The conference room reeked of stale coffee and unspoken dread as the team gathered. Faded fluorescent lights flickered on the walls, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to whisper secrets of the past.
Detective Inspector Naoko Tanaka leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes narrowed with both skepticism and determination. The large projection screen ahead displayed the grotesque crime scene once again: a man suspended in a pose that defied natural order, his body arranged like a cruel tableau. Black feathers scattered across the floor, and carved across his chest was the infamous symbol—a crossed-out crow—that had ignited the city's nightmares.
Silence descended for a moment, thick and heavy.
"I'm not here to waste time," growled Chief Superintendent Hoshida, his gravelly voice carrying authority and a trace of desperation. "You've all seen the reports. We have three days until the media catches wind of this symbol—and then it'll be an inferno. We need answers, and we need them now."
At the far end of the table, Yuto sat quietly in his corner, scribbling in a worn leather notebook. His gaze was fixed on the image, dissecting every detail with the precision of a surgeon. Though words were few from him, his eyes spoke volumes—a mind already piecing together the patterns beneath the horror.
Across from him, Rika Mori, the team's profiler, tapped a pen against her temple in a rhythmic cadence. Her eyes, sharp and observant, wandered over the scene displayed before them.
"The symmetry…" she began softly, "the precision—it's not born of rage. This isn't an impulsive act. It's… performance art. He wants us to see it. To understand it."
Lieutenant Hayama snorted in disgust, shaking his head vigorously. "Performance art? We're talking about murder here."
Rika's reply was cool, measured. "I mean, he's set everything up like a stage. The scene is meticulously composed, down to the last feather and mark."
Naoko shifted her focus from the screen to the assembled team. "Why us?" she demanded, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of urgency. "Why pick a team like ours for this case?"
Hoshida's jaw clenched as he replied, "Because you're all broken. Brilliant, but broken. You're the ones who have tasted the darkness, who understand that sometimes the truth is hidden in the cracks. We need that insight for this case. This isn't just another murder—it's a message, a call from someone who lives in the shadows."
The room fell silent again, each member lost in their own thoughts. After what felt like an eternity, Yuto finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "He's not just sending a message. He's composing something. This… is only the beginning."
Rika fixed her gaze on him, interest and concern mingling in her eyes. "You really think it's part of a sequence?"
Yuto's eyes met hers, intense and unyielding. "I believe it's a symphony. And we've just heard the opening note."
Naoko, now visibly moved by the gravity of Yuto's words, rose and walked to the projection screen. She reached out, almost caressing the digital image of the crow symbol, the lines appearing as if they bled from the victim's skin. "I want every case file that contains any semblance of this display," she ordered. "Even those that have gone cold. There's no way this is his first act."
Hayama grunted derisively. "If he's done this before, why aren't we finding any records?"
Yuto's tone grew sharp, hinting at frustration and something deeper. "Either someone erased his tracks, or there's a reason nobody wants these cases to resurface."
Just then, a soft chime cut through the tension. An officer entered the room carrying a sealed envelope. "This just arrived at the precinct. No return address, no fingerprints—nothing."
Naoko took the envelope with gloved hands and carefully opened it. Inside lay a single photograph—a previously unknown victim, one not yet found. Pinned to the photo was a handwritten note, the elegant cursive contrasting eerily with the grim image.
Second movement: Andante.Can you hear the music now?
Yuto stared at the note, his pulse quickening. The implications were immediate and chilling. The killer was not only methodical but had a taste for drama—a conductor dictating the tempo of death.
"This game," Yuto murmured, "it's already in motion."
The weight of his words settled in the room as the members processed the new evidence. The atmosphere thickened with the realization that the killer was always several steps ahead, orchestrating the events like notes in an unholy composition.
As the meeting drew to a close, each investigator felt the tendrils of dread and anticipation tighten around them. The symbol of the crow, the mysterious note, and the evidence of a past the city desperately wanted to forget—all were a part of a sinister puzzle that they were now committed to solving.
Walking out into the cool, rain-slicked night, Yuto couldn't shake the feeling that the shadows were closing in. Somewhere in the maze of dark alleys and neon lights, The Crow was watching, waiting for the next movement in his deadly symphony.
And with that thought echoing in his mind, the investigation took on a new urgency. There was no turning back now.