07:12
The day had just begun. The sun had risen, yet the house remained silent. An unusual cold lingered, as if no warmth could settle in. Whether in the kitchen, the bathroom, or the bedrooms, there were no signs of life.
— Japan?
Sitting on the couch, bare-chested and wearing only a black boxer, Red carefully read the message Inspector William had sent him on his phone regarding his next destination.
Behind him, Marianne, dressed in a short black dress and a white fur coat, leaned against the back of a chair. She watched her older brother, intrigued by the reason for this trip.
— Why does he want you to go to Japan? Did he find a lead on Omen?
Red placed his phone on the glass table and lightly scratched his head, suggesting that was probably the case.
— He said he'd give me more information later… and that he couldn't send it by email.
Coming out of the long hallway, Zain appeared in the living room. He slowly walked toward the kitchen, clutching a pillow against him, dressed in his detachable white hoodie.
— Zain.
Red stopped him for a moment by calling his name.
— How about a trip to Japan?
Zain slightly turned his head. His gaze was empty, his eyes black like embers, surrounded by barely visible dark circles.
He gave no response, not even a reaction—his face completely devoid of emotion. He resumed walking without even looking at him further.
Red sighed, once again noticing his lack of reaction.
— Do you really want him to go with you?
Marianne asked in a low voice, almost whispering.
Red lowered his head and briefly rubbed his eyes with his right hand.
— Let's just say I don't really have a choice.
Marianne noticed he still hadn't said a single word. Red stood up from the couch and grabbed his black pants, carefully folded and ironed by Marianne, before putting them on.
— I've tried everything… but nothing works. I even tried taking him to see a psychiatrist… without success. He hasn't said a single word in four years.
Marianne told him to put himself in his place, adding that it couldn't have been easy for him.
— He was only 11 at the time. It's normal that the death of his parents—and what he witnessed—left scars.
In the laundry room, Zain sat on the floor, his back against the wall, in front of the washing machine, watching the clothes spin inside. The light came through the glass door leading to the garden on his right.
He held the pillow tightly against his chest, staring at the machine, as if absorbed by its movement.
Fragments of memories from that day slowly resurfaced in his mind. He remembered the screams, the agony, the pleading, the sound of gunfire… and above all, the death of his parents.
Those images lingered in his mind like an indelible mark.
His face slowly sank into the pillow.
As the sound of the washing machine continued running…
After a moment, Zain finally lifted his head, following the gradual stop of the machine. He stared at it for a few seconds.
A vibration in his pocket caught his attention. He pulled out his phone and turned it on.
"ACCESS TO PRIVATE SERVER GRANTED"
That's what appeared before his eyes on the screen, followed by a phenomenal amount of information and data kept secret by major private organizations.
He calmly stood up, without even taking the laundry out of the machine, and left the room.
As he passed through the living room, Red, who was putting on his white sweater, immediately noticed him without effort.
— Pack your bag. We're leaving in a few minutes.
Those words still failed to make him react. He kept walking, with no visible reaction, heading toward the stairs.
Three seconds later, he opened the door to his room, which looked more like that of an adult than a teenager: perfectly clean, organized, with nothing out of place.
He sat down in the chair at his desk and connected his phone to his laptop.
All the information on his phone appeared on the computer screen, while the sound of his fingers typing on the keyboard echoed through the room.
Inside a dark room, lit only by the glow of computer screens, the smell of heated paper lingered in the stifling air, while the sound of fingers frantically typing on keyboards was omnipresent.
Inspector William nervously walked between the workstations, followed by his personal assistant.
— Where was the camera located?
— In Shinjuku, in the Kabukichō district,
his assistant replied almost instantly while checking the information on her tablet.
— Are you sure it perfectly matches the description given by Red?
The inspector stopped in front of an employee's computer, and the employee immediately displayed the capture taken just a few hours earlier.
— The description Mr. Red Nou provided matches this man.
William's eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the screen and the image displayed.
— Yes… I see it.
On the computer, the blurry image showed a man dressed in traditional black and white clothing, with skin as white as paper. But what confirmed everything… was one detail: he was missing the upper part of the little finger on his left hand, which he used to hold an umbrella that hid the upper part of his face.
— They've gotten ahead… far too much ahead.
William raised his head and took out his phone, stepping away from the other employees.
At the same time, Zain was inside a private jet with Red, sitting at the opposite end. He continued what he had been doing earlier, without Red suspecting anything. He carefully examined every confidential network scrolling across the screen.
Meanwhile, Red looked at his phone and the image that had just been sent to him by the inspector. The more he stared at it, the harder his expression became.
— White...