Chapter 33: Report
Akari and Kenji split up, their previous confusion now replaced by a chilling urgency. The idea that Ryouta had simply vanished wasn’t sitting right. Not with the kind of tech they knew the family possessed, and certainly not with the raw, untamed power Ryouta himself sometimes hinted at. They widened their search perimeter, their synchronized movements a testament to years of training.
The estate grounds eventually gave way to the quiet, snow-dusted streets bordering the property. The air grew colder, biting at their exposed skin. Most of the capital’s snow had been cleared, but out here, on the fringes, it lay undisturbed, a pristine blanket over the sleeping city. Akari cut down a narrow alleyway, one that smelled faintly of stale trash and damp concrete, the kind of place even the street lamps seemed to avoid.
"Anything, Akari?" Kenji’s voice crackled in her ear, strained.
"Negative, still just... wait." Akari stopped dead, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes, sharper than any night vision goggles, picked out a dark shape huddled against a dumpster. It was too still, too small to be a stray animal. A knot of ice formed in her stomach.
She moved quickly, her boots crunching softly on the fresh snow. As she got closer, the shape resolved into a familiar form. "Kenji, I found him," she said, her voice tight, a tremor she couldn’t quite control. "He’s in the alley. He’s... down."
Kenji was there in seconds, his face grim. Ryouta lay sprawled in the snow, his arms awkwardly splayed, one leg bent at an unnatural angle. His normally vibrant jacket was dusted with white, and his breath plumed faintly in the frigid air. He was utterly still.
"Ryouta!" Kenji knelt immediately, his hands flying to check for a pulse. It was there, thin but steady. A wave of gut-wrenching relief, quickly followed by a fresh surge of panic, washed over him.
Akari was already running her hands over Ryouta’s limbs, her touch light and precise, checking for injuries. "No major trauma," she murmured, her eyes scanning his head, his torso. "No blood, no visible cuts. Just..." Her fingers brushed against his left hand, near the base of his pinky. A sharp intake of breath. "His hand. Two metacarpals. Broken."
Kenji swallowed hard. Two broken bones. From a single impact, judging by the lack of other injuries. And Ryouta, for all his cockiness, was no stranger to a brawl. He’d handled street thugs before without a scratch. This wasn’t some random mugging. This was something else entirely.
A cold sweat pricked their skin, despite the freezing air. *Two broken bones.* From a single blow. And Ryouta, the grand-nephew of the family head, lying unconscious in a snowy alley. This was more than a reprimand; this was a disaster. They had failed, spectacularly. Ren was going to kill them. Or worse, Grandfather.
"We need to get him back," Kenji said, his voice flat. He gently scooped Ryouta up, the young master surprisingly light despite his height. Akari moved to cover their tracks, brushing away the snow where Ryouta had fallen, making it seem as if he had never been there.