NOVEL NEXT Ch. 43
Chapter 43
"Crime Index": 21 %
"Vice": Believes society is driven entirely by privilege, obsessed with currying favor with the powerful.
"Clearing Reward": Clear Yoshimura Yu's sin to obtain Lv3 Flattery and Sycophancy ×5.
While Yoshimura Yu was ranting, three tiny lines of text floated above his head.
Fushimi Shika felt a flicker of surprise—he hadn't expected even Yoshimura to possess a Tier-3 skill. So no one is a complete waste after all.
Since unlocking his status panel five months ago, he had pieced together the skill-tier system:
- Lv1 – Novice: you can use the skill competently.
- Lv2 – Adept: you've mastered the basics.
- Lv3 – Transcendent: you could execute it in your sleep. Yoshimura's Flattery and Sycophancy sat right here.
- Lv4 – Master: you add personal flair and unique tricks.
- Lv5 – Grandmaster: you've created your own school.
Anything above Lv6, Lv7, Lv8? Pure fate. His own Lv7 Negotiation and Debate had been born with him; if it wasn't, he'd never have reached that height.
The system, he realized, was feasting on human blood and grief, granting him the highest-level skill each victim had possessed in life—like Nagano Kawai's Lockpicking, or Sakurai Chizuru's Grappling.
"This final exam is null and void! I'll have my old man complain to the School Board! A teacher who can't keep students safe—"
Yoshimura Yu kept spitting complaints, every shout a little release. The other cadets chimed in; their resentment had been simmering for months under Shirata Masahiro's "tyranny." Each time Yoshimura cursed, the chorus grew louder, and even the accompanying instructors couldn't shout them down.
Fushimi had no intention of joining this mutiny. He grabbed Tamako by the back of her collar and started for the cave to examine the skeleton as planned.
But Yoshimura, forever forgetting pain after reward, drunk on the cheers, threw his arms wide and blocked their path. "Why'd you come back?"
Tamako stammered, "W-well, I found a skeleton in the cave yesterday, so I dragged Fushimi back to look—"
"That's irrelevant, isn't it? You trapped us on this mountain! A pile of bones is more important than living people? If we die out here, you two are the culprits!"
He slammed that accusation down like a lid; Tamako's face flushed scarlet. Under pressure, she stuttered, unable to explain.
Fushimi glanced at Instructor Shirata. The man said nothing, just lit a cigarette, clearly willing to let the cadets turn on one another.
Better internecine strife than mutiny against the staff.
Fushimi sighed and pulled Tamako behind him.
A dozen cadets closed in; the rest watched coldly. Yoshimura demanded he kneel and apologize to the entire class—then it would be over. Otherwise, the mob might start swinging.
They were classmates, after all; someday they'd serve together. A ruined reputation could bury Fushimi for life.
The air reeked of gunpowder. Miu looked on, worried, hoping both of them would bend a little so everyone could step back...
"Apologize to you trash?" Fushimi said.
His gaze swept across every angry, hostile face. "Instructor Shirata was right—you're all unfit to be police. You couldn't even qualify as the lowest patrol officer."
"You bastard—"
Yoshimura roared, but Fushimi's own voice cracked like a whip: "Shut up!"
Miu flinched; Shirata's cigarette slipped from his lips. For a heartbeat the wind itself seemed to veer around them, every cadet frozen by an invisible force.
Tamako stared at Fushimi's back; the boy she knew had become a stranger.
In the hush before the storm, Fushimi spoke, each word ringing clear:
"What's the single most important trait of a police officer? Skill? Ask yourselves—after six months here, are you more capable than a Tokyo University graduate?"
"Logic? Deduction? Case-solving? Idiots. You'll graduate as bottom-rung patrolmen. Look at yourselves—who'd trust you with a major case? Know your place; investigation belongs to the detectives!"
"You don't even grasp your own worth, yet you spout nonsense: 'A teacher couldn't keep us safe,' 'Bones are more important than us?'—yes! I'll say it plainly: that pile of bones matters more than every last one of you!"
"The first duty of a police officer is to listen—truly listen—to the voices of those in pain. To do that, every officer must be stronger than anyone else!"
"If you can't accept that, then complain all you like! Call the local precinct: 'We're lost in the mountains, save us!' Tell the rescue team: 'Our teacher didn't keep us safe and now we're scared!'—If you've abandoned even the tiniest shred of pride, then go ahead and whine!"
"Hear me: only ordinary citizens get to be that selfish! They work, they pay taxes—was it to raise officers who can't stand on their own?"
"Yoshimura Yu chooses to drop out, to throw away his badge and pride just to vent—fine, he's free. Who's next? Who wants to join him, to mock the police and insult the instructors—step forward now, and I'll apologize to you!"
Fushimi stood in the falling snow as if he were back in a courtroom, every syllable a hammer blow.
The snow had stopped; the fog began to lift. Below the cliff, silence.
After a long moment, applause broke out. Instructor Shirata started it. Tamako followed, clapping in her mittens—muted, muffled, but earnest.
To the others, the clapping grated like broken glass.
They would remember the name Fushimi Shika. He had single-handedly sabotaged the final exam, alienated his entire class, and left even the harshest instructor speechless. If this were a police drama, a baritone narrator would intone:
On this day, they witnessed the birth of a legend in the force.
A miracle—yes—the one etched into police history as "XXXX."
And thus it became the driving force behind...