「 きしかん。」

As such, the recent young adult who had taken up residence in a local hotel had been the subject of much murmuring. For a respectably sized city, Sumaru was not safe from the chattering and gossip of housewives and students like — if anything, it seemed to spread like wildfire here. Rumors ran through the very veins of Sumaru, it seemed.

That blue cap... Aren't they a detective? I heard they were investigating a murder. My sister-in-law said they're tailing a cheating husband!

It was incessant, and if they were indeed a detective, they'd have clued in within a day or two ago that they were under a spotlight of sorts.

Tatsuya, for his part, was no stranger to this kind of treatment, even as ostensibly a resident of Sumaru — even if he was often away. If not for his choice in an equally bold shade of red, the tattoo ensnaring his right arm was quick to catch attention as well. Tattoos remained taboo after all, especially to those very same chattering housewives.

That same treatment was partially why he often found refuge in the secluded corners of the city, when he didn't leave altogether. The hum of his motorcycle was distinctive as it pushed up the winding mountain road of Mt. Iwato. Despite being in the central district of Sumaru, most locals tended to leave it be out of superstition. The burned out shell of a Shinto shrine still rested near its summit, untouched by time beyond the slow reclamation of nature.

In truth, Tatsuya as well often left the shrine be. It was a source of many painful memories; the nearby parking lot with its accompanying overlook facing south over Tokyo Bay and towards the Pacific was good enough for his purposes.

So, imagine his surprise when he finds a rare soul already in his usual haven. That same detective, it seemed, judging by the navy blue cap.

As he would've wanted to be left alone in their position, he parked at the opposite end of the parking lot from them. Resting his helmet on the passenger seat, before leaning against the driver's seat, perpendicular as to face out towards the sea. A silver lighter is in one hand, thumb running over the cap but not flicking it open and shut.

For the time being though, he sought cover from the storm the first chance he could. Fortunately, a mall was open not far away from his exit — judging by the amount of people inside seeking shelter and buying up every last umbrella, Tatsuya hadn't been the first one to seek refuge here.

Opting to avoid the somewhat panicked throng of people however, Tatsuya was relieved to see a cafe still open. Judging by the business hours posted outside, they'd only be open for another hour; he could only hope that that would be enough for the locals to collect and calm themselves under the early, sudden onset of the typhoon. It had been then, pushing the doors open, that he had noticed that his hands were numb, likely frozen through his gloves by the whipping winds.

"One hot coffee." A pause for a beat, considering his options before— "large is fine. Thank you."

With people's attention elsewhere, Tatsuya was thankful that the cafe was largely deserted. Taking a relatively secluded seat, he hung his still wet jacket over the opposite seat, gloves at the corner of the table. He had gone out of his way to find some napkins to wipe up any dripping rainwater before his coffee was served.

Katsuya had ultimately taken more offence over the fact that he wasn't part of the assigned unit investigating. He was from Sumaru, after all, and not Tokyo. Considerate as he was though, he was ultimately talked down from leaving the show.

"There's only a couple hours until we go on air! How would we fill your spot?" "We already advertised with your likeness!" "We would have to send some of the staff home early!"

Fortunately, the panel had largely gone off without a hitch. Katsuya wasn't the only renowned detective from another city, it turned out — a young private detective from rural Yamanashi, as well as a pair from Kyoto and Osaka. Ultimately though, the intended star of the show was Tokyo's own, Akechi Goro. The hosts of the panel did their best to steer the questions to their darling celebrity, the cameras entirely on him.

With time though, the panel became much more a discussion between Katsuya and Akechi. The Kansai duo, local celebrities in their own right, had checked out knowing their chance for the spotlight had been usurped. The Yamanashi detective found it all to be a farce from the beginning.

The hosts all but sidelined as well, Katsuya and Akechi were all too happy to steer the conversation. Though Katsuya didn't have the insight of being an assigned investigator, he did have his own history and plenty of his own insights. The audience had been glued to their seats, the usually humming and hawing gone silent, not even the usual fangirl squealing over Akechi every other sentence. The producers, while annoyed that the program had gotten away from their original intentions, couldn't deny that it had been a success ratings wise.

Much to Tatsuya's chagrin though, their conversation hadn't ended there. For whatever reason, Akechi had invited Katsuya along for coffee afterwards, and in turn Tatsuya had been pulled along. A small coffee shop in an otherwise unremarkable neighborhood of Tokyo — at least the coffee was good.

Sitting at the bar-top while the two detectives went on and on behind Tatsuya in a booth, it seemed Akechi was a friend of the owner as well, not minding to let them stay past closing. It wasn't as if any other customers had come to pass, aside from a shaggy headed student who had quickly holed himself up somewhere in the back.

The two detectives had, it seemed, lost track of time. Checking his watch, the last train had already come and gone. The owner of the shop had closed up as well, only asking the student upstairs to lock up after their guests had finally departed. Katsuya had seemingly become aware of it now as well, panicking and apologetic to the younger detective.

"I really am sorry. I've kept you far too late. You're a student as well, no? I really ought to be more considerate." Each apology from Katsuya was disarmed and deflected by Akechi in turn, but the elder detectived remained insistent. After a few moments of this though, it seemed an idea had come to cross his mind. "Ah! Tatsuya! Could you give our friend here a ride home? I can take a cab back and bill it to the TV station if need be." Before Tatsuya could refuse, his elder brother was already slipping on his blazer, sliding a business card across the table to Akechi. A gesture of camaraderie, as well as saying his door was open in case the younger detective ever wanted an off the record second opinion.

And like that, he was out the door, the bell jingling behind him. With it being past midnight and in a residential neighborhood, Katsuya would've likely had to walk all the way to Shibuya before he found a cab.

Exhaling to release his irritation, Tatsuya was soon enough reaching for his own jacket, thrown over the barstool next to his own. It would've been easier to get this over with sooner rather than later — the sooner he could get Akechi back home as well, the better his odds of finding a business hotel or a capsule for him to rest. He didn't intend to stay in Tokyo any longer than he needed to.

Tatsuya, unsurprisingly, felt practically alien here. The pristine city — almost too clean — overlooking the pale waters of Osaka Bay. His trademark shade of red felt almost garish in such a cosmopolitan place. Fortunately with the local private high school out of session, he was able to find himself a semblance of quietude, away from prying eyes; aside from Kirijo Group security, but Tatsuya was more used to those types breathing down his neck.

Giving a low hum, he contemplated quietly as he looked over the water. As clean as Iwatodai could be, there was a certain thrumming under the surface as well. A heightened pulse, as if its soul itself was on edge. Not entirely unlike Sumaru's own; whether tragedy had already occurred here though, or had yet to come to pass, he was too much a stranger to say.

The moment of contemplation wasn't to last though, it seemed. A tightness in his chest, a pang behind his eyes — Apollo was cautious, providing forewarning. A gaze was burning into Tatsuya's spine, though not at all the same as those otherwise faceless, nameless security guards. He doesn't turn from the seat of his motorcycle, but his right hand thumbs over the keys to the ignition in his jacket pocket. Direct confrontation had long ago stopped being his modus operandi.