His voice carried a professional comfort, but deep in his eyes was a hint of imperceptible irritation. Kanjuro had actually been at the scene, and in the front row! This was completely beyond their expectations. Although objectively, this seemed to make the announcement of the "wanted notice" more impactful, it also meant the target had easily penetrated their preset "secure" environment in a way they could not understand. This feeling was terrible.
Kuraki Mai slowly raised her head, a watery glint of shock remaining in her blue eyes. "Mr. Rogers... that person... Kanjuro... he was right there at the time, looking at me." Her voice was dry, having lost its clear quality from the stage. "He... he wasn't flustered at all, he even... clapped. It was as if... as if everything we did was within his expectations, and even... made him find it interesting." She struggled to squeeze out the last few words. This was what terrified her the most—not being hated, but being watched like a play.
Rogers leaned forward slightly, emphasizing his tone: "Miss Kuraki, I understand your feelings. But please trust our professional assessment and arrangements. Although Kanjuro's appearance at the scene was an unexpected variable, it also precisely proves his arrogance. He dared to come because he underestimated our determination and ability to maintain justice and order!"
He paused, trying to capture Kuraki Mai's wandering gaze with a firmer look: "Your performance tonight—no, your role in the entire plan—is crucial. Your voice, your image, are symbols of light and hope. Using your influence to bring the dark side of Kanjuro and his organization to light and awakening the public's vigilance is a very valuable action. You are doing the right thing."
"The right thing..." Kuraki Mai murmured, her eyes somewhat hollow. Those calm eyes and that eerie applause constantly eroded the faint confidence brought by the word 'right'. She felt a deep chill, not from the air conditioning, but from something more invisible and vast, as if she hadn't been standing under the spotlight just now, but had accidentally stepped into the shadow of a giant beast.
"I... I'm just scared," she said honestly, her voice weak. "He looks... too different. Not like the heinous people in the files you showed me. That kind of calmness is more frightening than any ferocious appearance." This was a fear based on intuition, transcending rational analysis and mission briefings.
A flash of displeasure crossed Rogers' eyes, but it was quickly masked. He needed Kuraki Mai to continue cooperating; he couldn't let her break down, at least not before the next public 'appeal' or performance.
"Fear is normal when facing such a dangerous person." He switched to a more encouraging tone. "But because of that, we need to persevere even more. We've increased the security level around you and for all your upcoming schedules—the most professional team, the most advanced monitoring. Where you are will be an iron fortress. Kanjuro might have some unconventional methods, but to pose a substantial threat to you under our dragnet in Tokyo and in full view of the public, especially to take you away without triggering a full-scale conflict—" He shook his head, revealing a smile mixed with confidence and contempt, "That's impossible. Unless he can instantly paralyze the remaining CIA forces in the Far East and the Japanese Public Security's collaborative defense line, and that," he said decisively, "is absolutely impossible."
He seemed to want to use this absolute assertion to dispel Kuraki Mai's unease and inject confidence into his own judgment: "So, please pull yourself together. The upcoming promotional tour still needs you. Continue to use your voice and influence to expose him and remind the world. You are safe, Miss Kuraki. We... guarantee it."
Kuraki Mai looked at his certain face, then at the burly security personnel visible outside the lounge door. The physical protection seemed airtight. Rogers' words were logically sound, filled with organizational confidence and a sense of power.
However, the chill in her heart did not dissipate; instead, because of Rogers' 'absolutely impossible' guarantee, it became clearer and more eerie.
She remembered the look in Kanjuro's eyes when he left—that composure, that indifference that seemed to see through everything and control everything. That wasn't the look of a prey cornered, nor even the look of an opponent facing a provocation.
It was... a look of looking down from above.
"Mhm... I understand." Finally, Kuraki Mai lowered her head and responded softly, not arguing further. She pulled a soft shawl around herself, trying to draw a bit of warmth. "I will... do my best to cooperate."
Rogers nodded with satisfaction, gave a few more instructions regarding media response and itinerary adjustments, then got up and left the lounge to handle the aftermath of the 'accident'.
The door closed, and silence returned to the lounge.
Kuraki Mai sat alone, unmoving for a long time. The vanity mirror reflected her pale, lost face. In her ears, the eerie 'wanted poster' voiceover from the end of the concert still seemed to echo, along with... those three distinct claps.
She slowly raised her hand, looking at her slightly trembling fingertips.
Rogers said it was impossible for Kanjuro to take her away under the CIA's nose.
But... a voice so faint it was almost inaudible rang in her cold heart:
'He doesn't need to "take me away" at all...'
'He just... let me see him.'
'And I... can no longer forget him.'
This realization brought not courage, but a deeper, almost fatalistic chill. She seemed to see an invisible web that had already silently descended outside Rogers' confident 'iron fortress'. And she, along with this carefully planned 'public opinion war', might just be a single thread vibrating softly on that web.
The night view of Tokyo outside the window was still prosperous and bright, but Kuraki Mai felt an unprecedented loneliness and cold. Every step of the upcoming 'cooperation' felt like walking onto a predestined stage, with the director's gaze always calmly fixed upon her.
Meanwhile, on the top floor of a skyscraper on the other side of the city, Kanjuro held a glass of red wine, overlooking the flowing river of light below. Vodka had just finished reporting the preliminary tracking results of the masterminds behind the concert incident, as well as the CIA's movement to strengthen Kuraki Mai's security.
"An iron fortress?" Kanjuro gently swirled the dark red liquid in his glass, a cold curve hooking his lips. "An interesting metaphor."
He took a sip of wine and cast his gaze toward the general direction of the National Stadium, as if he could penetrate layers of buildings to see the female singer who was surrounded by security but felt uneasy.
"Tell Vermouth and Jodie that the 'collaborators' on the list can begin their 'return visits'. There's no need to rush the cleanup; let the pressure... be transmitted evenly."
"As for that female singer..."
He paused, a dark light flashing in his eyes.
"The more tightly she is protected, the more purely the fear will ferment. Let her slowly savor that inescapable premonition within her self-proclaimed safe fortress."
"When the confidence of 'absolutely impossible' is eroded bit by bit..."
Kanjuro didn't finish, simply draining the red wine in his glass.
"That will be the beginning of the song's change in tone."
The night was still long. In the game of cat and mouse, sometimes the mouse's struggle and self-righteous hiding are the predator's greatest pleasure. And the hunting ground had already extended far beyond that brightly lit stadium. For several consecutive days, Kuraki Mai felt as if she were living in a transparent fishbowl. Everywhere she looked, there was 'protection'. The top-floor suite of the five-star hotel she stayed in was booked out; the hallways, elevator entrances, emergency exits, and even adjacent rooms were guarded by grim-faced security personnel wearing earpieces. She traveled in bulletproof convoys with escorts front and back, her itinerary strictly confidential and randomly changed. Rogers appeared every day, using his blend of encouragement and warnings to try and stabilize her emotions, emphasizing 'absolute safety'.
However, this airtight protection, far from bringing peace of mind, felt like a tightening cocoon, increasing Kuraki Mai's sense of suffocation daily. Every night, she lay on the luxurious but cold large bed, staring at the carefully designed lights and shadows on the ceiling, her ears seemingly always hearing those three claps—not heavy, but reaching straight to her soul. Kanjuro's calm eyes became a lingering phantom on the edge of her nightmares and wakefulness. She began to suffer from insomnia and loss of appetite; the shadows under her eyes in the mirror grew heavier, difficult for even a makeup artist to fully conceal.
Rogers attributed it to 'post-traumatic stress' and arranged for psychological counseling and nutritional supplements, but Kuraki Mai knew better. This was a deeper warning rooted in intuition—the danger didn't come from a defense line that might be breached from the outside, but had already seeped into the interior of this seemingly solid fortress, into the gaps between every heartbeat.
Late at night on the seventh day.
The neon lights of Tokyo outside the hotel still flickered, but the top-floor suite area was deathly silent. Kuraki Mai woke up with a start from a shallow sleep once more, cold sweat soaking her silk pajamas. She sat up, fumbling to turn on a dim yellow wall lamp by the bed; the warm light only illuminated a small area, making the darkness in the other corners of the room seem even heavier.
She got out of bed barefoot, wanting to go to the living room for a glass of water. The soft carpet beneath her feet absorbed all sound.
Pushing open the bedroom door, the spacious living room was shrouded in the hazy night, with the city's sea of stars outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything was as usual, so quiet that only the faint airflow of the central air conditioning could be heard.
Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a dark shadow sitting on the sofa near the viewing balcony.
Her heart skipped a beat!
She snapped her head around, her pupils contracting.
It wasn't an illusion.
A figure wearing a long black trench coat sat there in a relaxed posture, one leg casually crossed over the other. The flowing lights and shadows of the city outside outlined his tall, lean silhouette and... that profile that she feared day and night yet could not forget.
Kanjuro.
He just appeared like that. No alarm, no sound of a door being forced, not a single movement. It was as if he had always belonged to this room, this night, simply waiting here quietly for her to wake up.
Kuraki Mai froze on the spot, her throat feeling as if it were being strangled, unable to make any sound. Extreme fear froze her blood, but beneath this ice, a sliver of desperate relief—a sense of 'as expected'—eerily surged.
Kanjuro slowly turned his head to look at her. In the gloom, his eyes remained calm and deep, as if they had absorbed all the light from outside and transformed it into a deeper darkness.
"Good evening, Miss Kuraki." He spoke, his voice not loud but echoing clearly in the silent room, carrying a strange gentleness. "I hope I haven't disturbed your rest. Although, looking at you, it seems you haven't been resting well."
Kuraki Mai's lips trembled as she finally found her weak voice: "You... how did you..." She wanted to ask how he got in with so many people guarding outside, but the question seemed so pale and ridiculous in this situation.
Kanjuro seemed to see through her question but didn't answer, simply standing up. The hem of his trench coat traced an elegant arc. He walked toward her at an unhurried pace... Kuraki Mai instinctively wanted to retreat, but her feet felt nailed to the ground. Not until Kanjuro stopped in front of her, so close she could smell a crisp yet dangerous scent on him—like a pine forest after snow, or an ancient scroll.
"Your singing is beautiful," Kanjuro said, looking down slightly into her terrified blue eyes, "but it's a pity it's being used to play discordant noise."
He reached out, his fingertips gently brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair by her cheek. The movement was as soft as a lover's, yet it made Kuraki Mai's whole body shudder, as if she had been brushed by cold snake scales.
"Come with me," his voice whispered in her ear like a spell, "leave this fragile glass cage. I'll take you to see... what the melody of the real world is."
"No... Rogers and the others..." Kuraki Mai struggled with her reason in vain.
"Them?" The corner of Kanjuro's mouth curled up in an arc that bordered on pity. "Soon, they won't have time to worry about you."
As if to prove his words, at that very moment, muffled impacts, short gasps of surprise, and the sound of heavy objects hitting the floor drifted in from outside the suite! But it all happened extremely fast and quickly returned to an even more eerie silence.
Kuraki Mai's face was as pale as paper. She knew that the "iron wall" outside the door had likely already... Kanjuro said no more and gripped her cold wrist. His palm was dry and steady, carrying an irresistible force. "Close your eyes," he said, his tone flat but brooks no argument.
For some reason, Kuraki Mai actually closed her eyes. Perhaps it was extreme fear stripping away her will to resist, perhaps there was a hypnotic magic in that voice, or perhaps... in a corner of her heart she didn't dare admit, she felt a flicker of twisted curiosity and... a flutter for this mysterious, unimaginably powerful man before her.
The next second, she felt her body become light, as if enveloped by an invisible force. The sound of wind whistled in her ears for a moment, then abruptly stopped.
When she opened her eyes trembling, she found she was no longer in the penthouse suite. Instead, she was standing at the exit of a secluded, dimly lit service passage behind the hotel. The cold night wind blew against her thin nightgown, sending a shiver through her.
Kanjuro released her wrist and, from somewhere, produced a black trench coat identical to his own, draping it over her shoulders. "Put it on, don't catch a cold."
Kuraki Mai numbly wrapped the trench coat, which carried his body heat and scent, tightly around her, her mind in a state of utter confusion.
Just then, a piercing alarm finally tore through the night sky! Lights flickered chaotically on multiple floors of the hotel, and several beams from high-powered flashlights began scanning the surroundings. Hurried footsteps and shouts surged from all directions!
"They've discovered you're gone," Kanjuro's tone remained calm, even carrying a hint of interest. "Their reaction time isn't too slow."
Before his voice had even faded, dark shadows appeared almost simultaneously at both ends of the passage. They were CIA field agents in plainclothes but moving swiftly, with silenced handguns held firmly in their hands! The muzzles instantly locked onto Kanjuro and Kuraki Mai.
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