July 30th, 2026
At Tokyo Dome - 11:43 PM
The Tokyo Dome was a behemoth of a venue, its massive structure glowing beneath the night sky as it prepared to host one of the most anticipated concerts in the world. Inside, the arena buzzed with activity. Technicians hurried about, testing lights and checking audio levels, stagehands secured rigging and cables, and dancers practiced in the wings. Yet, amid the clamor and energy, all eyes had a single focal point.
Foxxy.
Dressed in an elegant designer coat that shimmered with threads of silver and midnight, the enigmatic international pop icon stood still, statuesque, on the stage platform. Her signature silver fox mask glinted under the stage lights, and even though her eyes remained hidden, everyone could feel her gaze. It was enough to freeze the breath in their lungs, to make hands tremble and voices hush. Men and women alike gawked at her—not out of lust, but awe. The kind of awe reserved for deities and legends. She moved with an ethereal grace, each step deliberate, confident, and measured.
But if they only knew what lay beneath that mask. Her real face - unseen by any save her most trusted.
Foxxy paid them no mind.
Her eyes scanned the rising towers of speakers, the enormous LED screens being raised, the choreography markers being etched on the floor. Her presence radiated authority. It was her world tour. Her vision. Her empire.
Los Angeles had been conquered. Tokyo would fall next.
"Ms. Foxxy," a deep voice from behind her interrupted her silent inspection. One of her bodyguards, a square-jawed, eagle-eyed man in a black suit and earpiece, approached her respectfully. "The detective is here to see yo now."
She tilted her head slightly, signaling him to continue.
"It's your appointment. The lieutenant who is leading the investigation on the murder at the apartment where your man lived."
Foxxy didn't speak. Her silver heels turned without a word, and she descended from the stage with her signature quiet, smooth stride. The crowd of employees parted instinctively. Two more bodyguards flanked her, forming a triangle formation as they walked her across the Dome to the secluded exit, where a matte-black, bulletproof luxury car was waiting.
The detective was already there.
Tall, striking, and impossibly poised. His trench coat fluttered in the evening breeze. One eye was ice blue. The other, deep brown - a rare case of heterochromia. His hands were in his pockets, stance confident but not aggressive. As she approached, he removed a cigarette from behind his ear but never lit it. "Ms. Foxxy," he said, offering a charming smile. "I hope this isn't a bad time."
"I have no time for pleasantries," Foxxy replied, her voice calm, elegant, yet razor-sharp. "There is something we need to discuss. Get in."
Her bodyguard opened the back door to the car. The detective hesitated, then stepped in. She followed, and the door closed behind them with a whisper of finality.
Inside the car, the world was muted. It smelled of leather, perfume, and something dangerously intoxicating. Foxxy crossed one leg over the other, her expression unreadable beneath the mask.
"Let's not waste time," she said.
"We both know an unkempt, tall, foreign man didn't do it." Foxxy began.
The detective sighed. "You're right. Witness statements are conflicting. No footage, no prints. Just a description. Convenient, isn't it?"
"Very," Foxxy replied. "And you know exactly what happened. You know someone paid for it."
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. His silence was confirmation enough.
"All I need is a new suspect. One with a similar build. A vagrant, a street thug. Anyone who can be made to fit the description."
"You want me to manufacture a suspect?" he said, smirking. "That's not something you ask a cop to do lightly."
Foxxy leaned forward slightly, her voice still composed. "Fifty million yen. In untraceable assets. Upon confirmation of your work."
The detective's smirk lingered - until it twisted. Not into greed, but mischief. "I'll do it for free."
She tilted her head. "Why?"
He leaned in, lowering his voice, filled with unspoken hunger. "If you offer yourself to me. Just once."
There was a long silence in the car.
Then, Foxxy slowly leaned back, her entire body radiating an icy chill. She didn't shout. Didn't flinch. Didn't even change her tone.
"No."
The detective blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. You misunderstand our roles, detective," she said with finality. "You're here because I allow it. You're breathing because I haven't decided otherwise."
His smirk fell.
Foxxy reached for the door, pausing only to look back.
"Do it. Or don't. But know that if you refuse, I'll find someone else who will - and they'll do it cleaner, faster, and without delusions."
Then, she stepped out of the car and disappeared behind her entourage.
Inside, the detective remained still.
Rejected.
Furious.
Powerless.
He clenched his fists, gripping the unlit cigarette until it snapped in half.
Outside, Foxxy walked back into the Tokyo Dome, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. Her mask caught the city lights, glowing for a brief second like moonlight on steel. The world around her moved again, the sounds of tech checks and music bursts returning. But inside her mind, the game had already begun.
Ian would be safe.
Even if she had to burn the city to protect him.
But why though? Was she owed Ian something? Did Ian do something in the past that connects with her?