"Maybe this world is another's planet hell"

Aldous Huxley

§

The address was still the same—a small townhouse in a residential complex out in the Tokyo suburbs. Simple, but well-kept. Theirs was the only one with flowers in the window. The potted plants near the door had doubled since the last time I was here.

I smoked an entire cigarette before ringing the bell, and had to hold myself back from lighting a second one. I rang once. Heard footsteps inside. Part of me expected the worst. But when the door opened, I was relieved to see Yukina's face.

She looked at me like she'd seen a ghost.

"Yusuke? Oh my—how long has it been! I didn't know you were coming. Should I get Kazuma?"

"Actually… I came to talk to you."

"To me?" she asked, clearly confused. Still the same as ever—gentle, soft-spoken. There was something comforting about knowing life seemed to be treating her well.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course," she said, but before she could even make space, Kuwabara appeared behind her.

He froze. His mouth opened slightly and his eyes widened for a second before narrowing into a hard stare. The expression changed fast, but not fast enough for me to miss it.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up. What are you doing here, Urameshi?" His voice was much less welcoming than his wife's. "Forgot the way home?"

I sighed. Great. Here we go.

"I came to ask Yukina for help with something."

"Help?" he repeated, incredulous, and also clearly pissed.

"Kazuma, don't leave our guest standing at the door. Come in, Yusuke," Yukina said gently, urging me inside.

Kuwabara didn't say anything, but I could see how much it bugged him. It was bugging both of us, honestly. Would've been a hell of a lot easier if we could just settle things with a few punches like the good ol' days. Truth be told, I would've preferred that—let him hit me in the face and call it even. But of course, it was never going to be that easy.

"Why don't you two catch up while I make some tea?" Yukina said as she led us into the living room.

Neither of us replied, but she vanished into the kitchen anyway.

"Look, Kuwabara, I'm not here to fight with you," I said once we were alone. "That's not why I came."

"Relax, Urameshi. You made it pretty clear you're here to talk to Yukina, not me."

"That's not what I meant, man. Don't start."

"You could've at least had the decency to call ahead. Or did you lose my number too?"

"Oh yeah? So you could pretend you weren't home when I got here?"

Kuwabara's face turned red. I thought a vein might pop in his neck or forehead. I knew it was an unnecessary jab—but hell, he wasn't making it easy either.

And then, in one of those explosive outbursts I hadn't seen in years, he lost it.

"Oh, fuck you! I wasn't the one who ignored you for years," he snapped, voice louder than it had any right to be. "I wasn't the one who vanished without a word. For a long time, I didn't even know if you were fucking alive! Or, I don't know, if I'd done something to make you cut me off completely, if any of this was my fault somehow!"

"For fuck's sake, Kuwabara! It was never about you!"

"Of course not. Everything's always about you, isn't it, Urameshi? You're the only one with problems. You think you're the only one who lost Keiko? Well, newsflash, she was my friend, too. She was my best friend's wife. She mattered to me too, damn it!"

"It's not the same, and you know it!"

"Then why did you never let me help you?"

I scoffed, frustrated. For a second, I didn't know what to say.

I knew his anger wasn't just anger. It was years' worth of resentment that had been building up. But I was frustrated too.

I turned away, too pissed off to keep looking at him. Ended up facing the wall instead.

That's when I noticed a framed photo of a group of teenagers in school uniforms. At first I thought it might've been from our school days, but then I looked closer—this was newer. Kuwabara, fully grown, stood beside a bunch of students. Beneath it, the name of an all-boys technical high school, dated last year.

"You even hear that Suzuki died?" he asked, voice still tense but showing signs of softening.

I kept staring at the photo, letting it sink in.

Kuwabara had become a teacher. And I hadn't even known. Hadn't been around to celebrate the new job. A lump formed in my gut. What else had I missed?

"I heard," I said, swallowing hard.

I turned to face him. He was standing near the window now, still looking my way. His face was less furious now, but still tight with tension.

"What do you want me to say? That I was a piece of shit to you?" I said. "Because I know I was."

Kuwabara crossed his arms and looked away, like he was thinking through what kind of answer I actually deserved.

"…Good. That's a start," he muttered, after a beat too long.

"Tea's ready!" Yukina called, walking in with a tray and three cups.

Saved by the bell.

We joined her. She handed each of us a cup, and I accepted out of politeness.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" she asked.

"I'm working a new case… and I think you might be able to help."

I reached into my coat's inner pocket and pulled out the book. Handed it to her.

"Recognize the writing?"

Yukina took the book with the same curious look Kurama had shown. She opened to a random page, and I saw the wrinkles form on her forehead as she ran a finger along the text.

Kuwabara, seizing the moment, grabbed my arm and pulled me a few steps away from her. He cast a worried glance back at her, still engrossed in the book.

"You're working cases again?"

"…Sort of," I answered.

"What aren't you telling me, Yusuke? What is that book?"

I rubbed my hand through my hair. Looked at Yukina. She was still completely focused on the pages. Where the hell was I even supposed to start?

I went with the easy answer.

"It was with Suzuki," I said.

I didn't say more, but even that was enough to make Kuwabara's face go pale. His jaw tensed—not from anger, but something else. Kuwabara's instincts were always sharper than most. It occurred to me that maybe he'd already suspected something was off about Suzuki's death, even before I showed up.

And suddenly I wasn't sure I'd done the right thing bringing them into this.

"What are you getting yourself into?" he asked. This time, he didn't bother hiding the worry.

I hesitated.

"It's complicated," I said. It was all I could manage.

I walked back over to Yukina. She lifted her head from the book for the first time.

"Well?" I asked.

"I have a vague memory of this… it's a very old writing system—some of the village elders used to write this way."

"Do you think you can translate any of it?"

She pressed her lips together, thinking it over.

"I can try, but my knowledge is very limited. It may take some time. Can I hang on to this for a bit?"

"Sure. And anything is better than nothing. If you make any progress, can you give me a call?"

"Yes, of course. I'll do my best, Yusuke."

I thanked her. For the help, and the tea. Kuwabara had come back over by then, but he still didn't look okay.

"I need to go," I said.

He offered to walk me to the door and led me through the hallway. He opened the door, and as I stepped out, he followed me and shut it behind us.

"I don't have a good feeling about this, Yusuke," he admitted.

"I can't walk away now."

He nodded, though I could tell he hated the idea. He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly hesitating. Beads of sweat clung to his hairline.

"Then I need you to promise me something."

"What?"

"That if things start to go sideways… you'll tell me. That you'll ask for help. And that you'll let me help."

I stared at him, surprised. Did I hear that right?

He held my gaze, firm.

"Thought I was a piece of shit."

"Can you be serious for, like, two seconds?"

I fell silent, holding his stare.

"…Alright. I promise. Happy now?"

He nodded solemnly. I didn't want to drag Kuwabara into this mess. His life seemed calm. Solid. Happy. But something told me he wouldn't forgive me if I broke that promise.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said. He'd already turned to go back inside, but paused and looked over his shoulder. "If you disappear on me like that again, I'll fucking kill you. Got it?"

I smirked. He was dead serious. But just before he stepped inside, his mouth twitched into the faintest grin—too quick and too subtle for him to admit it.

Who was he kidding? Kuwabara still had a heart bigger than his brain.

Those students in the photo? Damn lucky bastards.

(…)

Kishimoto had called me again while I was at Kuwabara's, and I knew I couldn't keep putting off the conversation.

I stopped by the Blue Lotus during what should've been peak hours, but inside the club, it was dead and depressing. One dancer spun alone on stage for a nearly empty audience. Two others whispered in a corner, throwing suspicious glances over their shoulders. The Blue Lotus had long been known as a shady dive, but now it looked like even High Town's trash didn't want to hang around.

I walked through the empty tables straight to Kishimoto's office. Didn't bother knocking. She looked up from her desk with a sour expression that got even worse when she saw me.

"I've been trying to reach you all damn day," she snapped.

"I know."

"Please tell me you brought good news."

"I didn't bring any news at all."

I pulled out a chair and sat across from her. Lit a cigarette. She kept glaring at me.

"First Nika, now Koto's boyfriend. I hired you to bring solutions, Mr. Urameshi. Not more bodies."

"I'm following a few leads. But I warned you this wasn't going to be a simple case."

"And meanwhile, the club's falling apart. Koto hasn't shown up since Suzuki died, and I can't afford to pay overtime for the other girls with this place empty."

"That's what you're worried about?"

Kishimoto sighed and dropped the pen she was holding.

"Maybe this is just some trashy cabaret to you, Mr. Urameshi, but some people still depend on this place to put food on their table. What's going to happen if someone else turns up dead? Have you thought about that?"

I dragged on the cigarette to stall before answering. Of course I'd thought about that. Especially after discovering Nika and Suzuki weren't the only ones. If more youkai had died before, more could die after. And the longer it took me to figure out what was causing it, the worse things could get.

"You won't have to shut down the club. I'll figure this out."

"When?"

"I'm working on it."

I put the cigarette out in the glass ashtray on her desk and stood up. She still looked thoroughly unimpressed with my answers, her thin lips tightening into a scowl as she stared me down.

"By the way, do any of the other girls here go to the refugee camp outside the city?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

"Nika and Suzuki were volunteers there. Maybe Nika took someone else there, or someone from the club introduced her to the place. One of the girls might've been a refugee, for example."

"It was probably Daya who told her about the camp. She's the only refugee here."

I froze.

My mind went blank. Kishimoto's words echoed in my ears and took me several seconds to process.

Daya. A refugee.

How the hell did I not know that?

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

And suddenly all the gears started turning at once. I went over everything Daya had ever told me. Not once had she said anything that even hinted at her origins. Mentally, I cursed her in every language I knew.

"Anything else, Mr. Urameshi?"

"I need to go," I said, already halfway out the door.

My mind was racing. If Daya had lied about that, what else was she hiding?

And worse—why?

Back out on the main floor of the Blue Lotus, I scanned the room for her. Still as empty as before. The music was blasting, like it could fill the chairs no one was sitting in. The dancer on stage looked at me with a mix of curiosity and caution, but I ignored her. My attention was elsewhere.

I spotted her at the end of the bar. Alone. Back turned to me, but I knew it was her. Good, saved me the trouble of combing the city for her. I marched through the room, barely avoiding chairs as I went.

"Evening, detective," she said with a sideways smile as I approached. A glass of a clear drink sat in front of her.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a refugee?"

She blinked, mildly surprised. The smile disappeared for a bit, but then returned, calm and easy.

"I never said I wasn't…"

"Don't give me that shit, Daya! We were at that camp together, and you kept your damn mouth shut the entire time!"

"And you never wondered how I knew so much about the place? Or about the refugee system?" She shrugged. "Honestly, it's not my fault if you don't ask the right questions."

Goddammit. I slammed my fist on the bar. She raised an eyebrow, flinched slightly, but kept sipping her drink like nothing had happened. And I felt like a goddamn idiot for not pushing harder sooner.

"Jeez… do you treat all women like this, detective?"

"Only the ones who lie to me."

Daya set her glass down.

"How about this: word is, you've got my book. Bring it back to me, and I'll answer whatever you want," she said.

The fucking book. Of course. If Daya had a connection to the refugee camp, that book didn't just land in her hands by chance.

"Where'd you get that book?"

"You know where. From Makai."

"You'll have to be more specific than that."

"Need me to draw you a map, detective?"

I leaned closer, both hands on the bar. My patience was running thin. Good thing I didn't hit women.

"I thought you gave a damn about figuring out what happened to Nika. Or was that another lie?"

"What does the book have to do with her death?"

"Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Why don't you tell me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She reached for her glass again, but I pulled it away. Forced her to look at me.

"The language in that book, it's the same as what's carved into the ruins at the camp."

Daya stared at me. Didn't blink. Didn't say a word. But this time, for the first time, she actually looked focused. The smile vanished again.

"The same?" she asked, too casually, too calm. "You sure about that?"

"Same language. Same symbols. Identical. Don't pretend you didn't know."

Her eyes locked onto mine, not like she was listening, but like she was calculating. I could practically see the gears turning behind those dark eyes.

And that's when I realized—something had clicked.

"You know something, Daya," I said. My voice came out like an accusation.

I thought I'd finally cornered her. But I couldn't have been more wrong.

There wasn't a hint of fear or caution in her. On the contrary, there was a gleam of smug satisfaction in her eyes now. The smile returned, slow and deliberate. She finished her drink and stood from the bar.

"I've got to go. Nice talking to you, detective."

She grabbed her bag, turned around, and left me standing there like an idiot in the middle of the Blue Lotus.

I almost stopped her. But I wasn't falling for that. All I'd get were more vague answers. Better to follow her, and let her lead me to whatever the hell she was hiding.

I let her take the lead, but stepped out right behind her, pulling my jacket tight as I walked. It had started to drizzle.

The light rain wasn't enough to clear the streets of High Town. The sidewalks were still crowded as ever, which helped me blend in. Daya kept a steady pace up ahead. I lost sight of her a couple of times, but her confident stride always stood out among the crumbling alleyways.

The farther we got from High Town, the quieter the streets became, and the stronger the smell of saltwater grew. The city's port was in the neighbouring district, a long walk, but doable if you didn't want to draw attention.

The docks came into view just as the rain picked up. The air was thick with salt, fish, and rust. Daya didn't hesitate. She made a beeline for the farthest pier, where a few workers—all youkai—smoked by the loading zone. She walked right past them and into a cargo warehouse with its doors wide open.

I moved closer, using shipping containers as cover. Couldn't hear much yet, but I saw the headlights of a truck cut through the fog. It rumbled off the road and carefully pulled into the warehouse. The cargo doors opened.

It was loaded.

The dockworkers from earlier started unloading big wooden crates. Some of them were shaking. Most looked reinforced. Every single one was stamped with the symbol of three interlocking hexagons.

I took a deep breath.

Hive.

Holy shit. I didn't even need to guess what I was seeing.

Once the truck was emptied, one of the workers disappeared into a side door and returned with a new group of youkai. They moved in clusters, arms stiff at their sides, heads down, shoulders sagging. I narrowed my eyes, squinting to catch the details. One of them had a mark on his forearm. Too straight and clean to be an injury. It happened fast, but I saw it clearly in my mind:

It was the same numeric sequence I'd seen in the autopsy photos.

What the fuck was happening here?

I kept watching from a distance. They weren't restrained, but they looked like hell. Rags for clothes. Skin and bones. Filthy. One by one, they climbed into the truck bed.

Refugees?

I remembered Daya's words. "There's a whole black market of smugglers, almost like a mafia."

Of course.

Finally, it was all starting to click. Hive was a network of smugglers bringing refugees from Makai, but they weren't only doing that. I knew damn well what was inside those crates. And it sure as hell wasn't seafood.

Now the truck was loaded up again and started pulling away, probably headed straight for the camp with another batch of half-dead youkai. Okay, one mystery solved. But what about the numbers? I was sure I saw them on at least one of the refugees. So why were only some of them marked?

"Hey!" someone shouted nearby. "Lose something out here?"

I turned. One of the dock workers now stood in front of me, clearly not in a friendly mood. Scars across his face. A gun at his hip.

"No, but I think I found something."

"The only thing you're gonna find is trouble if you don't leave. Now."

"You do know the youkai you're bringing in are dying, right?"

"So what?" he snorted, shoulders rising in a mocking shrug. "What are you, some kind of youkai welfare officer?"

My blood boiled. Youkai dropping dead like flies, and nobody gave a damn.

Demons being trafficked by fellow demons. Humans buying them like circus attractions. Koenma wasn't stepping in, Kishimoto cared more about her profits, and even Daya was playing by her own rules. Suddenly I wanted to punch the entire goddamn world.

He must've seen the rage in my face. One hand twitched toward his weapon, but I was faster. Grabbed him by the collar, twisted his wrist, yanked the gun away, and tossed it across the ground. He let out a shout of pain as I bent his arm backward. That noise was definitely going to attract company.

"Why are some of them marked? What do the numbers mean?"

"I don't know!" he screamed, eyes wide in panic.

"Wrong answer."

I punched him. Twice. Square in the mouth. Something flew out, maybe a tooth.

"You get one more chance."

"I don't know! Agni comes here and runs some tests. We mark the ones he tells us to. That's it! I don't know what happens after."

Agni? That name again.

I had more questions, but a second of hesitation cost me. He lunged, headbutted me square in the face. I heard my nose crack. Warmth spilled down my lip. Blood mixed with spit.

Still, I didn't let go. Kneed him in the groin, made him buckle. Finished with an elbow to the back. He crumpled.

"What's going on here?"

I turned. A group was staring at me now, drawn by the noise.

Blood dripped from my nose and mouth. I wiped it off with the back of my hand.

And of course, there she was. Daya. Looking at me, then at the youkai on the ground, trying to assess the situation.

"Couldn't stay away from me for long, huh, detective?" she said.

"He with you, Daya?" one of them asked.

"He is. But he's harmless. Well, mostly," she added, glancing at the guy I'd just flattened.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted you," I said to her.

She stepped closer, lowered her voice.

"Let's save the dirty laundry for later, yeah? How about we leave before they have other plans on how to shut your mouth?"

I ignored her. The bad taste in my mouth wasn't just blood.

"Isn't that Urameshi? Raizen's kid?" someone said.

Everyone was looking at me now. The tension buzzed in my ears like static. Waiting for the next move.

One of the guards stepped forward. Pulled his gun. Aimed it straight at me. I had so much adrenaline pumping that I barely felt it.

"You've got one minute to get outta here before I put a bullet in your skull."

I nearly laughed. Took two steps forward until the barrel pressed against my chest, every ounce of my energy surging into my right fist in a blue light.

"Go ahead. My life's worthless anyway. But I'll take all of you with me."

He hesitated. Eyes wide. Not sure if I was bluffing.

Then click. Another gun. This one behind me.

"Easy, easy, easy," Daya said, trying to stay cool but clearly shaken.

I turned.

She had a pistol pressed to her own head.

"How about hers? Is her life worth anything to you?"

I wanted to say no. That I didn't give a shit. That Daya was their problem.

But that wasn't me.

I closed my eyes. Let the energy in my fist fizzle out. Slowly opened my hand. Stepped back.

Daya glanced at me, uncertain. Her lips were trembling.

Shit.

That weight… I didn't expect to feel it.

"Let's go," I said.

She nodded. But just before she could follow me, I caught the way they held her back for a second longer.

"You can kiss our deal goodbye," one of the Hive guys whispered in her ear.