CHAPTER III

The noise of Shibuya at night is surprisingly reassuring to the secretive and wandering Hound at work. He stares at the busy street from underneath one of the bridges the vehicles would travel, leaning against it as if expecting someone to meet there. And there was, as footsteps approach his earshot, getting louder before it stops just a few feet away.

He meets the eyes of an old man with a grey hair, wearing a business suit and graded glasses. He's one of the Hound's informant over the two years he's worked as a private eye. Their talk is brief and quiet, preferring to communicate with body language instead, and passing folded papers. He gets an address to an expert knowledgeable in forensics, and they get a series of numbers to a locker by the train station for their goods to distribute to the mass.

Such is the life of a businessman, though their expertise vary. The two parted from the meet up location and went on with their ways in the city. He brings his bicycle with him, heading to the Harajuku district like the address in the folded paper mentioned the forensics expert lives in. Which is weird. What forensics expert would want to live in a district brimming with younglings of unorthodox fashion sense that look like they came out of a bland anime series full of fanservice? No offense.

He follows the address in his paper, even asking its locals for directions just in case he's mistaken. Apparently not. It leads him to a botanical café. The smell of flowers and the sound of ambient music welcomes him inside. He ganders briefly, the customers half-fills the place with the staff tending to them with their orders. He proceeds to the counter, being greeted by a staff and reciprocating it out of respect. He then asks for a name, one that is responded with wariness, for they aren't here.

He asks for their residential address, or if they have their phone number to contact. He's told to wait, the staff heading to the back room before reemerging. Before giving him both their address and number, they asked why and what he would need it for. A simple question wherein the answer is just as mundane after practicing this response a lot.

"I'm a friend wanting to surprise him! I've been abroad for a few months now, and he doesn't know I've come back, so I'm going to visit him. Keep it a secret, okay?" He uses his youthful charm, pressing a finger across his affectionate smile. That seems to do the trick, obtaining not only a name to the man's address, but a phone number. He thanks the staff, complimenting the atmosphere of the café and promising to visit again for the menu then leaving.

He treks the crowded street of Harajuku, saving Mr. Forensics' number in his phone and travelling to Yoyogi. Thought so. Even he wouldn't want to live in this district. It's too cultural and crowded. Shinjuku seems more convenient, but it's also filled with its share of being too suffocating at times. The perfect balance is personally Yoyogi, located in the north of Shibuya. It's more residential, and has parks and natural attractions to mesmerise in.

Sometimes, Deo would think to live in Yoyogi instead of Shibuya. The atmosphere is peaceful even at night. It's noticeably less crowded than in places in Shibuya. He heads to the third district, where the area is filled with small apartments and houses. The address he got from the man's colleague directs him to a house not far from his vicinity. He opens his phone, and messaged the number he saved prior.

He sent a message requiring the guy's assistance with the items he collected, and that he was referred to this forensics guy for help by his informant. Fingerprints, blood-type, and whatever biometrics there is they'll find on it—the Hound needs to know. He gets a reply not long after, the analyst agrees to his aid and asks him to ring on their doorbell in a certain amount of times and intervals. So he did, albeit cautious by their quick willingness to help.

He's by the gate, and the door beyond the gate opens. The forensics man turns out to be in his thirties. He honestly expected him to be much older. Thirties is old, he also tells himself. The Hound asks as he watched the man approach the gates, then opening it. "Are you Hyousuke Kanki?"

"Get in," he ignores the Hound's question, waiting for him to come inside. The cigarette in his mouth permeates the same scent as the one reeking from his house, right through the open door.

"Oh." But the Hound complies, stepping in. Kanki closed the gate after him. The man later guides him to the house with a hand between his shoulder blades. He follows. The scent of cigarettes grows strong as he approaches, though he didn't mind.

The door closed behind him, Kanki's hand released from his back. He heads upstairs, where the Hound tails before another word escapes the man's mouth. "Where're the samples you speak of?"

"Huh? Oh, here." He rummaged through his bag's pockets, ousting two small plastic bags that got snatched away from his grasp when they both got upstairs. He exclaimed a reaction, "hey!"

"I'll do your stupid detective work, so come back in a day or two." What the fuck? Rude.

"Then why'd you come all the way out there just for me to come up here? You didn't need to do that."

"To show you I'm legit since you're sus of me." He's not wrong. "But not gonna lie, I'm sus of you, too. So." Fair enough. Kanki points to the doors. "Workplace here, my room there, help yourself with one drink downstairs on your way out."

The man opens the door to a room devoid of lights but a lamp on the desk and some fluorescent ones in the corner of a top shelf above the desk. There are containers placed on the shelves on one side of the room, and some noticeable unique software in a laptop on the desk with the lamp. Paperwork decorates the floor of another corner—and that's as far as he could see when the door closes on him the moment Kanki entered the space.

The door opens not long after with Kanki's face peering out. "Don't forget to lock the door on the way out, either," then slams the door to a close.

The Hound stood still, at a loss for words and brows knitted in the middle. What just happened?

A new day arrives, and for once, Deo is comfortable in waking up. He only has one class that's supposed to start in the afternoon. That's one good thing to start off the day, and another is the thought of bathing in peace. Last night's errand alienated him from what occurred, but all in all, it didn't really mind him. Perhaps Kanki was being cautious at the same time as he want to finish Deo's request of him quick. The reason behind it might be his family. Deo at least recalled seeing a family portrait in Kanki's house, when he took a soda pop from the man's fridge before heading straight home.

Deo reaches for his phone on the bed stand, checking if he's received some notifications. He read through them when he did then realising that he forgot to send Kanki a copy of the footprint he found on the roof, belonging to the assassin. Well, he remembers now and sent it, finding after the photo was sent, it was already seen by Kanki.

Does that guy not sleep?

He turns his phone off, leaving the bed to take a bath. Minutes later, he's out of the bathroom, changing into a comfy wear for outdoors. He takes his time organising contents in his bag, choosing what to bring with him before zipping it close. Last, he takes his keys and phone, exiting his dorm room.

At the veranda, he stretches his limbs, greeting his housemates when they see him as they come and go. He decides to follow those who left, bringing his bicycle with him and heading to... Somewhere. Just to roam around, he decides. But something caught his eyes on his way out.

He spots a green cat stretching its hinds then its back by the post between fences of a different buildings. No, not green-eyed cat or green-spotted cat, it's a full-on green fur, green paws, green-eyed cat lazily meandering. When its malachite eyes saw Deo's copper, it flinched before a meow, leaping off the other side of the fence out of his sight. Strange. Very strange. It's a first ever seeing a fully green cat.

Though it's a few hours before his afternoon class starts, Deo hangs in the school library anyways to work on where he would intern for his course in his last school year. Of course, he's also asked in his part-time job if there's an available internship spot in their departments. Sasha told him that he'll notify him if there are, and he trusts him on that.

His phone rings, assuming it was Sasha he got a message from. It wasn't. It's just a notification from his classmate for the afternoon class that the class has been moved two hours earlier because of the professor's conflicted schedule. He asks where the class will be held; he received the room number and the name of the building located at the far end of the campus, similar to how the library is at the other end of the campus. Panic quietly sets in as he checks the time. He estimates that he can barely make it.

As for lunch, he'll eat on the way.

The class was about to start by the time Deo made it to the room. He admits to almost breaking into panic of what he might miss, but all in all, he internalised the anxiety well, he thinks. He closed the door, being the last person to arrive, and was about to apologise to the professor, but... That's not...

"You gonna take a seat, or what?"

Before his eyes, a man of great stature presents himself before the class. His figure leans on the teacher's table, wearing a black dress shirt with an orange necktie and dark trousers, underneath a white lab coat. His lengthy white hair covers his right eye while his piercing blue eye stares at Deo's whereabouts by the door. His shaven jaw is tight, to complement the mouth that's in a scowl.

"Uh, sorry, sir."

Deo ducks his head as he scurries to an available seat—which happens to be the front seats. Unlike some, he didn't dislike sitting in front of where the professor can see you. Rather, they tend to be attentive towards the people at the back than they do in front. Or so one of his high school professors told him. The room fills the hum of the air conditioner with murmurs, wondering about this nameless professor they haven't seen before. Yet, this mutes, when the man's voice rumbles in his throat.

"Amano-sensei is away from a sudden turn of... personal events. Hence, in her stead, I'm assigned to take over this course. Until her issues have been resolved, let's get along. I'm Slade Tomlinson. If you've got any questions, then relax, I won't bite." The scowl that was previously expressed in his face slowly lifts into a smirk, aimed at the class.

Slade Tomlinson... A foreigner?

Just as the thought came to mind, one of the students raised their hand and asked the same question. Mr. Tomlinson nods, "Yes, from America. But I've lived here for a while now, and am accustomed to the language. So don't worry about whether or not you wanna talk to me in English, or something."

To that, there were some sighs that came from a couple of students. When the others heard them, they collectively laughed; Mr. Tomlinson chuckled. "Ah, unless you want to polish your English? I wouldn't mind helping any of you out." Someone in the class responds with gratitude, prompting the professor to say, You're welcome, in English.

"You're like Deo-kun then!"

"Deo-kun?"

Deo raised his hand, "that's me..." He sounds meek. Pathetic. Likely from how he entered the room just then, to be met with a disapproving look. As much as he prides himself in being uncaring of people's opinions of him, he hears them anyways. And sometimes, that eats him up. Sometimes.

"Oh. Speaking of," Mr. Tomlinson brushed over his response. "I should take your attendance." He picks up the class attendance record on the table, turning the pages until he gets to their section's name.

One of them calls him out. "Sensei, we're not in high-school anymore, we shouldn't need that!"

"That's true. But I'd like to know you all too, and this method's easier." He shrugged, looking at the person who voiced their opinion with a small smile. A sound of protest came from the class, but they didn't argue much, going along with his whims.

"Aikawa." "Here!" "Aoyama." "Here."

This fresh-faced professor begins calling them by their surnames. If identical surnames are called out, he calls them by their full name. Meanwhile, Deo types in his phone underneath the table, of this professor's name and distinctions like he does in the same note consisting of the other names of teachers throughout his college courses. He's not the best at remembering those he's not curious of. For now.

He types: Slade Tomlinson. White hair, blue eyes (eye?); unknown department; American.

"Abdul."

"Here."

Deo snaps his head up, looking at the... old professor? He doesn't really look that old. If anything, he looks like he's in his mid-thirties. I thought you said thirties is old? Maybe not then. He'll add this information to his phone later.

"Avoid playing with your phone." English?

"I wasn't?" Deo replies with reluctance.

Mr. Tomlinson tugs the corner of his lips. "Really?"

What's with this guy? And how'd he know? He makes the teen feel uneasy. Not particularly dangerous, just—uneasy. His phone doesn't even have its sounds on, yet the man caught him. He's even made sure to look forward and occasionally glance down to know what he's typing. He's done this before, and no one's caught on. So why now? Maybe he just wasn't hiding enough?

"...not anymore?" Deo drawls the excuse from the man's prying, a nervous grin and shrug followed. The older snorts, the smirk widening to a grin.

"Ishii." "Here." "Ishida." "Here!" "Ueda."

The professor returns to calling the names of his classmates, having no reprimands after that fact throws the teen off as he tries to figure the man out. All but a prevailing answer was that, he's odd.

Deo's uneasiness comes back and forth during the course. The atmosphere between the class and the professor was lenient since Mr. Tomlinson was only substituting for a while. And maybe it's because he's a substitute that the teen didn't really expect much out of him. Yet, he knows what the class was working on when they're given an activity that would come out of their exam in two weeks.

The man would occasionally roam and oversee the students up close in silence, and would then help them by vocalising solutions when they've been really stuck for a while. He would even get hands-on, just to show them how to do certain formulas correctly, and then other ways to solve it.

That's not what makes him feel uneasy though, it's the fact that whenever he tries to look at his direction, the man would always be there to meet his gaze. Deo would flinch, and look away, and shrink, pretending to finish his work when he already has; when he'd approach by around his vicinity, he barely heard the large man's footfalls either. The weights on the student's shoulder is heavy with unease, and the gears in his head spins. It's like the man's trying to intentionally fuck with him. Did he do something?

The class ends at the exact time Mr. Tomlinson had collected everyone's papers. He thanks them for their cooperation, though it's likely a one-time thing, already much to the chagrin of the class. The chagrin of all, but himself. Why is he relieved?

The man dismisses the class, with students beginning to pack while the others had already gone past the doors. Deo ignores, as best as he can, the sole ocean gaze that stabs bolts of arrows on his back. He rests the bag's strap on his shoulder, leaving the room in silence and not ever eyeing the man again despite what he heard on the way out.

"See you again, Abdul."