Page 268 of Mercy Written in Blood

"He stays."

"I was told—"

"He stays downstairs."

Ken looked at Haruki. Haruki held his gaze. After a moment, Ken nodded.

"I'll inspect the exits."

Ryota swallowed.

"There's a fire door at the back."

"I know."

Ken walked past him. Ryota watched him go, then looked towards Renji.

"Doctor Takahara."

Renji inclined his head. The young man's expression changed — fear first, then curiosity, then the deliberate neutrality of someone trying not to offend.

"You know what he is," Haruki said.

"Yes."

"And you still let him inside."

"This meeting is for people who want to understand."

Renji's gaze rested on him.

"Do you?"

Ryota considered the question.

"I want to stop being told understanding is too dangerous for me."

Renji said nothing. Haruki felt the answer settle between them. It was the first argument of the evening. Sota had not even appeared.

Ryota pointed towards the stairs.

"They've already started."

The meeting occupied a large multipurpose room on the second floor. Plastic chairs had been arranged in uneven rows. Thirty people sat facing a whiteboard and a portable projector. No symbols marked the walls. No slogans. No masked followers waiting to transform into an army. A kettle stood on a side table beside cheap biscuits and paper cups.

Haruki recognised no one. That disturbed him. He had expected activists — young men carrying anger like a uniform, people Sota had radicalised through grievance and certainty. Instead, the room held a cross-section of ordinary lives. An elderly woman in a green cardigan. A delivery driver still wearing his reflective jacket. Two university students. A father with a wedding ring turning repeatedly beneath his thumb. A woman in hospital scrubs. A teenage boy seated beside a man who looked old enough to be his grandfather. Some were frightened. Some angry. Most appeared tired.

Sota stood near the whiteboard. He wore dark trousers and a plain shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. No coat. No suit. Nothing that separated him from the people seated before him. He saw Haruki and Renji enter. He did not smile. Only nodded towards two empty chairs at the back.

Haruki disliked that too. No interruption. No welcome designed to show they were important. Sota continued speaking as they sat.

"The footage was taken nine years ago," he said.

The projector displayed a still image of a narrow alley. Low resolution. Night. A date stamp in one corner.

"The official report records an animal attack. The victim was twenty-six. Her name was Miki Sakamoto."

A woman in the front row lowered her head. Haruki noticed the resemblance — same jaw, same shape around the eyes. Sister, perhaps.