defense. It had been trying to get anything useful out of Fujiwara himself.

The old man was strangely quiet. He never admitted guilt. He never claimed innocence.

Whenever Higuruma asked him questions, he either answered vaguely or not at all. It was like trying to hold a conversation with a brick wall.

Unfortunately, the evidence spoke far louder than Fujiwara ever did.

Security footage from the train station showed him following Isawa Himuri through multiple train cars before the incident occurred. Fibers matching her skirt had been found on his hands when he was arrested. Records confirmed that he had boarded the train at the exact time and date listed in the police report. Every piece of evidence stacked neatly on top of the last, creating a mountain that Higuruma couldn't realistically climb. The woman had even chased him out of the train, and a group of men had tackled him to keep him from running away.

The best outcome he had managed to negotiate was six months of jail time followed by two years of probation.

Compared to the three years prosecutors originally wanted, it wasn't a terrible result. Still, it felt less like winning and more like minimizing the damage.

The trial itself was over quickly. Painfully quickly.

The prosecution tore through their arguments with ease. There simply wasn't much for the defense to work with. Every attempt to challenge the evidence fell flat, and before long the judge delivered the verdict.

Guilty.

Fujiwara Mishimura was sentenced to six months in prison. Given the circumstances and the fact that this was his first offense, it was probably the best outcome they could have achieved.

But what happened next still shocked Higuruma to this day.

"May I speak, Your Honor?" Fujiwara's voice suddenly echoed through the courtroom microphone.

Several heads turned toward him in confusion. The judge hesitated before giving a small nod. Fujiwara cleared his throat. The handcuffs around his wrists jingled softly as he adjusted himself in his seat.

"Three days ago," he began calmly, "the police should have discovered the body of the man who drove my son to suicide."

The courtroom immediately fell silent.

"The man's name is Takayo Sasaki."

Higuruma felt his stomach drop.

"He deserved to die a thousand times over, but the law allowed him to walk free." Fujiwara's eyes narrowed slightly. "What a cruel and broken system."

Whispers immediately spread through the room. Gasps followed. The judge slammed his gavel against the bench. "Order! Order in the courtroom!" The murmuring gradually died down.

"The defendant will refrain from making such outbursts," the judge snapped before looking toward the defense table. "Does the defense have anything to say regarding the defendant's statement?"

For perhaps the first time in his career, Higuruma found himself speechless. His mind had completely stalled.

Shimizu was forced to stand in his place, her own hands visibly trembling. "No, Your Honor," she answered. "We don't know what he's talking about."

Higuruma barely heard her. His eyes remained locked on Fujiwara. The old man was smiling. Not broadly. Not proudly. Just a small, knowing smirk. The kind that made Higuruma's skin crawl.

Two officers escorted Fujiwara away while the courtroom buzzed with confusion.

How would he know that?

Three days ago, Fujiwara had been sitting in a jail cell awaiting trial. Unless...The realization hit Higuruma so suddenly that it felt like being struck by a train.

The Japanese legal system could not simply continue stacking charges forever. If prosecutors already knew about a crime before sentencing and failed to include it appropriately, things became complicated.

If Fujiwara had planned this from the beginning...

If he had somehow arranged Takayo Sasaki's death before his conviction... Then he may have deliberately positioned himself to avoid facing the full consequences. The horrifying possibility settled deep in Higuruma's chest.

If he was involved in the murder—

He was essentially getting away with it.

---

The following day, January 20th, the story exploded across every news station in Tokyo.

Authorities had discovered the decomposed body of Takayo Sasaki, a student teacher at Keriyo High School, inside an abandoned building in neighboring Isezakichō.

The details matched Fujiwara's statement almost perfectly. Not perfectly enough to prove guilt. But enough to make Higuruma's blood run cold.

The case was over. Technically speaking, his job had ended the moment the verdict was delivered. Fujiwara was no longer his client, and there was no reason for him to become involved any further.

Yet he couldn't stop thinking about it. How could he? A man had practically announced a murder in open court.

If Fujiwara was telling the truth, then someone had died while the legal system stood by helplessly. The thought bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

That evening, Higuruma found himself wandering through the streets of Kabukichō. He walked through narrow alleyways where fat street cats slept beside overflowing dumpsters. He passed staircases that led to crowded nightclubs hidden above convenience stores and restaurants. Neon signs painted the concrete in bright colors while distant music echoed through the city.

That was when something caught his attention.

A small building sat between two larger ones. Its bricks were cracked. The concrete was faded. It looked surprisingly similar to his own office. Higuruma slowed to a stop. A sign hung in one of the second-floor windows.

{{User}}'s Detective Services.

He frowned. A detective agency? Was that new? Had it always been there? He couldn't remember ever noticing it before. For a moment he simply stared at the sign. Then curiosity won.

Pushing aside his questions, Higuruma stepped inside the building and climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor. At the end of the hallway sat a single door with a small plastic window built into it.

Light shone from within. Someone was still there. Higuruma approached the door and knocked twice. The blinds rattled softly behind the window.

He waited.

If there was anyone who might help him understand what had happened with Fujiwara Mishimura, perhaps it was the person sitting behind that door.