The morning of October eighth was hazy with thin fog. The south entrance street of Ogikubo Shopping District was still half asleep. The owner of the butcher shop "Kanematsu" pulled up the iron shutter with a metallic screech that echoed through the alley, and in front of the general store "Takano," an old woman swept with a broom. Two days remained until the Olympic opening ceremony. Somewhere in the district, a banner reading "Welcome Sacred Flame Relay" hung, but it barely registered in Seiichi's eyes. His feet stopped in front of Hanayoshi. The shutter remained as it had been last night. Glass shards clung to the half-destroyed frame. The broken window was sealed with cardboard, its seams taped with duct tape. On the pavement lay traces of yesterday's cut flowers—red petals trampled and pressed into the gaps between paving stones, now dried. A single white chrysanthemum petal barely retained its shape at the edge of a drainage groove. Misako was inside the shop. Her naturally wavy chestnut hair was loosely tied back, and she wore an apron. She was gathering scattered ceramic fragments from flower vases into a dustpan. She wasn't crying. She wasn't screaming. She was simply cleaning up at her own pace, methodically and quietly. Her pale green eyes lifted as she sensed Seiichi entering. "[gentle]...You came," Her voice wasn't accusatory. It was quiet, merely confirming a fact. Seiichi stood in the doorway and removed his hat. "[serious]I didn't come to help with the cleanup," He spoke honestly. Misako continued listening without stopping her work. "[serious]Don't get involved with this place anymore. The graffiti on the wall, last night's people—all of it, I dragged you into. I'll settle it. You just pretend you knew nothing," Misako stopped moving. She set down the dustpan and stood up. Her body, two heads shorter than Seiichi's, turned to face him directly. Something gleamed in her pale green eyes. Tears. But they didn't fall. She was holding them back. And while holding them back, she spoke directly in return. "[sad]If you didn't get involved—those foreign people wouldn't have anyone to help them, would they?" Seiichi didn't move. "[sad]I don't know what happened to Jack from the used bookstore. But—if no one acts, if no one moves, someone stays hurt. I don't think you're the kind of person who could step back knowing that," Her voice wavered once, faintly. That was all. Seiichi pulled down the brim of his hat. The old scar on his left cheek disappeared into shadow. For a long time, he said nothing. Misako waited. She didn't rush him. "[serious]...Understood," He answered with just one word and left the flower shop. ＊ When Seiichi returned to Sugi no Ki, the shop hadn't yet hung out its noren curtain. Seiichi settled into the seat at the far end of the counter and pulled out a folded memo from his shirt pocket. Jack's handwriting. English scrawled hastily, a series of numbers that appeared to be coordinates, and German at the end. 　Vergiss nicht. 　The document is NOT in the stadium. It's where the old man bleeds. This time, he read it with a detective's eye. Setting emotion aside, he looked only at the letters. On the night of the fourth episode, when asked if Jack had written "Vergiss nicht," he'd answered immediately: "I wrote no such thing." The answer came too quickly. That was evidence he'd thought about it. Which meant it was a message for Heinrich, so he wouldn't admit it to Seiichi—Jack had known about Heinrich's circumstances. A former CIA operative had left a memo in German for an elderly former German Wehrmacht intelligence officer. There was an odd bond of trust between the two men. A place where the old man bleeds. Was it a metaphor for a battlefield, or an actual location? The only moment Heinrich had shown emotional disturbance was when he spoke of his daughter in the temporary residence in Azabu. What had the old man been carrying in that room all these years? Seiichi folded the memo again and grabbed his jacket. ＊ The residential streets of Azabu were quiet. This area, home to many German expatriates, had a different atmosphere from Ogikubo's working-class neighborhoods. Stone-paved alleys, Western-style buildings, a small chapel visible through windows—the cross of St. Matthias Chapel rose against the hazy morning sky. Seiichi knocked on the door of Heinrich's temporary residence. The door opened immediately. White hair with streaks of gray, neatly combed, a black-gloved hand gripping the doorknob. Sharp gray, upturned eyes read Seiichi's face in an instant. The eye color was different from usual—Heinrich sensed it. A hint of an excuse began to form at the corner of his mouth. Seiichi spoke as he stepped inside. "[serious]I'm not forgiving you. But I'm not leaving your daughter to die either," Heinrich froze. A long silence flowed. Outside the window, the weathervane of St. Matthias Chapel turned soundlessly. October's thin light illuminated the spines of neatly arranged German books. Then—the old man knelt. Slowly, but with certainty. A body nearly seventy years old lowered itself to the floor. For twenty years, the former intelligence officer had lived in postwar Tokyo supported only by pride and dignity. Now, for the first time, he bowed his head before another person. His gloved hands trembled on his knees. Seiichi neither lifted the old man up nor pushed him away. He simply lowered himself quietly to the floor. The two became level. "[serious]Jack knew about your daughter. Why?" Heinrich stared at the floor for a while. Then he looked up. There was something gleaming in his eyes. "[sad]...It was five years ago. We met by chance in a used bookstore in Shinjuku. It didn't take long for us to sense each other's true nature. Former CIA, former Wehrmacht intelligence—we should have been enemies," "[sad]But that man was exhausted before he could hate. I was the same. At the bottom of Tokyo, a foreign land, we each carried our own solitude—an odd understanding formed between us. We began to share fragmentary information from time to time," "[sad]Jack was trying to collapse the New Liberty Council's—an unofficial government created by American survivors in northern Canada—Tokyo operations from within. I learned of Elsa's existence in that process. Even while being tortured, that man never gave the Council information about my daughter. Danke... no," His voice broke. Seiichi quietly clenched his fist on his knee. Jack had endured for this old man too. Three fingers broken, all his nails torn out, and still he didn't speak. That weight settled again in the depths of Seiichi's chest. "[serious]Where is the place where the old man bleeds?" Before answering, Heinrich stood and moved toward the back of the study. He pointed to the floorboards directly beneath the window overlooking St. Matthias Chapel. "[serious]Here," When Seiichi removed the boards, a moisture-sealed metal cylinder lay buried. Heinrich took a thin key from his pocket—the same shape as the key mechanism hidden inside that ring. He inserted it into the cylinder's padlock and turned. The heavy lid came free. Inside lay a bundle of documents. The moment Seiichi read the opening line, his hands stopped. It was a denunciation. A roster of New Liberty Council members, Swiss-routed account numbers, the Tokyo operations execution plan—but what was written on the first page was an internal denunciation left by a conscientious Council member against themselves. The Council had desperately sought this document to erase records of their own crimes. Elsa had discovered the document's existence three years ago. That's why she'd been imprisoned. The ring's key was meant to seal this cylinder. Behind the request to recover the ring lay this much weight. "[serious]I'll give this to Ando," Heinrich said nothing. He simply nodded. ＊ Seiichi divided his movements. Early in the afternoon, Ando came to Sugi no Ki. Gray civilian suit, the same tired face as always—but the moment he saw the copy of the ledger Seiichi placed on the table, his expression changed. Records showing the flow of money between Kuroda's antique business and the New Liberty Council. Something Heinrich had collected over many years. "[serious]My name is frozen in the system through Administrative Director Hotta's procedures. Crush Kuroda first. That kills the informant route," Ando took the bundle of evidence and turned the pages. He read silently. After a while, he spoke quietly. "[cold]...I can move this afternoon," With just those words, he left with the ledger copies. Next, Seiichi called Dr. Tatsukoro. Dr. Tatsukoro—the man in the white coat who'd informed Seiichi about the black market penicillin distribution route in Shinjuku. A low voice answered from the other end of the line. Seiichi made a request. Could he trace once more the landlord of the warehouse used as a penicillin relay point in Shinjuku? Tatsukoro called back an hour later. A cheap apartment on the outskirts of Kabukicho, third floor corner room. A one-legged operative was believed to be hiding there. Seiichi passed that information to Ando. Through Ando, via Detective Iwase, he informed the Olympic security unit of the one-legged operative's hideout and the characteristics of his prosthetic leg. Seiichi himself stayed out of sight. The method cultivated during his detective days—deliver correct information to the right people in the right order. Even in his battered state, that was how Seiichi functioned. That was his card to play. As night fell, Ando called. Simultaneous searches were conducted at Kuroda's antique business and the Kabukicho apartment. Kuroda was arrested. The one-legged operative fled but was apprehended in Shinjuku in a wounded state. Operation Sunset—the New Liberty Council's destruction operation plan for opening day—had lost its command structure in Tokyo and was rendered impossible to execute. That night, Seiichi gave the documents to Ando. "[serious]This is everything. Have it sent to the Public Security Division at Metropolitan Police Headquarters," Ando took the documents and paused for a moment. "[serious]...Sugiyama. What about you?" "[serious]Never mind. Do your job," Ando nodded and left. Seiichi went to Azabu once more. The door to Heinrich's temporary residence opened. Something had left the old man's face. Something he'd carried for twenty years felt, for the first time today, slightly lighter. He began to bow deeply. Seiichi raised his hand to stop him. "[serious]Jack didn't die for you. He simply did what he thought was right. That's all," With just those words, he left Azabu. ＊ The next morning. The day before the opening ceremony. Seiichi hung out the noren curtain of Sugi no Ki. October's morning light slanted into the alley. The sound of Ogikubo Shopping District slowly waking—the screech of shutters, the ring of bicycle bells, music from a radio somewhere. Misako came. She carried flowers. Not yesterday's white chrysanthemums or balloon flowers. Five small sunflowers. The stems were thick, the petals slightly tilted—simple, unpretentious sunflowers. Seiichi accepted them silently. "[gentle]Thank you," He said it briefly. Misako didn't say "you're welcome." She simply smiled slightly and turned to leave without looking back. At that moment—Misako's steps paused for just an instant. Seiichi's hand adjusted its grip on the flower stems. On the back of his left hand, yesterday's marks remained faintly. Misako's gaze fell there for a moment. That was all. Without a word, she passed through the noren and left. Seiichi placed the sunflowers in a vase. Beyond the counter, the small yellow flowers swayed in the October light. Elsa's whereabouts remained unknown. The New Liberty Council's headquarters was in Canada. Even with Tokyo operations destroyed, whether that would directly lead to his daughter's release—Seiichi still