The tall security guard, Yoshikawa, was the inside man," Inspector Samezaki began, laying out the case from the start. "He infiltrated the apartment complex, scoped out the residents, and fed the information to his three accomplices."
"Once they targeted Mrs. Nishikawa, Yoshikawa's partners posed as paramedics to enter the building, rob her, and then had Yoshikawa disguise himself as Mrs. Nishikawa. They used the stretcher to smuggle the stolen goods out through the front door."
"On top of that," Shuichi Hayashi added, "they likely planned to stage Yoshikawa as a kidnapping victim. Inside the apartment, the doctor and two assistants wore masks, hiding their faces. But Yoshikawa, working openly in the complex, had his identity and appearance exposed."
"To clear his name, the best move was to paint him as a victim rather than a culprit. That way, after the heist, all four could walk Tokyo's streets scot-free."
"Exactly," Officer Matsumoto nodded, the pieces clicking into place. "That's why they didn't kill Mrs. Nishikawa. Yoshikawa was outside, and the other three never showed their faces during the robbery."
"That's the gist of it," Shuichi said, stretching lazily. "So, can we go now?"
"Of course," Inspector Samezaki replied. "I'll have Megure drive you home. The storm outside's picking up again."
"Yes, sir!" Officer Megure nodded, but before he could move, Chief Ono sidled over.
"Samezaki, you've got a case to wrap up," Ono said smoothly. "Let me take them home."
Samezaki's brow furrowed. In his experience, Chief Ono was a sly old fox, always dodging cases and passing them off to the Metropolitan Police. Why was he suddenly so eager to cozy up to Shuichi? Was he trying to poach talent from the First Investigation Division?
But then Samezaki reconsidered. By the time Shuichi graduated college and entered the workforce, Ono would likely be retired—or, worst case, six feet under. Mihua Station would be someone else's problem. Why would he bother?
"Haha, don't overthink it," Ono chuckled, reading Samezaki's expression. "Thanks to young Shuichi here, we caught those criminals in time. If they'd escaped with a stolen police gun, Mihua Station would be in hot water. This is just my way of saying thanks."
Hot water for the station? More like for you, Samezaki thought, seeing through Ono's self-preservation. He nodded, giving his approval.
…
The drive from Mihua Station to the apartment complex was barely a kilometer—a minute or two by car under normal conditions. But when they arrived, Chief Ono didn't let Shuichi and Yukiko Fujimine out immediately. Instead, he launched into a heart-to-heart with Shuichi, unloading the woes of being a Japanese police officer.
Shuichi's prior knowledge of Japan's police force was limited, shaped by the public's view: they were bumbling, tax-wasting incompetents. Ono's candid rant shed light on why that perception existed.
Unlike Shuichi's homeland in his past life, Japan was a nation dominated by corporate conglomerates. There was even a saying: Japan's conglomerates, the conglomerates' Japan. Most Japanese graduates aimed for jobs at big banks, trading firms, or factories under these conglomerates. Being a civil servant wasn't a top choice, let alone a popular one.
In Shuichi's previous life, civil service jobs were coveted "iron rice bowls," with thousands—or even tens of thousands—vying for a single position. Even less desirable roles had dozens of applicants. In Japan, though, civil service was a tough sell, and the police, with their tarnished reputation, had it worst of all.
Manpower shortages plagued Japan's police force. Every year, the National Police Agency scrambled to recruit, while local police associations resorted to gimmicks—holding events, hiring idol stars for PR campaigns. Some regions even offered low-interest student loans to poor kids, with partial principal repayment in exchange for a decade of service as a beat cop.
Despite these efforts, police numbers dwindled. The root cause? Abysmally low pay. A rookie patrol officer earned around 170,000 yen a month—barely above the national average. Over time, the salary gap between police and conglomerate employees widened to double or triple.
The National Police Agency wanted to fix the shortage, but Japan's Public Service Law required parliamentary approval for police pay raises. Every request was shot down.
With formal raises off the table, the agency turned to cost-saving perks. New officers could apply for subsidized housing at half market rent, no deposit required. Police associations organized group mixers for matchmaking, ran low-cost or free daycare and kindergartens, and even bulk-purchased vegetables, rice, and oil, selling them to officers at cost or a slight loss.
This made Japan's police force feel less like a government agency and more like a state-subsidized corporation. Officers even jokingly called headquarters the "head office," local stations "branches," and police boxes "stalls." Yet, despite these perks, the job remained underpaid and overworked, with few willing to sign up.
Fewer applicants meant fewer talented ones, dragging the overall quality of Japan's police force lower and lower.
"Is it really that tough for police?" Yukiko asked, wide-eyed. "The news never mentions this."
"The media only mocks us as incompetent when cases go unsolved," Ono sighed. "They never report why sharp-minded detectives avoid police work."
"You're telling me this to keep me from joining the Metropolitan Police, aren't you?" Shuichi said, raising an eyebrow. "Is there bad blood between Mihua Station and headquarters?"
"No, I just can't stand those smug jerks at the Met!" Ono said bluntly. "Every time Mihua Station trains a good officer, they swoop in and steal them. Then they turn around and call us incompetent, saying we're ruining the police's reputation!"
"Those rotten bastards! If we're going to be incompetent, then let's all be incompetent together! The day I see the Met praised by the press, I'll die of spite!"
(End of Chapter)