As his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, Hiroshi took in his surroundings. It was a small, cluttered space—likely a modest apartment. The walls were adorned with posters and the faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air. He scanned the room, searching for any sign of Riku, but the young man was nowhere to be seen.

His gaze fell upon a piece of paper on the small bedside table. Curious, Hiroshi reached for it, his fingers trembling slightly. The note was simple, written in neat handwriting:

Hiroshi let out a deep sigh of annoyance as he folded the note and placed it back on the bedside table. Carefully, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his movements slow and deliberate to avoid aggravating his wound. He winced as he stood up, the sharp pain serving as a reminder of the previous night's events.

As he made his way to the door, the first light of early morning filtered through the apartment's thin curtains, casting a soft glow on the cluttered room. Hiroshi stepped outside, the crisp morning air refreshing against his skin. He took a moment to steady himself, his eyes scanning the quiet street.

To his relief, his patrol car was parked not too far away, just down the block. Each step was a test of endurance, but Hiroshi pressed on, determined to return to the station. Reaching his car, he leaned against it for support, taking a few deep breaths before opening the door and easing himself into the driver's seat.

With a flick of the ignition, the engine roared to life. Hiroshi gripped the steering wheel, feeling a sense of familiarity and comfort amidst the chaos. He navigated the still-empty streets of Tokyo, the early morning light casting long shadows and painting the city in muted hues.

Arriving at the police station, Hiroshi parked his patrol car and carefully got out. The familiar sights and sounds of the precinct greeted him as he made his way inside, ready to file his report and confront the questions that awaited him. 

As Hiroshi stepped through the doors of the police station, the familiar buzz of activity greeted him. Almost immediately, a few of his colleagues noticed the state he was in—the way he moved gingerly, his hand pressed against his abdomen, and the weariness etched on his face.

Officer Tanaka was the first to approach, concern evident in his eyes. "Hiroshi, what happened? You look like you’ve been through the wringer."

Hiroshi forced a small, reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Tanaka. Just a rough night, that's all."

Another officer, Officer Saito, joined them, her brow furrowed with worry. "You don’t look fine. Shouldn't you be at the hospital?"

Hiroshi shook his head stubbornly. "I appreciate the concern, but I need to file my report first. I'll get checked out after."

Despite their protests, Hiroshi's determination was clear. His colleagues exchanged worried glances but knew better than to argue with him when he was in this state. They respected his dedication, even if they didn't always agree with his stubbornness.

With a mixture of concern and admiration, they stepped aside, allowing Hiroshi to make his way to his desk. As he sat down, he took a deep breath, ready to recount the night's events and piece together the mystery that had started to unfold.