Chapter Text
The body is posed like a king.
Isagi stands at the edge of the crime scene, staring down at the corpse. A man in his late 40s, head tilted back, mouth slack with the frozen remains of a scream. His hands are folded neatly in his lap, as if he had been laid to rest rather than murdered. A golden chess piece sits at the very center of his chest.
The mark of The Emperor.
“Fuck,” Bachira exhales beside him, running a hand through his hair. “Another one.”
Another high ranking official, another meticulously arranged crime scene, another game piece left behind as a taunt.
Their serial killer is back.
“We were too late,” Rin mutters, voice tight with frustration. “Again.”
The Emperor never leaves evidence, never makes mistakes, never lets them get close. Every crime is a calculated move. Every victim another piece sacrificed on his board.
And Isagi?
He hates to admit it, but he already knows—
They’re playing right into his hands.
Hours later, the air inside the precinct is thick with tension.
Isagi stares at the crime scene photos scattered across the table, each one a perfect recreation of the same execution-style murder.
Five victims in six months. Each one carefully selected, posed with precision, and branded with a golden chess piece. The media called him The Emperor. A ghost no one could catch, no one could predict.
“Same as the others.” Kurona exhales, flipping through the reports. “No forced entry, no sign of struggle. The guy was dead before he even knew what hit him.”
Rin scoffs, “Because The Emperor isn’t sloppy.” He leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “You don’t get away with five murders if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”
And yet, he’s never made a mistake. Not once.
Isagi exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. “There has to be something. A pattern, a message. Why leave the chess pieces? What’s the point?”
Bachira hums. “Maybe he’s just a pretentious bastard.”
Kurona shakes his head. “No. It’s not random. He’s playing a game—one that only he understands.”
And that’s what bothers Isagi the most.
This isn’t a killer who acts on impulse. He plans, calculates, controls. Every move is intentional. Every piece is exactly where he wants it to be.
The Emperor isn’t just playing a game.
He’s winning it.
At the far end of the city, behind floor-to-ceiling glass windows, Michael Kaiser watches.
The news plays on silent, the images of his latest masterpiece flashing across the screen.
He swirls the amber liquid in his glass, lips curling as he watches the detectives—his new players—scrambling to catch up.
But they won’t.
Not yet.
Not until he decides to let them.
His gaze flickers over the reports, lingering on one name.
Detective Isagi Yoichi.
Kaiser hums, tilting his head.
Let's see what you’re capable of.
The sky outside the precinct is an endless stretch of black, the city lights blinking like dying stars. Inside, the air tastes of stale coffee and exhaustion. The case board is cluttered with pinned photographs, red strings crisscrossing like veins through a body—tangled, complicated, alive.
Isagi stands in front of it, tracing the web with his eyes. His fingers hover over the latest victim’s picture. The others before him—different faces, same ending. The Emperor was methodical, patient. A predator that struck with precision.
Kurona yawns behind him. “We should call it a night. Staring at it won’t make the connections appear out of nowhere.”
Bachira swivels lazily in his chair, grinning. “Or maybe The Emperor will get so creeped out by Isagi’s glaring that he’ll just turn himself in.”
Isagi ignores them both. “I can’t shake the feeling that we’re missing something.”
Rin scoffs from his desk, not looking up. “That’s because we are. If we weren’t, we’d already have him.”
Kurona runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “We’re going in circles.”
Isagi knows that. But he can’t stop.
The chess pieces. The way the victims were posed. The deliberate lack of struggle. Everything about this case screamed control. And there was something else, something gnawing at the edge of his thoughts, just out of reach.
A move waiting to be played.
His phone buzzes in his pocket, snapping him out of it. An unknown number. He hesitates, then answers.
Silence.
Then—
A voice, smooth and amused. “You’ve been working hard, Detective.”
Isagi’s grip tightens on the phone. “Who is this?”
A soft chuckle. “You already know.”
A chill crawls up his spine. The room around him feels distant, blurred. He turns, scanning the precinct, but nothing is out of place. And yet the weight of unseen eyes lingers.
The man hums through the receiver. “Don’t look so tense. We’re only just getting started.”
The line goes dead.
Isagi stares at his phone, heart beating like a war drum in his ears.
Outside the window, somewhere in the city, The Emperor is watching.
Isagi’s grip on his phone tightens, the cold weight of it grounding him in reality.
The call lasted less than thirty seconds, but the damage had already been done.
Bachira’s voice cuts through the tension. “Yoichi?”
Isagi forces himself to breathe, to keep his expression neutral as he turns back to the team. He can still feel the phantom echo of The Emperor's voice in his ear, smooth and self-assured, like he knew something Isagi didn’t.
Like he was already winning.
“Nothing,” Isagi mutters, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Just a wrong number.”
Kurona raises a brow, unconvinced. “You sure?”
Isagi doesn’t answer. Instead, he shifts his gaze back to the board, forcing himself to focus.
Because the moment he lets his mind linger on the way he sounded, the way his presence slipped so effortlessly under his skin—
He knows this game has already started.
And he’s not sure he’s ready to play.
The precinct feels different after that call. Colder. The usual hum of quiet chatter and rustling paperwork fades into the background, white noise against the static in Isagi’s head.
He tries to focus, tries to convince himself that it was just another taunt, another meaningless mind game.
But the weight of the phone in his pocket says otherwise.
The Emperor doesn’t do anything without a reason.
Rin’s voice breaks the silence. “Isagi. Go home.”
Isagi looks up, startled. Rin is watching him, arms crossed, his usual scowl in place. But there’s something else in his expression—not concern exactly, but something close to it.
“You look like shit,” Rin says bluntly. “We’re not getting anywhere tonight. Go home. Get some sleep.”
Isagi hesitates. He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to keep looking, keep chasing, keep trying to get one step ahead of a man who seems impossible to catch.
But he knows Rin is right.
He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “…Fine.”
Rin nods, satisfied. “Kurona, go with him.”
Kurona, who had been half-asleep in his chair, blinks awake. “Wait—why me?”
“Because I don’t trust him not to wander off and start questioning random people in the middle of the night like a dumbass.”
Bachira cackles. “He’s got a point.”
Isagi glares at both of them, but doesn’t argue. Because the truth is he doesn’t trust himself either.
Not when his voice is still in his head, replaying over and over again.
"We’re only just getting started."
The city is restless tonight.
Isagi watches the neon lights flicker past the car window, his thoughts tangled in the events of the last few hours. Another victim. Another dead end. And now, a direct call from the man they’ve been chasing for months.
Kurona, behind the wheel, glances at him. “You’re quiet.”
Isagi exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Just thinking.”
Kurona hums, eyes flicking back to the road. “About the case? Or the ‘wrong number’ you got earlier?”
Isagi tenses. Of course he caught that.
“Look,” Kurona continues, voice even, “I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, but if something’s bothering you, you should talk to Rin.”
Isagi scoffs. “Right. Because he’s so approachable.”
Kurona sighs. “You don’t have to like him, but he’s the best chance we have at figuring this out.”
And that’s the problem, isn’t it? They’ve been chasing The Emperor for months, and Rin—as skilled as he is—hasn’t gotten any closer.
Now, The Emperor has made his first move.
And Isagi is starting to wonder if he’s the only one who sees it.
Kurona pulls up outside Isagi’s apartment, shifting the car into park. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just studies Isagi with the kind of quiet scrutiny that makes it clear he’s worried.
“Get some sleep,” he says eventually.
Isagi nods, but they both know he won’t.
He steps out into the night, the crisp air biting against his skin. The streets are eerily empty.
For a second, he swears he feels eyes on him.
When he turns… nothing.
Still, he doesn’t shake the feeling all the way to his door.
The apartment is silent when Isagi steps inside.
The kind of silence that feels unnatural, like something is missing.
He locks the door behind him, fingers lingering on the deadbolt longer than necessary. His muscles are tight with unease, like his body knows something his mind hasn’t caught up to yet.
It’s stupid. He knows that. No one is here.
And yet—
The first thing he does is check the windows. Locked.
Then the closet. Empty.
He moves through the space like a man expecting to find something out of place, some small, imperceptible shift in the air.
But there’s nothing.
Just the distant hum of the city below, the rhythmic beat of his own pulse in his ears.
Still, he can’t shake the unease coiling in his gut.
Not when his phone vibrates on the counter, the screen flashing with another unknown number.
His breath catches.
He doesn’t want to answer. He does anyway.
A pause. Silence stretching too long.
"Did you miss me, Detective?"
Isagi’s grip on the phone tightens.
His body reacts before his brain does—shoulders stiff, heartbeat hammering in his chest.
His voice is smooth and playful.
Like he had already won.
Isagi exhales sharply. “How did you get this number?”
A soft chuckle on the other end. Unbothered. Amused.
“I have my ways,” the man murmurs. “You’re not as hard to reach as you think.”
Isagi’s jaw clenches. The precinct keeps their personal numbers locked down. Only a handful of people have access.
For The Emperor to get through this easily. He’s been planning this.
Isagi forces his voice to stay steady. “If you think taunting me is going to—”
“Oh, Detective.” he sighs, like he’s disappointed. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
Something about the way he says it sends a shiver down Isagi’s spine.
“This isn’t taunting,” he continues, voice dropping to something quieter. “This is me giving you a chance.”
A pause.
"Look outside."
Isagi’s breath catches.
He turns, slowly, pulse thrumming in his ears. Steps toward the window. Pushes the curtain aside—
And freezes.
Across the street, just barely visible under the flickering glow of a streetlamp.
A figure stands in the shadows.
Watching.
Waiting.
A familiar voice hums through the receiver, soft and victorious.
"Found you."
Isagi jerks the curtain shut, heart pounding.
His fingers are tight around his phone, knuckles white, but The Emperor? He just laughs.
Soft. Pleased. Like he can already see the panic settling in.
"Relax, Detective," he murmurs. "If I wanted to get inside, I would have already."
A chill drags down Isagi’s spine.
Because he believes him.
"Emperor," he grits out, his mind racing through possibilities. How long has he been watching? Was he there at the precinct? Had he been following him the entire time?
He should hang up. Should call Rin, should—
"I wonder," The Emperor muses, cutting through his thoughts. "How far would you go to catch me?"
The question lodges itself in Isagi’s throat.
Because the real problem isn’t how far he’d go.
It’s how far The Emperor is willing to take him.
The line clicks dead.
Isagi stares at his reflection in the darkened glass, breath shallow.
Somewhere outside, The Emperor is still watching.
And for the first time, Isagi isn’t sure he wants to be found.
Sleep doesn’t come easy that night.
Isagi sits at the edge of his bed, phone still clutched in his hand, replaying the conversation over and over.
Every word. Every shift in tone. Every calculated move.
The Emperor hadn’t just been calling to toy with him. It was something more than that.
An invitation.
The realization settles deep in his bones, heavier than it should be.
His mind screams at him to be rational—to report the call, to add it to the case files, to treat him like the threat he is.
But instead, he swipes to his recent calls.
His finger hovers over the unknown number.
He should delete it. Block it. Do anything but what he’s actually considering.
Instead—
He saves it.
He doesn’t know why.
Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s something he’s not ready to admit yet.
All he knows is—
The game has started.
And he’s already moving his first piece.
The morning comes too soon.
Isagi barely remembers falling asleep, but the sharp buzz of his alarm drags him back into consciousness. His limbs feel heavy. His mind is even heavier.
The moment he blinks awake, his gaze flicks to his phone.
The call log is still there.
The Emperor’s number.
He exhales, running a hand through his hair. He should delete it.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he gets up, throws on his coat, and heads back to the precinct.
Rin is already there when he arrives, scowling at the crime board like it personally offended him.
"You look like shit," Rin says, not even glancing up.
Isagi rolls his eyes, dropping into his chair. "Good morning to you too."
Kurona glances between them. “Any breakthroughs?”
Isagi hesitates. His thoughts flash back to the phone call, to the shadow standing outside his window.
To the way The Emperor had sounded so sure, so in control.
To the way part of him wants to hear that voice again.
"...No," Isagi says finally, shoving the thought away. "Nothing yet."
Bachira hums, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Don’t worry. We’ll get him.”
Isagi forces a nod, but deep down, a cold realization settles in his chest.
They aren’t getting closer.
They’re just falling further into his game.
And The Emperor is waiting.