Smokey - Rude Boys (A High & Low Fanfiction)

2nd: Cold Cases

I woke up the next day—it was already noon. I had fallen into a deep, undisturbed sleep, the kind that leaves you groggy and uncertain of time. I was sure I had dreamed, though I couldn't recall the details. It had been so long since I last remembered any dream at all. I gazed out the window—the rain was still falling, steady and grey.

After washing my face and getting dressed, I set out. But the drive offered little peace. One thought continued to haunt me: the figure in black. Who were they? Why had they been watching?

With a bit of effort and help along the way, I finally located the address I'd been searching for. But once again, I found myself at a dead end. There was nothing—no building, no shop. Just an empty, cracked parking lot. I asked around, hoping someone might recall what had once stood there. Most people shook their heads. Some didn't even remember a building ever existing.

Disheartened, I was about to give up when I noticed a small tofu shop tucked behind an alley. An old woman sat outside, watching the rain fall like someone who had done it a thousand times. I approached her without hesitation.

"Excuse me," I asked. "Do you know who used to live just across there? Was there ever a home?"

She looked up at me slowly, a faint, wistful smile curling at the edges of her lips. Her gaze drifted off as if searching for something long buried. I nearly turned away, assuming she was lost in her own world, too old to remember.

But just as I took a step back, she spoke. "It's been years since anyone asked about that place. Yes... there was a home. A family lived there. Kind people. They owned a small factory down the hill."

Her words stopped me cold. I knelt beside her, eager now. "Do you remember anything more? What happened to them?"

She nodded gently, her eyes dim with memory. "I don't know all of it, young man. But there was a fire. It took everything. The factory burned, and then the house. The couple who lived there vanished. Months later, their bodies were found, but... their son was never recovered."

I thanked her, though my head was spinning. I couldn't think straight. If that couple were my parents... then I had failed them. I had been too late. Too late to protect them. Too late to even remember them.

But I couldn't stop now. I had a burned house, a factory, an old jacket with a label, and the echo of a name I wasn't even sure was mine. Maybe that was enough.

I drove straight to the nearest library and began searching newspaper archives. Hours passed as I scoured through old reports. I found a few articles—scattered pieces of a forgotten tragedy. They confirmed what the old woman had said. A fire had consumed both the house and the factory on the same night. Suspicious, yet unresolved. The cause was never identified.

One article included a photo: the couple and their son. My breath caught in my throat. The man—he wore a jacket almost identical to mine. The same cut. The same emblem. My vision blurred as the pieces started to fit together. My memory failed me, yet something in their faces stirred a deep, aching familiarity. These people... they were my family. I felt it in my bones.

Why had they left me in the Nameless City? Were they running from danger? Hiding me? I didn't know. But I was done waiting.

I walked into the nearest police station, something I never thought I'd do. If Lala could see me now, she'd never let me hear the end of it. We never trusted the police. But I wasn't here for trust—I was here for the truth.

I passed the front desk without saying a word, as if something—some force—was guiding me. I took the stairs up to the second floor. The sign read "Crime Division." It all felt strangely familiar. I couldn't explain why.