Tokyo: My Superpower Refreshes Every Week

Sato Shintaro was taken to the hospital at 2:10 p.m.

At 5:03 p.m., he was declared dead due to a gunshot wound to the heart that had caused excessive blood loss.

At the same time, the Metropolitan Police Department confirmed that the assassin was Rodrigo Durant and that the handgun used was a P229, reported lost by the SAT team.

How the P229 was lost and why it ended up in Durant's hands were matters that needed to be investigated.

Before that, however, the Police Director had to appear with a group of police commissioners to bow in apology.

If Sato Shintaro's death hadn't been caused by the P229, it wouldn't have much to do with the Police Director, and he wouldn't have needed to hold a press conference to bow.

But Sato Shintaro had died from a shot from the P229 lost by the SAT team.

The Police Director had to bow deeply.

"We are profoundly sorry!"

It was a textbook-perfect, synchronized bow, delivered with meticulous precision.

The six people bowing moved as one, flawlessly.

"We will capture the murderer Durant as swiftly as possible and bring justice for Senator Sato's sacrifice, for the victims of the shrine incident, and for everyone!"

The Police Director added a few more perfunctory remarks, then left the press conference and returned to his office.

The apologetic expression on his face was quickly consumed by rage. He swept the teacups, documents, and everything else from his desk to the floor. The crash of these items hitting the ground was drowned out by his roar: "I'm giving you three days! Capture Durant and bring him to justice!"

"Rest assured, Director, we will do our utmost!"

"I want the person! The person! If any one of you drops the ball, I'll have your badge! In three days, I want all of you to tender your resignations voluntarily!"

These were heavy words.

But the Police Director didn't doubt for a moment that he could make good on them.

Sato Shintaro was no insignificant figure. He was the political circle's designated future Prime Minister, a supernova in the political arena.

With his loss, it would not be easy for the Liberal Democratic Party to find an equally competitive prime ministerial candidate from within its ranks.

Previous resources had all been poured into cultivating Sato Shintaro.

Now, the succession for Prime Minister faced potential upheaval.

If the Police Director could not capture the murderer, he would have to resign and take responsibility.

The Liberal Democratic Party's Diet members would replace him with someone more capable.

If he were forced to resign, he would certainly drag down those subordinates whose incompetence had led to his downfall, forcing them to resign alongside him.

"Yes, sir! We will definitely catch the man!"

All the police commissioners present answered in unison. They understood clearly: if they didn't act fast, they genuinely risked forced resignation.

...

The sound of police sirens drifted from afar.

Aozawa looked up; the sound seemed to be two or three streets away.

A gentle voice spoke up, "Things have been rather unsettled recently."

Aozawa glanced to the side and saw Mrs. Ishimura leaning against his iron gate.

She wore a printed white dress, her cheeks slightly flushed, and her eyes glistened alluringly.

"Young man, would you like to come in for a cup of ginseng tea?" Mrs. Ishimura invited him with a smile.

Aozawa couldn't resist his curiosity about her and activated his X-ray Ability.

The thin dress vanished in an instant, revealing two conspicuously placed toys.

Her thighs were as white as paper, and it seemed their function was the same as paper too, allowing one to practice calligraphy on them to their heart's content.

True to form for Mrs. Ishimura; in this regard, she never disappoints.

"No, thank you." Aozawa shook his head, retracted his X-ray vision, and jogged toward Ayase Apartment.

Mrs. Ishimura's laughter, like silver bells, followed him.

He was puzzled. Mrs. Ishimura, and others like Takahashi—those women who didn't seem to value their chastity—didn't appear as repulsive in real life as they were often portrayed in books or dramas.

Perhaps it was their innocent-looking exterior that deceived men.

Aozawa returned to his apartment, opened the door, and called out, "I'm back, Chitose."

There was no response, and no one was in the kitchen. On the counter, however, a teacup held down two ten-thousand-yen notes and a slip of white paper.

"I'm working overtime tonight. Take this money to buy dinner."

Chitose's handwriting was beautiful, and her drawing skills were quite good too.

She had drawn a smiling face below the message.

Aozawa picked up the two ten-thousand-yen notes, wondering what he should eat that evening.

After some consideration, he decided to eat at the Thai restaurant on Ayase Commercial Street.

...

The Thai hot pot was still delicious. However, there was something slightly off in the way the elderly waiter looked at him.

Aozawa couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he felt the old man was acting a bit strange.

"This bottle of green tea is on the house."

"Sir, what do you mean?" Aozawa was puzzled. He never believed in free lunches. Could this old fellow have some sort of peculiar fetish?

"Don't get me wrong. I just think things aren't easy for you. Come back when you're free."

The old man's face was filled with sincerity, a hint of melancholy in his eyes. It seemed the old man's earlier prediction had come true. A woman like that, even if temporarily blinded by love, wouldn't be fooled for a lifetime. Eventually, she would end up in the arms of a wealthy man. That kind of beauty wasn't something an ordinary man could afford to keep.

"Is that so... Well, thank you. I'll definitely come by next time I'm free."

Aozawa sighed internally. Good employees like this old man were rare indeed, going so far as to use his own money to attract repeat customers for the boss. Could it be that this restaurant was actually his? Perhaps being a waiter was just a hobby for him?

Stepping out of the restaurant, Aozawa believed the latter was likely the case.

After his meal, he strolled down the street. Glancing around, he tucked the green tea under his arm and checked the messages on his phone.

All were marked as read.

If he sent messages to chat with someone now, he'd just have to say something came up and end the conversation shortly after. Too much hassle. Forget it. Aozawa decided to watch some short videos for a bit, rest, and then start jogging.

He jogged to a small park.

Then, it was time to begin Dio's nightlife.

...

Dusk was about to fall.

Durant glanced out the window; the sound of police sirens wafted from the distant streets.

Since five o'clock, Metropolitan Police Department officers had been patrolling the districts of Tokyo as if they had no intention of ending their shifts for the day.

Just patrolling would have been fine.

However, from what Durant observed through binoculars, they were systematically searching for foreigners taller than 1.9 meters.

Whether from Africa or Europe and America, all were to be questioned.

It was a time-consuming yet effective method.

When the entire Metropolitan Police Department swung into full operation, the power it unleashed was not to be underestimated.

He'd seen on the news conference that the police would mobilize 60,000 officers to cast an inescapable net and capture the criminal.

The constant wail of sirens proved that the Police Director was not lying.

Durant felt like a bird watching the net draw tighter around it. Beyond despair, there was only more despair. No matter how skilled his makeup techniques were, he couldn't change his height.

There were people who, through special training, could shorten their bones to alter their height.

But that had nothing to do with him. He didn't know how.

Durant, not for the first time, wiped his P229. He glanced at the time again. If he didn't leave soon, he'd miss his meeting with Dio in Shinjuku.

If he went out, at his height, he'd very likely be stopped and questioned by the police. Looking at the P229 in his hand, he knew he had no choice but to take the risk.

Durant stood up and tried to make his makeup as close to an Asian style as possible.

The shape of his face was the hardest part to change, though.

He had to try applying softer makeup and then combine it with a wig to make himself appear closer to a Japanese person.

After finishing his makeup, Durant left the secret location.

This was a CIA safe house. Besides Jack and John, no one else knew of its existence, making it exceptionally covert.

This, at least, was some indirect assistance from the CIA. If he hadn't received any help at all, it would have been impossible for him to hide out in Japan. The Japanese underworld was deeply entangled with the Right Wing; there was no hiding from them.

...

To avoid crowds as much as possible, Durant took a taxi directly to Ichi-chome of Shinjuku Kabukicho.

The taxi driver showed no suspicion regarding his makeup. As long as the bills were real, it probably didn't matter to the driver what his passengers looked like.

Throughout the journey, Durant was anxious. They brushed past police cars several times, and he feared their taxi might be stopped.

As he was approaching Kabukicho, the very thing he feared happened.

"Sorry, please pull over for a routine check," an officer instructed.

"What a hassle," the driver grumbled, reluctantly pulling over to the side of the road.

Durant's heart pounded. His hand gripped the gun, ready to kill and flee at the slightest sign of trouble.

He absolutely could not be caught.

The police officer, unaware that one of his feet was already in the Gate of Hell, knocked on the car window. "Sorry, could you both say a few words?" he asked.

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" the driver replied impatiently.

The officer shifted his gaze to Durant.

"Don't delay my pleasure," Durant said.

As a special agent, Durant was proficient in eight languages. His Japanese was more standard than that of an average Japanese person. However, in previous operations, Durant had always spoken Japanese with an accent, or used English. This was a deliberate tactic so that, when in disguise like now, his fluent Japanese could help him avoid questioning.

"Sorry, you may go." The officer waved them on. His instructions were to detain and interrogate individuals over 1.9 meters tall who didn't sound like native Japanese speakers.

Since Durant had no accent, there was no need to question him too thoroughly.

Although the instructions from above were very strict, mandating meticulous questioning of every suspicious person, for the officers on the ground, such demands were simply unrealistic.

There were plenty of men over 1.9 meters tall in Tokyo. Wasn't it tiresome to question each one carefully?

Besides, their attitude towards capturing Durant was often indifferent.

The ones to be dismissed weren't them.

In fact, if the Police Director or other senior officers were dismissed, these beat cops would probably celebrate with beer, cursing that it "served them right."

"This car is clear. Let's check the next taxi," one officer said to his partner as they walked away.

Durant's pounding heart calmed, and his hand quietly moved away from the gun handle.

The driver was still complaining. "Those tax-guzzling thieves are really useless! They can't catch the killer, so they bother us common folk instead. A bunch of good-for-nothings."

"You're absolutely right," Durant agreed. He could now see the dazzling, multicolored lights of Kabukicho's streets.

Among the throngs of people coming and going, there were also those in police uniforms.

His heart settled. Given such lax inspection standards, he had worried for nothing earlier. Durant couldn't help but look forward to his meeting with Dio.