#blackorganization

Detco Characters in their Childhood🥰

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Uh-ohh. Detective shark boi finally got caught.

Hattori heiji doing Kamen yaiba signature pose😂

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FIRST ACT – NOISE   XV.Ad limitum – Inertia

[...]

Chianti laughed at the ticklish sensation. She ran her fingers through the long hair—silky, soft, curled at the ends. She loved the way it felt. Just like… what did it matter.

The floor pulsed. The music rose. People screamed.

Chianti lifted her gaze, enraptured. And she saw them. The butterflies.

Purple. Blue. White. Just as she remembered them.

She spun around. She laughed. Loud. And louder. And louder.

XVI.Ad Ritum – Rhythm

[Exterior – Seafront, Tokyo – Early morning.]

Korn bent forward and rested his hands on his knees, recovering his breathing rhythm and heart rate as he watched his grey running shoes.

That position—known as the tripod position—allows for greater lung volume and therefore oxygenates the blood more quickly after exertion.

Not all humans know this. But their bodies do.

That’s why, when we need to catch our breath fast, we instinctively assume this posture.

Korn straightened up and stretched his back, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Then he turned to face the sea.

The morning sun reflected off his dark glasses.

He checked his Casio watch, ever reliable. 06:04.

Perfect.

He took advantage of the pause to complete his set of exercises: fifty push-ups, fifty sit-ups, fifty squats. And, since it was Sunday, he added a few extra repetitions.

He liked training outdoors from time to time, and the seaside promenade at that hour was ideal.

By then, the first athletes were beginning to appear: the earliest risers. Or the most disciplined.

He, on the other hand, had already been at it for quite a while.

He had woken at 4:08 a.m. with the feeling—no, the certainty—that he wasn’t going to sleep anymore. Not even doze.

So, he had got up. Right foot first. Then the left.

He had opened the bottom drawer of his dresser, the largest one, where he kept his workout clothes. He chose dark running tights and a long-sleeved shirt designed to block the wind while still breathing. He pulled a neck gaiter into place and, as always, his black glasses.

He stepped outside. And began to jog. At a steady rhythm.

The route didn’t matter. One street or another. His destination was always the same: the sea.

Those early Sunday hours gave him peace. A calm he didn’t find during the rest of the week.

For Korn, the sea, the wind, the gulls were not symbols—but they represented something close to freedom.

Sometimes—only sometimes—he took off his watch, slipped it into his pocket, removed his shoes and socks as well, and walked barefoot down to the sand.

Sometimes he walked along the shoreline, letting the salt water soak his legs and feet. Then he would sit. Breathe.

Become aware of himself. Of worked muscles. Of his heart beating. Of a blank mind and steady feet.

But that day, he didn’t.

He stayed seated on a bench.

There had been a time when the sea meant something else. Not just sand, but ocean. Not orders, but learning. Not surveillance, but safety.

Korn vaguely remembered large hands, roughened by hard work and cold weather, guiding him through the waves. Steady. Patient.

A deep voice telling him when to move forward and when to wait.

He learned to swim. To dive. To measure the risk inherent in jumping from the rocks. To not let fear take control.

But never to lose respect for the sea. Nor the wind. Nor the one who had taught him all of it.

He couldn’t clearly remember his face. But he remembered the constant hum of the old boat’s engine. The rust building up in hidden corners, which from time to time had to be scraped away with patience. The smell of oil and diesel.

The nets, mended over and over again, hanging in the sun. And, in the distance, the blurred outline of his coastal city.

No, he still couldn’t clearly remember his face. But he remembered the feeling of his presence.

That as long as someone was watching — from the shore, from the hull, from anywhere he would be— nothing bad could happen.

“Everything is still standing”, he told himself.

Then he stood up and fastened the watch back around his wrist.

06:55.

He stretched his legs, brushed off the sand, and pulled his socks and shoes back on.

He gave the sea one last look and jogged back along the same path he had come, thinking that once he got home, he would start his routine: Tidying up and cleaning the apartment.

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