Incest

By Wolfkin

It has been ten years since the collapse of Millifiore Drug Cartel in 2007. Citizens of Tokyo can finally avoid threats of vicious drugs and live dignified lives. Succeeding from former Governor of Tokyo Prefecture Fujiyi Tatsuto who sacrificed whilst battling against Millifiore’s tyranny, incumbent Governor Sato Yukio, the prestigious Chief of Sato Clan, implements rigorous anti-drugs policies and urges Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department to swiftly annihilate escaping Millifiore’s accessories.

Losing its Chief in 2007, Fujiyi Clan experienced a plummeting downfall and never recovered since then. Fujiyi Tatsuo’s wife Fujiyi Megumi sought justice for her deceased husband. Crying no hope, now, she will launch personal vengeance and release eternal wrath onto her enemies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728343068

Wolfkin

Wolfkin is an international Freshman student studying at George Washington University. After watching controversial anime Yosuga no Sora, Wolfkin was triggered by the conveyed theme and thereby formulated a contorted story opposing Yosuga no Sora.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

FUNERAL

K neeling in front of the tombstone and staring at the white epitaph, he poured out tears of regret and anger. Was he crying for his mother, who had just passed away, or for himself? What was he going to do since his father and mother had both left him? Only he knew the answer.

October 27, 2017, Friday, 11:37:55, 11:37:56, 11:37:57

The funeral had ended. Compared to the dilapidated, public graveyard prepared for the common people, this elegant private cemetery prepared for the elites—especially politicians—was an environment with relative serenity. A man was leaning against the wooden security hut near the gated entrance with hands crossed over his chest and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He was attired like a typical policeman, and his eyes carried a sense of unfeeling, which explained why most visitors accelerated when entering or exiting the cemetery.

Lieutenant Yichiyi Tooru, from Criminal Investigation Bureau (CIB) of Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, was famously known as Messiah of Tokyo.

Everyone else who walked on those pensive grounds did so with a certain respect or anxiety; he was the exception. He judged all who passed by attempting to evaluate their social status by merely looking at their clothes, facial expressions, walk, and gestures. The nearly twenty years he had served Police Department had destroyed his patience and tolerance. He was tired of the privileged rank given to especially politicians including Governor of Tokyo Prefecture.

He hated politics. An experienced policeman, he had no clue how to deal with politicians. He never concealed his impatience with and antipathy toward anyone and particularly the panderers and preachers who appeared in that cemetery. Few living beings knew these decently dressed wanderers’ purposes. Apparently, there were no ongoing funerals. Then why did they show up during working hours on a weekday? Why had they been congregating around the fountain and gossiping for more than ten minutes? They seemed to hide their gestures from him. What are they trying to conceal? he wondered. He refused to be misled. His experience made him suspicious. If a more important matter was not burning most of his energy, he would have loved to invite those stealthy politicians for coffee.

He looked to the left and saw a girl and a boy. The boy was kneeling in front of a new gravestone. The girl was standing behind him. He looked at his watch; it was five minutes to noon. It was a typical day in late October. Affected by this sorrowful calamity, the sun hid behind darker and darker clouds and was about to cry.

The first tear burst out and landed on the boy’s shoulder.

Silence.

Then the second, the third … like a thousand stones hitting his shoulders and cutting his breath.

Sensing a familiar touch, Fujiyi Naoki noticed the girl hugged him from behind. She put her chin on his shoulder and whispered, Uncle is waiting. It’s time to leave. She pinched his jacket.

The boy remained stationary. He whispered, Get off me please.

Sister released him.

He stood slowly. Tears ran down his cheek, and his eyes were bloodshot. He clenched his hands hardly controlling his temper. Realizing the girl was watching him, he quickly wiped off signs of cowardliness, took a deep breath to contract his accumulating rage, and said with a tone of forced calm, Let’s go. Uncle is waiting.

Heavy rain continued. The group standing by the fountain could no longer bear the dismal weather. They ran out of the cemetery fearing being dissolved in the downpour. The cemetery was soon as empty as if no one had been there for a century.

Uncle gazed at the boy and the girl approaching him. He opened his umbrella and handed it to the boy. Uncle seemed to be comfortable with raindrops hitting his skull. They walked out right before the manager closed the gate and put up an old sign that read Closed On Rainy Days.

On their way to the parking lot, Uncle broke what seemed to be an eternity of silence—So do you have a plan?

The boy responded dispassionately, I’ll contact my school friends to make up anything I missed.

What’s going on in school? I mean … any current events?

That was the wrong question to ask. Uncle wasn’t good at communicating with children partially because he hadn’t had any. In fact, he had never married or even been engaged. Adolescents were too fickle for him to handle.

Thankfully, the boy read Uncle’s mind. Everything’s fine except for a few assignments. He hoped that would end the conversation. It did.

He shouldn’t have enjoyed the silence at age sixteen, but he did. Three people were walking as a family—at least from a passerby’s perspective—but each of them lived in a different world. Silence might torment some but not him or Uncle. He had been watching Uncle since his father had passed away ten years previously. Uncle had become more callous and withdrawn after the boy’s father’s tragedy depending on which people he confronted.

When Uncle was at work, he was probably the finest police officer ever in Tokyo. Outside of work, he was an uncommunicative person who had just a few drinking or smoking buddies. His parents had passed away early; Uncle lived alone like an old wolf that hid in a modern metropolis moving back and forth without attracting attention.

Uncle’s automobile—a 2013 Toyota that looked to have been made in 1913—was the sole vehicle he drove besides police cars. The boy got into the front passenger seat ignoring the girl, who was sitting alone in the back; he fell into his memories.

Heavy rain poured.

No one broke the quiet atmosphere on their way back.

Naoki-tyan, take care of your sister when I am gone. The woman in his memory was still gentle and soft, smiling at him, a six-year-old.

I don’t want to stay with Sister. I want to stay with Mama.

At that time, the young and ignorant boy wasn’t patient enough to take care of his sister, who was sitting on the ground next to some building blocks looking at them curiously. He was tugging at the woman’s dress and wrinkling it.

Naoki-tyan, Mom will be back after the appointment. Dad’s friend will pick you up. Until then, you need to stay quietly at home, she said as she fondled his hair.

Her palm felt warm; her touch eased his panic. Okay, Mama, I will listen.

Mama loves you! the woman said with a smile. She turned to Sister. Yuri-tyan, listen to your brother and be a good girl while I am gone.

Sister was dazed for one moment. She struggled to stand up. Ye … ye … yes, Mama. I will … be a good girl.

Sister received her reward—a kiss on the cheek.

That had been the last happy day for their family.

We’re home, Uncle announced interrupting his dream and forcing him back to the present. He had a splitting headache that seemed to be spreading to his body and nearly choking him, but it disappeared. At the time, he didn’t know what a concussion was. He was the last person out of the car. To his surprise, the rain had stopped.

Fujiyi’s dwelling, a Western, modern villa in the center of a classy and elite community, was very unlike typical Japanese-style homes. Uncle opened the front gate familiarly. The set of keys he carried indicated that the owner of Fujiyi’s dwelling genuinely trusted Uncle.

They entered a vacant house. Sunlight barely penetrated the curtains. It seemed like one of those abandoned and haunted houses that often showed up in movies though he had lived there since birth.

If you need anything, just call me. Uncle showed no willingness to stay. Remember the proposal I mentioned prior to the funeral. As I told you, I am not in charge of your mother’s accident for good reasons. Talking to you in private seriously crosses that line. But if you insist on getting an answer, come to Police Department this Sunday. I will be waiting for you in my office. These are now your keys. Each one opens a certain door, window, or an object in this villa. They are all labeled. There are no copies, so take good care of them. Before receiving further news from your granduncle, you are entitled to be the official chief of Fujiyi Clan.

Those were Uncle’s last words. He left.

Fujiyi Yuri, the boy’s slim, delicate younger sister, was 155 centimeters¹ tall. Her black, carelessly primped hair dangled around her shoulders, and her lackluster eyes followed his movements.

Give me a break please, he said before she even said a word. I sent a message to our teachers. We can stay home for the weekend and not get into any trouble. I have business to work on this afternoon and have no time to stay with you.

Sister couldn’t see his stressed face because of the dark environment. All right, she said as she started upstairs. She turned to him and waved him farewell. See you later, Brother. She disappeared upstairs.

Dressed in what he had worn to the funeral, Naoki walked to his destination. If there was something different, it was the old-fashioned backpack he had; it used to be his father’s. He walked faster than usual and sometimes checked his watch to make sure he would be on time. At five minutes to one, he saw the family restaurant though it was hiding behind construction projects going up. The naughty sun started crying again slightly and then intensely. He sped up to avoid the rain and not be late for his first job interview. A minute before one, he entered the place.

It was a typical family restaurant—nothing unique judging by its architecture but out of place in its fancy and wealthy neighborhood. He ignored the Closed sign hanging on the doorknob. Two waitresses he recognized greeted him with expressive grins. "Welcome to Sakurai Family Restaurant, Fujiyi-san!²" Their flattery seemed too excessive considering he was a minor.

Only three tables were occupied. The lunch customers were dressed like business people or college professors. As he expected, Ai was waiting for him at a table along the French windows; he was viewing the naughty sun’s performance outside with slight anxiety.

Sakurai Ai, sixteen, was one of his classmates at Tokyo High and a friend of his since childhood. Although she was still growing, she had the features of a woman. She was 170 centimeters tall and thus stood out among other girls. Her long, black hair was parted in the middle and drooped over her shoulders naturally. She usually wore black-rimmed glasses that made her look older. She was wearing a formal, navy-blue woman’s suit jacket and a white blouse that revealed her growing figure and a high-waisted, seamed, black, pin-striped skirt that left her knees exposed. Surprisingly, Ai was wearing black high-heeled shoes though she had never liked the way they felt. He smelled a certain brand of perfume and the pleasant fragrance of a healthy body.

He slowed his breathing trying to relax from his previous hurry, approached the table, and said, Hi. Long time no see! He sat facing Ai.

As he had hoped, she was amazed by his sudden appearance. Oh, hi! Long time no see! I was actually looking for you. Didn’t know how easy a target I was. She hesitated before asking, How are you?

Ai knew what had happened to him. He appreciated that Ai didn’t directly bring up a topic he sought to avoid. I’m fine. I just settled Yuri down so she wouldn’t force me to accompany her. How are you doing, Ai?

Ai preferred him calling her by her first name when she was in favor of calling him by his first name followed by the honorific. I’m fine. Thank you for asking, Naoki-san. Ai blushed unreasonably and bowed slightly.

He glanced at Ai and pointed to her high heels. Aren’t you supposed to be at school now? He noticed that her glasses were on the table and guessed they were more for show than anything else. I mean I wouldn’t imagine Baldman would consent to a Friday afternoon no-school policy. Baldman was what they called their school’s president.

That’s because I was excused. She raised her head. Her nervousness disappeared. She crossed her legs and leaned forward exhibiting confidence.

Why so? Meeting Ai had not been what he had anticipated.

Since my father was too busy today— That’s obviously a lie, he thought. —he couldn’t keep his appointment with you. My father hates to break his promises, so he excused me from school and asked me to meet you instead of him. My father gave me all the interview questions. Your answers will determine whether you’re qualified to be a waiter. So if you have no further questions, Fujiyi-san, I’d like to start the interview, she said looking at him and putting her glasses on.

Okay, but you’re a minor just as I am. I don’t see how a contract can be established under such conditions. He watched Ai’s expression to estimate her true intention.

Then we’ll create no contracts. We can’t force you to work here based on a piece of paper, but you will, won’t you? When he nodded, she continued. Let’s not waste time. First question. Fujiyi-san, you don’t have a high school diploma or any work experience. Why would I trust you to be qualified for this job?

I specialize in language studies. I am a professional in communication. I’m confident that I’m sufficiently skilled in dealing with any type of customer and handling any unforeseen circumstance or emergencies.

Ai was not taking notes. I think most high school students can communicate with customers, but Sakurai Family Restaurant is very celebrated in this district. Forty percent of our customers are residents living in an elite community one kilometer from here. If you want to find an internship, Sakurai Family Restaurant is a good place. Why did you specifically choose us?

He thought the questions were very demanding. Keeping a firm expression, he said, I judge myself as competent. I aim to utilize this opportunity to prepare for college life and to absorb social experiences.

Can you be more specific about your college plans? What do you want to major in?

He smirked and looked out the window to buy some time to think about how to handle that tricky question. Knowing Ai’s father had written the questions, he felt that this interview would not be simple. What if …

In her reflection in the window, he noted a black earphone equipped with a microphone hidden behind her hair; it was similar to the kind secret agents used in action movies. It was placed perfectly so as not to be spotted by someone facing her. Pretending to take a deep breath, he turned to her with a professional smile. Slowly and calmly, he said, My first choice is Hosei University. I will major in either law or politics. I want to become a lawyer. He spoke clearly so whoever was listening would develop a good impression of him.

What about after you become a lawyer?

I beg your pardon? He hadn’t seen that question coming.

What’s your plan after becoming a lawyer? Many young adults today choose to stay celibate. Have you … ever consider marriage after college? Ai was too shy to even face him. She spun a heel into the floor.

I see where this is going. He stared at Ai, and as he had thought, she blushed. She asked, What are you doing? Just answer the question, Naoki.

Marriage and then a happy family. I would love to continue Fujiyi Clan, he said with a forced smile, which Ai didn’t notice.

Really? she exclaimed and leaned forward almost losing her glasses.

Of course. Is that all the questions?

Yes, yes! I will text you the result soon!

Thank you for the interview. He reached out his hand. Ai fell for it. As soon as her palm approached his, he grabbed her wrist, pulled her over quickly yet gently, and whispered, I must admit your performance was superb. But don’t you think this restaurant is too quiet for lunch? There are only three tables occupied including ours. You said your restaurant was distinguished in this region, so why so little business on Friday? Then I recalled the Closed sign hanging on the front entrance. Apparently, you attempted to manipulate the background volume so our conversation wouldn’t be overheard. However, your well-trained employees probably flipped that sign too early. You made no mistakes in general, except it might not be a good idea to set the stage by a window. I understand you wanted natural light to shine on you, but your blurry reflection in the window exposed your true intention.

He grasped the headphone and pulled it out of her hair. Just as you said, this is your father’s plan. The fact he isn’t present doesn’t mean he is busy. Your father was probably listening to my responses to his questions. He released Ai.

When did you figure that out? Ai limply reclined in her seat.

When you said, ‘since my father is too busy today.’ Your father is a chef. Why was he so busy with only three tables? I combined the clues. Your father’s goal was obvious. So did I pass the ‘interview’?

Yes! You’ll start next Monday. Your wage will be a thousand yen per hour. Ai tried to sound serious. Don’t say I didn’t remind you. If I catch you being lazy or chatting with the waitresses, there will be grave penalties.

Of course, Sakurai-san. You’ll be my boss. Do you have the homework I asked you for?

She casually tossed him a stack of papers. This is everything from Monday to Friday including six quizzes and two tests. Good luck, Fujiyi-san, Ai teased him.

Glad I brought my bag, he said wryly.

Oh, I forgot to mention. This counts as a month’s wages.

Oh, come on, please—

Ai giggled. That was a joke. But you still owe me for this one. Just remember to invite me to dinner Monday night. See? I’m being generous and offering you a free Sunday.

Looks like we have a deal, my dear boss. He reached out his hand again.

Oh my sweet employee, I’ll see you soon. Farewell.

They shook hands. Ai gave him a tender smile that warmed his cold heart.

Through the window, Ai raptly watched her boyfriend depart. A voice dragged her out of her contemplation. I told you that you shouldn’t be sitting next to the window. Her father, Sakurai Katsuhiro, a man in his fifties who had gray hair except around his temples sat down in Naoki’s vacated seat.

I put my faith in the sun, but it didn’t come out! Stupid broadcast! she whined.

So what do you think of your boyfriend?

"Dad! Shhh! You’re being too loud."

You don’t think it’s still a secret, do you, honey? Take a look at the people around you. They’re gossiping all the time.

Really? How did I not notice—

He waved his hand as if to say his daughter shouldn’t act innocent.

No one knew a daughter better than her mother. As a single father, he had to play that role. Parenting his only child after sixteen years, he considered it his destiny to find the right life partner for her, a perfect choice, and he believed his dream had been fulfilled. However, that was one urgent matter he had to resolve before giving away his daughter.

Fujiyi Naoki … how is his family doing? I heard there was a tragedy.

Her expression solidified. He prayed not to see any expressions on her face other than genuine smiles. He always tried his best to make her world peaceful even if that was a task doomed to fail. But the issue of Fujiyi Clan concerned the lifetime happiness and steadiness of his sole daughter. He had to bring up this sensitive topic.

I … I mean … I promised Naoki-san not to leak any information.

It’s very important. Please, honey.

I understand, Dad. Okay, here’s the deal. Don’t tell anyone, especially the staff here. They all have big mouths. Swear to me you’ll take this secret to the grave!

I swear I’ll take this secret to the grave, dear.

I’m not entirely sure about this. According to what I know, his mother died in a car accident last Friday—I assume that’s something you already know.

He nodded.

On Saturday night, I got a call from him. That was the last time I talked to him till today. During that call, he sounded kind of calm, but I could tell he was suppressing anger. Surprisingly, I didn’t hear much sadness. He briefly informed me of his mother’s tragedy and asked for a job here. I proposed an interview as you wanted me to. I didn’t understand why he would need a job because his family had always been considered elite. That’s basically it.

He didn’t mention anything regarding his sister?

He didn’t mention her at all. What do you mean? Daughter seemed flustered.

Are you sure?

He barely talked to me about his sister. In fact, I’ve never seen his sister off campus. Since she’s one grade lower than us, we don’t have many chances to interact with each other. Why do you care about his sister?

Oh … nothing really … probably just my self-conscious father nature. It’s just that I overheard some scandals … rumors would probably be the better word …

Hold on. I do remember something. At the end of his call, he said something odd and horrifying. It was very quick and short, and there were loud noises in the background, so at first I ignored it. But I recall his saying, ‘Save me!’ He hung up then, and I almost forgot about what he had said. He was probably referring to something I didn’t understand.

Forget about it. I shouldn’t have even brought it up.

It’s fine, Dad. It’s just … Please excuse me.

She coughed a few times. Her face was frozen. Tears fell from her eyes. She let her forehead fall to the table with a thump as she tried to control her coughing. Her glasses broke at the bridge. One half hit the window while the other half bounced off the table. Sharp pain shook her body.

Hurry! Her medicine! he shouted. One of the waitresses rushed to the kitchen.

I’m back! he announced when he got home.

That was fast. How did the interview go? his sister asked dispassionately as she leaned against the handrail appearing to be walking upstairs. A box of french fries and a bag of food in her hands suggested she had ordered in something to eat food.

They hired me. It was easier than I thought.

That’s … interesting, she said flatly. I bought this using your credit card, she said raising the plastic bag. Do you want some?

I’m good. I ate on my way home. He didn’t expect one of them would cook.

Uh, sure. She cocked her head at him as if she were taking the measure of a stranger or a suspect as she pushed a fry into her mouth. She turned and disappeared up the shadow of the stairs.

He was tired not solely because of the physical stress of carrying his heavy backpack.

Their house was designed to be plain. The central hallway on the first floor led to a large living room with access to a Japanese-style garden—his mother’s favorite place—on one side and two suites on the other. The dining room was open to the kitchen, and a doorway led to the garage. At the end of the hallway were staircases to the basement and the second floor, where he dragged his exhausted body.

At the end of the second-floor hallway was an unused bedroom. His mother had not let visitors on the second floor. He walked by Sister’s bedroom; its door was ajar. He heard her eating. He creeped into his room, threw his bag aside, took off his jacket, and fell onto his bed.

He slept uneasily. A very distracting noise woke him. Spasmodic aches in his nose reminded him not to sleep facedown. What time is it? He struggled to get off his bed. Must be close to midnight. He couldn’t believe he had allowed time to pass so quickly. So many things left for him to do, including taking care of Sister.

Sister …

He dragged the laundry bag out of his room. The door to Sister’s bedroom was still ajar. He entered the bathroom. The washing machine was filled with his sister’s clothes. He wanted to put them in the dryer, but that held clothes as well. He casually dumped his sister’s dry laundry on the tile floor, moved her wet clothes to the dryer, and put his clothes into the washer. Maybe I should give her back her clothes that are done.

He took her dried clothes to her room. He knocked on her door—no response. She rarely permitted him to enter her personal space. He knocked again. He saw light coming through the gap between the door and the jamb. He knocked again, but still no response. The only thing he heard was the wind howling.

Yuri, I’m coming in. He pushed the door open a little; the squeak of the hinges was enough to startle and annoy all living creatures. He hesitated. Then after sensing abnormality, he opened the door entirely. Cold wind greeted him.

It was a typical girl’s bedroom; its furniture was placed in a mirror image of his in his room. He spotted the box of french fries in the trash can by the desk. His eyes were drawn to the casement window, which was wide open. The wind was making the curtains dance. He was still, silent—in shock—for a few seconds. The problem dawned on him. Sister’s gone.

CHAPTER 2

ARISTOCRACY

C ommissioner of Tokyo Police Department made a proclamation. Agent Yichiyi Tooru assisted in a special operation led by OCCB and PSB and ensured its triumph over notorious Millifiore Drug Cartel. After spying in our enemies’ nest for two years, Agent Tooru consummated the vow he swore as a policeman and proved himself especially capable of protecting this city and its people. To honor his feat, as Commissioner of Tokyo Police Department, I will represent Tokyo’s citizens and award him this medal as a sign of our sincere thanks.

The medal, a red cross, symbolized sacrifice and victory. It showed the seal of National Police Agency—a golden cherry blossom signifying the Japanese police system.

He received the medal and held it just as a child would hold his favorite toy. Those present gave him a standing ovation he knew would always echo in his memory.

After the ceremony, when people started exiting the auditorium, his predecessor, the man who had guided him through early years with the police till that day, walked to him and said, Congratulations.

"What are you talking about, Predecessor-sama³? People easily neglect what’s not obvious. They shall also cheer for your priceless mentoring."

These are all little things. This is your day. I have a gift for you. As had his father, who had passed away during his service working to defeat Millifiore Drug Cartel, Predecessor looked at him affably.

Not a physical gift I suppose?

Don’t be smart. Commissioner wants to rebuild Criminal Investigation Bureau. He will appoint me as Colonel and appoint prominent agents to it. You are the first officer who popped into mind.

He stood at attention and saluted. I pledge to fulfill the task!

Don’t agree without genuine consideration, Predecessor said with a laugh. It’s not going to be easy. You’re merely thirty. CIB was abolished because it had been a royal bureau in the past. Though your potential in incalculable, it will be hard to convince others to follow your leadership considering your young age.

I will absolutely do my best.

That’s the spirit. Here’s your real gift. Predecessor revealed the gift—something hidden in a stark white, rectangular box tied up in a red ribbon.

Yichiyi Tooru’s ballpoint pen was special. It was a limited-edition Molyneux Mont Blanc pen given to him by his predecessor, someone he admired the most, the day he received the commission and joined CIB. That was a fabulous memory.

It was Sunday, October 29. As was his weekend habit, he should have been staying at home alone or hanging out with some fellows at a decent bar. However, he was at his office—a privilege of lieutenants and those of higher rank—sitting formally behind his desk of black oak clicking his ballpoint pen in an otherwise empty office. He stopped clicking his pen, put it on the desk next to a suspect-transfer form, and looked at the other end of his desk.

Here you are. No surprise, he said as Fujiyi Naoki, the son of his best friend, who had died ten years earlier, walked in.

I intend to ask you to reopen the investigation of my mother’s accident, the juvenile announced decisively.

He hated what he had to say to that. Fujiyi-san, I hope you are aware that the police have closed the case.

I do, which is why I intend to ask you to reopen it.

Then you’ve found the wrong person. He ignored the boy’s lack of etiquette. "I was not in charge of the case from the beginning. It was treated as an accident, so it fell under the jurisdiction of Traffic Bureau. CIB’s association with the investigation would be peculiar if your mother wasn’t the victim of a crime.

If you are not satisfied with the result, consult Lieutenant Osakabe Kaede, whom this case was assigned to. Obviously, you won’t be able to find him, since he is a mysterious person. Then, I suggest you to knock on that door just across the bureau, where my direct boss, Colonel of Criminal Investigation Bureau, has an office. He can help you more than I can.

No, I will consult only with you because you are the only one who can help me in this department.

Oh boy. He was amazed at this adolescent’s courage and stubbornness. So what aspect are you questioning regarding your mother’s tragedy?

I believe she was murdered.

Wow. What a surprise. Tell me about it, Naoki.

The kid ignored his innuendo and began reading from his notebook. As we all know, the major suspect of this case is Nakatsuka Tatsuo, forty-two, male, single, who has worked in the transportation section of a food wholesale center for twenty-four years and has a tremendous drinking habit—essentially a truck driver. On the night of October 20, Nakatsuka drank heavily to celebrate his birthday. At 10:37 p.m., he received a message from his manager to transport—

Excuse me, but why are you reading me detailed news reports?

Please allow me to make my point. On the way to the food wholesale center, the suspect hit my mother’s automobile at an intersection at exactly 10:45 p.m. He immediately called for the police and an ambulance. The first police car arrived at 10:47 p.m. The officer determined Nakatsuka was very intoxicated based on a breathalyzer test. Therefore, the police determined Nakatsuka had committed homicide through negligence, specifically drunk driving. He has taken full responsibility for this accident and for compensating the victim’s family members, et cetera. As you have detected, these are sentences I quote directly from cable news. My question is, are these true statements?

They surely are. I would like to supplement them since you have the right to be informed of the newest progress—Nakatsuka has pled guilty. Following legal procedure, he will soon be transferred to the judicial system and leave Police Department’s jurisdiction. As you can see, I have his transfer sheet on my desk. Lieutenant Kaede already signed it. I got hold of it under the name of reviewing but to buy time for you in reality. If you can’t persuade me here, I will submit this form to my superior any second now.

He took off his glasses and put them on the table aiming to observe the juvenile’s face closely. He wasn’t myopic. Wearing glasses that didn’t correct a vision problem was solely for suppressing his excessive vigor.

There are several doubtful points. First, the suspect had been doing his job for twenty-four years. Therefore, he should have been very familiar with the danger of drunk driving. Why would he take a risk he knew he was not capable of managing? The boy seemed fairly certain regarding his so-called doubtful points.

The suspect confessed it wasn’t his first experience of drunk driving. He had never been caught, and that must have built up his confidence, Tooru said.

That’s something cable news wouldn’t report. The juvenile wrote down the new information in his notebook. Also, the suspect crashed into my mother’s car after having consumed merely ten bottles of beer.

Ten bottles of beer, five hundred milliliters each—that’s not a small amount to consume.

That’s true, but you verified that the suspect had a long drinking history but was very intoxicated after drinking that much beer.

The lieutenant frowned. If you drank ten bottles of five hundred milliliters each over a short period, any sobriety test would determine that you were highly intoxicated, no exceptions.

I understand. The juvenile seemed anxious. Yes, according to the breathalyzer test, the suspect was legally drunk. Nevertheless, being highly intoxicated didn’t mean being physically drunk. Some people drink less than ten bottles and pass out whereas others can drink more than that and still be awake. Knowing Nakatsuka’s long drinking history, it’s obvious he had a higher capacity for alcohol than others do. He was able to drive to that intersection and hit my mother’s car.

I see your point. The problem is, when we went over the surveillance records, we observed Nakatsuka had been driving recklessly since he left his birthday party. There were a series of close calls until he ran the red light and hit your mother’s vehicle. We received reports from drivers complaining about a drunk driver acting crazy that night. It made sense to us that he was physically drunk.

The suspect indeed seemed to be physically drunk prior to the accident, the boy said. However, after the accident, the first police car arrived at the scene within two minutes. I don’t think that was coincidental. Before diving deeper into the matter, I would like to confirm whether the police knew the accident was going to happen.

We didn’t know, but we did imagine an accident could occur and dispatched patrols to the area, but it was too late by then.

Okay, good to know. Last question. When exactly did Nakatsuka call the police?

10:46:03 p.m., he said responding by memory.

That’s exactly one minute after the accident. I saw ample photos depicting that brutal scene. It was not a simple rear-end collision. My mother’s vehicle was literally cut in half. The fact Nakatsuka survived was a miracle, but even if he didn’t pass out by some means, it would be impossible for him to react and decide to call for emergency help instead of running away. And he called the police first, didn’t he? Wouldn’t a reasonable person call for an ambulance first in that scenario? Unless Nakatsuka knew there was going to be an accident. Pretending to be drunk, he took precautions to survive the impending impact. After the work was done, he promptly recovered from his dizziness and contacted the police as soon as possible to get the breathalyzer test done. Negligent homicide and first-degree murder are very different crimes.

When Tooru had first heard of the tragedy the morning of October 21, he assumed it had been a thoroughly planned murder. However, when pushing CIB to get involved in the investigation, he was prohibited from taking leadership of this specific case because of his special relationship with Fujiyi Clan—there was a perceived high probability of bias. He made a compromise. His colleague—a potential competitor—Lieutenant Osakabe Kaede, took the commission instead.

He never questioned Kaede’s deductive skills or competence as a policeman; in fact, he imagined Kaede would become the next him after his retirement. Nevertheless, he doubted very much that Kaede had the same sense of justice and dedication to police duty as he did. He doubted whether Kaede would handle this case as a potential homicide since he was the one who had insisted on dragging CIB into this swamp. He genuinely wondered if lazy Kaede would even treat this task coming out of nowhere seriously.

On Friday, after returning from Fujiyi’s dwelling, he reviewed the case report written by Kaede, though that had technically exceeded his power. To his surprise, it seemed Kaede was managing the case properly though from the perspective of an accident. He couldn’t complain because after cooling his brain and reviewing all the details, he was gradually persuaded it had been an accident rather than a sophisticated and disguised homicide. Certainly, Kaede’s case analysis answered queries the juvenile was throwing out.

"I’m not surprised that you would speculate about this manner. It proves you never drink. A drunk or highly intoxicated person can be instantly awakened by a significant collision. One example is rolling off your bed. When your body receives a major shock, the epinephrine your body secretes can considerably contract the effects of alcohol on your brain. You suspect Nakatsuka took precautions against the impending crash, but we didn’t find anything suspicious in Nakatsuka’s truck as evidence of your theory. Most important, Nakatsuka’s truck was bigger and taller than your mother’s vehicle and hence more resistant to damage. Though its bumper fell off and the engine was killed in the accident, the cab remained mostly intact. At the accident, Nakatsuka was buckled up, and the truck was equipped with a supplementary restraint system, which worked as it was designed to.

"Nakatsuka confessed he did not faint and had a clear concept of the crime he had committed. He didn’t run away because he took himself as a legal citizen except for a few instances when he wasn’t caught. He called the police first because it required the least steps. Nakatsuka testified that his cell phone was safely stored in his pocket and not damaged by the car crash. He made the call from the truck cab. That matches testimony given by the policeman who arrived at the scene first. They had to pull Nakatsuka out of his truck because its doors had been distorted in the accident.

You might be concerned with why police could reach the scene within just a minute. As I mentioned, we had general knowledge that an accident could take place. We dispatched patrols to nearby locations, and that drastically accelerated the search process after receiving the call. You must hate Traffic Bureau at this point. I understand. But it’s fair to say they were efficient in their attempt to rescue your mother. Does that help resolve your doubts?

He watched the juvenile’s facial expression and knew the answer was no. Okay, you know what? I’ll give it to you. I perceive you have a powerful speech to deliver, which I don’t intend to intercept. Let’s assume Nakatsuka did murder your mother and covered it up as an accident. My question is why. What’s the motive? How could Nakatsuka ever profit from murdering your mother? It’s obvious Nakatsuka is a true representative of lower-class people surviving between the cracks in this city. He didn’t know your mother; he didn’t know Fujiyi Clan or any prestigious clan in general. So tell me, boy, what’s the truth you hold? He stared at the adolescent’s face to catch any tiny change in his expression.

The juvenile came to the point. I genuinely believe the suspect was hired by a third party who would benefit from my mother’s death.

Well … He was lost to a degree. I suppose that can be a reasonable presumption since you just indicated the suspect could not directly profit from committing this crime, but his having been hired for this sounds too imaginary from the police’s perspective. Nakatsuka is not in debt. He had no enemies. He does have an old mother … He realized he was leaking information that the police had promised not to disclose to protect his family member’s identity. The lieutenant paused.

The juvenile picked up on his embarrassment. The suspect’s mother is seventy-two and suffers severe diabetes and heart problems. Nakatsuka’s father abandoned the family when Nakatsuka had been a child; his mother had raised him alone. He was very devoted to her, who had had a difficult time affording insulin for twenty years. However, cardiopathy was slowly killing her. A heart transplant would easily cost 150 million yen at a minimum, which the suspect couldn’t afford.

I hate to interrupt you, but we specifically prohibited the media from reporting Nakatsuka’s family information, and they consented to that. He gazed at the juvenile with cautious eyes. How do you come up with that information?

"From Monday to Friday, I repeatedly visited the transportation station the suspect originally worked at. Utilizing my identity as the son of the victim and my