「May 24, outside Kyoto Station.」

Miyaji Yosuke parked the police station's car in the parking lot.

He stood at the station exit, waiting for a superintendent from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.

The person hadn't appeared yet.

Miyaji Yosuke took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulled one out, placed it between his lips, and lit it with a cheap lighter, taking a deep drag.

"PUFF," he exhaled the smoke.

As a heavy smoker, Miyaji Yosuke never inhaled into his lungs, always expelling the smoke from his mouth. Smoking was a habit he had developed for thinking.

He was thinking about the homicide that had occurred last night at Kamo River Park, where four people were killed in one fell swoop. But it seemed the Kyoto Police Station had no intention of initiating an investigation. At least in Miyaji Yosuke's eyes, the chief and others showed little interest in pursuing the case. They simply came up with a conclusion, filed it into a report without even a symbolic visit, and then sent the case directly to the archives. This was evidently quite strange.

In Miyaji Yosuke's view, such an outcome could only mean pressure from above. Or, still pressure from above; it was only in those untouchable cases that the police station would choose to turn a blind eye.

Miyaji Yosuke took another drag from his cigarette, but the smoke did nothing to dissipate his frustration.

He had forgotten how many years he had been in this line of work. He only remembered that when he first joined the police station, he was full of ambition, joining the force with the mindset of defeating evil. Now, those youthful dreams had long since vanished. The reason he persisted, he felt, was not based on dreams but pure habit. He had grown accustomed to the life of desperately trying to solve cases and was thus reluctant to change, even if life was unsatisfactory.

No wonder people called him a big fool.

Miyaji Yosuke felt a sense of helplessness, knowing his colleagues at the police station privately called him stupid. He worked harder and more desperately than others, yet his salary was lower than those who merely slacked off. He really was foolish.

"Mr. Miyaji, look quick! Such a beautiful woman!"

His young junior nudged him in the ribs, his voice filled with excitement.

Miyaji Yosuke didn't look up, just quietly smoked his cigarette.

When he was out, he always remembered what his wife told him: don't casually stare at beautiful women on the street. Towards the wife who had married him, Miyaji Yosuke had no other thoughts aside from being obedient. After all, he had been a mere patrol officer for so many years; it was truly unfair to his wife, who had once been the campus belle. He couldn't provide her with material comforts, so he wanted to at least satisfy her emotionally. Faithfulness was absolutely the top priority.

"Hey, Mr. Miyaji, she seems to be walking over here!"

The junior's voice grew even more excited.

"Hiroyoshi, don't forget you're a police officer," Miyaji Yosuke chided. As a police officer, how could he make such an improper outburst?

Hiroyoshi ignored his senior's words, just stared dumbfoundedly at the approaching beauty, his heart pounding.

This was his first time seeing such a stunning woman. The women he had seen in magazines or movies were completely incomparable to the one before him; it was like comparing cloud and mud. Her skin was as fair and flawless as jade, making her eyebrows and hair seem exceptionally dark. She was tall. She wore a blue and white striped oversized T-shirt with light blue jeans. Her jeans had rips at the knees, but no skin showed through; instead, white threads covered the openings. Her hair, like a cascading waterfall, reached her shoulders.

She walked towards them.

Hiroyoshi suddenly felt extremely self-conscious and inferior, not even daring to look her directly in the eye. His palms began to sweat nervously, and for a fleeting moment, a wild thought crossed his mind: Could she possibly be interested in him? The idea thrilled him, yet he knew it was unrealistic.

Even before the beauty drew near, a faint, pleasant fragrance permeated the air, cutting through the lingering smell of secondhand smoke.

Only then did Miyaji Yosuke refocus, his gaze subconsciously drawn to the woman's waist.

With his years of experience, he immediately noticed a slight bulge there. Outsiders might not see anything, but Miyaji Yosuke recognized it—most likely the outline of a gun.

"Are you Superintendent Morimoto?"

"Yes, I am Morimoto Chiyoda. You truly have sharp eyes, Mr. Miyaji; a veteran indeed."

A hint of surprise touched Morimoto Chiyoda's face. She had intentionally worn an oversized T-shirt to conceal it, thinking an ordinary person would not easily recognize the gun at her waist.

"Just professional habit," Miyaji Yosuke replied, then gestured. "This is Hiroyoshi Anbara, my partner."

"H-h-hello."

Hiroyoshi Anbara stood up straight, his words stuttering slightly, a blush spreading across his cheeks like a shy young girl's.

Morimoto Chiyoda smiled faintly. "Well, Mr. Miyaji, let's discuss the case."

Just from Hiroyoshi Anbara's demeanor, she could tell he was an inexperienced young man, not worth much interaction. If she wanted to solve the case, she would naturally discuss it with a seasoned patrol officer like Miyaji Yosuke.

"Mm."

Miyaji Yosuke nodded, somewhat impressed by the superintendent's efficient and decisive manner; it made a good impression on him.

People like her, serving as superintendents, were truly convincing. They were elites of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, a clear notch above the local ones.

He began to explain the situation as he understood it.

Beside him, Hiroyoshi Anbara felt rather ashamed. Though he wanted to prove himself, he simply lacked the ability.

He hadn't paid any attention to the case details and was regretting it now—he should have asked his senior for more information earlier.

* * *

"That about sums up the case," Miyaji Yosuke said as he got into the car and started the engine. "Do you need to inspect the scene?"

Morimoto Chiyoda, sitting in the passenger seat, shook her head. "No need. Your report was very thorough, Mr. Miyaji. I trust your experience ensured no information was missed at the scene. So, how do you suggest we find any witnesses?"

Morimoto Chiyoda fastened her seatbelt.

Miyaji Yosuke thought for a moment. "We've collected fingerprints and a urine sample. But to find witnesses, our only option is to ask residents around Kamo River Park if they saw an unfamiliar woman walking alone on the street."

"Aren't there any surveillance cameras in the area?"

"There are no cameras around Kamo River Park."

"Fine, then we'll just have to use this clumsy method."

Morimoto Chiyoda sighed softly. The lack of surveillance was inconvenient. If there were cameras, they could have immediately accessed the footage to check for witnesses and view the scene. As for fingerprints, the police station only kept records of those with criminal histories. Without a criminal record, even if fingerprints were left at the scene, finding the person was no easy task. It's disheartening that in the 21st century, we still have to go door-to-door inquiring for witnesses; she found this investigation method quite outdated.

"Where do you suggest we start?"

"I'm not very familiar with Kyoto, Mr. Miyaji, so I'll leave it to you. I trust your professional judgment."

"Alright."

Miyaji Yosuke nodded. He appreciated people who understood their own limitations, unlike those know-it-alls with only a superficial understanding who thought they were brilliant.

* * *

In Japan, conducting door-to-door inquiries was no easy task.

It wasn't as if residents would readily answer all their questions just because they knocked. In an era where "tax thieves"—as police were often called—were widely despised, a national survey had found that the police were the least respected profession among the populace. Furthermore, legally, residents had the right to refuse to answer their questions. Unless someone was officially listed as a suspect, the police couldn't compel their cooperation. And to list someone as a suspect, they needed concrete evidence.

When they used a simple door-to-door approach, residents claiming ignorance was considered a polite response. This was frustrating enough. Some older women would even grab a broom and yell, "Get lost, you tax thieves!"

This kind of public hostility, to some extent, made it easier for police officers to choose to slack off. After all, investigating cases required immense mental effort, on top of enduring the obstruction and verbal abuse from uncooperative individuals. Expecting unwavering dedication for such a meager salary was asking a lot; most officers simply chose to slack off. Promotions weren't tied to case clearance rates anyway, so whether a case was solved or not hardly mattered.

Miyaji Yosuke was long accustomed to such attitudes.

He stepped out of the residential building and glanced at the sky. It was already noon.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Miyaji Yosuke said, "Let's find a place to eat."

"I suppose so," Morimoto Chiyoda nodded. The door-to-door inquiries were more tiring than she had expected. Being a beautiful superintendent didn't grant her any special privileges in this regard.

If anything, being too attractive could lead men to quickly end conversations, perhaps out of their own insecurity, not wanting to interact with a beauty like her. And women would be envious of her.

"Mr. Miyaji, do you have any strategies for dealing with these uncooperative individuals?"

"The owner of a diner nearby is an old classmate of mine. He's quite well-known in this area. We can ask him if he has any information when we go for lunch," Miyaji Yosuke replied.

His words made Morimoto Chiyoda look at him, slightly exasperated. "If you have an acquaintance, why didn't you ask him sooner?"

Miyaji Yosuke answered truthfully, "He also needs time to ask around. While he's gathering intelligence, we should also continue gathering ours. A two-pronged approach is more efficient."

Morimoto Chiyoda suddenly understood why a capable man like Miyaji Yosuke was still just a patrol officer, not even a sergeant.

The reason was likely this inflexibility, this lack of adaptability. If it had been up to her, with an acquaintance available, she would have definitely prioritized waiting for their information rather than canvassing the area herself. The weather was so hot; walking around non-stop like this, the sweat was relentless.

Morimoto Chiyoda reached up to wipe her forehead.

Seeing this, Hiroyoshi Anbara quickly offered her a cold drink. "Superintendent Morimoto, have some orange juice."

"Thank you, but I'm not thirsty."

Morimoto Chiyoda smiled faintly, politely declining the drink.

It wasn't that she looked down on vending machine drinks; she simply looked down on Hiroyoshi Anbara. While she enjoyed teasing people, she wasn't interested in teasing just anyone—only those she found intriguing. Like that adorable blogger who never revealed their face, and Aozawa.