Pathway to Japanese Literature

International City

We ended up staying in Lisbon for some time.

My companion was none other than that famous intrepid secret agent, Shiraki Hyouji.

Lisbon is the capital of Portugal.
At that time, Lisbon stood as Europe's sole international city.
This country neither aligned itself with the Anglo-American bloc nor joined the Axis Powers of Japan, Germany, and Italy, remaining instead a fully neutral nation.
Thus, Lisbon’s streets became what you might call a gathering of sworn enemies sharing the same boat—Germans and Italians strolled about with impunity, while from the opposite direction came Britons, Americans, and even Soviets, all wearing expressions of utter nonchalance as they sauntered past one another. This peculiar spectacle could be witnessed everywhere.

Therefore, we too had no need to disguise ourselves as Chinese or Vietnamese during our stay here; we could openly declare our Japanese nationality without any issue whatsoever. Having settled into this long-awaited sense of comfort, I found myself suddenly nurturing an extravagant wish—if only I could spend two or three more months recuperating in this place. That extravagant wish of mine was shattered in a single stroke by Shiraki Hyouji one day. He had checked out of his lodging since the previous night, but around noon, he casually burst into my room—still wearing his overcoat, waving his stick—and began speaking with uncharacteristic breathlessness:

“Look here—something’s happened that concerns Japanese honor.”
“We depart from Weed Airport at eight o’clock tonight!”

The statement was utterly preposterous.
What sort of event concerning Japanese honor could have occurred? I couldn't fathom it in the slightest.

"What exactly concerns Japanese honor?"

I asked, remaining deeply seated in my armchair while continuing to read a Wodehouse novel.

"It's like this.
Well, how should I put this..." Shiraki fell into an uncharacteristically deep contemplation.

*Right.*
“We’re talking about thoroughly crushing the life out of hostile nation Britain, you see. Of course this stems from the spirit of the Tripartite Pact—and as our immediate Japanese enemy.”
“Now then—about that thoroughness. Listen—thoroughly, I say! To thoroughly crush the life out of them, we absolutely must take the field ourselves.”
“That’s why we depart tonight.”
“There, got it?”

Shiraki's explanation left me completely baffled as to what he was referring to.
I had sensed there was something significant behind this, but pressing Shiraki for details when he wore this attitude would inevitably make him evasive—such was always the pattern.
When awkwardness arises between two people who've come all this way after leaving Japan, there's nothing less amusing—nor lonelier—than letting it fester. So in such moments, I as the supporting player inevitably read the situation, make concessions, and resign myself to indulging his whims.

“Very well, that’s enough…”
“I understand we depart at eight, but where exactly is our destination?
We’ll need to prepare our outfits too, you know,” I said. Shiraki looked at me with an unexpectedly surprised expression, reassessing me as he smiled.

“Oh right—I hadn’t told you the destination yet. It’s Zerzei Island.”
“A small island in the Madeira Archipelago—just a thousand kilometers southwest of Gibraltar.”
“Zerzei Island, I tell you.”

“Zerzei Island... So that’s the island with Mentore Marquis’s fortress.”
“Right, you do have a good memory.”
“But do you know that fortress had about two-thirds of it collapse from German military bombing?”
“Well, well—so that had happened.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.”
“Even I only just learned about it last night when they told me.”
“Shiraki, where were you last night?”

“Last night, I attended a secret meeting between German military personnel and their Fifth Column collaborators.—Well, there’s still some time before evening. I’ll go pay my respects at Emily’s bar.”
“Right, and then I’ll stop by Puri Gun Shop to check on that warehouse search.”

“What’s this ‘warehouse search’ about?”

“Well, there’s something I want to take to Zerzei Island this time—had them look into it.”
“A light machine gun sort of thing, you see.”

“A light machine gun? Do we really need to bring something like that?”

“Hahaha, have you lost your nerve? Even a light machine gun’s nothing special—we just need them to panic.”

“Hmm... Is that so?”

I let out an involuntary groan.
It seemed to me that Shiraki was deliberately making light of things to keep me from losing my nerve.

The Eccentric Count and Baron

The ship we boarded arrived at Zerzei Island.

To tell the truth, I had come this far with feelings akin to heading to the Isle of Demons, but the moment I glimpsed that striking island silhouette from the sea—towering so high it seemed to scrape the heavens, cloaked in verdant trees—all such anxious thoughts vanished in an instant. And I felt as though I had come to an exceedingly charming paradise island.

Upon taking my first step ashore, I was already in excellent spirits.
That was because the young Caucasian girls living on this island, carrying baskets of fruit, came leaping toward us.

“Um, you’re the gentlemen from the Japanese consulate who’ve come from Lisbon, correct?”
“We’ve come to welcome you, you know.”

The girls surrounded us, now feeling completely like friends, and began frolicking.
Shiraki was also in high spirits.

“Well, well.
“So you’re the ones who were supposed to kindly come to greet us?”
“Nelly, you’re such a tease!”
“But she said two or three old women might come out to greet us.”
“Ha ha ha ha! I never imagined I’d be surrounded by such flower-like beauties as you young ladies.”
“I fell right into Nelly’s little trap.”
“Ha ha ha ha!”

“That does sound like something Nelly would do.”
“Now then, which of you is the Two-Bale Count, and which is the Six-Shō Baron?”

The Two-Bale Count and the Six-Shō Baron?
I thought the girls were merely teasing.

“That should be obvious at a glance.”
“I am none other than the illustrious Two-Bale Count of rumor, while this one here—silent as an owl in daylight and supremely meek—is none other than the Six-Shō Baron.”

Shiraki had uttered something preposterous.
I was so astonished that I shook his arm from behind, but far from getting through to him, he became even more animated with grand gestures, wholly engrossed in charming the young ladies.

“…Well, you see, I have long desired a close association with Marquis Mentore.”
“It’s Marquis Mentore!”
“Do you understand? It concerns Marquis Mentore—the esteemed master of that Zerzei Castle towering over there.”

Shiraki raised the tip of his cane and pointed toward Zerzei Fortress looming imposingly atop the distant mountain peak.

"My, to think you're on such intimate terms with Lord Marquis Mentore!"
"Oh, hearing that brings back such fond memories!"
"But Lord Marquis Mentore hasn't shown his face to us at all lately—where in the world could he be, I wonder?"

Among the girls, Marquis Mentore seemed to shine as the very star of their yearning.

“Well, as for that Marquis Mentore—I am actually searching for his whereabouts myself, you see.”
“I last had the honor of meeting the Marquis about half a year ago, late one night at a certain location in Lisbon—that was our final audience.”
“Marquis Mentore’s whereabouts remain unknown.”
“That night, I recall how the Marquis—unusually abstaining from drink—sat there pale-faced, sighing incessantly.”

Shiraki was skillfully steering the conversation to win the young ladies’ favor.
However, regarding the whereabouts of Marquis Mentore that he was discussing, I couldn’t quite discern how much of it was true.

“Um, might I ask—that night, did Lord Marquis Mentore perhaps speak about music, or... perhaps try ringing his cherished tuning fork with a ping?”

“Ah, that renowned tuning fork? That tuning fork which emitted an extraordinarily high pitch—whenever Marquis Mentore spoke with us, he would always hold it like a toy, idly playing with it while producing that piercing tone. That was his custom. But on that final night, even that was absent—as for why His Lordship would ring that tuning fork—would you young ladies happen to know the reason?”

The conversation had taken a strange turn.
I had never heard any talk about a tuning fork before.
Unable to fathom Mr. Shiraki’s intentions, I remained silent and listened to this exchange.

“To find people with good voices, Lord Marquis Mentore would constantly ring his tuning fork like that to test his conversation partners’ voices—haven’t you heard such stories?”

“Whether it was because we weren’t as trusted as you young ladies, or perhaps because he thought I lacked musical aptitude—the Marquis never shared such stories with us.
Our usual conversations revolved around sake and... No—let’s not speak of such things.
So when you ring the tuning fork, how exactly does that let you identify someone with a good voice?”

“Well, it’s said that when that person’s voice and the tuning fork’s sound intertwine, a third voice becomes audible.”
“That third voice is a sound only Lord Marquis Mentore can hear—they say common folk can’t perceive it at all.”
“So they say Lord Marquis can seek out people with good voices through a divine power no one else possesses!”

“Well well, it seems even the present Marquis Mentore remains half human and half god, just as in medieval times.”
“Now then—enough of such talk! Tonight, with everyone gathered here, we shall hold a dance party!”
“We’ll also unveil delicacies procured from Lisbon.”
“You must all come!”

“Oh my—is that true?”
“If so, how perfectly splendid!”

“I knew you’d respond like that—I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

“My, such a thing…”

In any case, Shiraki skillfully captured the hearts of the island’s white girls.

As if he were Mentore Marquis himself returned to life.

A Secret Vault Beyond the Mainland

After entering the mountain lodge at the foot of the mountain, I asked Shiraki about something that had been bothering me for some time.

“The story about Marquis Mentore and the tuning fork—it’s all nonsense, isn’t it?”

“Nonsense? That’s preposterous! Moreover, didn’t those blonde girls prove the veracity of it all just as I said?”

“So Marquis Mentore’s acoustic research is legitimate, then.”
“He’s quite the mysterious castle lord.”

“Hey now, don’t just sit there being impressed—I brought that up specifically for you to hear.”

“When you say it’s to make me listen…”

“The likes of musical scholarship—I don’t understand any of it.”
“That’s precisely why I needed you to hear it and wanted you to use it as a clue for the work we’re about to undertake.”

“So this ‘work we’re about to undertake’—are we visiting Zerzei’s ruins to dig up some treasure?”

“Well, it’s definitely a treasure hunt—but the problem is, the shape of that treasure remains utterly unclear.”
“Anyway, it’s the cipher key that the British Government is supposed to use when abandoning the home islands and fleeing the capital.”
“That is hidden somewhere in that Zerzei Fortress.”
“That is why we have come to this island—to find it.”

Shiraki finally clearly explained the circumstances that had brought us to this island.

It was to locate the cipher key, he had explained.
What form did the cipher key take?
Was it something like a codebook, a mechanical device akin to a typewriter, or perhaps something of an entirely different form?

As for which of these it was, Shiraki himself seemed to have no idea whatsoever.
The truth was that even Shiraki’s act of cornering island girls and lavishly expounding on stories about Mentore Marquis had been meant to provide me with investigative leads.

So what had I managed to grasp? Marquis Mentore, who resembled a music maniac; the Marquis wandering about with a tuning fork seeking people with beautiful voices; the Marquis being immensely popular among the island’s girls. And that the Marquis had been out of contact for about half a year now—was that all there was to it? Moreover, not a single clue that might determine the cipher key’s true nature could be found. I felt no small dissatisfaction toward Shiraki’s unilateral recklessness, but now that matters had reached this point, voicing complaints would serve no purpose. It seemed Shiraki had apparently made some grand declaration to the German soldiers—that this cipher key would never be discovered except through our efforts. Either way, I found myself sweating profusely over a task as futile as grasping at clouds.

Without paying any heed to my utter bewilderment, Shiraki ordered the waiter, gazed at the wine bottle on the silver tray that had been brought, and smirked while—

“Hey, there’s still a real gem here!”
“How about a drink for mid-mission refreshment?”

he picked up the glass and offered it to me.

I placed the glass filled with wine on the small table as it was,

“Hey Shiraki, what exactly is this cipher key we’re searching for? Give me more details.”

When I said this, Shiraki hurriedly gulped down the wine in the glass and,

“There’s really nothing more I can add by way of new explanation. In short, the British Government had long anticipated losing their home islands—even before it came to this—and prepared accordingly: hiding barrels filled with gold coins across various islands and seabeds, sinking fuel storage tanks for warships into coastal waters, loading important documents onto numerous submarines to evacuate them to secret bases on uninhabited islands, installing powerful mobile wireless telegraph stations aboard disguised ships. All so that even if they lost the homeland temporarily, they could eventually regain momentum, pressure German forces, attempt to retake their territory—and to ensure everything was perfectly arranged at key overseas locations for that very purpose. The cipher key we’re involved with now is also one of those vital secrets stored outside their home islands, you see. That the cipher key is hidden here on Zerzei Island—and specifically within Marquis Mentore’s fortress—is an extremely certain fact. That we intend to uncover it with our own hands.”

Shiraki only now began rattling off this intensely fascinating story.
This aspect stemmed largely from his habitual corner-cutting, yet it was undeniably intertwined with a friendship that aimed to spare me needless worry from the outset.
Thus I found myself in no position to lodge a direct protest against Shiraki.

“You say it’s certain to be in that fortress—but how can you know?”

“This is an authoritative report from German intelligence—with General Fritz’s signature attached, you can consider it definitive.”
“Truth be told, Marquis Mentore was captured by the German Fifth Column and apparently confessed that much.”
“But regarding anything beyond that basic admission, the Marquis has kept his mouth firmly shut—seems our German friends are reaching their boiling point.”
“They even landed covert teams here—slipped into the fortress under cover of darkness and turned every stone—but their treasure hunt came up empty-handed.”
“Add to that this island’s current status as unaligned international territory—makes every move we make here damnably complicated.”
“If it weren’t for that delicate balance, those hotheaded bastards would never come groveling to us in the first place.”

Through Shiraki’s words, the situation gradually became clear to me.
And I realized this was the most critical mission we’d ever undertaken.

“Then, when do we intend to infiltrate that fortress?”

When I asked this, Shiraki—for some reason—lowered the cup he’d brought to his lips without drinking from it, then heaved a deep sigh,

“Tomorrow.”
“It might already be too late, but let’s make it tomorrow.”
“Going today is dangerous.”

Having said that, he appeared to be deeply contemplating something.

Fortress Infiltration

That night, as promised to the young ladies, Shiraki had rented out the entire hotel hall and hosted an extravagant dance party.

The success of this grand affair was nothing short of astonishing. Shiraki, his nose twitching incessantly, found himself pulled this way and that by sprightly young ladies and middle-aged women with faint wrinkles, until he was thoroughly jostled in the fray.
According to Shiraki’s later explanation, this too had been a crucial component of the strategy—to camouflage our travel objectives while simultaneously winning over the young ladies acquainted with Marquis Mentore’s daily affairs, with the scheme being to make full use of them from the following day onward.

Now, the next morning had arrived.

We left the inn dressed lightly.
Under the pretense of indulging our curiosity by sightseeing at the fortress for amusement, we had the hotel boy prepare ample provisions and alcohol, then made him accompany us.
On top of that, we invited all those sprightly young ladies, creating such an impression of being amidst a moving garden that it made those watching from the sidelines marvel.
If we didn’t go to such lengths, we reasoned, the fortress guards would never let their guard down around us.

Our party climbed up the slope.

The sun glared intensely, and throats grew unbearably dry.
Our party took brief respites here and there.
Each time, elaborate arrangements were made for lemonade, highballs, and such.
Therefore, by the time we reached the base of the fortress, the entire remaining party—excluding us two—had fallen behind.

“Hey Shiraki, this is hopeless!”

When I said this, Shiraki grinned and,

“Nah, this is perfect.”
“Why don’t we pretend to wait for the others and take our time admiring the fortress from the outside?”

With that, he raised his thick cane and pointed toward the area of bomb-damaged stone walls.

“Do you have any idea where the treasure in question is located?”

“Well, I can’t say for certain, but I believe it must be in Marquis Mentore’s living room no matter what.”
“Admittedly, it seems Marquis Mentore’s living room has been searched numerous times by secret intruders before now, but they ultimately found nothing.”
“Therefore, I believe the treasure remains safely hidden there.”

“Hunh, that sounds rather precarious.”
When I said that with a sigh, Shiraki—sensing something—abruptly drew closer to me.

“Hey, Six-Shō Baron.”
“If everyone becomes as thoroughly suspicious as you are and slips into defeatism, we can’t have that now, can we?”
“Starting with that timid mindset from the outset means you’ll miss grabbing what’s right before your eyes.”

“Is that so?”

“Damn right it is.”
“It’s definitely in this room.”
“That’s why I won’t rest until we find it—if you don’t charge in like this, even a treasure staring you in the face won’t be discovered.”
“Timidity is fundamentally a common detrimental trait of the Japanese people.”

Shiraki struck right at a sore spot.
That might be true.
Through our conventional upbringing, we mustn’t allow such traits to become so exposed.
If you can’t even take what’s there for the taking, Shiraki’s warning truly struck home.

“Hey, wait up!”

At this moment, finally, the most physically fit group among the young ladies came climbing into our field of view.

That was a group of about five people.

When I saw the face of the girl who had rushed up ahead, my heart pounded slightly.
She was a girl named Barbara whose features closely resembled those of Japanese people, and since the previous day, her presence had stirred in me something akin to homesickness.

“You’re quite fast on your feet.”

With that, Barbara overtook the other four and slipped between us, then spoke in a hushed voice as if wary of their surroundings,

“This is a secret.”
“You need to be careful.”
“Pastor Nesson—the ‘Millipede Pastor’—from this village is guiding seven or eight rough-looking men I’ve never seen before up from below.”
“I spotted them with binoculars.”

“Well, young lady, thank you for that.
“So what sort of dirty work is that Nesson fellow employing those roughnecks for?”
Shiraki’s face stiffened slightly.

“So far, over fifty spies have been denounced and killed by that Millipede Pastor’s hand!”

“Huh, is that so? We aren’t spies, so that’s reassuring—but it’s still a situation that demands caution. And those seven or eight rough-looking men—where exactly are they from?”

“Well, I don’t know about that—” “Oh, those people coming—I think they might be British pirates.” “No more talking.”

When Barbara had gotten this far, her group caught up with a lively clamor.

Shiraki quietly signaled to me at that moment.
Thereupon, I followed behind him and passed through the small gate of the fortress that was visible there.
Shiraki turned toward me.
Then, tapping his cane, he said:

“This is the light machine gun I bought. It seems the time for this thing to prove useful is about to arrive,” he said.

We entered Marquis Mentore’s living room.

There was a guard, but Shiraki pointed toward the stone wall and said that since the girls would be climbing up that way later, he wanted cold drinks and a place prepared for lunch; at this, the guard spread both arms wide, let out a loud “Hoh!”, grinned slyly, and dashed off toward the kitchen.

We took advantage of that opening to climb up the large, winding staircase without making a sound.

Marquis Mentore’s living room had fortunately remained undestroyed.
It was even more luxurious than I had heard, with weapons, drinking vessels, hunting implements, and other items from the medieval period occupying every inch of wall space.
On the large table were old-fashioned books piled high, and alongside them sat a drum-like object made of leather.
Only one new item stood out.
That was a gramophone.

“Hey，let’s get moving on this treasure hunt.”
“Found any clues yet?”
Shiraki said to me.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I just looked around the room this moment.”

“A sharp-eyed detective could find any treasure or whatever he wanted just by glancing around, but…”

“Then you should do it.”

“No—this time, I’m out of my depth.
“I thought so from the start—and one look at this room was enough to make me abandon the idea.”
“I’m no good with science.”
“I’ll leave everything to you,” Shiraki said, uncharacteristically blunt as he threw in the towel and moved to the window.

“Even if you ask me, I’m not sure…”

“Hey—more defeatist talk?”
“I’d like you to stop that, okay?”

“Right… I was being defeatist again.”
“Alright—I’ll construct one bold hypothesis and proceed from there.”

I crossed my arms and looked around the room once more.

“Hmm—let’s assume Marquis Mentore felt sufficiently secure to hide the cipher book in this room.”
“So—what kind of location would be secure enough?”

“Hey—hurry it up”
“Now, now—no need to panic.”

“Not panicking—just don’t waste time.”

“Hmm... As I thought—it’s that gramophone after all.”

I had kept my eye on the gramophone atop the desk for some time now—the sole anachronistic modern contraption in this room. Thereupon, I approached it and opened the lid.

“Ah!”

I groaned. The gramophone appeared to have had a record played recently—not only was dust accumulated on the turntable, but distinct finger marks stood out clearly. Judging from the needles scattered about, whoever had operated this device must have been in a state of extreme agitation.

"So someone had already noticed this gramophone and thoroughly searched it."

I felt a flicker of disappointment but quickly steeled myself.
A panicked searcher might have touched the key treasure without realizing its significance.
Certain a vital clue remained, I resolved to examine every detail until convinced.

I decided to try playing the gramophone.
There was no record on the turntable.

"I wonder where the record is."

I looked around.
There it was.

A leather bag made of sheepskin for holding records was on the small table.
Upon examining its contents, I found about ten records inside.
I picked up each one and examined the label.

These were all products of a certain renowned British company, with the selections consisting entirely of popular pieces like “Home Sweet Home,” “The British National Anthem,” and *Träumerei*.

I took one of them and tried it on the gramophone.
A quartet led by a cello filled the air with a beautiful melody.
As I listened, I somehow began to feel sleepy.

But there was nothing particularly unusual about it.

“No good.”
I put on the next record.
This one also showed no abnormalities.
Then I moved to the next one.

I was just playing the eighth record when I suddenly heard gunfire outside.
And then, cutting through it, a young woman’s scream rang out.

“Hey—what’s—”
“What’s happening?”

I turned toward Shiraki.
Shiraki stood by the window, rigid as stone, the muzzle of his light machine gun—disguised as that walking stick—trained on the outside from behind the curtains.

“They had the nerve to shoot at us.”
“But they didn’t hit us.”
“It’s an assault by that gang of ruffians guided by Pastor Nesson.”

As he was saying this, another two or three gunshots rang out, and the windowpane shattered with a sharp sound and fell down.

“Hey—have you found the cipher?”

Shiraki asked me without relaxing his rock-hard stance.

“Not yet.”
“Just a bit more.”
“Then I’ll leave the outside to you!”

With that shout, I proceeded to examine the remaining two records.
“Lorelei,” “Kentucky Home,” “Serenade”… I proceeded through them one by one, only to be met with crushing disappointment.
Even in the final two records I had hoped for, there was ultimately nothing unusual.
There were absolutely no signs that anything resembling a cipher had been concealed.

“That can’t be right… If the gramophone has nothing to do with the cipher, then finding a lead here would be utterly impossible.”
I looked at Shiraki in disappointment.

Shiraki jerked back and pressed himself flat against the wall.
With another gunshot, the windowpane beside him shattered like water.

Then Shiraki nimbly flipped over and dropped prone onto the floor, shouldered the machine gun, and finally unleashed a fierce barrage of gunfire.
My body snapped rigid.

“Hey—still nothing? Can’t you find it yet?”

Shiraki shouted.
I snapped back to my senses.

“Yeah… Just a bit more.”
“Keep holding on.”

I had no choice but to lie against my will.
I broke out in hot sweat all over my body.
If I gave up everything here now, I would end up no different from all those inept spies who had infiltrated this place before.
In my head, images of the gramophone, records, Morse code, Mentore Marquis’s face, and the island girl’s face swirled around like a zoetrope.

“There must be something here…”
I began wandering around the room.
Then I calmed my heart, widened my eyes like saucers, and began examining each piece of furniture in the room one by one.
Meanwhile, the gunfire Shiraki was firing echoed incessantly in my heart.

“Ah, this might be it…”

I involuntarily shouted those words.
I picked up the tuning fork resting on the mantelpiece.
It had an extremely high frequency; even when struck hard, its vibrations were barely audible.
Yet this tuning fork too showed no abnormalities.

“This one’s useless too. But—wait.”

At that moment, I remembered how Mentore Marquis would always carry a tuning fork around, make others sing while plucking it with a ping, and listen intently. Simultaneously feeling what could be called inspiration, I once again approached the gramophone and tried playing a record.

The gramophone once more began playing a beautiful melody. I brought the tuning fork beside it and gave it a sharp ping. The music from the gramophone and the precisely tuned sound from the tuning fork began interfering with each other, producing a third distinct sound—an eerie droning noise that started reverberating through the air. Though this couldn’t yet be deemed a success, protected by Shiraki’s fierce fighting as I repeated the process, I finally achieved victory.
“The ‘Over the Sea’ record!”

As I played that record and struck the tuning fork with a sharp ping, prominent signal tones—distinct from the music—began leaping out at regular intervals with metallic clangs.
If you stopped the tuning fork, it would disappear; if you struck it again, as long as that record kept spinning, metallic clangs would resonate.
This was what they called a temporal cipher—the intervals between sounds corresponded to encrypted numerals.
I rushed over to Shiraki's side and reported this concisely.

“So it’s finally been discovered.”
“Yeah, that’s brilliant.”
“Now that’s how we bring honor to the Japanese name!”
“Then let’s take that and scram right away!”

“Is it safe… breaking through the siege from those guys targeting us outside…?”

“Ah, if we want to break through, we can break through anytime. We were simply waiting for you to finish your work. We’d already mapped out an escape route beforehand—rest assured.”

I heard Shiraki’s words and was greatly relieved.
And I promptly wrapped the treasured record and the riddle-solving tuning fork in paper.

“Come on, over here.”

Shiraki said with a grin, his manner exuding unhurried composure.
Then, grabbing my arm, he opened a hidden door and signaled for me to go in first.

When it came to breaking through perilous situations, I could absolutely trust in Shiraki’s proven expertise.
This time too, it was our victory.