If this was a story, she was already part of it.
Might as well write the next chapter herself.
.
.
.
The morning after the second note, Yui lingered longer than usual in front of the mirror. Her toothbrush hung loose in her hand, foam collecting at the corners of her mouth as she zoned out in her thoughts. She stared at her reflection, expecting to see something different, something unsual—maybe a sign? Or was she crossing some invisible line? But there was only her. Still exhausted, still overthinking and still brushing her teeth far too long.
"Get a grip," she groaned and muttered, spitting out the paste.
She'd barely slept. The words from the note somehow haunted her:
"Your name came up. That's not always good."
It kept repeating in her head like a mantra she didn't choose. What had she gotten herself into? Who can send such a note to her? But more pressingly, how far in was she willing to go?
At the clinic, everything looked the same on the surface atleast. Shiori was nibbling her second melon bread of the day and whining about the sterilizer noise. The receptionist had a new hair clip today. The same potted plant near the entrance had one more leaf turning yellow.
But Yui felt the difference. It was like walking through fog. She was cautious of everything or maybe paranoid? Something unseen hovered over her every move as if someone was lurking in the shadows, constantly starring.
She went through two patients without trouble until the receptionist buzzed again.
"Ma'am, there's a guest asking to speak with you. Not a patient. He says he's here for... follow-up."
Follow-up?
"Okay, tell him to wait, I'll be there in a jiffy." Yui smiled at the receptionist.
Yui looked through the blinds suspiciously.
He stood by the entrance, all black clothing, his posture unnervingly still. He was tall and buff, it was definitely not Mikey, but it was someone who radiated that same impossible silence. A man with a scar slicing over his right eye. It looked old but brutal, like it had a story, or ten.
She stepped out of her cabin.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone professional but cautious.
The man didn't smile. He simply handed her a sealed envelope.
"For you. From him."
"Him? Who—?"
But the man was already turning. The receptionist blinked at him, confused. Shiori peeked from behind her coffee cup.
Back in her office, Yui opened the envelope. Inside was a handwritten note:
"You don't know me yet. But you will. - M"
Yui stared at the 'M' for a long moment.
Mikey. It had to be. The man with the silver-white hair, those stormy eyes, and that unreadable face. She remembered every detail vividly.
Something had shifted in her clinic since his visit, since she discovered the owner of the car which stood in the café's parking lot. Like she had been marked. Or worse, claimed. But all she could think of is…. WHY?
That evening, Yui didn't go straight home. She took a detour, ending up at the same cafe she liked visiting for their donuts. But today, she didn't go in.
The black Mercedes was there. Again.
She felt her body quaking at the sight of that car.
It was like a ghost that followed her. She couldn't bring herself to approach it this time.
She went back home, took a long shower, and changed into her softest pajamas. But instead of wine, she chose tea. Again.
The tea was warm, grounding. But nothing grounded her enough to stop the pacing of her thoughts. She curled up on her couch, laptop open, blank document on screen.
She began typing.
What I Know So Far:
1. Patient with white hair, unsettling presence.
2. Note left with initials: M
3. Expensive wine as a thank-you.
4. Ominous men delivering messages.
5. Black Mercedes seen at two separate locations.
She stared at the list. It all pointed to only one direction. Her instincts screamed that they were all connected yet she wanted to believe that it was not Mikey. Whoever it is, why are they doing this all? Where did she go wrong?
Tokyo - Somewhere in Shinjuku
Manjiro Sano sat in a dimly lit room, a thin trail of smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. The window was open, letting the city's neon breath in. The nape of his neck bore the gang tattoo of Bonten—sharp, elegant and deadly.
His right-hand man "Sanzu Haruchiyo" beside him. The one who accompanied him for his first dental visit.
"She didn't flinch," Mikey said with no emotion on his face.
"She's just a dentist."
Mikey exhaled a long drag. "No, she's not. She saw me. And she didn't look away."
The diamond scar-faced man said nothing.
Mikey's eyes drifted toward the moon, even the moon couldn't pour shimmer in his dead eyes.
"Sometimes, the most dangerous people aren't the ones holding a gun. They're the ones who ask questions." Mikey said
"Do you want her watched?" Sanzu asked.
Mikey didn't answer for a long while.
"Not yet."
Back to Yui's apartment
By midnight, Yui was still typing. Researching.
She looked up the phrase: gang tattoos in Tokyo. Too vague.
But images popped up. Old police sketches. Rumors. Murky photos.
She froze when she saw one. The shape was nearly identical to the small mark she'd glimpsed at the base of Mikey's neck when he leaned forward in the chair. She remembered thinking it looked like a Moon card.
But she hadn't seen it clearly.
Was it really a gang tattoo?
She shook her head. No. That would be ridiculous. She was a dentist. Not a detective.
Still, she saved the image before shutting off her laptop.
The next few days passed without incident. Patients came and went. Shiori was overly invested in a new dating sim. Yui tried to act normal.
But the silence only made things louder in her head.
On Friday evening, the receptionist buzzed again.
"Doctor? Another delivery for you."
Yui's hands tensed.
Another box. This one is smaller. Square.
Inside: a single polaroid.
It showed the street outside her apartment. Taken from an angle she didn't recognize. The timestamp read: Yesterday, 9:13 PM.
There was no note.
Yui stared at the image. Her breath caught.
Someone had been watching her.
She turned the photo over. A single word was written on the back.
"Close."
Later that Night
Yui locked all her doors that night. Every window. Drew every curtain.
She didn't sleep.
She couldn't tell if this was a warning. A threat. Or something else.
But one thing was clear: she was involved now.
And she wasn't ready to walk away. Not without unmasking the person after all this.
To Be Continued...