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murder in cold blood

Summary:

A recent string of unusual homicides leaves the police baffled: each case is left open with a similar modus operandi—death by exsanguination and signs of perforation on the neck which eerily resemble 'vampire' bite marks.

Detective Shikanoin Heizou is assigned to investigate these mysterious serial killings and lock the culprit behind bars, but finds himself questioning his own choices when he stumbles upon the enigma that is Kaedehara Kazuha. Little does he know, there's so much more to unearth—not just about Kazuha, but even himself.

Notes:

hello!!

so. ig this is the debut of my vampire kazuha/detective heizou au :'D i've been wanting to write this au for so. long. anyway here's my contribution to the vampire kazuha tag :D

(i apologize for any mistakes and unrealistic plot points...)

idk when i'll be able to update but i'll try my best (i am a very slow writer :'>)

15/12/2024 EDIT: i reworked chapter 1 so it flows much better and i removed some unnecessary segments that i felt were too long-winded and didn't really help the narrative :>

Chapter 1: enigma

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

[ 9:15 AM - Crime Scene at the Higi Apartment Complex ]

Despite encountering corpses and dead bodies frequently in his line of work, it never gets any easier when Heizou has to step foot into the scene of a murder.

Homicide makes his blood boil. At its core, it’s a senseless, cold-blooded act—whether meticulously planned out by some spiteful malefactor or carried out in a haphazard fashion by some unhinged sociopath. The harsh reality is that murder only seeks to destroy and undermine the sanctity of life—leaving behind permanent scars that extend far beyond the victim.

And now, here lies another one.

He pushes away the black and yellow police tape with the back of his hand, ducking under it as it softly crinkles like plastic. The scene greets him with an all-too-familiar sense of grim finality: a body laid out on the cold floor, lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Despite the grievous situation, Heizou begins to take in all the details within reach, almost like second nature. The victim is a middle aged man with a medium build, fully clothed in office attire, a wristwatch on his right hand, and slightly disheveled hair with stubble on his chin to complete the middle-aged salaryman look. 

Nothing remarkable about him—except for the fact that he’s dead.

At the corpse’s feet was an office chair slightly askew, and next to it was a computer desk, a tipped-over white mug that looked like it was filled with coffee... Heizou thinks he can see matching coffee stains on the victim’s pants. Heizou’s initial assessment says: signs of a struggle.

Forensic analysts are already hard at work around the scene, dressed head to toe in protective gear. Cameras click as they photograph the body from every angle, while others bag evidence and discuss their observations. When Heizou arrives in their presence, he doesn’t need to make himself known, because everyone already knows who he is without even having to whip out his badge and ID. Such is the reputation of Inazuma City Police Department's finest. 

“Detective Shikanoin,” one of the forensic experts already at the crime scene calls out, gesturing for him to come closer.

Heizou steps forward, his gaze falling on the body once more.

“Two puncture marks,” the analyst says, pointing to the side of the victim’s neck. “Blood’s been drained.”

Heizou grimaces, his eyes taking in the colorless, withered appearance of the corpse. The skin is pale, and the once-vibrant energy of life—at least for someone who’s been burning the candle at both ends—has been siphoned away, leaving only a hollow shell behind.

Heizou manages a frustrated sigh.

He clicks his tongue, irritated by the sheer effrontery. “Whoever is behind this is mocking us. They don’t even make an effort to hide the body. It’s like they want us to find it. Clearly, they think they can just get away with it.”

“Looks like another one ,” a voice chimes in from behind him.

Heizou doesn’t need to turn around to recognize that it’s Uesugi, one of his colleagues. The detective nods grimly, knowing exactly what he means. This is just the latest in a string of murders plaguing Inazuma—each victim drained of blood, all with the same telltale puncture wounds on the neck.

The media has been all over the case, dubbing the killer the “Blood Ripper.” It’s a name that’s taken on a life of its own, feeding the public’s morbid fascination. Inazuma City wasn’t a place known for its serial killers, which might explain the unnatural enthusiasm around such an unusual case. It’s novel, fresh—something news outlets can milk for every Mora’s worth—and a reflection of humanity’s twisted desire to sensationalize the unexplainable.  

Online forums have been active with discussions, ranging from entirely plausible theories to the outright ridiculous. Internet theorists and ‘armchair detectives’ alike have also taken a crack at the case, spinning tales that often do more harm than good. None have gotten that much further than the police themselves, and it’s an unfortunate reminder of how little they’ve been given to work with. 

Through layers of hyperbole and sensationalism, the story has morphed into an urban legend of its own. Some claim the killer is no ordinary human but a vampire—a supernatural murderer stalking the streets of Inazuma, a bloodthirsty predator hunting their prey.

Deep down, some part of Heizou wants to agree with those crazy theories. It’s the most plausible explanation, even if somewhat outlandish.

But Heizou knows better than to indulge in speculation. Standing here, staring at the lifeless body before him, Heizou can’t deny the weight of the case. It doesn’t matter what the people think—each victim is a reminder of how much is at stake, how much this killer has already taken—and how much more they could take if they aren’t stopped.

“What do we know about the victim?” Heizou asks, his tone brisk, steering the conversation toward something more productive.

“Ikuhara Gai. Thirty-three years old. Standard office worker, nine-to-five. Lived alone,” replies one of the crime scene analysts, a jaded woman in her forties. She adjusts her gloves as she speaks, her voice tinged with indifference. “Prime target for a secluded murder, if you ask me.”

“Anything else?”

“Not much,” she admits with a shrug.

Heizou chuckles as he scans the room once more. “Interesting.”

“Something funny, detective?”

Heizou’s eyes shift to an unassuming, small white sheet lying on the computer desk. On top of it is a regular ball-point pen, its tip facing left.

“You seem to have missed the piece of paper on the victim’s desk. Could I have a look at it?”

The woman blinks at him, momentarily caught off guard.

“Well... judging by what was written on it, we didn’t think it was relevant to the case—”

“No, it definitely is,” Heizou cuts in, a keenness to his gaze. “I’m sure of it.”

“Your intuition?” she surmises. He's used that word many times before, almost as if he was talking about another person—enough that the other precinct staff are used to it by now.

“That, and the way it was positioned on the table. Look at the victim’s watch. It’s on his right hand. Nine times out of ten that means he’s left-handed. Now, I don’t think a left-handed person would leave their pen in an awkward position like that, especially not during a struggle. This was deliberately left behind by someone after the murder. Like they wanted us to see it.”

The paper and pen are carefully bagged as evidence and handed to Heizou. Through the clear plastic, he reads the contents of the sheet.

At first glance, it seems like a shopping list. For groceries. Heizou sees nothing out of the ordinary about its contents. Vegetables, fruits, meat, rice, beer, soy sauce. Just ordinary things one would expect to find in a middle aged man's shopping list. It certainly seemed innocent enough. But Heizou didn’t believe that, and neither did his intuition.

“I see.”

He stores it away, hoping to investigate it a bit more later. There’s something more to it than meets the eye. But he needs more conclusive evidence to prove that. For now, his focus should be the body.

His eyes are drawn to the two red dots on the victim’s neck, already crusted over by hardened blood. The sight and smell of a fresh corpse sicken him beyond belief, making him want to gag almost to the point of throwing up, but the tolerance he’s built over the years for dead bodies manages to keep the contents of his stomach from erupting violently.

“What are your thoughts, detective?” another person asks this time.

Heizou crosses his arms.

“Well, our culprit must have a really weird thing for vampires if they go to such lengths to be this convincing.”

A sigh can be heard from beside him.

“Honestly, you’d have to be a bit crazy about vampires to be compelled to do something like this," Uesugi chimes in. "Vampires," he huffs mockingly, waving his hand back and forth, as if dispelling an imaginary cloud of smoke.

Heizou rests a palm on his hip, further going on to explain, “Actually—I haven’t ruled it out.”

Uesugi raises an eyebrow at him, his disbelief palpable.

“But there’s far too little evidence to say anything with absolute certainty for now.” A beat. “Logic dictates it’s probably just some misguided vampire fanatic. But... I can’t say I’m entirely convinced myself. My intuition is telling me there’s more to it than just that.”

Uesugi shakes his head, clearly unimpressed.

“Do you hear yourself right now, detective? You can’t possibly be suggesting vampires exist, right?”

Heizou huffs, feigning offense. “Hey now. If Visions and magical creatures exist, why not sparkly, bloodsucking vampires? If we’re lucky, we might even encounter one with a funny accent,” Heizou says almost jokingly.

Uesugi’s deadpan stare is answer enough.

“Oh, come on, Uesugi. Don’t be such a buzzkill. Does this not seem compelling enough to you?” Heizou teases, flicking his fingers to conjure a small gust of wind. The sudden breeze ruffles Uesugi’s hair and jacket, much to his annoyance.

“I understand, Heizou—” Uesugi says calmly, fixing up his appearance, “—but bloodsucking vampires? Surely, you’d think that if they existed, we’d see records, reports, anything of them by now. And so far, nothing. They don’t exist outside of fiction. Those are just fabricated stories to tell children when they misbehave. Or... you know. Some weirdo’s sex fantasy.”

Heizou sighs again, shaking his head. “You lack imagination, Uesugi. Lack of evidence doesn't mean it doesn't exist—it just means you haven't looked hard enough. Besides—” Heizou continues, unfaltering in his approach, “—a detective needs to consider all the possibilities—even the most unlikely ones.”

He pauses, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “That’s why you’re a terrible detective.”

Uesugi winces, visibly stung by the remark. “You didn’t have to say it like that…” he mutters under his breath.

Heizou laughs, patting Uesugi on the shoulder. “Don’t take it personally. I’m just saying, keep an open mind. You never know what might turn up.”

Heizou taps his foot against the floor, arms crossed, his sharp mind working to make sense of the scene. His eyes drift downward, almost absentmindedly, scanning the pristine floorboards. Not a single drop of blood.

Strange.

The initial assessment of the body ruled the cause of death as exsanguination via the carotid artery—in other words, extreme blood loss. Yet, there’s no blood anywhere. None on the floor, none on the furniture, not even a faint stain on the victim’s clothes. It’s as if the blood had simply… vanished.

Nearby, one of the crime analysts breaks the silence. “This is the third time this month. It’s the exact same M.O. as the last two cases. Body fully intact, not a drop of blood on the scene, as if the blood just somehow got sucked dry. But why? What would someone even need all this blood for? Would it—”

Heizou tunes it out. The world around him fades into a distant hum as he steps into his mental mind palace, where logic and intuition work in tandem to dissect the puzzle.

Mentally, he begins to go down the list of possibilities. He starts with the most plausible one: illegal blood trade.

It’s not unheard of. Blood bags sold through black-market channels could fetch a high price, particularly in under-regulated areas where shady hospitals or fringe “health clinics” might look the other way. But the more he ponders over it, the more he sees the holes in that theory. 

For one, the logistics don’t add up. Transporting several liters of blood is a nightmare—especially without proper cryopreservation. Blood outside the body has a shelf life of about thirty minutes before coagulation sets in. Even with anticoagulants, keeping it fresh for any meaningful amount of time requires expensive equipment. And then there’s the issue of secrecy. Moving blood inconspicuously, in bulk, without attracting attention? Nearly impossible.

More importantly, Heizou considers the cost-benefit ratio. Why go to such extreme lengths—killing innocent people, staging meticulous crime scenes—for something so inefficient and risky? There are far easier ways to make a quick profit in the criminal underworld. Organ trafficking, drug smuggling, forgery—any of these would yield better returns with less effort. Not to mention, the ‘bite marks’, a central clue—are unmeaningful in this theory.

No. This theory doesn’t hold water. It’s too convoluted, too impractical. He discards it.

He moves down the next theory: scientific experimentation.

Could someone be harvesting blood for research? Perhaps a rogue scientist conducting unregulated experiments, or a pharmaceutical company testing an experimental drug? It’s a chilling idea, but not entirely unfounded. Blood is a powerful substance, after all. It carries the vital constituents to support life—proteins, plasma, oxygen-carrying heme. 

But once again, Heizou finds himself unsatisfied. While the theory holds some merit, the execution doesn’t fit. Most scientists who care about their results would perform their blood collection in a clinical setting, somewhere free from external contaminants. This method of randomly picking out victims in an unsterile setting was highly likely to cause cross-contamination of their experimental samples. It doesn’t make sense—not unless they were a reckless malpractitioner who cared little about sterility, and were more determined than most to ensure their victims didn't live to tell the tale. 

But if they were determined enough to kill, why leave behind the evidence? From this perspective, leaving behind the body would just mean more loose threads. It just doesn’t add up. The puncture wounds don’t make sense either, unless blood collection tools nowadays drain blood from two holes, which... They don’t.

He shakes his head. He dismisses this theory as well.

He finds himself circling back to the one theory he can’t quite shake: vampires.

The killer doesn’t just drain blood—they do it with surgical precision, always aiming for the carotid artery—which is a guaranteed way to draw profuse amounts of blood within a short span of time—and kill a victim within minutes.

 The position of the body highly suggests that the victim died in his seat and fell to the floor. It doesn’t explain the lack of blood on the victim’s clothes, or on the floor. For some reason, the killer didn’t want to waste a single drop of blood. The lack of blood suggests an unexplainable hunger—like a starved animal scavenging its last meal. And unlike the other theories, the bite marks are explainable—double fangs, classic vampire imagery. 

He could believe it—just a vampire feeding and fleeing before any sort of law enforcement arrived. This theory makes the most sense, but proving the existence of vampires was a gargantuan task on its own with what little evidence they have. 

Maybe it is a vampire. Or maybe it’s someone who wants them to think it’s a vampire. Either way, it’s the most compelling answer so far. For what purpose exactly, is not something that can easily be explained with the scant amount of clues they had on hand. If the bite marks were left behind to throw them off course, then the experimentation theory could be a bit more plausible. Regardless, if the ‘bite marks’ were intended to mislead, then it just meant that they were dealing with a lunatic who really liked vampires. Otherwise...

Opening his eyes, Heizou exhales, the sights and sounds of the crime scene flooding back into focus.

“Detective?” the analyst from earlier calls, looking at him expectantly, as if waiting for an answer.

Heizou straightens, his expression calm but resolute. “We’re dealing with someone who’s either very committed to the idea of vampires… or an actual vampire in the flesh.”

The analyst blinks, caught off guard. “You're really suggesting vampires? I think you're out of your element, detective. Maybe all that case-solving has finally gotten to your head.”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Heizou says, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m just saying we shouldn’t rule it out.”

 

 

~✦~

 

[ 1:27 PM — Inazuma Police Department, 24th precinct ]

Heizou sits at his desk, surrounded by a sea of papers, folders, and evidence bags. To the untrained eye, the scene looks like chaos—a disorganized mess of documents and scribbled notes piled high, threatening to spill over the edges. But to Heizou, it’s a highly organized system.

He flips through the case files for what feels like the hundredth time, his fingers crinkling the edges of the pages as he meticulously cross-references every detail. A file in one hand, a pen in the other, he jots down connections, makes mental notes, and pieces together fragments of information with pinpoint precision.

A new detail catches his attention.

Another murder. This one happened the day after the second victim was discovered. At first glance, it might seem related—same timeframe, same city—but the pattern doesn’t fit. No puncture wounds, no missing blood. Just a coincidence.

Heizou tosses the file into a separate pile he’s mentally labeled Unrelated . He’ll circle back to it later, once the serial killer case is closed. Right now, it’s just background noise.

This process comes as naturally to him as breathing. Sorting useful information from irrelevant information, isolating the critical from the incidental—it’s all part of the job.

To his coworkers, though, Heizou’s desk is an enigma. Papers are scattered haphazardly, folders stacked at odd angles, evidence bags wedged between empty coffee cups and half-finished reports. But there’s a method to his madness. Every item has its place, and every placement serves a purpose.

Of course, not everyone sees it that way. His superiors have grumbled about his workspace more than once, but Heizou always waves them off with a shrug and a casual, “It’s organized to me ,” which seemed to silence all their complaints. They can’t exactly fault him when he produces consistent results.

He scans the evidence again, flipping through pages of text and diagrams, his mind piecing together fragments like a puzzle. His focus sharpens as he pulls out the sheet of paper from earlier, sealed inside a plastic evidence bag.

At first glance, it looks ordinary—just another piece of paper, the kind you’d find in any office or notebook. But something about it feels… off.

Heizou leans in, holding the bag up to the light. There’s something there. Something faint. Something that doesn’t belong.

Something odd... something in the air... seeping out of the page, seeping through the plastic evidence bag... it feels just like—

Elemental traces.

Heizou’s lips curl into a knowing smirk. He should’ve guessed. If he hadn’t noticed, they might’ve been chasing dead ends for weeks.

“Well, well,” he mutters to himself. “You’re a tricky one, aren’t you?”

Sliding the evidence bag onto the desk, Heizou activates his Elemental Sight. The world around him shifts, a faint glow bleeding into his vision as hidden traces come to light.

On waning crescent
Where dim moon meets proud lightning
Days blur into one

Heizou huffs. A riddle, cleverly hidden in the form of a haiku.

He leans forward, his fingers drumming against the desk as his mind begins to churn. Heizou racks his brain, assembling all of the figurative puzzle pieces together and tries to decipher the meaning of the poem. Each word is a clue, a piece of the puzzle waiting to be placed. It doesn’t take long for the scattered fragments to arrange themselves in his mind, like a piece of polished clockwork.

‘Where dim moon meets proud lightning’ ... His gaze narrows as the answer comes into focus.

“Raiden Corporation,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. The company’s logo—a lightning bolt crossed with a crescent moon—is unmistakable. “The electrical company run by the Raiden Shogun herself. Their headquarters are right in the middle of the killer’s activity zone.”

Heizou’s eyes flick back to the last line. ‘Days blur into one.’

“Twelve midnight,” he concludes with quiet certainty.

The pieces click into place, and the satisfaction of solving the riddle washes over him. He leans back in his chair, spinning lazily as he props his feet up on the desk. For a brief moment, he allows himself to bask in the small victory, taking a moment to feel pleased with himself.

But his moment of peace is short-lived.

A stern-looking woman marches into his work area with a hawk-like gaze and instinctively, Heizou is overcome by a strong desire to flee. Not because he’s afraid of her, but because he doesn’t want to deal with her prudish yapping about his ‘irresponsible’ work ethic.

Captain Kujou Sara—straitlaced, cold, no-nonsense police captain of the 24th precinct of Inazuma City. She has the unfortunate pleasure of keeping Heizou under her wing.

“Shikanoin,” she begins, her tone crisp and unwavering. “Have you made any developments regarding the serial killer?”

Heizou blinks, momentarily caught off guard by her impeccable timing.

“I have, in fact, Madam Kujou,” he replies with a grin, masking his initial surprise with his usual charm. “You came at just the right time.”

Sara doesn’t flinch, her expression as stoic as ever. The silence stretches between them, heavy and expectant.

“Well?” she prompts, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Heizou clears his throat, straightening in his seat.

“So, we have a new lead,” he announces, precise and methodical. “I may have figured out where our killer will strike next. Or, at the very least... where they want us to go.” His tone offers a hint of gravity.

Her silence is expectant, the unspoken demand for him to keep talking sharp in her focused gaze.

“Our killer has been on the run for approximately three weeks,” Heizou begins, leaning against his desk. “In that time, they’ve committed three homicides, all within the same small area. It’s likely they’ll continue operating within that zone. But so far, we haven’t been able to accurately predict their movements. At least... not until this turned up.”

Heizou holds up the small sheet of paper, encased in its plastic evidence bag. Sara’s sharp eyes follow it, her attention unwavering as he explains its contents and the haiku written with elemental energy.

“It’s likely a trap,” Heizou admits, his tone casual but thoughtful. “But it would be unwise not to pursue it. The message was masked so well with elemental energy that I doubt it was meant for just anyone to see. Whoever left this wanted someone like me to find it.”

His voice dips slightly, and a flicker of determination cuts through his usual nonchalance. “But at this point, we don’t really have the luxury to ignore it. Leads are drying up.”

He glances at Sara, hoping to read her expression. But her face remains as steely as ever, her emotions buried beneath a layer of disciplined calm. Is that approval? Concern? Annoyance? Heizou can never quite tell with her, and it’s that inscrutability that makes her a nightmare at the precinct’s bi-monthly poker game.

After a pause, Sara finally speaks, her tone clipped but resolute. “Very well. I’ll assign you a specialized task force to assist with this investigation. Use it wisely.”

“Understood, Captain Kujou.”

Heizou grins, his characteristic smugness returning as he straightens up and turns to leave. His gait is unhurried, his confidence evident as he heads off to who-knows-where. But just as he’s about to step through the door, a firm hand clamps down on his shoulder, halting him in his tracks.

“Shikanoin.”

Heizou winces slightly at the strength of her grip, then turns to face her. Her sharp gaze pierces through him.

“We’re dealing with a dangerous criminal,” she says, her voice steady but carrying an edge of something unspoken. “This is a high-risk case.”

Heizou nods, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “I’m aware, Madam Kujou.

Her eyes narrow, and the intensity of her stare feels like it might burn through his skull. “I trust that you’ll manage the situation with the resources provided to you. But...”

Sara’s voice softens, ever so slightly, though her expression barely changes. The shift is subtle, but Heizou catches it—just enough to notice the concern beneath her usual sternness.

“...Do not hesitate to request backup if necessary.”

Oh.

Heizou blinks, momentarily caught off guard. So she is worried about him. That’s... oddly reassuring.

He exhales quietly, a small, relieved smile tugging at his lips. he chuckles, stepping past her and giving her shoulder a light tap as he goes.

“Don’t worry, Captain Kujou. I’ve got this,” he says, flashing his signature grin. “Trust me.”

Sara doesn’t reply, her lips forming into a thin line. But as Heizou disappears around the corner, she exhales through her nose—a sound that might be mistaken for irritation, but probably closer to reluctant acceptance.

 

 

~✦~

 

[ One day later – Raiden Co. Company Building ]

Sitting idly while the killer prepared their next move would have been reckless. As a precaution, the police secured the area in advance, setting up a covert operation within a fifty-meter radius of the Raiden Co. Company Building. The planning had been meticulous. Officers were stationed strategically—some undercover, blending seamlessly into the busy streets of Inazuma City, while others remained inside the building itself, serving as bodyguards for the few staff members still present.

Coordination with the Raiden Company had been critical. To maintain the illusion of normalcy, most employees were instructed to work remotely, but some operations had to continue in person. Any noticeable disruption to the building’s usual activity could tip off the killer and jeopardize the entire operation.

A total of thirty officers were assigned to the stakeout. With Heizou in charge of the operation, they all reported to him, directly or indirectly. Heizou himself had chosen to monitor the area from a nearby hotel room—close enough to respond quickly but distant enough to maintain a low profile. From his vantage point, he could oversee the operation’s progress and coordinate with his team.

Despite the extensive planning, Heizou knew there was no such thing as a perfect operation. A single oversight could unravel everything. To ensure there were no gaps, he made frequent trips out of the hotel room, walking the perimeter under the guise of an ordinary passerby.

The first day passed uneventfully. Hours of waiting bled into one another, broken only by the occasional crackle of a police radio or the distant hum of office workers entering and leaving the building. The officers maintained their posts, vigilant but quiet, communicating in low whispers or brief, coded transmissions.

Stakeouts were always like this—long, drawn-out hours of silence and monotony with the underlying tension of something big waiting to happen. He had come prepared, bringing along a few items to stave off the boredom: a Rubik’s cube, a fidget spinner, and a collection of mind games on his phone. These small distractions helped keep his mind sharp, though they did little to quell the unease in his gut.

By the time night fell on the second day, the tension in the air was palpable. The quiet hum of the city seemed louder somehow, each sound amplified by the oppressive stillness of the stakeout. Heizou’s instincts prickled at the back of his mind, a subtle warning that something was about to happen.

Without warning, the entire area is plunged into darkness.

Heizou jolts upright, the Rubik’s cube slipping from his hands and clattering to the floor. His first instinct was to check his surroundings—his hotel room, the hallway outside the door. Everything seemed normal, but the sudden blackout sent a jolt of adrenaline through his system.

Crossing the room in quick strides, he pulls back the curtains and peers out the window. The city below eerily still, the usual glow of streetlights and office windows replaced by an all-encompassing blackness.

A blackout.

Heizou suspects someone must have tampered with the main energy supply, or possibly cut an electrical line. It was all likely premeditated by the culprit. He expected a few things to go wrong tonight, especially with the way the note was basically an invitation into the lion’s maw—this was them walking right into an obvious trap, but this is exactly why he came prepared. He did everything to ensure that they could minimize the damage.

He checks the time on his phone.

11:45 P.M.

It’s almost midnight.

The whole day, he simply watched and waited for updates from his coworkers and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It would be plausible for it to just be a regular power outage, but... at this hour?

Thankfully, most of the office workers had already returned home, but even so...

Something feels amiss. Like something awful is about to happen. Even if they took all the necessary precautions, all it took was one thing to go wrong. A dull feeling churns in his stomach, unpleasant and foreboding.

Grabbing his handheld transceiver, he quickly switches to the police frequency, his voice low but urgent as he addresses the team.

“This is Shikanoin. Report your status. Anyone have eyes on what’s going on out there?”

Static crackles on the line, followed by a series of terse responses. Most officers report no unusual activity, but the blackout had clearly unsettled them.

“Something doesn’t feel right. Conduct a search. Fan out, comb through the entire building,” he commands.

As he did, the other officers begin tuning in to the frequency, confirming their positions and the details of their patrols with Heizou.

“I’ll take Floor 13,” he says. It’s the only one that’s unassigned.

Heizou couldn’t spare any more time waiting for something to happen. There's this uneasy feeling in his gut, telling him to pursue it. Without hesitation, he pushes open the balcony door and steps out into the cold night air. The building looms ahead, a dark and towering presence.

Heizou tightened his grip on the railing, took a deep breath, and leapt.

The wind whipped past him as he descended ten floors in a matter of seconds. For anyone else, it would’ve been a death sentence, but Heizou had an Anemo Vision. He focused his energy, channeling the power of the winds to cushion his fall. A soft swirl of Anemo energy coiled around his feet as he landed, absorbing the impact with effortless grace.

The building was right in front of him now.

He enters the building. The dim emergency lighting cast long shadows across the polished floors, creating an eerie, unnatural stillness. The air around him is oppressive, heavy. Every creak of the floor beneath his boots and every faint echo of distant footsteps seem amplified in the silence.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

But he can’t relent now.

The elevator didn’t work, naturally. His only option now was the stairs, and it was quite a ways up—but he couldn’t relent now. He steels himself mentally for the trek upwards. 

With his muscles tense, he makes his way up, springing forward and skipping several steps, careful to not lose his footing, and once again using Anemo to boost his legs forward. The elemental energy at his soles makes the trip a thousand times more manageable. There’s a rush in his blood, in his heart, in his veins, in his gut, and it’s been yelling at him to run faster.

The painted numbers on the walls of the stairwell informed him of his position. As he cycles through each flight of stairs, he can hear the other armed officers shuffling through every floor. The numbers are a quick blur as he rushes past each floor, his breathing steady but purposeful. 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12—

But when he finally reaches the 13th floor, everything falls quiet.

Suspiciously quiet.

Heizou pauses, his hand gripping the cold metal railing. The air feels different here, heavier. This floor is supposed to be just like any other, but the silence feels unnatural, deliberate—like someone, or something, is masking the sound.

Heizou circles around the floor, cautious, gun in hand. He would’ve turned on a flashlight, but he didn’t want to risk alarming the killer, if they really were here. He surveys the area, scanning every detail from left to right.

Even in the dim light, it’s clear that this building is high-end. The polished surfaces of desks and chairs gleam faintly, their sleek designs a testament to the Raiden Company’s prestige. Heizou feels out of place in this pristine, luxurious environment. An entire wall of glass windows, office chairs, desks, and computers and the occasional office plant. The only light that seeped in was that of the crescent moon, and it illuminated patches of the floor through the windowpanes.

 It’s a far cry from the cramped, cluttered precinct he’s used to.

I guess that’s the Raiden household name for you, he muses, glancing at the immaculate office setup. I could never work in a place like this. Too... prestigious.

The thought barely lingers before something shifts in the dark.

Heizou freezes.

His heart lurches as his eyes dart around the room, scanning every shadow, every corner. The grip on his gun tightens, his knuckles whitening as his pulse pounds in his ears.

Then he sees it.

In the far corner of the room, silhouetted against the moonlight, stands a figure. It looms over a lifeless body sprawled on the floor, the corpse’s stillness a stark contrast to the figure’s subtle movements. Its breathing.

Heizou’s breath catches in his throat.

It’s difficult to make out in the darkness, but something about it feels... off. His body seizes up, every instinct screaming at him to run, yet he can’t.

He’s drawn to the figure’s face—or rather, its eyes.

Ruby red.

They glow in the dark like molten gemstones, vivid and piercing, almost hypnotic. Like liquid blood encased in crystalline form. The way they glow in the darkness—such a vivid, piercing scarlet—it makes every nerve, every synapse fire up, makes his entire body tremble.

The figure hasn’t noticed him yet.

The silence between them is suffocating, so thick and oppressive it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. Heizou struggles to breathe, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven gasps.

Heizou’s mind screams at him to look away, to move, to do anything—but he can’t. It’s almost like he’s spellbound.

But then those same crimson eyes snap toward him, zeroing in on him, and it shakes him to his very core. His dreamlike trance shatters, and he scrambles to retrieve the handgun he hadn’t even realized had slipped from his grasp. His fingers fumble against the cold floor, frustration bubbling up as he grabs hold of it and raises the barrel, locking his hands into position just as he’d been trained to do at the academy.

The figure doesn’t falter.

Instead, it takes a step forward. Then another. Slow, deliberate, almost... curious. The way it moves toward him is eerily calm, as if it has no fear of the weapon aimed directly at it. Its steps are careful, measured, like a curious child inching closer to a deer in the forest—tentative yet unafraid.

“Freeze!” Heizou yells, his voice sharp and commanding. “Inazuma Police Department! I’ve been given the authority to shoot!”

The words echo through the silent room, but they do nothing to deter the figure. It doesn’t stop. Doesn’t hesitate. The 9mm caliber pistol in Heizou’s hands may as well be a toy for all the reaction it gets.

As it steps into the pale moonlight streaming through the windows, Heizou gets a clear look.

The figure is... breathtaking.

White hair, streaked with a single vibrant line of vermillion, like the touch of a maple leaf on freshly fallen snow. Skin that seems almost luminous under the dim light, smooth and unblemished like porcelain. And those eyes—those striking, piercing red eyes. They bore into him with an intensity that strips him bare, as though every secret, every vulnerability, is laid out before them.

For a moment, he swears he’s staring into the eyes of Death itself.

But it isn’t terrifying.

Not in the way he thought it would be.

There’s something oddly... inviting about that gaze, like it’s calling out to him, beckoning him closer. Heizou’s hands tremble, his grip on the gun faltering as the figure’s presence overwhelms him.

Ethereal.

That’s the only word he can think of to describe it.

But before he can fully process what he’s seeing—before he can take in the otherworldly beauty of this mysterious being—a flurry of red leaves swirls around it. The vibrant, fiery foliage fills the air, obscuring the figure from view.

And in the next instant—

Gone.

Like the fleeting petals of a sakura tree at the height of spring, it vanishes. Transient. There one moment, gone the next. The leaves dissipate into nothing, leaving no trace of the figure’s presence.

No trace... except for one.

A single red maple leaf flutters to the floor, landing softly at Heizou’s feet.

He stares at it, his mind reeling. Was it real? Or had he imagined the entire encounter? The silence of the room presses in on him as he struggles to make sense of what just happened.

But there’s no time to dwell on it.

Heizou shakes his head sharply, slapping himself mentally to break free of his spiraling thoughts.

Focus!

He needs to focus. There’s a body. That much is certain. And where there’s a body, there’s a killer.

He forces himself to move, scanning the room quickly. Assess the situation. Secure the area. Close it off. The questions claw at the edges of his mind, demanding answers:

Who was that? Why were they here? Were they the killer?

But he pushes them aside. Now isn’t the time.

Heizou clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms as frustration surges through him. His chest tightens, and before he can stop himself, he punches the wall with a loud thud.

“Damn it!” he growls through gritted teeth.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. They came prepared—even brought an entire team of specialized officers—and a body still somehow turned up. Once again, he failed to prevent a murder. And this time, the killer was just out of reach. Frustration boils in his senses, but he manages to rein it in enough to make his next decision.

Heizou pulls the walkie-talkie from his belt, and presses on the transceiver’s push-to-talk button. The white noise and the static fills the silence. His breath catches in his throat, and he hesitates for a split-second before he speaks into it with the practiced confidence one would expect from an officer of the law.

“Body spotted on Floor 13, West Wing. Requesting backup immediately. The perpetrator is still at large. Over.”

The words hang in the air.

But the response he’s waiting for never comes.

The static continues, unbroken. No voices. No acknowledgment.

Nothing.

 

Notes:

thank you so much for reading! :> it would mean a lot to me if you left a comment and/or a kudos!