Qi lässt sich leicht weitergeben

Kapitel 3

Not knowing what to say, Lai Zi remained silent.

"Okay, let's go."

Kanako spoke in an overly cheerful voice, but her words carried a hint of tears.

Lai Zi was confused, but she followed anyway. Passing through the ticket gates, the platform was deserted. Kanako walked with a clattering sound to the front of the platform and stopped under the orange lights.

For some inexplicable reason, Raiko felt that it was a color that clashed terribly with Kanako. Unlike the clear moonlight, she felt that this artificial, murky light would pollute Kanako's soul. This fear clung tightly to Raiko.

Lai Zi stood diagonally behind Jia Cai Zi.

"Nanmu wood".

The trees behind us rustled.

Lai Zi vaguely heard that foreign music.

That music that has accumulated in my spine.

"Kusumoto, I...I might be about to..."

A small genital-shaped area was found below Jia Caizi's neck.

That's a mole, isn't it?

It's not a bruise, it's not.

Those are pimples.

pimples?

It's pimples

"Pox."

"I already said that."

"On Kanako's neck."

"So what happened next? I'm asking you what exactly happened after that, little sister."

Shutaro Kiba's patience is nearing its limit.

The girl's words were utterly nonsensical and completely incomprehensible to Kiba. No, more importantly, many of the terms she used sounded like foreign languages to him, making them impossible to understand.

Kiba regretted it. If he had known he would get involved in this kind of trouble, he shouldn't have abandoned his half-finished work to go home in order to catch the last train. He should have stayed up all night to finish the documents. Maybe taking a nap on the hard sofa in the break room would have been far better than facing this embarrassing situation now.

The girl had a beautiful face.

Her hair was tied in braids, and naturally, she wasn't wearing makeup; her smooth, delicate skin was reminiscent of a baby's. She was like a wondrous creature, possessing both mature beauty and innocent charm. In five or ten years, she might become a great beauty. Even Kiba could see that, but even if he could, it wouldn't matter.

The girl's name, Yuiko Kusumoto, was revealed from her student ID. She was fourteen years old. Kiba was thirty-five. The twenty-year generation gap was indeed enough to create a rift in their conversations.

No, that's not actually the case.

Kiba himself knew this.

Actually, it's because this girl is about to grow into a woman.

Kiba has never been good at talking to women. Of course, he doesn't suffer from gynophobia, so it doesn't hinder his social life. However, for Kiba, it's essentially no different from gynophobia.

I don't know when it became like this.

Thinking about all this, I felt that the girl's words were getting further and further away from me, and I could no longer understand what she was trying to say.

"For you, the victim—Kanako, right? That girl was a very important friend, I understand that, and I roughly understand why you're still at the station at this time. But the important thing is, what exactly happened after that?"

"You say you understand, but do you really know why we're going to see the lake?"

"Uh, so—"

I don't really know much about it.

"This is a trivial matter."

"It's not a trivial matter at all! This is not a trivial matter at all."

I made the girl cry again. I don't know how many times I've made her cry since just now, and the conversation keeps going around in circles, I just can't get to the point.

Now, the girl—Kusumoto Yoriko—sobbed and sobbed again, her mind probably a complete mess. It's understandable. Perhaps it's better to let her rest for a while. Kiba was somewhat annoyed that so much time had passed, and he couldn't even contact her family, let alone get to the scene. Not only that, but they also hadn't been able to contact the family of the victim—Yuzuki Kanako—who was critically injured and teetering on the brink of death.

The dim light of the streetlamp shone on the window behind the girl who was crying with her head down.

This is the scene where the incident—or should we call it an accident—occurred.

Kiba felt utterly disgusted and let out a deep sigh.

Kiba is a detective in the First Investigation Division of the Criminal Investigation Department of the Metropolitan Police Department. He was transferred to the Metropolitan Police Department about six months ago from the police station in Toshima Ward. In early last month, a cold case he had participated in investigating while still on duty in Toshima was closed in an unimaginably bizarre way, leaving Kiba to deal with the aftermath for the entire month.

That was an incident that made Kiba very uncomfortable.

Because the criminal who should have been arrested is already dead—and the criminal wasn't a bad person.

For Kiba, who was originally a professional soldier, the end of the war simply meant "losing the enemy".

Kiba was aware of this.

Kiba was neither a monarchist nor a right-winger. He never considered himself a glorifier of war—but upon hearing the Imperial Rescript on surrender (the Emperor announcing the surrender via radio), Kiba, having lost a clear "enemy," felt distinctly bewildered. Of course, Kiba was fully aware of how foolish war was and how wonderful peacetime was, but he simply couldn't shake off this awkward feeling.

From a political, ethical, and philosophical perspective, no matter how correct the theories supporting peacetime may be, they remain complex and subtle. Kiba understood this, though not explicitly, but even understanding it was futile. In Kiba's eyes, only a simple binary structure of ally versus enemy, good versus evil, allowed him to feel at ease in the world. Therefore, after his demobilization, Kiba chose to become a policeman.

The duty of the police is to apprehend lawbreakers and those outside the system, and to provide guidance or expose them. This is how Kijimaru views the police.

There is no ambiguity here. For a police officer, upholding and obeying the law is justice, which is good; at the same time, only violating the law is evil, and only that is the enemy.

The police officers clearly distinguish between law-abiding citizens and lawbreakers. Moreover, at least in this respect, they avoid the foolish situation that occurred during previous wars, where people who were enemies of the monstrous US and Britain just yesterday suddenly became good neighbors overnight.

It's impossible to issue an order that "all crimes are abolished and we will live in peace with criminals from now on."

Kiba made this judgment.

However, Kiba never imagined that there were criminals who could not be hated and villains who could not be punished in this world, and that there were actually quite a lot of such people.

The case Kiba was involved in last time was very complicated and could not be explained in a few words. Even Kiba himself did not fully understand it, which is why he encountered setbacks at every turn in handling the aftermath.

No matter how many times he explained, his superiors still couldn't accept it, and the documents that should have been submitted to the prosecutor were repeatedly delayed in being approved. Reports and letters of repentance had been rewritten countless times. Kiba was never good at writing, and it always resulted in him working overtime. Kiba, who was originally used to physical exertion, now couldn't even find time to stretch his legs while writing documents.

After a month of this, my fatigue reached its peak.

Kiba clearly felt this inexplicable weariness when he realized that the Helsinki Olympics had ended without him even noticing. Ironically, Kiba had been really looking forward to the Olympics.

Kiba Ren—it's unclear how many medals Japan ultimately won. He didn't have time to listen to the radio, no, he didn't even have time to read the newspaper.

I started to feel uneasy.

Thankfully, the hard work paid off, and things were finally mostly resolved. I thought to myself—I should go back to my room and get some sleep tonight. That's why Kiba handed over the follow-up to his colleague Aoki and hurriedly caught the last train. How I miss those stiff, creaky comforters in the apartment!

The tram wheels creaked and groaned, and the gentle rhythm created by the sleepers and rails sounded like a lullaby, enticing people to drift off to sleep.

That feels so good.

But this feeling of comfort was suddenly and abruptly interrupted.

The train braked suddenly. There were few passengers on board. Kiba was dozing in the middle of a five-seater when the sudden braking caused him to tumble and fall over.

"What the hell are you doing, you bastard?"

Looking out the window, Kiba saw the very station where he was getting off—Musashi-Koganei Station on the Chuo Line—and was inside the station. Why did it stop like that? How could it be so haphazard? But if he hadn't woken up, he probably would have missed his stop, so he let it go and waited patiently for the doors to open. In any case, he was now only a tiny bit away from his lovely senbei blanket.

Contrary to expectations, the train doors remained closed for a long time. Several men who appeared to be station staff ran towards the front of the platform with drastically changed expressions.

—Perhaps an accident has occurred.

An announcement from inside the train immediately came on, indicating the accident had occurred. Fortunately, the train was almost completely inside the station. The doors opened about a minute later. Kiba walked towards the accident scene. A series of railway-related crimes, such as the Mitaka incident and the Shimoyama incident, flashed through his mind. It was less driven by interest and more by his police instincts.

Appearing out of nowhere, a crowd of about seven or eight onlookers gathered around the scene. Under a telephone pole lit by an orange lamp, a girl in a uniform was squatting on the ground. The station attendant urged her to stand up quickly, but the girl seemed too frightened to move. Kiba recognized the uniform, but didn't know which school it belonged to.

Kiba pushed through the crowd of onlookers to get closer to the scene, took out his inspection manual, showed it to the astonished station clerk, and then introduced himself.

"An accident? Or suicide? Or something else?"

"We don't know either—Officer—how could this be..."

"I just happened to be on this bus. Have you contacted the fire department and the police yet?"

"Yes, we're on our way here now."

Several station staff members lifted the victim, who was on a stretcher, off the tracks.

"Hey, can you stop moving around like that?"

"Uh... what's wrong? Detective, this girl is still breathing. There's no reason to just leave her like this."

"What? It wasn't a corpse after all."

That's right, this isn't a murder case. It's just that Kiba from the homicide division misunderstood, focusing solely on preserving the scene intact before the forensic team arrived.

"It turns out it was a failed suicide attempt."

"No, that's not clear yet. The only witness is this girl, but you saw how terrified she was—hey, anyway, get up first. Let's go inside."

The station attendant grabbed the girl's arm, but her body was limp and she couldn't stand up. The girl stared blankly at the victim on the stretcher—who also seemed to be a girl.

Is she your friend?

“No,” the girl said.

Kiba walked towards the stretcher, showed the manual again, and checked on the victim's condition.

"How are your injuries? Are you alright?"

The station staff member removed his blood-stained work gloves and wiped away sweat. His forehead was also covered in blood and mud.

"No, I think it's very dangerous. The injuries are very serious, and if the ambulance doesn't arrive soon, we won't be able to do anything."

"Is it that serious?"

"Only his head was uninjured. Fortunately, the tram slowed down when it entered the station, which is a stroke of luck. Under normal circumstances, his hands and feet would probably have been broken. Luckily, they weren't, otherwise the aftermath would have been very troublesome."

Kiba looked at the girl lying beside him; her limbs were bent unnaturally, probably broken. There was only blood coming from her nose and mouth; otherwise, she was clean.

There might still be hope.

I feel this way for no reason.

At that moment, it felt as if an electric current had surged through the back of the wood yard.

This girl—