The wind howled like a grieving woman outside the Ministry of Justice. Rain sliced through Tokyo's midnight veil, cloaking everything in a damp shroud. Haratu Sota crouched beside a vent shaft on the west side of the building, eyes focused, every sense sharpened by adrenaline.
He turned to Tanaka and Shino beside him, their dark clothing soaked.
"This is the last place my father visited before he disappeared," Shino whispered, gripping the pendant around her neck. "He said the truth was buried where even truth itself fears to go."
Sota nodded. "And that's exactly where we're going."
They had a plan. A security rotation lasting only six minutes, blind spots in three camera feeds, and the knowledge that Kōkai no Me had embedded people in the system. That's why they couldn't request files through legal channels.
The truth had to be stolen.
---
The Descent
Inside the Ministry, the hallways were too clean, too quiet. Like a museum where justice had turned to ash.
Sota led the way, disabling sensors with a device of his own making. Tanaka covered the rear with a small stun baton, while Shino held a flashlight trembling in her hand.
They reached the sub-basement stairs — locked, guarded by a keypad scanner.
"Give me a minute," Sota said, pulling out a slim cable and tapping into the panel. Sparks flew. His fingers danced.
Click.
The door hissed open.
The sub-basement was like descending into an ossuary of secrets. Rows of unmarked doors, each sealed with biometric locks, spanned the hall. They moved past them until they reached one labeled simply:
"RESTRICTED LEVEL 5 - CASE #42-D"
Tanaka inhaled sharply. "It's real."
Sota turned. "Shino?"
She nodded. "Go."
---
Ghosts on Paper
The room was colder than expected. Metal shelves lined the walls, stacked with aging files, VHS tapes, film reels, and floppy disks. The air smelled of mold and ink. In the center stood a lone desk — atop it, a leather-bound logbook.
Sota opened it.
Inside were names — hundreds of them.
Beside each, a stamp: Guilty or Erased.
He flipped back pages until he found the first entry.
The very first case.
Name: Tetsuro Arakaki
Status: Guilty
Verdict: Cleansed
Date: July 12, 1998
Sota froze. "This… this is it."
Tanaka leaned over his shoulder. "Who was he?"
Shino moved toward the shelf, pulling down a file with the matching number. She opened it.
Photographs of a man—Tetsuro—holding a briefcase in front of a girls' orphanage. Another of him lying face down in an alley, throat slit.
"Arakaki was a criminal defense attorney," she read aloud. "He represented known traffickers, and allegedly suppressed testimonies of young victims."
Tanaka grimaced. "Why wasn't he arrested?"
"Insufficient evidence. Connections in the Ministry."
Sota looked up. "So someone killed him. Outside the law."
Shino turned a page. "My father."
---
The Judge Who Broke
A typed confession followed. Handwritten notes on the margin in a familiar scrawl.
"My father tried to expose him. When they threatened to bury the case, he made contact with a rogue group of prosecutors—idealists who believed the justice system needed a failsafe."
Tanaka read the title: Kōkai no Me: Founding Charter.
"They started the Cycle," Sota said. "They made Arakaki the first mark. They called it cleansing. Justice that the law couldn't reach."
"But justice became prophecy," Shino murmured. "The next mark was someone who covered up Arakaki's actions. Then someone who defended that person. And so on."
Tanaka closed the file slowly. "A spiral of guilt. Feeding itself."
"And now," Sota whispered, "it's come back to devour its creators."
He held up the founding page of Kōkai no Me. Five names. Judges. Officers. Investigators.
One stood out.
Judge Kaito Sota.
Tanaka's eyes widened. "That's…"
"My grandfather," Sota said bitterly. "He built the spiral."
---
The Sirens Wake
Before they could speak, a deafening alarm rang out across the sub-basement.
"Motion sensors tripped!" Tanaka yelled.
Lights flooded the hallway outside. They'd been found.
Sota grabbed the file on Arakaki and the logbook. "We run!"
Footsteps thundered overhead.
Shino darted for the exit, but stopped cold.
A man stood at the top of the stairs, pointing a gun at her.
"I wouldn't move," he said coolly. "Haratu Sota. Aya Tanaka. Shino Kurobane. The Cycle warned us about you."
He wore no uniform, but on his chest glinted a pin shaped like a spiral.
Sota stepped forward. "You still think you're on the side of justice?"
"No," the man said. "We're past justice. Now it's about containment. No more disruption. No more exposure."
He raised his weapon.
Bang.
The shot echoed—but it wasn't from the intruder.
Tanaka's stun gun had cracked against a pipe behind him, triggering a spark. The light flickered, just long enough for Sota to throw a steel box at his head.
He fell.
They ran.
---
A Crack in the Cycle
Hours later, in a secure safehouse across the city, Sota opened the logbook again. Its pages were now evidence — of murder, of secrecy, of legacy.
"We were wrong about the Spiral," he said. "It's not just prophecy. It's a machine. A system built on guilt, connection, and silence."
"And we're the disruption," Tanaka added. "The virus in the system."
Shino traced the first name again — Tetsuro Arakaki.
"He was evil. But the system that killed him became worse."
Sota nodded. "If we're going to stop this, we need to unravel every case connected to the original spiral. Find where justice became murder."
He looked at the list of current targets.
Next on the list:
Inspector Umezawa — head of Special Investigations. A man Sota once admired.
"He's next," Sota said quietly. "And if we don't reach him first, the Spiral will."
He stood.
"Let's break the Cycle."