It was a Junji Ito manga — The Sword of the Soul-Returner. The protagonist was a Soul-Returner who wielded a cursed blade, capable of absorbing the life force drifting from humans and animals and storing it within his body, then bestowing it upon others through his sword.
This Soul-Returner served those in power. On a whim, he had granted a dying politician over a hundred additional years of life.
He was not the first to do this. Nor was he the first Soul-Returner.
How many of those undying relics lurked within Japan's political world — Amamiya Rin had no idea.
What he did know was this: a bad end in old age was an extraordinarily common fate for those who held power. And a politician who had been alive since a hundred years ago was someone utterly beyond trusting.
The biological weapon in Gyo — it was entirely possible that creatures like them had been the ones to order its development.
"You don't like being tied down?"
Indou Ranko's tone shifted into something hard to read.
Who in this world could live without being tied down? Even working somewhere else came with its own rules and constraints. What Amamiya Rin had said was less a reason and more an excuse.
"All right — not wanting to be tied down is one reason. The other is that there's no future in it. Without even a university degree, Officer Kazumi's current ceiling might well be my starting point."
Amamiya Rin offered another reason.
Kazumi Junya had made Inspector rank at such a young age — barring some unforeseen circumstance, he had almost certainly graduated from Tokyo University and entered the force already ranked as Inspector. That kind of fast-track elite.
The so-called "gold watch brigade" from Detective Conan was exactly that sort. An ordinary cop grinding away for a lifetime might end up at the level of Inspector Megure — and nothing more.
"If it's allowed, I'd prefer to join the force after I've finished university. Until then — Superintendent Indou, I've heard that for investigations into organized crime or terrorism, the police can enter confidential agreements with specific civilians under the Act on the Protection of Specially Designated Secrets, in exchange for intelligence support. Does the Police History Compilation Office have any openings for civilian contributors? If so, I'd like to serve temporarily as an off-roster associate."
Amamiya Rin had thought of an arrangement that gave both sides a graceful way out.
A civilian contributor — something like a police informant, much like Haneda Hiroshi in the Detective Conan film Zero the Enforcer.
"A contributor? The Police History Compilation Office is hardly the Criminal Investigations Division."
Silence stretched across the line for a few seconds. Then came a low, indecipherable laugh.
Whether Indou Ranko actually believed that Amamiya Rin intended to join after graduating — that was anyone's guess.
But she accepted the explanation.
"That said, arranging a contributor slot for you isn't any real trouble. Think of it as getting you acclimated to the Compilation Office's work ahead of schedule."
"Thank you, Superintendent Indou."
A quiet swell of relief rose in Amamiya Rin's chest. He thanked her immediately.
With an official standing in the Compilation Office and access to its files, his plans would be considerably easier to carry out.
"Don't thank me," Indou Ranko said, her voice languid and unhurried. "A contributor slot in the Compilation Office is no cushy posting — no identity, no staff registration, no salary. Just investigation incentive bonuses and mortal danger. Besides you, I doubt there's another fool willing to take it on."
Amamiya Rin only smiled and said nothing.
After that, Indou Ranko had little more to add. She told him the paperwork and agreements would take a few days, asked him to wait patiently for notification, and ended the call.
With that intelligence bottleneck cleared, the weight on Amamiya Rin's mind eased somewhat. He turned, got out of bed, gathered his personal belongings, and left the hotel.
He found a breakfast shop serving Chinese cuisine nearby and ordered a bowl of wonton noodles. He had barely picked up his chopsticks when a familiar figure invited herself over, sitting down directly across from him without a word of warning.
Kawakami Tomie.
Today she wore a cream-white knit sweater and a plaid mini-skirt. Her black hair fell like a waterfall, and her striking face drew repeated sideways glances from the other diners at nearby tables.
Had she refreshed the Apology Demon's curse by disfiguring herself?
Amamiya Rin wasn't certain. The Apology Demon's attack was a form of cognitive interference — it was hard to say for sure.
He would have to observe over the next few days. If no one attacked Tomie — if no one hacked her to pieces — within that window, it would confirm that ordinary disfigurement wasn't enough to reset the status.
"Hmph. Absolutely no class. Eating cheap commoner food first thing in the morning."
Kawakami Tomie glanced at his plain bowl of noodles, making no effort to conceal the contempt in her voice.
"My wallet isn't equipped to handle your caviar and foie gras."
Without looking up, Amamiya Rin slurped a mouthful of noodles. The flavor was, as expected, a localized adaptation of the original — but passable.
"Besides — can you actually tell the difference between those luxury items and ordinary food? Because I certainly can't."
Amamiya Rin was fairly confident Tomie couldn't either. Her fondness for caviar and foie gras existed simply because they were expensive enough and sufficiently famous.
"Low taste is your problem, not mine!"
Tomie propped her chin on one hand, twirling a lock of hair around a slender finger, her red lips curving into a mocking arc.
"Only the finest cuisine is worthy of us. You really ought to elevate your standards."
"Practicality suits me better."
Amamiya Rin set down his chopsticks, reached into his backpack, and produced a fat, well-stuffed wallet, sliding it across the table toward Tomie.
Tomie opened it and looked inside. A thick sheaf of ten-thousand-yen notes.
"Living expenses, operating funds, materials costs — this is everything I can spare."
One and a half million yen. Beyond the cost of materials for weapon production, the rest was living expenses for the several dozen newly manifested Tomies — they had arrived with nothing on them, not a single coin. If Amamiya Rin didn't provide for them, heaven only knew what they might get up to.
"Don't worry. Some of the counterfeits have already headed to the distillery. They should arrive this afternoon. Those people brewed liquor from us — they'd better be prepared for the victims to come knocking."
Kawakami Tomie took the wallet without ceremony, the corner of her mouth lifting into a bewitching, dangerous curve.
"Victims... but who exactly is the victim here?"
Amamiya Rin massaged the bridge of his nose.
The Tomies who had been dismembered and fermented into liquor?
Or the distillery manager, driven to madness by Tomie's allure, who had ultimately committed acts too horrifying to name?
This was an accounting that could never be properly settled.
"Don't be so hard on us. Isn't it perfectly obvious who the victim is?"
Kawakami Tomie rapped the table, an expression of genuine displeasure crossing her face.
"My mistake — no need to hesitate over it at all. The victims are clearly the distillery owner, and the innocent members of the public who drank the liquor without knowing what it contained."
Amamiya Rin gave a slow nod and said, his voice low and even.
"How could you say that — that's awful. Not only do you fail to stand up for the woman closest to you, you shove all the blame onto a victim like me. Boo-hoo~~"
Tomie dabbed at the corners of her eyes with one finger in an exaggerated show of grief — tears that didn't exist — her tone dripping with theatrical affectation.
(What are your plans for dealing with the distillery situation?)
Amamiya Rin refused to play along. He went straight to the point, sinking his thoughts into the [Tomie Network] to probe at whatever the Tomies were planning.
But the moment he did, his expression stiffened.
(You're actually going to...)
He never would have imagined Kawakami Tomie would go that far.
Unethical — undeniably. But ruthlessly efficient. It would resolve the distillery problem with ease.
____
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