The corridors of Tokyo’s Grand Serene Hotel were lined with plush red carpeting, the kind one might expect to find in an upscale establishment—a stark contrast to Detective Yamada’s usual beat. Dimly lit sconces barely illuminated doors that stood shoulder-to-shoulder, with room numbers displayed in a thin golden font. Room 409, in particular, had become a subject of curiosity for the last thirty-six hours.
The investigation had started with a missing persons report. Katsuhiro Tanaka, a local businessman involved in Tokyo’s booming tech industry, hadn’t been seen for days. But it was the strange phone call the hotel had received the night before that drew the authorities to Room 409. The voice on the other end of the line had been soft, almost playful, but the message was clear: “Come get him… if you dare.”
The Cosplayer
Detective Aiko Yamada had been the first on the scene. Fluent in the quirkier subcultures of Tokyo’s streets, she wasn’t entirely surprised by the look of the woman who answered the door. She was young, mid-20s by Yamada’s estimate, standing about five-foot-four with a lithe, agile frame. Her pastel pink and blue wig tumbled in gentle waves over her shoulders, framing a face that was nothing short of doll-like, almost too perfect.
Cat ears peeked out from amidst the colorful locks, their triangular points drawing attention to the oversized eyes accentuated with heavy lashes and winged eyeliner. Her outfit—if one could even call it that—was the epitome of calculated sensuality. A constricting black lace corset hugged her curves, cinching her waist in a way that exaggerated her other features. The pink accents in the corset crisscrossed like ribbons, creating a provocative contrast against the otherwise dark material.
Her long, slim legs were clad in thigh-high black stockings, the tops of which disappeared beneath the hem of a dangerously short pleated skirt. Fingerless gloves covered her delicate hands, as though she had just stepped out of an anime convention. The neko—the ‘catgirl’—archetype wasn’t lost on Yamada. This was no ordinary woman; she had crafted this look with masterful precision.
“Detective Yamada?” the girl greeted her with a faint giggle, her voice breathy yet commanding attention. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Yamada’s eyes narrowed. She pushed past the woman before she could object, her gaze scanning the room. Neon lights from a row of LED strips streaked across the walls in shifting gradients of pinks and purples, softening the overall mood. Plush toys cluttered the shelves—large-eyed stuffed animals, all cutesy and inviting. The bed itself, covered in pastel-colored bedding, looked too pristine. Too perfect.
The Puzzle
“Where is Tanaka?” Yamada’s voice was steady, though the unnatural composure of the girl made her suspicious.
With a twirl of her finger around one of her candy-colored locks, the cosplayer tilted her head. “Maybe I should be the one asking the questions.” And yet on the heels of that playful defiance, she finally gave a reveal. Using her fingertips to lightly gesture behind her, she directed Yamada’s attention to an adjacent room within the suite.
The door was ajar. From where Yamada stood, she could see the faint outline of a body—male, slumped over on a chair. Immediately, Yamada’s instincts kicked into overdrive. She slapped the girl’s hand away when she tried to come closer and rushed into the next room.
Katsuhiro Tanaka was alive, though barely. He was bound to the chair, wrists tied behind him with something out of place: a pink satin ribbon. His lips were chapped, and his breaths came in slow, uneven rasps. On the floor beside the chair was an ivory mask, cracked down the middle.
“He’s…been my guest,” the cosplayer cooed from the doorway. “He wanted to disappear for a while, you see. Tech is such a demanding field.”
Yamada surveyed the situation. The hotel was a world of eccentricities on its own, with Cosplay Week in full swing, but this had quickly spiraled into something more sinister. She pulled out her radio, calling for backup, all while keeping one eye trained on the girl. But her mind raced: how did this girl know who Yamada was? Why was Tanaka bound, yet otherwise unharmed?
The Escape
The journalistic outlets would leave out many crucial details, naturally. By the time Yamada turned around from the crumpled tech executive, the girl had vanished without a trace, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of perfume and puzzling questions.
Soon after, the hotel management confirmed they had no record of the woman ever checking into any room. Security footage showed an anomaly—a flickering blur during her supposed comings and goings—but nothing solid enough to identify her.
Tanaka himself, once recovered, was of little help. He had fragmentary memories—vivid scenes of plush toys and LED lights, interspersed with the lulling voice of the girl. But in the end, whoever she was, whatever she wanted, remained a mystery cherished for only a few wild days during Cosplay Week at the Grand Serene Hotel.
As Detective Yamada walked away from the hotel, her thoughts gnawed at her. One thing in the details didn’t add up. How had the woman known her name the moment she opened the door?
A Cat with Nine Lives
As days went by, Yamada went over the facts again and again. She thought it might end there, with Tanaka’s hazy memories and a case that not even her sharpest instincts could pry open. She was wrong.
A week later, a little package arrived at her desk, wrapped in plush pink tissue paper. Her hands shook as she opened it. Inside was a pristine hardcopy of a manga, untouched and glistening under the office lights. Its cover depicted a familiar face: a catgirl, pastel pink and blue wig, cat ears perched atop her head. The title? Kuro Neko.
Detective Yamada’s reflection stared back at her in the windowed book cover.
She wasn’t done with Yamada yet.
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