Chapter 15: Interrogation

City Z was crowded by evening, the streets overflowing with color and chatter from the annual Cosplay Festival. Teenagers, hobbyists, and costume fanatics filled every corner, their laughter mixing with the sound of camera shutters and sizzling food stalls. For the vendors, it was the perfect night to make their wallets burn hot.

Meanwhile, far away at NSIA Headquarters in the North City, the mood was the complete opposite; Calm, cold, and eerily quiet.

On the rooftop of the main building, Shun Aizawa leaned against the railing, a cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. The sky was half-clouded; stars hid behind drifting gray, and the moon faded in and out of view like a ghost.

Footsteps echoed softly behind him.

Without turning, Aizawa exhaled smoke and spoke.

“So, how did the interrogation go?”

Shiro emerged from the dark and stopped beside him, his black suit brushing faintly in the wind. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes drifted toward the horizon where City Z’s distant lights flickered beneath the clouds.

“He didn’t say much,” Shiro replied at last, his voice smooth and even. “But he knows. That much was clear.”

Aizawa tapped the ash off his cigarette, a faint smirk forming.

“You didn’t try anything… did you?”

Shiro’s expression didn’t change. His gaze stayed fixed on the city — detached, hollow, yet oddly steady.

“No,” he said. “Didn’t need to. Sometimes silence tells you more than words.”

A long moment of wind passed between them.

“So, you’ll play along then?” Aizawa asked.

“For now,” Shiro said. Then, after a pause, he added, “Let him be in peace for now.”

His face darkened, and his voice turned sharp yet calm. “At least… for now.”

“I see,” Aizawa replied, exhaling smoke.

“For now, we should be focusing on the festival in City Z. Any updates on the City Z threat?”

“Yeah. I heard inspectors from Division One will be sent there soon,” Aizawa said, pausing before adding, “By the way, what are your thoughts about those girls?”

“About Kanako and Kisara?” Shiro asked.

“Yeah… you know they’re underaged. Though you are too and that’s why I’m your advisor, you know. Your case is exceptional though. But if you ask me, those two are just kids. I’m really wondering… if anything happens today, can they handle it?”

“I don’t know much about them yet,” Shiro replied. “But they’re mature enough, from what I’ve seen — and brave. I can see they have potential… if it’s used properly.”

His white hair shifted lightly in the wind as his words faded into the night.

Earlier, at the interrogation cell on the underground 8th floor of HQ.

A single dim light hung from the ceiling, swinging slightly. The metallic air smelled of rust and disinfectant.

Sitting across the table was Daichi Matsura, senior inspector of division one, his shirt sleeves rolled up, veins tense. Opposite him was the terrorist caught during the mall attack incident.

Without warning, Daichi slammed the man’s face onto the iron table. The impact echoed through the room. Blood splattered across the cold metal surface. He pulled the man up by his collar then slammed him down again. And again.

“Talk,” Daichi said. His voice was flat. Low. Controlled rage in every syllable.

The terrorist coughed, blood dripping from his mouth. Then he started laughing— a dry, broken sound that grew louder, echoing in the concrete cell.

“You’ve got quite the muscle, inspector…” he sneered through bloodied teeth.

“But it can’t be helped… Sir. I swore to my bosses, you know. And it can happen anytime… anywhere… any moment…”

His grin widened. “Be prepared.”

Daichi’s eyes narrowed. He grabbed the man’s hair and slammed his head down once more.

“Who’s your boss, you son of a bitch?! Spill it!”

No answer. Only that same wheezing, mocking laugh. Daichi’s jaw tightened. He clenched his fist then started punching again.

Outside the room, Shun Aizawa, Kaito Morishawa, and Satome Saorin—head of Division Two—watched through the one-way glass.

“Daichi’s really going at it today,” Kaito muttered.

“Probably had a fight with his wife again,” Aizawa said, his tone lazy, half-bored. Then he turned his head slightly. “And you? Why are you here, Satome-san?”

“Me?” She smirked, brushing imaginary dust off her pristine black blazer. “Just checking how Division One handles its toys.”

Her eyes lingered on Daichi inside the room, then flicked to them.

“Looks like you boys still can’t squeeze a single word out of a dying rat.”

Aizawa sighed, muttering under his breath, “Here we go…”

Satome tilted her head, voice smooth but dripping with pride.

“Chief should’ve handed the Abyss case to my division instead. At least we know how to make people talk.”

Her babbling stopped as Miyori entered the observation room with Shiro Kenoshita.

“So, you decided to come, huh?” Aizawa said.

They called Daichi over; Shiro would take the interrogation from here.

Daichi let go of the suspect’s collar, spat on the floor in a flare of rage, and headed for the door. “Tch.”

“Where are you going, inspector? Off for a coffee break?” the terrorist mocked, voice slurred.

Daichi gave him a death glare. “You were lucky, bitch. Next time we meet, I’ll kill you.”

Daichi stepped out as Shiro stepped in. As they passed one another in the doorway, Daichi leaned close and hissed, “He’s a tough one, kid. Better cut off his fingertips or flip him inside out.”

“Maybe next time,” Shiro replied quietly, closing the cell door behind him.

The man was spitting blood as Shiro sat down across from him.

“Aaghh, now what? A kid? Are you guys serious right now?” he spat.

“Nagarehoshi Shirakage, May 1986, right?” Shiro said calmly.

The man paused. Then smirked. “Ah, I see you’ve already dug up my name and info… quite an interesting fellow.”

“I have a question for you,” Shiro replied, still calm.

“And you think I’ll answer you, kid?” the man laughed.

“You will,” Shiro said, voice steady. The man’s eyes flicked toward him, and for the first time, a trace of seriousness appeared on his face. “Well… let’s see what you can do.”

“So, tell me… what is your ideology?” Shiro asked.

“Huh? This?” The man sighed. “I guess I’ll tell you that much.”

Shiro remained silent.

“You see, kid… we’re the ones who keep this world peaceful—in ways no one else dares to. And how do we do that?” He let out a low, broken laugh. “By spreading violence among the civilians. Because that’s what it takes.”

“Humans are the real disease of this planet, don’t you think? They multiply, consume, destroy—and call it progress. Order exists only when they’re controlled. Fear is the only language humanity truly understands. They fear death… they fear pain. That fear keeps them obedient.”

He leaned closer, voice colder. “That’s what we do. We make them fear. We remind them they’re being watched, that chaos waits just beyond their comfort. And you… you’re just a kid. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I see. So you just take orders from your leaders and do thug stuff like a blind dog, right?” Shiro asked, still calm.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” the man barked.

“And about this ‘peace’ you mentioned,” Shiro’s voice darkened, calm but menacing, “wanna see how your so-called peace works?”

The man frowned, confused.

“There was no peace in your personal life, was there? Natasha, your wife, slept with another man… rich, I assume. You had a kid, right? Elementary school age… bullied by his classmates. He tried to call out for his mama and papa, but nobody listened. So he couldn’t take it anymore, decided to reach for the so-called ‘ultimate peace’—suicide—but failed, of course. Why would he? Because humans… they fear death. They fear pain. Isn’t that right?”

The man’s jaw dropped, utterly shocked.

“How the fuck… who—” His words caught in his throat as his eyes locked on Shiro’s, too cold, piercing, leaving him unable to speak.

“And you still love your wife, don’t you? The only ‘peace’ you get? Still try to visit her, still give her money, hoping she’ll talk to you… and she does… probably a whore, isn’t she? And your kid? Suffering in anxiety, depression, taking drugs… doesn’t come home often because he hates his ‘dad’—not you, of course… he still loves you, doesn’t he? Hoping you’ll lend him money to buy a bike, and he’ll spend it on drugs with his friends… and get his so-called ‘peace’?,” Shiro said, his voice icy. Then, his tone softened slightly. “Anyway… not much interested in other people’s personal lives. And… where was I? Oh, that’s right. Well, that’s all for today.”

Shiro’s words left him completely silent. He tried to hide it, but his hands trembled slightly.

Shiro stood and headed for the door. “Not gonna fly today,” he said, glancing back once, eyes icy. “But soon.”