Kasumigaseki, Tokyo, Japan — Morning, September 25, 2024.
"Do you think yourself the main character?"
A Japanese policeman snapped in an irritating tone at his partner, who still hadn’t told him the ti—despite being asked five tis already.
They were supposed to greet a visitor, and in the rush he’d forgotten to wear his wristwatch. If not for the bad luck of his phone battery dying, he wouldn’t have been reduced to asking this moron of a friend for sothing so simple.
"And what if I am," he replied haughtily, without even looking at him, busy adjusting the blue tie over their ceremonial jacket.
However, he was soon jolted when his companion stiffened, having caught sight of an approaching car that matched the details they’d received earlier.
Screech!
The black sedan ca to a smooth halt amid the steel-and-glass surroundings of the Tokyo tropolitan Police Departnt headquarters.
Its arrival drew a few brief glances from passersby, creating a montary pause in the district’s ongoing rhythm before everything returned to its disciplined normal.
Governnt buildings stood in parallel rows, their flags stirring gently in the passing wind. The entire exchange lasted only seconds, as though the district itself had acknowledged the arrival of soone new—and then moved on.
The rear door opened first.
A woman stepped out.
Click for scene’s image in comnts.
She moved with the unhurried precision of soone accustod to being watched.
Standing at around 5’11", her height alone drew attention among those of Asian descent. An aura of superiority followed her as she erged from the car, effortless yet unmistakable.
She wore a tailored Interpol field uniform—slate grey with deep navy accents—cut for function rather than vanity. The insignia on her shoulder bore the familiar crest: a globe crossed by a sword, authority without ornantation.
Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight low bun, exposing sharp cheekbones and a face shaped by discipline rather than softness. There was grace in her posture, but no fragility. Her fra was lean and athletic, built for long hours, pursuit, and confrontation—the kind of body forged on training grounds, not in gyms.
Her pale steel-blue eyes swept across the surroundings in a single asured glance, cataloguing exits, distances, and people.
The Japanese officer nudged his dazed friend, and both moved toward the car with composed, professional precision.
She closed the car door herself and presented her badge to the approaching officers.
The na displayed read:
Elena Weiss.
Senior Field Officer, Interpol. (~European Central Bureau, headquartered at Lyon, France)
Two Japanese officers who approached her curiously, straightened themselves imdiately. Their uniforms were immaculate as their caps aligned perfectly.
Their expressions were neutral but alert. One stepped forward, offering a formal bow.
"Welco to Tokyo, Weiss-san. We have been expecting you."
She returned a polite nod, but not a bow. It was a different decorum but underlined sa respect.
Inside, the headquarters was exactly as she expected—security caras lining the ceilings, clean architectural lines, muted colors, and glass partitions everywhere. The efficiency of the place felt almost surgical.
Everything was precise. Everything was in order. Unlike many other countries, Japan operated by its own exacting benchmarks.
Officers moved with quiet purpose. Conversations were kept low, their eyes occasionally flicking toward her as she passed. Only their footsteps echoed through the corridors as if they were soft, rhythmic clicks against the polished floors.
The air slled faintly of paper, tal, and brewed tea.
Elena followed her escorts through a series of corridors, past secured doors and digital checkpoints, until they reached an elevator reserved for senior personnel.
As it rose, she adjusted the cuff of her gloves, as she maintained her expression unreadable. There was a hidden nervousness that could never be exposed in foreign lands.
She had crossed seven seas for this.
The doors opened onto a restricted floor.
Waiting inside the conference room were two n.
The first sat at the head of the table—Commissioner Hiroshi Takeda, head of a special division under the Tokyo tropolitan Police.
He was a broad-shouldered man, with a few silver strands beginning to creep into his hairline. His presence carried the weight of decades of service.
Beside him stood his assistant, Deputy Superintendent Kenji Mori.
He was younger and sharper, with the confident stillness of a man who believed fully in the system he served.
They were in mid-conversation, but paused and stood as she entered.
"Interpol Officer Weiss," Takeda said, inclining his head. "You are welco."
"Thank you, Commissioner," Elena replied evenly.
Tea was poured. Silence filled the atmoshphere but it was intentional.
Once seated, Elena opened the slim folder she had carried from the car. She was confident. Her movents carried no hesitation.
"I will be direct," she said with authority.
"The individual we are discussing today operates under the codena ’Phantom’. He is wanted in twenty-three jurisdictions across Europe, Africa, Southeast Asia, and the United States. The charges include large-scale financial destabilization, arms facilitation, international bank robberies totaling billions, and direct or indirect involvent in multiple assassinations."
Mori raised an eyebrow. Takeda leaned back slightly in his chair.
"And this man," Takeda said calmly as he went through the first pic, "is a Japanese national?" The folder and other details were still lying the table.
"He is."
A brief glance passed between the two n—sothing close to amusent.
Takeda allowed himself a restrained smile. "Then I believe this operation can be handled internally. Our resources.."
—are more than sufficient, the unspoken implication lingered.
Mori nodded in agreent and hurriedly interjected, careful not to let his senior’s words be misunderstood. "Interpol assistance, aside from providing location intelligence, may not be necessary. You may observe from base if you wish."
Elena lifted her teacup.
She took a slow, deliberate sip.
Only then did she look up.
"If he were an ordinary criminal," she said quietly, "I would agree."
Her voice was calm—unnervingly so.
"But this man has collapsed three financial institutions without ever appearing on official records, redirected weapons through shell companies that no longer exist, and erased entire operational networks the mont they began to suspect him. Classifying him alongside conventional criminals would be... foolish."
She closed the folder and slid it across the table.
"This is not a matter of jurisdictional pride, gentlen. This is a matter of containnt."
The air in the room shifted.
This ti, Takeda took the entire folder and began to go through its contents. The further he read, the more his brow began to glisten with sweat. Initially, they had expected only to assist Interpol in arresting a fugitive, with no prior details provided. But with every page he turned, his shock deepened.
Oblivious to Takeda’s reaction, Mori leaned forward, arms crossed over his chest. "Weiss-san," he said sharply, "I believe you are underestimating our security capabilities. While we are willing to cooperate, we are by no ans incompetent."
Elena’s lips curved—not into an apology, but a faint smirk.
"Perhaps reviewing his case in detail will help you reassess," she said. "Phantom is not rely daring—he is a once-in-a-generation prodigy. He currently possesses Japanese gold reserves valued at over fifty billion dollars, stolen and laundered without triggering a single dostic alarm."
Takeda’s expression hardened as he flipped through the docunts.
"You’re suggesting.." his eyes still reeling with shock "... is Night hawk? The sa individual who survived the Shanghai Tower jump?"
Mori’s composed expression faltered as he shot out, "That man was reported dead!"
Without a word, Takeda slid the files across the table, leaving him to see the truth for himself.
"We are certain," Elena replied. "They are the sa."
Mori scanned the files rapidly, his expression draining of color. "Sir... there’s more."
He swallowed. "They are also linking him to Ghost blade—the mysterious entity responsible for the Nagoya massacre. Five hundred confird casualties."
Silence.
"For nine years," Elena continued, "Interpol believed Phantom to be a myth. A placeholder na. A convenient explanation for cases that made no sense."
She paused.
"Until he left a trail. On purpose."
Takeda’s voice was lower now, stripped of earlier confidence. "If he is this dangerous, "he gulped ," and this elusive... are you certain your presence alone will be sufficient? And what assurance do we have that this location isn’t a false flag?"
He hesitated. "I think—"
"No," Elena cut in smoothly. "I am not enough. That is why my team is already en route, and why I require your full cooperation."
She leaned forward slightly.
"As for the location—it is solid. He won’t anticipate our move. By all outward appearances, he has retired. Living quietly."
Her gaze locked onto Takeda’s.
"This was one of the key realizations we ca to far too late."
She slowed her speech, each word deliberate.
"He wasn’t running from us."
"He was watching—in plain sight, under the cover of darkness."
A heavy silence filled the room, no longer formal, no longer polite.
"This ti," Elena finished, "we have a lead that cannot be ignored. And that is why I am here."
She straightened.
"And I will not be taking refusal as an answer. If necessary, you may escalate this to your superiors."
Her eyes were cold, unwavering.
"But the operation proceeds—with or without your comfort."
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