The Face in the Fog

The streets of Shinjuku were alive with their usual neon glow, but to Renjiro, everything felt slightly… off.

It wasn’t paranoia. It wasn’t fear. It was something deeper. A presence lingering just beyond the edge of his awareness.

He wasn’t the kind of man who let things haunt him. But ever since hearing the name Akane, something had shifted.

A name shouldn’t make your heart pound. A name shouldn’t feel like a forgotten whisper from another life.

And yet, it did.

A Night That Feels Wrong

Renjiro walked the streets alone.

His usual entourage had been dismissed for the night. He needed clarity, not noise.

Tokyo’s nightlife pulsed around him—flashing billboards, laughter spilling from bars, the scent of grilled skewers filling the air. But beneath it all, he sensed something else.

A weight.

A presence.

It was a strange thing to admit, even to himself, but it felt like the city was watching him.

Then he heard it.

Soft footsteps behind him.

Not hurried, not hesitant. Measured. Purposeful.

Renjiro slowed his pace, glancing at a nearby shop window. The glass reflected the street behind him, distorted by streaks of rain—but there was no one there.

He turned, expecting to see a stranger trailing him.

Nothing.

The alley behind him stretched empty, illuminated by the glow of a distant vending machine, its mechanical hum the only sound.

He exhaled sharply. Get a grip, Takeda.

And yet, as he turned back toward the road, a whisper brushed against his ear.

"You shouldn't be here."

His pulse slammed against his ribs.

It wasn’t possible.

Because the voice belonged to her.

A Shadow That Shouldn’t Exist

Renjiro whipped around, his fingers twitching toward the knife hidden in his coat.

Empty air.

Only the wind moving through the narrow alley, stirring a discarded cigarette pack across the wet pavement.

And then—

A figure at the far end of the alley.

A woman in a crimson kimono, standing perfectly still.

She was barely visible, half-shrouded in the mist curling around the street, but there was no mistaking her.

It was Akane.

Renjiro’s breath came slow and steady. “Who are you?”

The woman tilted her head, her black hair cascading like silk over her shoulder. “You already know my name.”

A flicker of something cold slid down his spine.

This wasn’t normal.

He had been in enough life-threatening situations to know how the world worked. Everything had a reason, a cause, a consequence.

But this?

This felt like something else entirely.

“You don’t exist,” Renjiro said carefully.

Akane smiled. “And yet, here I am.”

Renjiro took a step forward, but in the space of a single blink—

She was gone.

The mist swallowed her whole, leaving behind nothing but the silence of the empty alley.

A Name from the Dead

Renjiro didn’t return to his penthouse that night.

Instead, he went to see Hiroshi Saito.

The man was an information broker, someone who knew the secrets of Tokyo better than anyone. If there was a whisper about Akane, Hiroshi would have heard it.

The meeting place was an old shrine on the outskirts of the city, long abandoned and overgrown with ivy. Hiroshi never worked from the same place twice.

Renjiro found him sitting on the steps, cigarette between his fingers, eyes half-lidded.

“You don’t usually come to me in the middle of the night,” Hiroshi mused, exhaling smoke. “Must be serious.”

Renjiro wasted no time. “The name Akane. What do you know?”

Hiroshi’s lazy expression vanished.

For the first time in years, Renjiro saw something unexpected in the old man’s eyes.

Fear.

Hiroshi stubbed out his cigarette. “You need to forget that name.”

Renjiro’s jaw tightened. “That’s not an answer.”

Hiroshi rubbed his temples. “You don’t get it, Takeda. There are names you shouldn’t dig into. She’s one of them.”

A tense silence settled between them.

Renjiro didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

After a long moment, Hiroshi sighed heavily. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He pulled out an old newspaper clipping, yellowed with age.

Renjiro took it, his eyes scanning the headline.

"Tragedy in Ginza: Yakuza Heiress Disappears in Mysterious Fire"

His blood ran cold.

The article was dated twenty years ago.

And the photo beneath it—a young woman in a red kimono, smiling softly at the camera.

Her name?

Akane Takeda.

Renjiro’s fingers clenched around the paper.

His last name.

Takeda.

A Ghost from His Own Bloodline?

A heavy silence filled the air between them.

Renjiro stared at the photograph, feeling something sharp and unexplainable press against his ribs.

“She was your cousin,” Hiroshi murmured. “The only daughter of the Takeda family. But she…”

He hesitated, watching Renjiro carefully.

“She died in that fire.”

Renjiro barely heard the words.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears.

This wasn’t possible.

He had never known of any female relatives. His father never spoke of lost family members.

And yet, here she was. A name he had never heard—but one that felt strangely familiar.

Hiroshi exhaled. “I don’t know how or why, but one thing’s certain.” His voice dropped lower.

“She shouldn’t be here.”

Renjiro’s grip on the newspaper tightened.

Because deep in his bones, he already knew:

She was never supposed to exist in this world anymore.

And yet—she did.

End of Episode 3

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