Raito stood in the hallway, arms crossed, phone in hand, staring at the contact info for his workplace supervisor. The soft glow from the screen etched faint shadows across his face in the dim light of his villa. He didn't want to make this call—but putting it off would only make things worse.
With a quiet curse, he tapped the call button.
"Yeah, it's me," he said when the line picked up. "Something came up. Family issue. I won't be in the office much for the next few weeks—maybe longer. I'll work from home when I can."
His voice was flat, distant. Just enough information to discourage follow-up questions.
"No, I'm fine. It's just… complicated."
He ended the call before they could dig deeper.
The lie sat bitter on his tongue, but it was necessary. No one could afford to get curious—not with Raika and Emi under his roof. Not with the chaos quietly rearranging his life.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and walked back into the living room.
Raika was sprawled across the couch, half-asleep. Emi lay nestled beside her, eyes fluttering shut. The scene was deceptively peaceful.
"Alright, you two," Raito muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Time for bed. I'm turning in."
Raika cracked one eye open. "Tired already, old man?"
He didn't answer. Just pointed toward the guest room. "Now."
Raika groaned but stood, carefully lifting Emi into her arms. "You're not my dad or anything, y'know," she mumbled, disappearing down the hallway.
Once the house fell into silence, Raito retreated to his room. He closed the door behind him and dropped onto the bed, the mattress colder than he remembered. Everything felt different now—off-balance, unfamiliar.
He stared at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head.
"I'm not even that much older than her..."
From the shadows of his mind, Kurai stirred—her voice soft, amused, and far too smug.
I used to think making a pact with a demon was your worst decision. But this? This might actually top it.
Raito let out a quiet scoff. "I agreed to watch over them. I'm not playing house."
And yet here you are. Living with a moody teenager and a drooling infant. Adorable.
He rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket over him. "It's not permanent."
Oh, of course not, she replied, sweet and venomous. Just long enough to shatter whatever peace you thought you had.
He didn't argue.
Because part of him knew she was right.
Raito woke at exactly 7:00 a.m.
The villa was still. No crying. No complaints. No sarcastic demon commentary. Just quiet.
For a moment, he could almost pretend things were normal.
Almost.
He moved through his morning routine—teeth brushed, cold shower, clean black clothes. As he pulled on his coat, he glanced at the fridge.
Still nearly empty.
"Guess I need to go shopping," he muttered, grabbing his keys.
He decided to walk. Maybe the morning air would clear his head.
The streets were just waking up. A chill lingered as he made his way to the grocery store. He moved with purpose, quickly filling a cart: baby food, formula, rice, vegetables, meat, milk—and coffee, which he hated, but Raika would probably start a war without it. He grabbed tea for himself.
As he stepped outside, bags in hand, a familiar voice cut through the morning hum.
"Raito Yakamura?"
He froze. Then slowly turned.
Detective Yumi Aikawa stood across the street, coffee in hand, eyes sharp.
Perfect.
"Detective," he greeted, keeping his voice even.
"Didn't expect to see you out this early," she said, approaching. "You look surprisingly good—for a guy who got hit by a car yesterday."
"Sleep helps," he replied flatly.
She tilted her head, studying him. "Those guys who hit you? They turned themselves in."
"Really?" He raised a brow, feigning surprise.
"Yeah. Looked like they'd seen a ghost. Kept muttering nonsense. Twitchy as hell. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
He shrugged. "Maybe their conscience caught up."
She snorted. "Unlikely."
She took another sip of coffee. "You could press charges, you know."
"Not interested."
She paused, then glanced at the bags in his hands. "Stocking up for a small army?"
"Something like that."
"You walking all that home?"
"I'm fine."
She was already heading to her car. "Come on. I'll give you a ride."
"I said I'm—"
"Don't argue. Just get in before I change my mind."
Raito hesitated, then sighed and followed.
From the back of his mind, Kurai whispered gleefully.
How sweet. A ride from your favorite detective. Should I be jealous?
He said nothing, climbing into the passenger seat.
The ride started in silence, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional slurp of Yumi's coffee.
"So," she said eventually, "what's with all the food? Hosting a family reunion?"
"Just taking care of things."
Yumi shot him a side glance but let it go—until her phone buzzed.
She glanced at it, and her expression shifted. "Damn it. Another hit and run. Black sedan, same area."
She flicked on the turn signal and veered down a side street.
"What are you doing?" Raito asked.
"Chasing them. Hang on."
"Let me out."
"No time."
Ahead, the black sedan tore through a red light, narrowly missing a truck.
Yumi hit the siren, grabbing her radio. "Detective Aikawa. Visual on suspect vehicle. Four male occupants. Requesting backup, Hoshino District."
Raito narrowed his eyes. Backup wouldn't come fast enough.
The sedan skidded into an alley and stopped. All four doors opened. The men stepped out—jittery, aggressive.
Yumi parked, threw her door open, and raised her badge. "Police! Hands where I can see them!"
Raito remained in the car, watching. Four on one.
Yumi's stance was solid, but she was alone—and they weren't planning to cooperate.
"This is bad," he muttered.
From within, Kurai's voice came again—quieter this time. Serious.
You're not really going to sit here and let her get torn apart… are you?
Raito clenched his jaw as he stepped out of the car, the chill of the morning air brushing across his face. He scanned the alley—not just the men, but everything. Angles. Exits. Intent.
Four targets.
Two were tall, broad-shouldered, ex-military by the way they stood—rigid, trained. The third was shorter, twitchy—nerves shot, likely the driver. The fourth had control in his stance. Slower, watchful. The leader.
But their formation was sloppy. No spacing. No coordination. Jackets hung awkwardly, hiding bulges at their waists. Knives or pistols. Maybe both.
Not street thugs.
Mercenaries.
Amateurs.
"They weren't in a hit-and-run," Raito murmured. "They were hunting someone."
Yumi stood ahead of him, shoulders squared, badge raised.
"Last warning," she said, voice sharp. "Drop your weapons. Surrender. Backup's is on route."
The men didn't move. One of them laughed.
"All this for a lady cop?" he sneered. "You serious?"
Another looked Raito up and down. "That your boyfriend or something?"
Raito said nothing, his face unreadable.
"He's not," Yumi snapped. "And that's irrelevant."
A faint flush touched her cheeks, quickly replaced by steel.
The leader chuckled. "Feisty. He's quiet. You're hot. Hate to ruin the moment."
Yumi's jaw tightened. "I said surrender. This is your last chance."
"We'll be done before backup gets here," one sneered. "Might even take you with us. Our place ain't far. Could use some entertainment."
Raito didn't blink. But Yumi took a step forward, eyes blazing.
"You say that again, and I—"
"Detective Aikawa," Raito said quietly.
His voice cut through the rising heat. She froze.
The men began to spread out, subtle but obvious to Raito's trained eye. One checked the alley's mouth—only one exit. They were boxing them in.
"Uh-oh," one mocked. "Mouse is in the trap."
Yumi moved slightly in front of Raito, lowering her voice. "Run. Now."
He didn't move.
"That's a bad idea," he said flatly.
"You don't understand—"
"There's four of them. You'll lose if you're trying to protect me."
She hesitated, eyes flicking to the nearest threat, torn between instinct and logic.
The circle tightened.
Four sets of footsteps.
Eight hands.
Weapons ready.
Raito exhaled, slow and steady. "This isn't my problem," he said, almost bored. "So why don't you let me walk away?"
They laughed. One cracked his knuckles, stepping forward.
Then Raito moved—just one step. Small. Intentional.
The air shifted.
Yumi glanced at him—then looked again, eyes narrowing. His posture had changed. Relaxed, but… dangerous.
He sighed.
"Give me a break."