Kobayashi spent the next three days on the phone.
Ren sat in her office on the fourth day, watching her pace back and forth, the cordless phone pressed to her ear. Her voice was hoarse, her eyes were bloodshot, and the notepad on her desk was filled with names and numbers and notes in a shorthand only she could read.
Hikari sat beside Ren, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had gone cold. The list from her mother — the names of corrupt officials — was spread across the table between them. Ren had memorized most of them by now.
"That's the fourth family," Kobayashi said, hanging up the phone. "They won't talk."
"Won't or can't?" Ren asked.
"Won't. They've already settled with the hospital. Non-disclosure agreements. If they talk, they lose the money."
"What about the others?"
"One is considering. One is still in shock — she didn't know her mother's treatment had been altered. And the last one..." Kobayashi sat down heavily. "The last one threatened to call the police if I contacted her again."
Hikari looked up. "Why would she threaten you?"
"Because she's scared. Because the people who did this are still out there. Because she has a family to protect." Kobayashi rubbed her temples. "I can't blame her. But I can't give up either."
Ren stood up. "Then we find another way."
"What other way?"
"The whistleblower. The person inside the hospital who helped my father. Someone out there knows the truth."
Kobayashi shook her head. "We've been through the staff lists. Haruka gave us names. But without testimony, they're just names."
"Then we need to make them talk."
"And how exactly do you propose to do that? Threaten them? Blackmail them?" Kobayashi's voice was sharp. "We're not them, Ren. We don't become monsters to fight monsters."
Ren sat back down. She was right. He knew she was right. But knowing and feeling were different things.
His phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number. Not his father's voice this time — someone else.
I know what your father did. I have proof. Meet me at the Observatory in Sunshine City. Tomorrow at 3 PM. Come alone. —A Friend
Ren showed the message to Kobayashi.
"It could be a trap," she said.
"It could be. Or it could be the break we need."
"You're not going alone."
"I have to. They said alone."
"Then I'll be nearby. Out of sight." Kobayashi looked at Hikari. "And she stays here."
Hikari's jaw tightened. "I'm not staying here."
"Hikari —"
"I'm not a child, Kobayashi-san. I'm not something to be protected while Ren takes all the risks. I've testified in court. I've faced Kenji. I can handle a meeting in a shopping mall."
Kobayashi looked at Ren. Ren looked at Hikari.
"She's not wrong," Ren said.
Kobayashi sighed. "Fine. But if anything feels wrong, you leave. Both of you."
---
Sunshine City was a monument to consumerism.
A massive complex in Ikebukuro — shopping malls, aquarium, planetarium, and the towering observatory that rose above the city like a glass needle. Ren stood at the entrance, Hikari beside him, their hands in their pockets. The crowds flowed around them — families, couples, tourists with cameras.
"You didn't tell me it was a tourist attraction," Hikari said.
"I didn't know."
"Who meets a whistleblower in an observatory?"
"Someone who wants to blend in. Or someone who wants to push me off."
Hikari's face went pale. "That's not funny."
"I wasn't trying to be funny."
They took the elevator to the top. The observation deck was crowded — school groups, elderly couples, children pressing their faces against the glass. Ren walked slowly, scanning the crowd, his eyes moving from face to face.
Hikari stayed close. "Do you see anyone suspicious?"
"Everyone's suspicious."
"That's not helpful."
"I'm not trying to be helpful."
She elbowed him in the ribs. He didn't flinch.
At the far end of the deck, near the windows facing Mount Fuji, a man stood alone. He was in his fifties, with gray hair and a face that looked like it had been carved from stone. He wore a cheap suit and carried a briefcase chained to his wrist.
He looked at Ren. Nodded.
Ren walked toward him. Hikari followed.
"You're Akiyama-kun," the man said. His voice was low, rough, like he hadn't used it in a while.
"I'm Ren. This is Hikari."
The man glanced at her, then back at Ren. "I said alone."
"She stays."
The man was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "My name is Yamashita Kenji. No relation to the one you sent to prison."
"Why are you here?"
Yamashita unclipped the chain from his briefcase and opened it. Inside were folders — thick, bulging, filled with papers.
"I was your father's accountant. For fifteen years. I kept his books. I moved his money. I helped him hide what he was doing." His voice cracked. "I thought I was just doing my job. I told myself I wasn't responsible for what he did with the money."
"And now?"
"And now I have cancer. Stage four. The same kind your mother had." Yamashita's eyes were wet. "I've been thinking about what I've done. About the people who died. About the families who lost someone they loved."
He pulled out a folder and handed it to Ren.
"This is everything. Bank records. Wire transfers. Names of the doctors, the nurses, the administrators who took his money. The real records — not the ones he showed the auditors."
Ren opened the folder. His hands were shaking.
"This is enough to convict him," he said.
"It's enough to put him away for life. If you can get it admitted in court."
"Why are you giving this to me?"
Yamashita looked at Hikari. Then at Ren.
"Because I'm dying. Because I don't want to meet whatever comes next with this on my conscience." He closed the briefcase. "Because I saw you on the news. The way you fought for that girl. The way you didn't give up. I thought — if a seventeen-year-old boy can be that brave, maybe I can be too."
Ren closed the folder. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just make sure he pays."
Yamashita turned and walked away. The crowd swallowed him. He was gone.
Ren stood by the window, the folder in his hands, the weight of it heavier than anything he had ever held.
Hikari touched his arm. "Are you okay?"
"No. But I will be."
They took the elevator down. The city spread beneath them, endless and indifferent.
---
That night, Kobayashi reviewed the documents.
"This is gold," she said. "Pure gold. Bank statements. Wire transfers. Signed agreements. Your father didn't just stop paying for treatment — he profited from it. He invested the money he saved in real estate. In stocks. In offshore accounts."
"How long will it take to build a case?"
"Weeks. Maybe months. But we have something we didn't have before — a witness. A living, breathing witness who can testify under oath."
"Yamashita is dying."
"Then we move fast." Kobayashi looked at Ren. "I'll file the motion tomorrow. We'll request an expedited hearing."
"And my father?"
"Your father will be arrested. Probably. If the judge approves."
Ren nodded. He had heard "probably" before. Probably wasn't certainty. Probably wasn't justice.
But it was a start.
---
Hikari was waiting for him on the couch when he got home.
The apartment was dark except for the light from the kitchen. She had made tea — two cups, both cold now. She didn't ask how it went. She just held out her arms.
Ren sat beside her. She pulled him close.
"We're going to win," she said.
"How do you know?"
"Because we've already won. Everything else is just details."
Ren didn't believe in certainty. He didn't believe in happy endings. But sitting there, in the dark, with Hikari's arms around him and the weight of the evidence in his bag, he let himself pretend.
Just for a moment.