Before anything else, I wanna discuss the names I'll be using: yes, the original version is called City Hunter and the main protagonists are Ryô and Kaori, but I grew up knowing them as Nicky and Laura. As far as I am concerned, since I'll be writing in English, I find these names really appropriate and they help me staying in the mental space I need to be to respect the characters. So here is the story of Nicky Larson and Laura Marconi (and her brother Tony)... and Esmeralda. Obviously. Duh.

Also, about the era my story's taking place in. The TV show was contemporary, more or less, so we're talking 80s, 90s at the most. That's gonna be hard for me. I mean, they barely had cellphones! I can't cope. I need her to handle computers, Tony Stark style, talk to someone at the other end of the world real-time, no delay, no microphone, you know. The real comic-book-level technology thing. Thankfully for me, they made a City Hunter movie last year (2019), a sort of reboot, anime of course, I'm not talking about the excuse for a French comedy Lacheau belched. Works well so era code: 20-20.

Nicky, thanks to his associate Tony's good work, got tasked by a beautiful woman (as it is famous he only accepts jobs from women, preferably beautiful) to retrieve one of her subordinates from a mob chief's grasp. She presented herself as a madam, holding a brothel in Kabukicho (Tokyo's red light district) and described an incident during which a client abducted her girl, on the grounds that he fell in love with her. She intended to set her free and asked the detective to find her and help her escape. She never mentioned her name or physical attributes, and Nicky didn't ask, too absorbed in the length of his client's legs to bother. She had the kidnapper's name anyway. The search wouldn't be too hard. The tricky part would be the rescue in itself, but Nicky knew the man, and his muscles, no big guns amongst them, none posing a threat to him at least. However two things in the lady's behaviour unsettled him: she lingered over how disoriented the poor girl would be, how he shouldn't pay too much attention if she started panicking, and, right before exiting the apartment, she casually asked
"You don't know sign language, do you Mister Larson?"
to which his guts pushed him to answer negatively.
Spoiler alert: Nicky Larson knows sign language.

That same night, he approached the mansion from its south-east side, having easily sent off the park gate guards, swiftly climbed the thing and advanced silently through the patch of woods shielding the house from unwanted attention. He remembered the bawd referring to his target as 'the treasure' so he wondered where a mobster would most likely keep a valuable possession of his. In his own room, one would think. He looked up to the first and second floor windows: all seemed dark and asleep. The ground floor felt different though: buzzing with cards games through long hours of patience, heavy laughs, sexist jokes and ammo. Lots of it.
'I need to find another way in.', he thought to himself before spotting the cellar door. 'That's not the shortest path but certainly the most secure.'
Here he goes down through spiderwebs and wine racks, rats squealing inside the walls. He reached the central piece of that basement where a floating flight of stairs led up to a hopefully hidden (or at least discreet) passage to the upper floors. But there was something about this place. A square bordered with barred cells. Nothing unusual for an 18th century mansion really. But it felt ominous to him. Or maybe that cliquety sound… He needed to know what it was, so he reached the cellar directly at the foot of the staircase, and there she was. He gasped when his eyes met her face. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen (classic, dumb, I'm sorry, can't find a better phrasing). Not only were her features gracious and soft-looking, but they transpired kindness, femininity and… loneliness. She sat directly on the ground, legs crossed, her back pushing a low wall within her prison. Her long black hair cascading down her shoulders gave her an untamed look, yet there she was, locked in that cold and damp jail. She was weaving her delicate fingers through the chains linking the cuffs she wore at her ankles to a bold iron circle riveted to the opposite wall, producing that monotonous jingling. His heart sunk when he noticed the bruises she wore on the parts of her skin left bare by the cheap white dress she was wearing. He'd seen worse, but he couldn't bear the thought of anyone hurting such a gentle looking creature. Then his heart went from sunk to elated: he'll get her out of here. In a split second, his mission completely forgotten, his goal appeared clear to him. He expertly analyzed the latch. The noise stopped. He looked up. She was staring right at him, her eyes dull and nonchalant. He brought a finger to his lips, gesturing her to stay quiet. She responded with a snort, like a scoff, with no humour, a raised eyebrow as punctuation. He didn't get the joke.

Just then, the door from upstairs flew open. He hadn't paid attention but he could discern the men's voices from here. He deftly slid under the stairs, hiding from the incomer laughing in response to his peers' banter.
"Yeah go check the treasure, dickface!"
"Send her our love!"
"And don't take too long, we're still three who haven't got down there."
"It's not my fault I drew two aces!", the man defended before shutting the door and walking down.
He was big. Like fat, but imposing. And tall. Nothing to scare Nicky but a worthy opponent nonetheless. And the fact his colleagues were so close made the situation way more dangerous. He couldn't possibly use his Magnum here, the shot would expose him. He would have to use arms' strength. In the midst of his scheming, Nicky heard a word ring in his ear: 'the treasure'. They just very obviously referred to her as the treasure. She was his objective. Or how to kill two birds with one stone. Well, for now, there was one bird to take down. And it was one hell of a bird.
Its shadow seemed to cast over him forever so he waited for the crook to reach the gate and step way inside the cell before daring moving from his spot.
"Hi there, Beautiful."
No response. Now, how could anyone not be disgusted by so much inappropriate hunger. Before he could leave the security of his hideout, there was a violent rustle, the shackles dragged across the floor. He pulled his head out the corner of the stairs and witnessed the girl crash onto the metallic bed, opposite her wall. She fell, head to the mattress, and gripped the sheets. There was the sound of a zip, and without further due, a giant hand trapped her ankle, pulled her to a kneeling position over the bed, and the man thrusted into her.

Nicky was stunned. How did the situation escalate so dramatically quickly? The guards' words echoed again and he realized this was a fucking gang rape: there were playing cards up there, only to decide whose turn it was to enjoy her favours. Her favours… She was staring at him. She had turned her face towards the exit, the man's palm pushing her head into the mattress, his relentless impeti convulsing her body, and her gaze was locked on him. He did not read sadness in it, nor even pain, nor disgust, but rage yes, a distant, quiet but burning rage. She was not calling for help. Actually, she was not making a sound. But he heard her cry inside his heart (cheeeeezy) and there was no coming back from that.
He advanced, his brain barely registering the sequence of his decisions, positioned himself behind the albatros, grabbed the chain at his feet, passed it over the bird's skull, and pulled. The dying man produced some weird bubbling grunts as he was trying to make sense of what was happening, then briefly tried to fight, bringing his fingers to his neck, hoping to pluck that choking away. But Nicky's wrath was unstoppable, and with a surprisingly silent thump, his foe's body fell to the ground. The chain followed, escaping Nicky's grip. The woman let herself slide down as well.
She was panting, still squeezing the fabric, not daring to turn. But they didn't have much time and he knew it. He rushed to her, knelt down, drew his Colt out and shot at the links closest to her feet. Bam. Bam. Precise as ever, they were now seconds away from being discovered. He caught her hand, and started running, feeling her follow. By the time they climbed out the way he came in, he had calculated they still could reach the fence before their pursuers, having the element of surprise on their side. He didn't take the chance to check on her, he'll have plenty of opportunities later for that, once she'll be out of danger, and the house was awakening, lights being turned on in the upper floors. They ran without a sound through the undergrowth. He knew she was barefoot and the pin needles stabbing her skin must have been painful, yet she never complained. He pushed her up above the railings and hauled himself right after she had touched the ground. She seemed to take a second to comprehend she was now free, but he clasped her wrist again and dragged her towards his car, parked 500 meters down the road. He could hear the barks and shouts behind them but they were far enough that once the doors of the Mini slammed, all fell silent. He turned on the engine of his red companion and off they went.

She was sound asleep when they reached the parking lot of his apartment building. They didn't exchange a word during the ride. The vibe she was giving him was not one of a freed hooker. More of a weary and lost animal, accepting its fate despite the immense fury building up within. He could not quite pinpoint what felt wrong but his detective sense was unequivocal. He cautiously scooped her out of the vehicle and handled her with care, not like a fragile thing he could break, but more like a rare bird he would scare off, until she was resting peacefully in his bed. He tucked her in and shut the door.

It took his partner two hours to reach out. First a phone call, left unanswered (Nicky was catching some z's on the couch then), and in the early morning, a knock on the door. Tony had the key, obviously, but he was never the one to abuse it. Unfortunately the client was being somehow pushy and now that he had spotted the Mini in her usual place, he needed to know how it went. One last knock and he unlocked his way in. Nicky was just emerging, sluggishly making his way to the kitchen for a well-earned cup of coffee. Tony tossed the newspaper on the diner table in the middle of the room and, with three steps, passed his friend and reached the coffee machine first. Nicky, understanding he wouldn't have to do it himself, spinned right back and went and sat at the table, losing himself in the front page articles. Tony only gave him the time the coffee took to brew before placing a smoking mug under his nose, holding one for himself, and starting questioning.
"So?" Nicky lazily looked up. "Aren't you gonna tell me what happened? Did you find the girl? Where is she?"
"In my bed.", Nicky replied without a second thought.
"Nicky…", the tone was nothing but admonishing.
The time it took to hit, "Who do you think I am Tony?"
"She must be very pretty…"
"She sure is."
"...and you're not exactly famous for your manners around those."
"I'm a professional!"
"Didn't mean to offend."
"She fell out of exhaustion and it felt she really needed a rest. I didn't touch her.", and after a somber silence, "She got enough of that."
Tony's brows furrowed. "Keep going."
Nicky clicked his tongue in response, but he knew he had to account for yesterday's events, and probably why he would have to fail his mission this time.
"Didn't she feel odd to you, that woman?", he asked.
"The client? You didn't seem too concerned when ogling her thighs yesterday morning."
"I mean, her story made sense. But did you notice how it felt like she was throwing me off scent when she mentioned how confused the girl would be?"
"Where you getting at?"
"She didn't want me to look deeper into it. She's got something to hide. That girl, I don't believe for one second she's a prostitute."
Tony scanned the sweeper's face: he was dead serious, which implied a lot. "How will we proceed?"
The blind trust the question entailed was nothing new between the two men and Nicky had always intended on respecting that.
"As far as Madam Arthur is concerned, I never found the girl."
"That won't work. Words travel fast within the mob. Snitchers already let the town know the treasure got looted."
"Trust me, I was not the one who looted her."
"I know. But you have to say you found her and escaped."
"OK, then, she fled."
"Yes, because she got scared she would go back. This way, we'll make the manageress unveil her motives, if there's any. If not, you can always promise you'll find her again and complete the mission."
"Seems about right."
"Now are we sure your protégée will like that plan?"
"Hopefully, it can wait for her to wake up…"

Like a life's knock, there were three loud bangs on the front door.
"Don't think it can.", commented Tony.
"We'll have to improvise."