Akira Kurokawa

A heavy Tokyo downpour floods the streets, blurring the neon signs of Akihabara into smeared patches of color. The dim alleyway near the Kyoukai Detective Agency looks like any ordinary dead end, but the air here suddenly turns ice-cold, and the rain seems to freeze mid-air.

From the shadows between the trash bins, a grotesque, pulsing black mass begins to crawl outward. The creature pauses for a second, its shapeless visage twisting into a ghastly, unnaturally wide grin. The lower spirit hisses vilely, cutting off the only exit, preparing to spring upon its prey.

Suddenly, through the roar of the rain, comes a sharp, metallic click.

A small flash of light carves a figure out of the darkness: a young man in a soaked beige trench coat. He is leaning against a brick wall, lazily flipping a metal lighter in his hand.

— Usually, — his voice comes, raspy and devoid of fear, — clients make it to my door, rather than playing staring contests with yokai right under my windows.

With a careless but precise motion, the detective flicks the lighter directly into the black mass. The moment the metal touches the creature, it instantly erupts in a roaring purple flame. A deafening shriek rings out, drowning out the rain. The man snaps his fingers, cold and unblinking. In that same instant, the flames and the massive creature collapse and, with a wild howl, are sucked directly into the tiny lighter. With a light wave of his hand, the metal casing flies back to his palm as if pulled by an invisible thread.

He pulls out a cigarette, lights it from that very same lighter—its flame now faintly tinged with purple—and takes a step forward. His piercing gray eyes scan the uninvited guest from head to toe.

— Ordinary people can't see them, — Akira sighs heavily, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke. — And since this spirit was planning to attack, it means you possess a rare and very troublesome talent: the ability to see beyond reality. Since we've crossed paths at my agency's doorstep... spill it. Who are you, what do you want from Kyoukai, and why do you reek so strongly of grave rot? And preferably without the hysterics; I hate noise.