A little past 2 a.m., the intersection was shrouded in mist. Yu Sakura, a young newspaper reporter, happened upon the scene on his way home from work. Red police lights flickered through the fog, and blood stained the asphalt. When he heard it was a hit-and-run, his journalistic instincts kicked in.
“The victim is a man in his twenties, transported unconscious. According to one witness, a black sedan ran the red light and hit him.”
The brief explanation from the officer left Yu uneasy. The accident had occurred at the one corner of the intersection not covered by surveillance cameras. And the only witness? An older man who had reportedly been drinking—his account riddled with inconsistencies.
Yu walked the scene multiple times and learned that just before the accident, the victim had been standing on the median strip—not on the sidewalk. Why would anyone stand in such a dangerous spot? As he dug deeper, Yu discovered that the victim had been acting suspiciously in the days leading up to the incident.
It turned out the man was a former police officer preparing to blow the whistle on corruption—specifically, collusion between the police and a local company. But the whistleblower report had not yet been found. That’s when Yu realized: this wasn’t a simple accident. It was a calculated act of murder made to look like chance.
He started questioning those connected to the case and eventually got a friend of the victim to confess: “The night before the accident, he muttered, ‘They might erase me.’”
Then, on the night of the incident, an anonymous video was sent to Yu—footage taken from the fire escape of a building beside the intersection.
In the video, just before the black sedan crashes through the intersection, the victim is seen being shoved into the road. The man who pushed him? An executive at the local company, with confirmed ties to former high-ranking police officials.
The story made headlines the next morning—a major scoop. The police initially denied everything, but public pressure forced them to reopen the investigation. The truth was hidden in the fog at that intersection, but a witness had seen it.
Months later, the victim regained consciousness. In a faint, raspy voice, he said:
“He… he laughed and said, ‘Justice means nothing.’”
Hearing those words, Yu clenched his reporter’s notebook. Telling the truth—he believed now more than ever—was the only way to reach beyond the fog.
