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The silent and deserted street occasionally came alive with the passing of a car, bringing a fleeting sense of vitality.
Dim light emanated from the street lamps on either side of the road, casting limited illumination into the surrounding darkness.
At the foot of the steps in front of a building on one corner of the street sat a girl in a white dress. She hugged her legs to her chest, burying her face between them. Her jet-black hair was disheveled, cascading loosely around her. At this late hour—11 PM—her presence gave off an eerie vibe.
Especially unsettling was the black cat sitting beside her, its paws tucked neatly under its body. The faint glow of the streetlights reflected in its eyes, making it appear even more unnerving.
A black cat and a girl in a white dress inevitably evoked thoughts of spine-chilling ghost stories.
If this had been before, Fujiwara Toru wouldn't have hesitated or felt uneasy.
But ever since he gained the ability known as the "Yin-Yang Eye," he found himself increasingly fearful and apprehensive.
Indeed, ignorance is bliss. In his past life, when he knew nothing, he had been fearless like a newborn calf unafraid of tigers, braver somehow.
Approaching the girl slowly, Fujiwara noticed that although the black cat lying nearby had glossy fur, it looked emaciated, as though it hadn't been fed properly or had suffered abuse.
However, given the nature of cats, if it had truly been mistreated, it would have run away by now, especially without being tied up. It shouldn't have stayed so obediently by the girl's side.
"Hello, are you okay? It's late. Why aren't you home? Would you like me to call the police for you?"
After some thought, Fujiwara decided to ask in the most ordinary way possible.
I hope this girl doesn't say something like 'I live in a graveyard outside the city' and ask me to escort her back, Fujiwara muttered inwardly.
The girl in the white dress, sitting on the steps, trembled slightly at the sound of someone approaching and speaking to her, as if she were afraid.
She quickly lifted her head to glance at Fujiwara before hurriedly lowering it again, burying her face back into her knees like an ostrich hiding its head.
But that brief, quick movement allowed Fujiwara to catch a glimpse of her face.
She was a delicate-looking girl with a pretty, pitiable appearance. However, there was something gloomy and reclusive about her, an unsettling aura that made her easy to dislike, easy to bully, and even provoke aversion—regardless of her actual features.
In short, she exuded a vibe that repelled people.
Fujiwara raised an eyebrow, his earlier tension melting away completely.
Because in that split second, he also noticed bruises on her face, as though she had been beaten.
Considering the time—11 PM—and the fact that she was alone, Fujiwara roughly pieced together what might have happened.
This was likely a girl from a troubled household, possibly a victim of domestic violence. Fearing her home, she had fled into the night and didn't dare return.
That explanation seemed reasonable. Judging by her frail demeanor, she didn't appear to be one of those rebellious delinquents who stayed out all night.
So it's just a girl suffering from domestic violence. I really scared myself for nothing.
Fujiwara chuckled self-deprecatingly.
Upon closer inspection, he realized how thin she was—unnaturally so, almost malnourished.
Her arms, visible beneath the sleeves of her white dress, were skeletal. In a developed country like Japan, especially in Tokyo, seeing an underage girl who seemed underfed spoke volumes about the underlying issues.
Fujiwara thought for a moment. Not far from the street corner stood a 7-Eleven convenience store. He glanced once more at the frightened-looking girl and silently left, heading toward the store.
Sensing Fujiwara's departure, Kawamata Kaya let out a sigh of relief but felt a pang of disappointment and regret.
As expected, no one cared about her. From childhood to now, not a single person had shown concern for her.
Her parents beat her; her teachers and classmates distanced themselves from her. Even though her teachers knew she endured violence at home, they turned a blind eye, refusing to take any responsibility.
Over time, her already introverted personality grew darker. This vicious cycle led to everyone avoiding her, unwilling to engage or come near her.
There was no strange odor about her, yet her classmates mocked her, calling her a dead fish in a filthy ditch, claiming she emitted a putrid stench of decay.
Once, Kaya believed she truly smelled bad. She bathed multiple times a day, hoping to gain others' approval and attention.
Eventually, she realized their words weren't literal—they were describing her oppressive, gloomy presence, likening it to rotting fish.
After that, Kaya gave up. In Tokyo, a city of millions, she lived a solitary life, as if she were the only person in the world.
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Inside the 7-Eleven, shelves were nearly empty by 11 PM. Onions, rice balls, and bento boxes were sold at half price during the evening hours.
Tokyo's Kita Ward wasn't part of the bustling city center, and rents here were relatively affordable, attracting many office workers to rent apartments in the area.
Consequently, whenever discounts were available, throngs of people flocked to buy rice balls, bentos, and other items.
Fujiwara grabbed one of the remaining rice balls from the shelf and picked out a bottle of strawberry-flavored milk from the warmer.
Though he worked for the CIA, that didn't mean he was utterly cold-hearted.
On the contrary, he considered himself quite compassionate. Whenever possible, he was willing to help those in need.
He had mistaken the girl for a ghost earlier, and judging by her appearance, her life must be miserable. Buying her something to eat felt like a small form of compensation.
"That'll be 600 yen."
After paying, he placed the rice ball in the microwave to heat it up, then exited the store carrying a small plastic bag.
Fortunately, the girl sitting on the steps hadn't left.