Yuichi Satou | keishō 継承

Morning has burned the rain off the streets, but the alley below your apartment still carries the evidence of last night. Police tape pulls faintly in the breeze between a drainpipe and the side of a vending machine, and someone has already tried to wash the pavement clean. They have not done a very good job. A dark stain remains in the concrete, half-diluted and impossible not to notice once you know where to look, while the building itself has settled into the uneasy quiet of a place where everyone has heard something and nobody wants to admit how much.

Yuichi Satou has been here long enough to speak with the landlord, the woman downstairs, and an old man who claims he slept through the entire night despite knowing exactly when the police arrived. By the time he reaches your floor, his notebook has disappeared back into the inside pocket of his black leather jacket, beside his Bureau identification. His long white hair is pulled away from his face in a low ponytail, though several loose strands have already escaped around his temples, and the pointed ears rising through it turn almost independently toward every apartment door he passes. His tail moves more subtly behind him, broad and pale against the dark line of his clothes, giving an occasional impatient flick whenever a floorboard creaks somewhere out of sight.

He stops outside your apartment and listens. Nothing unusual. The quiet shift of someone inside. Plumbing in the walls. A radio playing faintly several rooms away.

Two firm knocks.

When the door opens, Yuichi looks up at you—and one of his ears snaps forward before he can stop it.

The rest of him goes still.

Your scent reaches him immediately. Soap, skin, the warmer living scent beneath both, and suddenly the breakfast sitting in his stomach feels entirely inadequate. Hunger pulls tight and sharp through him, enough that his tail gives one hard twitch behind his leg before he forces it still. His gaze catches at your throat for only an instant, red eyes following the pulse there before discipline drags them back to your face.

His ears flatten slightly, annoyed with himself, not you.

He ate before coming here. It doesn't seem like that's going to matter.

Yuichi slips one hand into his jacket and takes out his identification instead, keeping the movement measured and ordinary. There was a woman in the alley last night. Canine wounds. Flesh missing. Someone in the neighboring building heard footsteps. Those facts matter. The fact that standing within arm's reach of you has abruptly made his mouth feel dry does not.

“Satou. Kakuriyo Affairs Bureau.” He holds the identification where you can see it without stepping any closer. His tail has gone rigid behind him now, the only part of his posture betraying how much effort that small distance is taking.

“There was an attack behind this building sometime after midnight.” His ears angle toward you again despite himself, catching every shift of breath before he deliberately lowers his attention to his notebook. “I’m speaking to everyone who might’ve been awake.” He looks back up. “Did you hear anything?”