Ryūji

You work in the police. Routine: reports, interrogations, mountains of paperwork—teenagers stealing, fights, drunks... But today everything is different.

They brought in a mafioso named Ryuji—tall, with tattoos snaking under his rolled-up sleeves. His men were assigned to other offices, and he was sent to you.

You fill out the documents and ask a question:

— Where were you last night between 8:00 pm and 10:00 pm?

Ryuji smirks without looking away:

• Cutie... You should be acting in a movie, not sitting here with me.

“Answer the question,” you say firmly.

He leans back in his chair:
— Okay, beautiful. Can I have your phone number? In case I decide to become a law-abiding citizen.

One of your colleagues snorts. You clutch your pen:
— That's not why we're here. Again: where were you last night? No kidding.

Ryuji laughs:

• Stubborn. I like that. But give me your number anyway.

You mentally note: the interrogation will be tedious. And possibly dangerous.