NOVEL NEXT Ch. 21
Chapter 21
Contract Killing: Mission Complete
Sakurai Chizuru: Sin Eradicated
Nagano Kawai: Sin Eradicated
Brothers, I've been kidnapped while sightseeing in Japan—send the state to bring me home.
Reward distribution in progress...
Fushimi Shika shut the floating subtitles off with a thought and slapped Nagano Kawai's cheek.
"Hey, don't die on me yet. I need to ask you something important."
"W-what...?"
Kawai lifted her head and coughed up a clot of blood. She figured her right lung was punctured; every breath rattled.
"Should I turn myself in?" Shika asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Didn't you hear me? If I call for help now you might still make it, so I've only got two choices—confess or run."
He pointed at Sakurai's corpse, speaking with deliberate calm.
"Under the law, even if the victim was already dying, the finishing blow counts as intentional homicide. It removes any chance of rescue. If this ever goes to trial you'd probably just get a suspended sentence..."
Kawai cut him off, voice fading.
"Are you reciting case law? Is that what I asked? Don't joke—if I told you to confess, you still wouldn't go, would you?"
Before coming here she'd taken a stimulant so she wouldn't lose her nerve. Post-war Japan still saw those military-grade chemicals circulate on the street, and the drug was keeping her lucid while she bled out.
"I would. I'm—was—a lawyer," Shika said.
"Then why are you smiling?"
"Huh?"
Smiling?
He touched his own face; the skin was uneven under his fingers. Only then did he realize he was grinning.
Kawai pressed on.
"There were only five rounds in the magazine... so where did the sixth bullet—the one that went through Sakurai's brain—come from?" She coughed. "You brought an extra round, didn't you? You'd already decided to kill her."
Shika had no answer.
He wanted to claim the spare bullet was for self-defense, or that he kept it as a collector's piece, but every excuse sounded hollow against the facts. He could fool anyone except himself.
When his smile finally vanished, Kawai whispered, "That's wonderful."
"What is?"
She smiled back. "Tamako and I had a pact: if either of us died, the survivor would leave a sign at the scene. A bloody handprint missing the little finger would mean the killer was someone we knew... but we won't need it now."
"Why not?"
Kawai's gaze drifted. "Before I met Tamako I had nightmares. I'd see my little brother die in front of me, standing next to Yaksha, swearing I'd suffer for every life I took..."
"After I met Tamako I dreamed of Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva. 'Hell is not empty, therefore I vow not to become a Buddha...' Do you understand? This world is a living hell, demons in human skin torment the innocent. He chose me to cleanse it."
"Tamako will become a great inspector, the embodiment of law and justice. I believe in her—she'll be the guiding light everyone looks up to. On that long road someone has to clear away the filth. My guilt is petty, but you... your hatred is pure. Compared to a half-measure like me, you're better suited to be her guardian."
"Don't confess... I refuse rescue of my own will."
Kawai's mind was slipping; hallucinations flooded in. She saw her long-dead brother wrap an arm around her shoulders, whispering, You've worked so hard all these years.
"Go. Slaughter every demon wearing human skin."
The moment the words left her lips she met a pair of gleaming pupils—she realized she had awakened something monstrous.
—Wonderful, truly.
Shika pressed two fingers to her throat. The girl's heart had stopped.
For readers still confused: Kawai didn't come to avenge herself—she never hated Sakurai. Guilt over her brother drove her to kill, believing it would let him rest. Yet, like Tamako, she yearned for pure justice and, bound by Buddhism's prohibition against killing, she never truly wanted to murder. That contradiction bred the twisted obsession: "must kill yet cannot kill." All this talk of guardians and cleansing—empty words foisted on others. Who would take them to heart?
That little white rabbit Tamako becoming a famous inspector in yakuza-ridden Japan? Laughable. What became of her future was none of his concern.
Shika stood for a long moment, then steadied his breathing.
"What's done is done. I just have to cover it up..."
He surveyed the scene and ran through the timeline.
It was 6:11 p.m. In forty minutes came "voluntary jogging" roll call—cancelled because of the rain—but there'd be another check at 10:30 p.m.
After subtracting the walk back to the dorm, he had four hours to stage everything.
He drew a slow breath. No need to panic—he'd destroyed evidence before; tonight would be the same.
Two pieces of evidence were lethal:
—Fingerprints on the gun.
—Blood on the bullet.
He could wipe the gun clean, but the bullet was trickier. After grazing his ear it had spattered blood onto the bench. Even if he scrubbed the metal, luminol would still react.
Worse, the wound on his ear was obvious. Once police compared ballistics to his injury, denial would be impossible.
Shika set Tamako as his imaginary opponent. Sitting on the bench, he ran scenario after scenario—and the more he simulated, the heavier his mood grew.
If he moved the corpse to fake a new primary scene, Tamako would see through it.
If he built a locked-room illusion to hide a third party, Tamako would dismantle it...
Every possibility collapsed, and he finally understood how formidable Tamako's reasoning was.
"In that case... there's only one option left."
He sighed and summoned his status screen.
Name: Fushimi Shika
Age: 23
Attributes: Intellect A, Will A, Endurance A, Strength C, Speed C
Skills: Cooking Lv1, Negotiation & Debate Lv7, Logical Integration Lv8, Evidence Fabrication Lv6, Tracking Lv1, Lockpicking Lv1, Grappling Lv3
Unassigned Attribute Points: 0
Unassigned Skill Points: 2
System rewards came with subtitles: skill points could only raise skill levels; attribute points were needed to improve base stats.
He'd planned to dump points into Cooking—coming home to two self-made dishes and a glass of home-brew sounded idyllic. But the situation was too dire for indulgence.
With reluctant fingers he raised Evidence Fabrication from Lv6 to Lv8.
A warm current surged from his brain to every limb. Shika stood, laced his fingers and stretched; joints cracked like popping corn.
"Time to put pressure on those leeches wasting taxpayers' money."