Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part One: The Fastball Pitcher and the Actress's Selling Oneself

Even though the new year was already nine days old, the persistent New Year's drinking left his head throbbing.
As Publicity Director Hosomaki, rubbing the back of his head, tried to pass through the gate of Asahi Studios, a man approached him with undue familiarity.

"Well, Mr. Hosomaki.
"I've been waiting for you."
“She’s finally shown up.”
“Akeha Yoko has.
“When I tried to get an interview, I was refused.”
“Let me meet her later.”
"I'll owe you one."

The one who said this while scratching his head and grinning slyly was Raumokisuke, a reporter from the Monopoly Newspaper’s society section.

“Really? Akeha Yoko’s here?”

“Why would I lie?”

“What’s this—chasing Akeha Yoko again? Too damn persistent.”

“It’s business. You know that already. Let me see her. I’m begging you.”

“Just wait.”
“Gatekeeper.”
“Have this man warm himself by the brazier.”
“Make sure he doesn’t wander around the studio.”
“Count on it.”

Akeha Yoko did not show her face at the company for nearly a month since the end of the year. Toward the end of the year, her husband Iwaya Tengu had barged in two or three times, shouting for them to produce Yoko. Tengu was a Yokohama-based showman—a gambler and a troublesome fellow. He was a villain who even pawned Yoko's costumes to gamble away money, and it was almost strange that she hadn't run away from him until then.

However, it was only three days prior that he had first caught wind of rumors about Yoko having a lover.
Moreover, that lover was said to be none other than Oshika—the star pitcher for the professional baseball Chester team.
He had been last year’s Rookie of the Year after joining the pros with his blazing smoke-ball fastball that earned him nearly thirty wins, earning him the nickname Smoke Pitcher (Ennori Tōshu).

If this story were true, it would be a hundred percent effective as publicity, but the tale was just too entertaining.
He thought it was merely an idle rumor, but when he noticed Raumokisuke persistently tracking Yoko, it made him wonder.
The Monopoly Newspaper was a renowned baseball paper that sponsored the Navy Cut team.

When Hosomaki entered the director’s office, a young staff member approached and said,

“Akeha Yoko and Koito Minori are waiting to see you.”

“Hmph.”
“So it’s true after all.”
“Bring them in.”

Akeha Yoko was a fledgling newcomer, but Hosomaki had gone to bat for her and gotten her cast in substantial roles two or three times.
She had consistently delivered stellar performances and was on the verge of being promoted.
Just when Hosomaki was feeling somewhat proud that his efforts had borne fruit, he glared at Yoko and her fellow newcomer Minori as they entered.

“You fools!
“At this critical juncture when things are about to take off, where have you been wandering around for an entire month?”
“Depending on your answer, I won’t forgive you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Yoko seemed to be biting her lip and holding back tears.
The anger of Hosomaki—whom she even thought of as a father—contained such paternal affection that it cut her to the core.

“I won’t make excuses. I ran away from home and was in love.”

“Hey. Hey. Cut the crap from the start!”

“It’s true. I kept thinking I should at least confide in you, Director, but I held back, fearing I would only cause you more trouble.”

“Hmph. Who is he? Your lover?”

Yoko did not answer that question but raised her face with a desperate expression.

“Does my art have a future? I’ll endure any hardship in my training.”

“What of it?”

“If it takes ten years for me to become a star, I would like to borrow three million yen against the earnings I would make at that time.”

Yoko stared at Hosomaki’s speechless expression of utter exasperation with a pale, earnest face but finally broke down in tears.

Minori took over the telling.

“Ms. Yoko’s lover is Oshika, the pitcher for Chester.”

“So it’s true after all.”

“Ever since she ran away from home, I’ve been taking her consultations, hiding her, and negotiating with Mr. Iwaya Tengu—but he demands three million yen as severance money.”
“Mr. Oshika returned to Kansai yesterday.”
“To find a team that would let him sell himself for three million yen.”
“Ms. Yoko opposed it.”
“They apparently argued about it all day the day before yesterday.”
“And rather than let Mr. Oshika stain his honor as a player, she came to borrow money from the company.”
“Please try to understand Ms. Yoko’s pitiable feelings too.”

“Hmm.”
“You’re spouting something outrageous!”

He had scolded them loudly—film studio work wasn’t for the delicate—and shook his drum-like belly with unexpected composure. But an idea having struck him, he left the two in the room and went to scout Kemuyama’s quarters. A scout’s duty lay in discovering promising players and poaching them through acquisitions; without such talent here, no team could strengthen itself. Kemuyama was Nihon Meidai’s celebrated scout.

Hosomaki rushed into Kemuyama’s room,

“Hey, I’ve got a quick word for you.”

“What is it?”

“The fact is, here’s what’s going on.”

and proceeded to explain the circumstances to him.

“Hmm.”
“This is no trivial matter.”
“Since Oshika was Director Haimura’s protégé, every team had given up on him—they all assumed he’d never budge.”
“But three million yen’s steep.”
“No team’s ever paid that much before, but he’s worth every yen.”
“Get him on board, and the championship’s ours for sure.”
“Let’s go talk to the president—now.”

They visited President Shikishima’s room to discuss it, but three million yen was simply too exorbitant a price.
Last year’s trades were said to have peaked between five hundred thousand and eight hundred thousand yen, while this year’s rumors suggested top ten players might reach a million yen, with perhaps one or two even hitting one and a half million or two million.
With the number of teams having increased to fifteen, the competition for players intensified, driving up their market value.

“Even if he’s the Strikeout King, isn’t he still just a rookie? A million’s way too high.”

Shikishima was big-hearted, but this approach made perfect sense.

"But you see—if he joins, we'll win the championship for sure."
"A championship victory would make it cheap at the price."
"Anyway, Oshika needs three million yen."
"He's only making this move because he needs three million."
"Since he's the type of player who won't budge otherwise, I'm asking you to ignore market rates and get three million ready."

“Alright, let’s do this.”
“Anyway, if we prepare three million yen, that should settle it.”
“One million yen to Oshika.”
“Two million yen as an advance on Akeha Yoko’s acting fees.”
“Try this approach.”
“Akeha Yoko’s two million yen breaks precedent too, but since it’s money that’ll come back eventually, I’ll allow it.”

“I see.”
“Then we’ll proceed with that plan.”

So Kemuyama promptly took that same night’s express train to Kyoto.
In Kyoto, there existed a secret hideout where Oshika and Yoko kept their love nest.
That was known only to Oshika and Yoko.
That was a studio in a corner of Arashiyama.
It stood independently, quite far from the main house.
After the painter owner died, it had gone unused.

Kemuyama and Hosomaki obtained the aforementioned address from Yoko, instructed her to remain in hiding without being noticed by anyone until the matter was settled, made her return through the back gate, and Kemuyama himself slipped away through the back gate and rushed to Kyoto.

When he arrived using the map as his guide, he found temples to the right and rear, a burial mound to the left, and a mountain densely overgrown with bamboo thickets ahead—a profoundly desolate place.
(Refer to map)

Though this was their first meeting, when it came to Scout Kemuyama—a man renowned in the baseball world for his shrewdness—receiving his visit was tantamount to being ranked among the absolute elite of players.
Oshika welcomed him with respect.

“The fact is, Akeha Yoko showed up at the studio yesterday and asked for an advance of three million yen on her acting fees.”
“I can’t bear to see you sell yourself for three million yen.”
“However, if it were a star, that would be one thing, but for a newcomer whose potential is as uncertain as whether they’ll come from the sea or the mountains, it’s only natural that the company would balk even at three hundred thousand yen, let alone three million.”
“But if I team up with you, I can prepare the full three million yen you both need. What do you say?”
“The breakdown would be one million yen for your contract fee and two million yen as an advance to Yoko.”
“I don’t consider your one million yen contract fee to be a small amount, but—”

“I appreciate your kindness.”
“Not only is it not too little—a one million yen contract fee for a rookie like me is an incredibly generous offer—but even knowing it’s unreasonable, I’m seeking a buyer at three million yen.”
“If I were to trouble Ms. Yoko, I wouldn’t be much of a man.”
“No matter how unfavorable the conditions—even if I’m bound to a team for life—I want that three million yen contract fee.”

“Ah, I see. So that’s how it is.”
“If you’re that resolved, then it’s a different matter.”
“In that case, I will convey your intentions to the president and consult with him. Please wait here for our response.”
“You’ve already approached other teams?”

“No, I haven’t specified any particular team yet, but there’s a former Yukan Sports female reporter named Ueno Mitsuko who’s set herself up as a freelance scout in the Kansai area.”
“She doesn’t belong to any team but uses her looks to make connections, so to speak.”
“Last night, I met Ueno Mitsuko and conveyed my terms.”

“Hmm.”
“Even though it’s a raw deal, I went and asked you.”

Oshika flushed under Kemuyama’s unblinking gaze.

“There was… no other way.”
“I’m still a rookie—a first-year pro with no connections to approach teams.”

When it came to Ueno Mitsuko, she was a notorious figure in the baseball world.
It was said she had been a volleyball player or something in her school days, but with her magnificent physique of just over five feet four inches, she was a stunning beauty.
Chasing after thrilling matches, she rushed all over the place, penned game reports for Yukan Sports, and won sports fans' admiration, but to players she remained a figure who wielded a terrifying glare.
This stemmed from how most top players had succumbed to Mitsuko’s temptations and formed relationships with her, only to be kept under her thumb using those affairs as leverage.
If she were to expose their secrets, star players would inevitably find themselves embroiled in domestic disputes and driven to nervous breakdowns.

Wielding that glare, she launched her career as a freelance scout.
Just from seeing Oshika’s flushed face, it was clear he too had succumbed to temptation like the others.

“Mitsuko knows about this hideout, doesn’t she?”

“No one besides Ms. Yoko knows about this house.”
“I’ve been contacting Ueno Mitsuko outside.”

“Is that so.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Even if Mitsuko schemes, I doubt any team would hand over three million yen—but even if there were such an offer, hold off on it.”
“I’ll bring an answer right away.”

“Ha.”
“Then I’ll be waiting.”
“Please tell Ms. Yoko not to worry.”

“Alright, understood.”

Kemuyama immediately headed back to Tokyo.
When it came to three million yen, no team would likely take up the offer—but the problem lay with Senbai Shimbun.
That organization had lined up a full roster of top-tier batters but lacked pitchers.
Using their vast capital as leverage, they were desperately working behind the scenes to poach pitchers.
Even seeing that newspaper’s reporter staking out Yoko at Asahi Studios’ gates made it clear they’d gotten wind of the rumors about Oshika.

When Kemuyama boarded the express train at Kyoto Station, he bumped into Ueno Mitsuko in the car.
She had wrapped her slender, elongated figure in fur and looked every bit the noblewoman one might mistake her for.

“Well, isn’t this quite the occasion.”
“Here on business?”

“Oh my, look who’s talking, Mr. Kemuyama.”
“Who’d you come to poach?”
“Pitcher Oshika?”

“Huh? Is Oshika making a move?”

“Don’t play dumb. Tell me about your company’s Akeha Yoko and Mr. Oshika’s romance.”

“Huh? What did you say?”
“That’s news to me.”
“Where did you hear that from?”

“If you’re going to play dumb that much, then I don’t need to ask.”

Mitsuko smirked and went back to her seat.

Kemuyama thought things had finally taken an unpleasant turn.
As long as Mitsuko was targeting Kansai-based teams, there was no prospect of Oshika successfully selling himself.
However, if moving to Tokyo meant dealing with teams, first would come Senbai Shimbun, followed by their business rival Sakura Film Company.
These two leveraged their vast capital to poach star players without restraint.
In fact, three had already been poached from Asahi Film’s Lucky Strike.

"This one’s not to be let out of sight," Kemuyama resolved, steeling his resolve fully.

Upon returning to the company, he conveyed Oshika’s intentions to the president and added that Ueno Mitsuko had come to Tokyo and was scheming to poach Oshika.

“Nah.
“Even if it were Senbai Shimbun or Sakura Film, would they pay three million yen to a rookie pitcher?”
“At most, a million yen.”
“Even a mere five hundred thousand would draw complaints from the other players, I tell you.”

“However, it all depends on the terms of the contract.”

“So,”
“Under the most favorable conditions, it’s capped at a million yen. That’s final.”

“But Senbai Shimbun wants a pitcher.”
“This isn’t something we can take lightly.”
“What we need most urgently is a pitcher.”
“Next, we’re lacking third and cleanup hitters.”
“If Oshika joins Lucky Strike, and we secure Peace’s Kokufu as third hitter first baseman plus Camel’s Momoyama as cleanup outfielder, we’d be a million-dollar lineup both offensively and defensively.”
“The championship would be absolutely guaranteed.”

“That’s an absolute lock for the championship.”
“Can you actually land Kokufu and Momoyama?”

“I’ll get them without fail.”
“At one million each, I’ll get them.”
“On that condition, please give Oshika three million yen.”
“As a scout myself, I want to acquire Oshika—the one they say is absolutely unattainable.”
“I don’t want to lose to Ueno Mitsuko.”

“Well, let’s discuss this after you’ve acquired Kokufu and Momoyama.”
“If we get two for a million each, we’ll consider Oshika’s case too.”
“With all three secured, the championship’s guaranteed.”

“Then I’ll take my chances.”
“If those two say yes, Oshika’s a sure thing, right?”

“Well, let me hear those two say yes first.”

“Very well. I will bring good news in three days.”

Kemuyama immediately headed west again.

When he approached Kokufu and Momoyama, they said a million yen would be okay.
Kemuyama was pleased.
Having stressed that they should reject other contracts as he would gather the money within three days, he felt assured and visited Oshika.

“Ah, my apologies for the delayed response.”
“Actually, under these circumstances, we’re saying we’ll give you three million yen when Kokufu and Momoyama join.”
“It appears I’ve succeeded with Kokufu and Momoyama, so you should be pleased.”
“I’ll retrieve it immediately and have the three million yen ready, so…”

“I see.”
“Actually, I’ve found myself in a bit of an awkward situation.”

“What kind of situation?”

“The truth is, I made a promise to pay Iwaya Tengu three million yen on the 20th.”
“With the 20th approaching but no reply from you, Mr. Kemuyama, I was feeling desperate when Ueno Mitsuko contacted me yesterday. So I pleaded with Senbai Shimbun or Sakura Film Company—any unfavorable terms would be fine as long as it amounts to three million yen.”

“That’s troublesome.”
“What was Ueno Mitsuko’s response?”

“We’re scheduled to meet at a restaurant on the 19th at noon.”
“I will definitely succeed,” he declared.

“That’s a problem.”
“Today is the 17th, right?”
“If I arrive on the morning of the 18th, depart by night train, and arrive on the morning of the 19th, I can outmaneuver Ueno Mitsuko—but there’s no need to go that far.”
“My end is certain.”
“Because transporting money by night train is dangerous, I’ll depart on the morning of the 19th and arrive in the evening.”
“Since my position is clear, could you firmly reject Ueno Mitsuko no matter what she does?”
“Otherwise, I’d like you to stand Ueno up and avoid meeting her.”

“Ah... If it’s certain, I’ll do it.”

“Naturally, it’s certain.”
“Where are you paying Iwaya Tengu the money on the 20th?”

“Iwaya Tengu is scheduled to come to Kyoto.”
“Ms. Yoko is also scheduled to arrive here on the evening of the 19th.”

“I see.”
“Then as long as it arrives by the 19th, that’ll do.”
“I’ll keep my promise without fail, so you keep yours.”
“For Akeha Yoko’s sake too—put our company first.”

“Ha. Understood.”

With that settled, Kemuyama returned to Tokyo, relieved.
When he informed President Shikishima of all this, given that negotiations with Ueno Mitsuko had advanced to such a point, there was no backing out now.

“Very well. As promised, we’ll acquire Oshika. I’ll have five million yen ready by this evening.”

“I see. I’ll bring a bag and come to collect it.”

“Are you leaving tonight?”

“No, I’ll depart tomorrow morning.”
“Transporting money on a night train is dangerous, and running into Ueno Mitsuko would be problematic.”
“The earliest morning express departs at 7:30 a.m.”
“The 9:00 a.m. Tsubame limited express departs late but arrives there early, but since I might encounter familiar faces on the limited express, I’m deliberately departing at 7:30 a.m.”

“Very well.”

Since there was time until evening, he visited Koito Minoru’s house and met Akeha Yoko. When he informed her that the three million yen contract had been finalized, she felt relieved and teared up.

“I hear you’re heading to Kyoto tomorrow as well.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t draw too much attention to yourself, alright?”
“What time is your train?”

“1:00 p.m., departing from Tokyo.”
“I should arrive in Kyoto around eleven at night.”
“I have an arrangement with Iwaya.”
“I intend to settle things with Iwaya alone on the train.”

“Does Mr. Oshika know about that?”

“No.”

Yoko looked down with a pained expression.

“That sounds quite dangerous. Shall I meet you at Kyoto Station?”

“No, there’s no danger. I know how to protect myself.”

“I see.”
“Well, be careful then.”

Around 3:30 PM, Kemuyama received five million yen.
Three million eight hundred thousand in thousand-yen bills.
One million two hundred thousand in hundred-yen bills.
The hundred-yen bills were a hassle.
They ended up becoming two trunks' worth of luggage.

However, around six o'clock that evening.

The phone at Senbai Shimbun’s society desk rang.
Raumokisuke, who was nearby, picked it up, and an unfamiliar man’s voice—

“Senbai Shimbun, I presume. Well, here’s the thing—a baseball connoisseur asked me to relay this: Lucky Strike’s scout Kemuyama will be boarding tomorrow’s 7:30 a.m. Hakata-bound express. Tail him. Sayonara.”

The receiver clicked off with a metallic clank.

Raumokisuke—who’d been single-mindedly tracking Akeha Yoko’s affair with Oshika and the pitcher’s hideouts—jolted upright and spun toward Vice Director Kankuchi.

“That was a weird phone call, I tell ya. This is what it was.”

“Hmm.
“Inform the Director.”

When he requested instructions via phone to the director’s home,

“Here’s the situation. Regarding Oshika, Ueno Mitsuko has made a poaching proposal. She’s supposed to take tonight’s night train to Kyoto, but since they couldn’t agree on the amount, this poaching attempt might fail. If Kemuyama is making a move, it’s also about poaching Oshika. If we fail to secure him, expose Akeha Yoko’s affair. Tail Kemuyama. And pinpoint Oshika’s love nest. If you follow Kemuyama, you’ll naturally find it. Understood?”

“Ha.”

Thereupon, Raumokisuke received the voucher and prepared for his business trip.

Part Two: January 19th, Noon – 1:00 PM

In a separate room of a certain restaurant, seated across from each other and talking were Oshika and Ueno Mitsuko.

“At Sakura Films, it seems they’ve successfully poached two or three top pitchers.”
“So they won’t take you on, Mr. Oshika?”
“I negotiated with Senbai Shimbun, but they wouldn’t go beyond one million.”
“Well, truth be told—that’s your absolute limit.”

Oshika rather looked relieved at that.

“No, that matter is already settled.”
“Thank you for your assistance.”

“My.”
“How direct you are.”
“So you’ve chosen Lucky Strike after all.”
“Where Ms. Akeha Yoko resides—”

“No, I have no such arrangement.”

“You’re lying. Tonight, Kemuyama-kun will be coming here, won’t he?”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Hmph.”
A twitch of irritation shot between Mitsuko’s brows.

“You must transfer to the Senbai Shimbun Navy Cut team.
I’ll pay the promised three million.
One million from Senbai Shimbun.
Two million from me.
It’s my entire fortune.
What do you say?”

“I no longer need the money.”

“What are you talking about?
Why you wanted three million yen—I’ve figured it out exactly.
Who do you think told me?
Mr. Iwaya Tengu.
Tomorrow’s the twentieth, right?
He’s supposed to come to Kyoto to receive Akeha Yoko’s severance money.
Can you pay three million yen?”

“Well, uh... I’ll manage somehow.”

“Sweetie.”
“Kemuyama-kun won’t bring you any money.”
“What he’ll bring is just one million yen.”
“And you think that’ll be enough?”

That was Oshika’s weak point.
No matter how he looked at it, three million yen was such a colossal sum that until actually holding it in his hands, it felt like trying to grasp smoke—utterly impossible to gauge.
He involuntarily lost his words and hung his head.

“I met Kemuyama-kun.”
“He plans to deceive you with a million yen.”
“Then he’ll drag things out using Akeha Yoko’s sense of obligation.”
“Isn’t that cowardly?”
“And you’re fine with that?”

Mitsuko’s eyes blazed fiercely.

“Even if you’re dealing with trash like Iwaya Tengu, if you sleep with another man’s wife and can’t pay the damages, you’ll cease to be a man.”
“Wouldn’t that shame you as a baseball player?”
“I’ll give you two million—go slam that cash right in Iwaya Tengu’s face!”

“There’s no situation where I’d take money from you.”

“Even without such situations—what’ll you do if you can’t pay?”

“I’ll manage.”
“I have resolved myself.”

“What kind of resolve?”

Oshika’s face swelled with manly resolve.

“At that time… I will probably die.”

“How foolish.”

Mitsuko forced a bitter smile but soon softened her expression.

“For a future world-class pitcher to die over something like that would be so pathetic.”
“Listen to what I’m telling you.”
“You say there’s no circumstance where you’d take money from me, but let’s get married.”

Oshika looked up in surprise.

“There’s no need to be surprised.”
“Last summer was fun, wasn’t it?”
“I’ve thought you were Japan’s top star since your first game.”
“Ippuku-kun, Peace’s hard-throwing left-handed pitcher, got jealous, you know.”
“Why are you dealing with that brat?”
“How he’s pressing in like that!”
“What nonsense that brat is spouting.”
“I told him that your strikeout record would be shattered by that brat in no time!”
“Ippuku-kun has been relentlessly proposing to me since late last year.”
“I ran into him again today in the city.”
“Ippuku-kun, you live in Kyoto, right?”
“So when he kept saying things like ‘Let’s get married right away’ or ‘Let’s go stay somewhere,’ I told him straight: ‘I’m marrying Mr. Oshika in the next two or three days.’”
“Ippuku-kun turned pale and got furious, you know.”

Oshika felt an indescribably unpleasant emotion welling up, but when he thought about what to do next, there was only darkness.
It was a heart-crushing sorrow.

"What are you moping about?"
"Cheer up and be clear."
"You'll marry me."
"And transfer to Navy Cut."
"Let's mock Kemuyama-kun and laugh at Lucky Strike's underhandedness together!"
"I don't care one bit about losing two million yen for you!"

Oshika raised his eyes coldly,

“If I were to marry you, I wouldn’t be going through such a grueling ordeal struggling with three million yen.”

Mitsuko’s complexion changed.

“What did you say?”

“I want to marry Ms. Akeha Yoko.”
“That’s why I’m enduring such hardship.”

“Hmph.”
“You can’t get married.”
“You can’t pay three million yen to Iwaya Tengu.”

“I’ve already steeled myself for that moment.”
“I will not be indebted to anyone.”
“I will resolve this on my own.”
“I’m sorry for asking you to handle all these troublesome matters.”
“Excuse me.”

“Wait!”

“No, please don’t disrupt my resolve.”

Turning around sharply, brushing off the hand trying to stop him, Oshika walked away.
By the time Mitsuko rushed out after him, Oshika was already gone.

Mitsuko stamped her feet furiously.
No matter what, she had to uncover Oshika’s address.
She would track it down and prove it.
And then she would get her revenge.
She would wreck the transfer deal to Lucky Strike, render the three million yen useless, and sabotage the payment to Iwaya Tengu.
And she would make him have no choice but to cling to her.
Ueno Mitsuko, the renowned female scout, was a woman who would not be outdone by anyone.

Though she didn't know what time he'd arrive, Kemuyama was supposed to come that night.
After all, by the next morning, it would have been necessary to hand the three million yen contract payment to Oshika.
She considered staking out Kemuyama at Kyoto Station.
But even if she staked him out and followed him, by then their negotiation would already be over.

As Mitsuko walked along deep in thought, she suddenly ran into Pitcher Ippuku.

“You really had the nerve to drop a parting shot and run off earlier. Hey, Mitsuko.”

“What do you think you’re doing? In the middle of a public street—”

“Hmph.”
“Who gives a damn where?”
“You, are you really gonna marry Oshika?”

“Heh.”

“Hey. If you get married, I’ll kill either you or Oshika.”

“That’s impressive.”

“C’mon, hey—say it’s a lie!”

“Well, who can say?”
“It’s not clear at the moment.”
“It’ll be clear in two or three days.”
“Whether I marry Mr. Oshika or not—”

“Where does Oshika live?”

“I want to know that too.”

“Hmph.”
“Don’t hide it.”
“You want a beating?”

“Why would I hide it?”
“I’m searching for him too, you know.”
“If you can find him, go ahead.”

“Fine—I’ll track him down.”
“Come.”

“Which one?”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea. There’s a rumor Oshika gets off at Arashiyama terminus.”

“There’s also a Kiyotaki-bound train from there, isn’t there?”

“Whatever—I don’t care.”
“I’ll find him through pure stubbornness.”
“If I corner Oshika in face-to-face talks and make him back down, you won’t marry me.”

“Well now.”
“Even if I don’t marry Mr. Oshika, that doesn’t mean I’ll marry you.”

“I won’t allow that.”

“Then what’ll you make me say?”

“Anyway, I’ll find Oshika’s hideout and show you. Come with me.”

Ippuku started walking, forcibly dragging Mitsuko along.
Even though Mitsuko was large, there was no resisting Ippuku’s six-foot-tall brute strength.

Yet Mitsuko—her heart brimming with confidence in her labyrinthine schemes and absolute certainty in her emergency preparations—allowed herself to be dragged along while inwardly snickering at the prospect that this stubborn fool's single-minded pursuit might accidentally uncover Oshika's hideout, which would make for a fortunate windfall.

Part Three: Surveillance

On the same morning at Tokyo Station, ten minutes before the 7:30 departure of the Hakata-bound express.
Vice Director Kankuchi and Raumokisuke were waiting for Kemuyama to appear.

Because conducting pursuit alone in unfamiliar territory was deemed dangerous, Vice Director Kankuchi also ended up coming along.

“There! He’s here, he’s here!”

“Which one is it? Where’s Kemuyama?”

“He’s got two large bags slung over his shoulders. That’s the man.”

“That hunting cap?”

“That’s right.”

A man in his mid-forties with a bitter edge. This Kemuyama, while renowned as a baseball scout, was originally a practitioner of swordsmanship and judo—standing at an average height of five shaku four sun five bu (approximately five-foot-four), yet possessing a solid physique. He had a reputable career as a scout, but his private life was ill-reputed. He runs a cabaret in Ginza—but having said this much, the rest should be obvious; he’s the sort of man who needs no further explanation. He runs an illegitimate trading company, engages in all manner of schemes, and skirts legal loopholes with such brazen precision it’s almost wondrous. However, as a baseball scout alone, he had achieved results and his reputation was flourishing; perhaps because of that, no dark rumors were heard in that sphere. Because the scouting work itself resembled a fraudulent business, he might have been satisfied with that.

After confirming Kemuyama had boarded, Kankuchi and Mokisuke entered the central second-class car.
Kemuyama wasn't there.

"Huh.
"First class maybe.
"Or perhaps the foremost second-class car?
"Mokkie, go check."

“Huh.”

Mokisuke had been watching intently but—

“Well well! The enemy’s a sly one—color me impressed!”

“What’s there to admire?”

“He isn’t in first class.”
“He isn’t in the frontmost second-class car either.”
“Probably holed up in some third-class corner wearing a mask to hide his mug—cheeky bastard.”
“But I clocked his outfit earlier—Mr. Kemuyama’s traveling incognito.”
“There’s something fishy here.”
“My bet? Those two trunks are packed with cash.”

“Took you long enough to notice.”

“It’s unsettling.”

“Even Kemuyama isn’t using his own money.”

“I see.”
“How despicable salarymen are, huh?”
“But I bet Mr. Kemuyama’s pay envelope is considerably heavier than yours, Kochitora.”

Mokisuke remarked ruefully.

They safely approached Kyoto.
The scheduled arrival in Kyoto was 6:41 PM.

“Mokkie.
Go to Kemuyama’s car and keep watch.”

“Huh.”

However, before reaching Kyoto, Mokisuke returned with a gloomy face.

“Kemuyama’s nowhere to be seen.”

“The restroom?”

“I asked the people near where Kemuyama was sitting, but they all claimed not to know,”
“Then I checked the luggage racks just to be thorough—both of those trunk-like things have disappeared.”
“Kochitora—not to brag, but ever since I discerned those trunks held bundles of cash, I’ve seared the sight into my eyes. Rest assured I wouldn’t overlook them.”

They arrived in Kyoto.

The two stood rigidly at the ticket gate, their eyes peeled, but Kemuyama did not disembark.
The disembarking passengers had disappeared from view.

Since the dwell time was a full fifteen minutes, they checked the transfer line platforms but found no trace of him.
Just to be thorough, when they inspected the carriages once more—amidst the considerable number of empty seats left by the mass passenger exchange in Kyoto—there he was, there he was.

Kemuyama was now hiding his face with a muffler around the middle of the frontmost second-class car, had turned up his overcoat collar, and was reading a magazine.
The aforementioned bag was pushed under the seat and he kept it pressed down with his foot.

“He’s a damn cautious bastard.”
“He keeps changing seats constantly, the bastard.”
“In that case, ain’t lettin’ him slip away.”
“Kochitora, I’ll keep watch here.”

“Alright.”
“I’ll keep watch too.”

The two took seats in a distant empty space behind him so as not to be noticed.

Kemuyama got off in Osaka.
He hailed a taxi.
The two also hailed a taxi and gave chase.
Crossing the Shin-Yodogawa River, they returned near Suita and stopped in front of a small house.

Kankuchi got out himself and approached Kemuyama’s driver,

“We’re not suspicious characters.”
“We’re newspaper reporters.”
“We’ve got our reasons for tailing him, so when you take curves, make ’em easy to follow, got it?”

And with that, he pressed a tip into his hand.

And when they saw the nameplate on the house Kemuyama had entered, they were shocked.
It was the residence of Camel Army’s slugger Momoyama, the outfielder.

“So the enemy’s Momoyama?”
“This guy’s been caught off guard.”
“He’s really done it, I’ll give him that.”

After fourteen or fifteen minutes had passed, Kemuyama emerged.
Again, the pursuit resumed; the car raced along the national highway, rapidly heading back toward Kyoto.
Turning into a narrow road, they arrived at Yamazaki Village.
Kemuyama disappeared into a house with an imposing gate.

When they checked the nameplate there, it was the family home of Kokufu Ichirui—the Peace team's prized slugger and first baseman.

“Now he’s finally emerging—what a masterstroke! He’s pulled it off, he’s really pulled it off!”

“Doesn’t disgrace that ‘Monster’ title one bit.”
“Gotta hand it to the bastard—enemy or not.”
“Must’ve put a serious dent in those bundles.”

Mokisuke kept obsessing over the cash stacks.

“Mokisuke.”
“How much do you think this contract’s worth?”

“What a wicked scheme to put such sinful thoughts in our heads.”

After another fourteen or fifteen minutes had passed, Kemuyama appeared.

The car sped off to Kyoto.

“Ah, I see. He’s tidied up all his business properly and is heading to Oshika’s hideout. The enemy’s thought through every step. Doesn’t he realize Kochitora’s on his tail?”

“That might be the case. Do you think he saw through us back on the train?”

“This won’t do at all. Following those cash bundles’ edges just makes Kochitora hungrier. I need to drown my sorrows soon.”

The car entered Kyoto’s city streets.
The car stopped at a stylish house in a backstreet off Kawaramachi Shijo.
However, it was a small place resembling a restaurant.
Yet an inn’s sign hung there.
The car that had brought him this far turned back.
The two also got out of their car.

“So this must be Oshika’s hideout.”
“Right—in that case, I’ll check in and stay over.”

“Fine, fine.”

When the two stood at the inn’s entrance，an old woman came scurrying out，

“Welcome there.”

“Do you have a room available?”

“A room，you say?”
“Unfortunately，I’m afraid—”
“We’re full，I’m afraid.”

“Someone just entered now, didn’t they?”

“Ah, they did have a reservation.”

“There’s someone who’s been staying here long-term—one person, right?”

“What manner of person might that be, I wonder?”

“A large man about six feet tall.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about that.”
“A young, large man acquainted with the person who just entered.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about that.”

With no other choice, the two turned on their heels.
When they checked the clock, it was nine fifty.

“Ah.”
“Look—an udon shop here.”
“Let’s have a drink and ask around.”

“Do they even have that?”

After having a hot can provided, they made inquiries about whether a large man was staying at the previous inn but couldn’t get a clear answer.

“Old man, don’t you watch baseball?”

“If it’s baseball, I like it more than meals.”

“Do you know Pitcher Oshika of Chester?”

“Smoke Pitcher, huh.”
“Ain’t playin’ favorites here.”

“That large man.”
“Wouldn’t someone like that be stayin’ at the inn up ahead?”

“Ain’t seen ’im.”
“No use stickin’ around if they don’t know.”

“Oh well.”
“Let’s crash through and confront him!”
“Might as well formally request a meeting with Kemuyama.”
“It’s all about how he reacts—we’ll go at him with reckless abandon!”

“Got it.”

Thereupon, they turned back toward the inn once more,

"I'd like to meet Mr. Kemuyama from earlier."

“Well…”
“Mr. Kemuyama has gone out for a walk, I’m afraid.”

“Damn!”

Raumokisuke let out a shrill cry.
Kankuchi, true to form, remained composed.

"What was he wearing?
The inn's padded coat?"

"No, he was in Western clothes."

"So he was carrying a bag!"

Raumokisuke, consumed by his bag obsession, involuntarily shouted at full volume.
The old woman startled,

"No, he left the bag here."
"Said he was goin' for a stroll."

"Hmm. Downright suspicious..."

The two went outside in disappointment.

“Well, can’t be helped. Let’s swing by the branch office.”

When they stopped by the branch office, they found there had been a call from head office around five in the evening addressed to Kankuchi—Akeha Yoko and Iwaya Tengu were due to arrive in Kyoto on the 10:47 p.m. limited express, so they were to go meet them at Kyoto Station at that hour.

However, they failed.
If only they’d gone straight to the branch office—but because they wandered around Shin-Kyogoku and stopped for skewers and drinks, it was 11:05 when they showed up there.

He shouted “Ah!” but it was too late.
Even so, clinging to the faint hope that the train might arrive late, they were about to head out when—

“That’s right, that’s right. Someone else has already gone to meet them in your place.”

“Who?”

“It was around five-thirty, wasn’t it? Ms. Ueno Mitsuko appeared and had a discussion with Oshika, but because the head office was reluctant to provide the money, he said the contract wasn’t coming together. They were at an impasse,” he said. “So when we mentioned this phone call might relate to the Oshika situation, he insisted it was absolutely connected—that this was their chance—and dashed out. He said if we caught them at the station and talked it through, there might be a way to work things out,” he added, explaining how he’d suddenly perked up.

“Haah.”
“I see.”
“My energy just ain’t comin’ back at all.”

Even so, they sped to the station in a car and checked, but the limited express train had arrived exactly on time, and naturally, there was no way passengers from the train would still be loitering around now.

The two took a room and ended up drowning their sorrows in drink.

Part Four: Murder Case

It was probably still when they had not yet finished their despairing drink.

It was around 2:30 a.m.

A woman’s voice crying for help arose as she knocked on the rain shutters along the corridor facing the garden of the Hamaki residence, which had lent its studio to Oshika. When Taro and Jiro Hamaki opened the rain shutters, there stood Akeha Yoko, covered in blood.

“Ah!”
“Ms. Akeha!”
“What happened to you?”

“Mr. Oshika has been killed.”

“Eh?!”
“What happened to you?”
“Are you hurt somewhere?”

“No, I lost consciousness and collapsed.”
“I had been unconscious until now.”
“Quickly, call the police!”

Thus began the police investigation.

The studio consisted of a single Western-style room measuring two and a half ken by three ken (approximately fourteen and three-quarter feet by seventeen and a half feet). Otherwise, there were only a washroom and toilet attached. There was a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, and a table with three chairs. (See diagram.)

Oshika lay face down diagonally toward the center from a point about one ken away from the entrance. All wounds had been inflicted from behind with a sharp blade; he had been stabbed four times in the back and once in the neck—repeatedly and mercilessly.

The area was a sea of fresh blood.
From the walls to the ceiling，blood spatter had sprayed.

Akeha Yoko answered the interrogation and stated.

"I came here a little past midnight, I think."
"The entrance door wasn’t locked, but the studio light was off."
"But since I knew the switch was on the right after opening the door and entering, I turned on the light right away."
"I looked at the room and froze."
"I remember rushing over and trying to lift him slightly."
"When I realized Mr. Oshika was already dead, I lost consciousness there."
"Then suddenly coming to my senses, I knocked on the rain shutters in Mr. Hamaki’s garden."

There was no doubt that Yoko had collapsed in a sea of blood.
Her clothes, face, and hands were all covered in blood.

“Hmm.
“I wonder if someone tripped over the corpse?”
“Here’s a blood-soaked handprint.”
“You didn’t trip, did you?”

“I didn’t trip. Because I turned on the light right away.”

“I see.”
“It doesn’t seem to be a woman’s hand.”
“It’s smaller than the victim’s palm, though.”

Indeed, there had been someone who left handprints and shoe prints and fled.

“Ms. Akeha, do you smoke cigarettes?”

“No.”
“Mr. Oshika doesn’t smoke cigarettes either.”

“I see.”
“So that’s why they used a rice bowl instead of an ashtray.”
“But it’s certain that at least one man and one woman were smoking cigarettes.”
“A man smoked one.”
“A woman smoked two.”

The culprit was him.
Yoko immediately thought.
But who was the woman who had smoked?
Could it be Ueno Mitsuko?

Yoko flung open the door to the police officer.

“I know who the culprit is.
“It’s undoubtedly that person.”

“Did you see?”

“No.
“He came from Tokyo with me.
“He is my husband, Iwaya Tengu.”

“Did you come here together?”

“No, we were together until Kyoto Station.”
“I was going to divorce Iwaya and marry Mr. Oshika.”
“Mr. Oshika was supposed to hand over three million yen to Iwaya as my severance payment.”
“He was supposed to receive it tomorrow at noon, but Iwaya said he needed to pay someone by three o’clock tomorrow afternoon and demanded the money tonight.”
“I knew Mr. Kemuyama had given three million yen to Mr. Oshika this evening, and since Iwaya’s attitude showed no change—he clearly wanted nothing but the money—I casually told him, ‘You should receive the money from Mr. Oshika tonight,’ and suggested we go to the hideout together, even revealing its location without thinking.”
“If I say ‘the studio next to Seiran-ji Temple,’ you should understand immediately.”
“Seiran-ji Temple is a famous temple, and there’s only one neighboring house.”
“I was filled with the desire to hand over the severance money as soon as possible and cut all ties, so never imagining things would turn out like this, I ended up telling him.”

“I see.”
“Didn’t you two come here together?”

“We were supposed to come together.”
“When we got off at Kyoto Station and passed through the ticket gate, someone called out to me.”
“She was a woman I didn’t recognize—she introduced herself as Ueno Mitsuko, a professional baseball scout.”
“While we were talking there standing, Iwaya, who’d been growing impatient, had vanished without us noticing.”
“I knew why he was in such a hurry.”
“To make it back to Yokohama by three tomorrow afternoon, he had no choice but to take the Tokyo-bound train departing at twelve thirty-two.”
“That was the last train.”
“We’d arrived at Kyoto Station at ten forty-seven PM—leaving only an hour and forty-five minutes.”
“Even by car, it’d be a tight round trip with almost no margin.”
“When I couldn’t see Iwaya anymore and tried to rush after him, Ms. Ueno grabbed my arm and held me back.”
“She wouldn’t let me go.”
“But since I believed Iwaya’s haste was purely about catching that train, I didn’t feel particularly uneasy.”
“Then, just as Ms. Ueno directed, we went into a café near the station.”

“Was there some conversation?”

“Ms. Ueno said to me, ‘You must stop your marriage with Mr. Oshika.’”
“Mr. Oshika has obligations to Coach Haimura of the Chester team,” she stated, “and there are special circumstances regarding his contract with Chester. If he becomes blinded by money and transfers to another team, it will become a league issue—he’ll face not just suspension but expulsion from professional baseball.”
“She said she couldn’t bear to see Mr. Oshika cast out of baseball because of romance, so she came to warn me.”
“But I had heard from Mr. Oshika and knew.”
“Mr. Oshika owed gratitude for having been nurtured by Coach Haimura, but his contract with Chester was only for one season, and he hadn’t yet finalized the contract for the upcoming season.”
“I insisted on that point, which led to an argument with Ms. Ueno, but since it was going nowhere, I stood up.”
“That must have taken twenty or thirty minutes.”
“Then I hailed a taxi and came here alone.”

“Who knows about this hideout?”

“Apart from those two, the only ones I told were Mr. Kemuyama and Iwaya. Beyond that, I have no idea.”

However, Tabako Tarō of the main house gave an unexpected testimony.

“It was around nine tonight. Mr. Ippuku came to our front door and said, ‘Mr. Oshika must be staying there.’ I showed him to the studio.”

“What kind of person is Ippuku?”

“Peace’s left-arm power pitcher, Mr. Ippuku.”

“Ah.”
“I see.”
“And besides that, were there no other visitors?”

“I don’t know about that.”
“We only knew about Mr. Ippuku because he came to our house and asked.”
“Otherwise, it’s quite a distance away and blocked by trees, so we can’t see what’s happening at the studio.”
“Also, in winter, once the sun sets, we close the shutters, so...”

“Did you hear any unusual sounds?”

“I didn’t hear anything.”
“I was sleeping soundly.”

At that point, an investigation headquarters was established at the local police station. After examining the corpse, forensic officers conducted a thorough investigation of the scene followed by a house search.

Among the established facts, the following points were particularly noteworthy:

1. Oshika appeared to have signed a new contract with Lucky Strike and received three million yen, but the money was missing.
1. The contract was found in the inner chest pocket of his prone body; having lain face down, it remained unstained by blood and bore a January 19th date.
Oshika’s signature was written in sumi ink, though neither ink nor calligraphy brush were present in the room.

1. Judging from the blood loss, the perpetrator’s clothes would have been drenched in blood.
2. Judging from the stab wounds, the perpetrator appeared to possess considerable physical strength.

1. In Oshika’s pants pocket was Ueno Mitsuko’s business card bearing her printed Tokyo address, with a Kyoto apartment address penciled beneath.
The handwriting appeared to be Mitsuko’s own—a distinctly feminine script.

2. Blood-soaked shoe prints and handprints were found at the scene, matching neither the victim’s nor Yoko’s.

1. On the table was a bowl used as an ashtray containing several foreign cigarette butts—two stained with lipstick and one without.
2. However, there was no evidence that tea had been served to guests.
3. The victim’s fingerprints were found in various places, but no other noteworthy fingerprints were identified.
4. According to the police doctor’s examination, the time of the crime was estimated to be between 9:00 PM and around 12:00 AM, with the exact time to be confirmed through autopsy.

At the pale light of dawn, detectives raided Pitcher Ippuku in his sleep and took him into custody at the investigation headquarters. Additionally, Ueno Mitsuko was brought in from the apartment noted on the business card. Both rooms were searched thoroughly, but no bloodstained clothing or missing bundles of cash were discovered.

The investigation headquarters was also searching for Kemuyama and Iwaya Tengu, but Kemuyama’s lodgings had not yet been discovered by them.

First, Ippuku underwent interrogation.

The lead investigator was Inspector Igurai, a renowned detective known throughout Kyoto.

"You went to Mr. Oshika's place last night, didn't you?"

"Yes. From around one o'clock in the afternoon until about nine at night, I searched and finally tracked down his hideout."

"You didn't even eat dinner."

"I did eat that."

"Why did you have to go to such lengths to track him down?"

“There was a problem I needed to resolve as quickly as possible.”
“I proposed to Ueno Mitsuko, but Mitsuko said she wanted to marry Oshika.”
“That’s why I needed to ask Oshika about his true intentions.”

“What was Mr. Oshika’s response?”

“It’s simple. Oshika said he was supposed to marry another woman.”
“He flatly stated he’d rejected Mitsuko.”
“When I asked if he’d cut ties with Mitsuko now, he said whether she withdraws or not, there’s no way he could stay entangled with her while marrying someone else—so the matter was clear-cut.”
“Relieved, I left right away.”

“Around what time was that?”

“Let me see. Since I went there around nine, well, we talked for about twenty minutes, and then I left right away. I celebrated at Shinkyogoku, then went home and slept.”

“Did you smoke cigarettes at Mr. Oshika’s place?”

“Let me see.”
“Oh, right.”
“I did.”
“When I said ‘ashtray,’ he brought a bowl, you know.”
“He doesn’t seem to smoke, you know.”

“In that bowl, were there anyone’s cigarette butts?”

“No, it was a washed bowl.”
“There was nothing in it.”

“Well, thank you. Ah, wait—didn’t Mr. Oshika mention anything about transferring to Lucky Strike?”

“No, I didn’t hear anything about that. He just said he needed money and had asked Mitsuko for a trade. That’s why meeting her was just an excuse—he said there was no talk of marriage or anything like that.”

“Thank you for your trouble coming so early. Now please wait here a moment.”

If Ippuku’s testimony was credible, after he left, someone wearing lipstick—a woman, or perhaps a man—had visited and smoked two cigarettes.

Inspector Igurai called Mitsuko.

“You had a late night last night, didn’t you?”
“Thank you for coming all the way here again so early this morning.”
“What time last night was it when you visited Mr. Oshika?”

Mitsuko snorted dismissively and did not respond.
Her physique stretched with a satisfying tautness, radiating an imposing vigor.

“That’s an impressive physique you have.”
“Might I ask your measurements?”

“1.66 meters.”
“57 kilograms.”

“57 kilograms.”
“Exactly the same as me.”
“Now then—about this trade request from Mr. Oshika. How does that stand?”

“I could discuss it if my contract were finalized, but since it remains incomplete, I can’t disclose anything.”
“It’s classified team information.”

“However, given that Mr. Oshika’s transfer would breach league regulations and get him banned from professional baseball, I understand someone threatened Ms. Akeha Yoko to withdraw from the marriage.”

“Would I ever resort to threatening?”
“Akeha Yoko is the real schemer here.”
“That’s Tsutsumotase.”
“It’s a job to conspire with Iwaya Tengu and extort three million yen.”

“Hoh.
“Why would you know that?”

“I was waiting at the station ticket gate for them to arrive.”
“They came through the gate, and then Iwaya Tengu said to Yoko:”
“‘Tonight I’ll be rattling home on some freezing night train—while imagining my wife canoodling with some man at this very moment… pathetic joke.’”
“Then Yoko cooed back all sweet-like: ‘Three million yen sounds like excellent value.’”
“It made my blood boil.”

“I see.”
“Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Didn’t you meet Mr. Kemuyama?”

“I didn’t.”

“What time did she meet Mr. Oshika?”

“Around half past noon.”

“No, I’m asking about the time of your visit last night.”

Mitsuko showed a flicker of defiance but said dismissively.

“I’d say around nine-thirty.
“There was no particular reason.
“Just that at a café on Kawaramachi Shijo, some middle school students were talking about Mr. Oshika.
“Because I caught snippets of them mentioning being at the studio next to Seiran-ji Temple, I simply felt like wandering over without any particular purpose.”

“At that time, didn’t you meet Mr. Ippuku?”

“We passed each other near the studio.”
“I was in a car, but he was walking.”
“I averted my eyes and passed by pretending not to notice.”

“Did Mr. Ippuku notice you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her eyes momentarily darting away. “Because I averted my eyes in that instant.”

“And then?”

“I found the studio right away.” Mitsuko's lips curled slightly. “When Mr. Oshika saw me, he mentioned Mr. Ippuku had just left.” She leaned forward, her voice dripping with mock concern. “I teased him—‘You must be all fidgety and restless waiting for Mrs. Yoko to arrive, hmm?’”

The inspector’s pen scratched against his notepad. “Does he know Ms. Yoko and Mr. Iwaya are arriving together on the 10:47 train?”

“I was the one who told him that.”
“Them coming together is just weird, don’t you think?”
“And when I told him that monopoly newspaper reporters were lying in wait at the station, he was startled.”
“But I didn’t tell him the arrival time.”
“Because I needed to be the one to meet them.”
“And I lied, saying, ‘They should’ve arrived by now.’”

“Didn’t you discuss signing a contract with Lucky Strike?”

"I asked him about it, but he dodged the question and didn’t answer."
“But I knew.”
“His whole demeanor radiated calm assurance—I could tell he’d secured the deal.”
“When we met at noon, he’d been all twisted up with worry."

“And about what time did you leave there?”

“Once I found where he was staying—ten or twenty minutes later—I just dropped by to tease him a bit.”
“Ten or twenty minutes or so.”
“I’d left a car waiting outside.”

“You smoked a cigarette, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”
“I can’t go ten minutes without a cigarette.”

Having said that, she took a cigarette from her case and lit it.

“Did you go out of your way to rent an apartment in Kyoto?”

“People in professional baseball generally do that.”
“Because they’re always traveling between east and west.”
“It’s more convenient to keep an apartment than stay at inns every single time.”
“Scouts need to work discreetly out of public view, so they usually maintain hideouts nobody knows about.”
“Someone like Mr. Kemuyama—a top-tier scout—would naturally have three or four hideouts prepared.”

“Do you only have one?”

“Yes, one.”
“Because it’s just a makeshift one.”

“Do you know Mr. Kemuyama’s hideout?”

“No.”
“Mr. Kemuyama isn’t the type to let anyone know about such things.”

“So when you left Mr. Oshika’s side, he was still alive and well, correct?”

“Are you implying *I* killed him?”

“No, I’m asking whether you noticed anything suspicious.”

“I didn’t notice a single thing out of the ordinary. I rushed to the station by car. Until I intercepted Ms. Akeha Yoko at the station, I didn’t meet anyone. If you track down and question the car driver, everything will become clear.”

“I see. So there’s a definitive witness then. What kind of driver?”

“I don’t remember, but the other party probably does. Because it was just last night.”

“Precisely.”
“So Mr. Oshika was alive until nearly ten o’clock, then.”

“That’s correct.”

“Well, thank you for your trouble. Please wait just a bit longer until the investigation concludes.”

After detaining the three witnesses—Yoko, Mitsuko, and Ippuku—at the station, an investigative meeting was convened using only the gathered materials.

In any case, locating Iwaya Tengu and Kemuyama’s whereabouts was the first priority.

Part Five: The Contract in the Train

Kinkuchi and Mokisuke were shaken awake around 8:30 by a young man from the branch office.
Due to a hangover from their binge drinking, their heads ached, and they were far from refreshed.

“A major incident has occurred! Pitcher Oshika was killed last night. The branch manager has rushed to the investigation headquarters!”

“Well, well! An unexpected strange incident.”
“Who’s the culprit?”

“We don’t know yet.”
“Grudge, theft—theories are all over the place.”
“According to the branch manager’s call, the three million yen received from Lucky Strike has gone missing.”

“Bullshit!”

“Hey! What an outrageous remark!”

“First off, we—the two of us bumbling fools like Yaji and Kita—are, you see...”
“We’re the so-called ace reporters from Tokyo.”
“We’ve been tailing Kemuyama from seven-thirty in the morning till past nine-thirty at night.”
“We’ve tracked his every move down to the last detail.”

“Now, now.”

“Don’t talk so big.”

Deputy Director Kinkuchi, true to his position, restrained Mokisuke—yet Mokisuke didn’t flinch in the slightest.

“No, we’ve tracked him thoroughly.”
“Kemuyama definitely hadn’t met Oshika by 9:30 PM.”
“Until 9:30, the three million yen remained in Kemuyama’s briefcase. After that, it stayed at the inn.”
“When was Oshika killed?”

“Between nine at night and midnight.”

“See?!”

“Hey, Mokisuke.”
“Don’t panic.”
“We’re caught up in this whirlwind too.”
“Think about it.”
“Why did we chase Kemuyama? This was due to a phone call from a suspicious individual.”
“This is bad.”
“Someone—there’s a shadowy figure laughing at us.”
“We’re reporting to the investigation headquarters.”

With that, the two men headed to the investigation headquarters.

Inspector Igurai looked somewhat dumbfounded by their bizarre account.

"So you've been tailing Mr. Kemuyama all the way from Tokyo to Kyoto," he said.

"As you say," replied Kinkuchi.

The inspector ordered a detective to contact the inn they'd mentioned and have Kemuyama report in. The detective left at once.

"So he got off in Osaka, visited both players Momoyama and Kuni, then went straight back to Kyoto," Raumokisuke pressed on. "That leaves zero time to meet Oshika."
"Until around nine-thirty."

“Exactly.”
“However, you see.”
“While we were eating udon and drinking sake, Kemuyama went out for a walk.”
“But he didn’t take the bag with him.”

“However, Ueno Mitsuko visited Oshika at nine-thirty—by then they’d already signed the contract, and he seemed perfectly relaxed, I hear.”

“Hmm.”

“We were ordered to tail him due to a phone call from an unnamed suspicious person, you see.”

“No, they informed us of Kemuyama’s departure time, you know.”
“That’s rather intriguing, isn’t it?”

“Strange calls come in now and then—that’s how it is with newspaper companies, you know. Most are prank calls, but this time—from Kemuyama’s departure time down to the minute—it’s spot on. From Tokyo’s starting point to Kyoto’s arrival, it’s been laid out like a perfect game of snakes and ladders. Is it because of New Year’s after all?”

“It’s truly bizarre. Please provide a detailed account of the surveillance.”

Seizing his chance, Mokisuke launched into an explanation.

Just then, Kemuyama was escorted in, causing the two men to step aside. He appeared wearing a Homburg hat and white muffler, two bags dangling from his arms. When Mokisuke saw this, he let out a shrill cry as they passed each other.

“Huh? Is this guy a magician? Yesterday he had on a hunting cap and dark muffler!”

Kemuyama glared sharply at Raumokisuke and stood before Inspector Igurai.
Urged to take a seat, he smirked wryly and opened his bag,

“Look.”
“The bird-hunting cap and dark muffler are here.”
“Since ours is a business where we must avoid attracting attention as much as possible, we take various precautions.”

“I see.”
“Ms. Ueno Mitsuko also mentioned that as well.”

“She may be a woman, but she’s quite formidable.”

“You went to Kansai yesterday carrying the contract money and documents, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Around what time did you conclude the contract with Mr. Oshika?”

“No.
“That’s what’s strange about it.
“When the train reached Maibara, Oshika boarded.
“When I asked how he knew to be on this train, he said he hadn’t known for certain but had been seized by unbearable anxiety waiting in Kyoto—so he wandered all the way to Maibara to meet the express train.
“The express runs non-stop between Maibara and Kyoto.
“In the train car, he told me about his dealings with Ueno Mitsuko and such, but I said ‘Don’t worry, relax,’ so right there we exchanged contracts and I handed over the three million yen.
“New thousand-yen bills are convenient for this—even three million can be stuffed into various pockets.”

“Hmm.”
“The contract had been signed in ink, but—”

“That’s correct. Take a look.”

Kemuyama opened his bag, took out an inkpot, and showed it.

“Baseball players—things like inkstones or writing brushes—well, most don’t carry such items.”
“That’s why I make sure to carry brushes with me at all times.”

“Truly meticulous.”
“Now then—were you aware that someone had been tailing you from Tokyo?”

“No, I wasn’t.”
“But given my line of work, I always operate under the assumption that I’m being followed.”

“I see. That clarifies things.”
“Now—did anyone know your departure time from Tokyo?”

“Let me see…”
“Within the company… well, the President.”
“And then… who else?”
“Right, there’s no reason many would know.”
“Normally, they’d assume it’s the nine o’clock limited express.”
“By departing an hour and a half later, we arrive in Kyoto roughly an hour and forty minutes earlier.”
“But since you often run into familiar faces on limited expresses, I rarely take them.”

“Actually,”
“The night before your departure, there was a phone call to Senbai Shimbun informing them of your departure time.”
“Of course, it was from an anonymous person.”
“The one who let out that strange cry earlier was the tailing reporter.”

“Hah.”
“That’s strange, isn’t it.”
“My departure time, you know.”
“Who could it be?”
“Akeha Yoko might have known, but there’s no way she’d do something like that.”

“Has your business in Kansai already concluded?”

“That’s correct.”
“Strangely enough, since my contract with Oshika concluded early, I didn’t need to stay in Kyoto. But since I’d already reserved the inn, I figured I’d take a proper rest.”
“In just these ten days alone, I made three round trips to Kansai.”

“When in Kyoto, do you always stay at that inn?”

“No. Only these three times this time.”
“I rarely stay at fixed inns.”
“Moreover, I have more business in Osaka, Kobe, and along the Nankai line than in Kyoto.”

“I hear you took a walk after arriving at the inn.”

“That’s right.”
“I went out to buy souvenirs.”
“I’m not the type to do such things often, nor do I have the time, but on this day—for the first time in ages—the urge to take it leisurely stirred within me, and I even felt like buying souvenirs.”
“Finally, I bought these items.”
“Kyoto rouge, scented sachets, women’s folding fans—all women’s souvenirs.”
“Ha ha ha.”

Kemuyama opened the trunk and showed the souvenir items.
He had bought multiple copies of the same items.
They also had him show the contents of the two trunks, but aside from disguise tools and toiletry items, there was nothing else.

“When did you return from your walk?”

“Let me see... From Shijo to Sanjo, then strolled around Gion looking at various things. Went back to Shinkyogoku, had a little nightcap, and returned to the inn around half past twelve, I suppose.”
“It might have been closer to one o’clock.”

“You’ve been most cooperative.”
“Just wait a little longer until everyone’s interrogations are sorted out.”

“No, really—having gone through all that trouble to acquire a player, only for him to be killed... it’s utterly disheartening.”
“All that effort—gone to waste.”
Kemuyama smiled wryly and left.

Inspector Igurai summoned Yoko and asked whether she had known the time of Kemuyama’s departure; she replied that she had only known he was leaving in the morning, not the exact time, and that she had not told anyone about it.

The one the detectives hauled in was Iwaya Tengu.
A small-framed man of thirty-seven or thirty-eight, but with wrists that looked powerful.
He suddenly bellowed without being asked.

“This ain’t no joke.”
“When I walked into that pitch-black room, I tripped over the corpse and put my hands down.”
“Lit my lighter and checked the place.”
“Found the switch, flipped on the light—knew this looked bad.”
“Washed my hands quick, killed the lights, and scrammed.”
“Wasn’t there more’n three, five minutes tops.”
“He was already cold.”
“Might’ve left prints, but I didn’t stick around to wipe ’em.”
“Go ask the driver I kept waiting.”
“You think I could’ve done the killin’ with my wheels idling outside?”
“But hell—knowin’ everyone’ll point fingers at me? Makes a guy sweat.”
“Three million yen down the drain, can’t even show my face in Yokohama.”
“Went to a cathouse with Mamayo.”

His face was red. He seemed to have been drinking. There was blood on the chest, cuffs, knees—here and there across the clothing. He seemed to have wiped it off quite thoroughly, but upon closer inspection, it was still visible.

Upon examining the handprints and shoes, there was no mistake—they were undoubtedly Iwaya’s.

“Didn’t you have any affection for Yoko?”

Inspector Igurai demanded sharply.

“Some, sure. However, if she can be sold for three million yen, I’d let go of any woman—no matter how infatuated I am—right?”
He laughed coldly.

“Alright，just wait.”
“Just ask the driver.”
“What driver？”

“Go ahead and search for it yourself then.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”
“Go wait over there.”

Having dismissed Iwaya Tengu, Inspector Igurai stretched his back.

“There must’ve been several Kyoto taxis making round trips to Arashiyama last night.”
“Track one down.”
“Then bring me the timetable.”
“Does the Hakata-bound express arrive at Maibara at 5:05 p.m.?”
“To leave Kyoto in the afternoon, board it at Maibara, and return—there’s only one route.”
“Departure from Kyoto at 2:25 p.m.”
“Arrival at Maibara by 4:30 p.m., then.”

Inspector Igurai closed his eyes and sank into thought.

"I understand the lonely anxiety you must have felt going all the way to Maibara, but let me see the contract for a moment."

He took it in hand and glared at it.

“Could anyone write such precise brushwork in a moving train?”
“Only when stopped, right?”

He sank into thought again but had Ippuku summoned.

“When you were returning from Oshika-kun’s place, I hear you passed Ms. Mitsuko Ueno’s car.”

“No, I don’t know.”

"But you did pass a car, didn't you?"

"Well now, how should I put this? I don't recall anything like that."

“But on such a deserted road, at such a late hour—it should’ve left an impression, don’t you think?”

“But I must’ve been lost in thought.”

“Is that so? Thanks.”

After a long contemplation, Inspector Igurai muttered.

“No matter how you look at it, the criminal has to be that one—it’s crystal clear.”

And he let out a triumphant smile.

Who is the culprit?

All keys to the *Pitcher Murder Case* had now been exhaustively presented.
The author required not one more syllable of explanation.

Suspicious characters reeking of suspicion may have been scurrying about in confusion to obstruct your deductions, but you, dear readers, should already have been able to logically pinpoint the culprit with full certainty.

Who is the culprit?

Now then, please find the culprit.

The Resolution

Inspector Igurai stood up and commanded.

“Sorry, but get all precincts to send reinforcements.”
“If the evidence trail goes cold, we’re screwed.”
“We’re finding this by nightfall.”

“What are we looking for?”

“The car.”

“We’ve already dispatched teams to search for the vehicles.”
“Two cars that made round trips transporting Iwaya Tengu and Ueno Mitsuko to Arashiyama.”

“No, not those. They’re cars that only made one-way trips. Search for all vehicles that transported someone directly to Arashiyama without returning – bring every last one of them here.”

“All of them?”

“All. The starting point can be anywhere. However, cars that carried people to Arashiyama from around 5:00 p.m. yesterday evening. And limit it to cars that transported men. Also, vehicles with more than one passenger need not be summoned. From five in the evening until around midnight—all cars that carried a single man to Arashiyama—summon every last one of them.”

Inspector Igurai paused briefly to think, then added.

“There’s another, even more critical—but far more nebulous—item we need to track down. First, apartments. Next, boarding houses. Amateur boarding houses too. Shimotaya, villas, temples—anywhere. Then, inns. Search every possible location. Locations where someone rents a room but the tenant only shows up occasionally—track down every last one of them. And then, find out whether the tenant didn’t show up last night. The tenant is a man—a middle-aged man.”

When backup from each station gathered, Inspector Igurai divided them into two units—one for rooms and one for vehicles—issued instructions to all personnel, assigned each their respective districts, and dispatched them in all directions for the investigation.

Then they placed Iwaya Tengu, Kemuyama, and Ippuku—three men—along with Akeha Yoko and Ueno Mitsuko, five individuals in total connected to the case, under guard in the station’s judo hall to rest.

Soon a police officer came to Igurai and,

“The Tokyo newspaper reporters are being a real pain.”
“What’s the big idea locking us up?!”
“They’re yelling ‘Let us out!’, see?”
“Thrashing around, making a racket—we can’t handle ’em!”

“Ah!”
“Oh, right.”
“Did you cram them into the dojo too?”
“That’s fine.”
“Let them out.”
“Then bring them here.”

Raumokisuke exploded with anger while Kinkuchi arrived smirking under escort.

“Cheeky bastards! The Kyoto police—”
“Now, now. Give me a break.”

“Cut it out! We descended to this vulgar world through Futsukayoi’s eternal charitable spirit to give you investigation hints—and this is how you treat us? Huh?!”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll reimburse your Futsukayoi medicine—just calm down, will you? It’s exactly noon. Go eat the bento.”

Inspector Igurai took out a bottle of Suntory whisky and poured some for the two of them.

“Wouldn’t this count as bribery?”

Raumokisuke calmed his temper and toasted.

“Hey, Inspector Igurai. Since we didn’t hold back in putting in some effort, how about you let just a little something slip our way—and make sure it doesn’t slip to the other papers, eh?”

“There’s no such thing as us leaking or not leaking anything to you. Your tailing logs—I’ll take ’em off your hands.”

“Don’t flatter me.”

"Now then—it was 7:30 yesterday morning, right? When you first spotted Mr. Kemuyama, what was he wearing?"

"Same as today's. Only the hat and muffler were different."

"What about the mask?"

"He wasn't wearing it then. If he'd been wearing a mask and buried in his muffler, you wouldn't have been able to tell who he was. Kochitora's a face I've only seen twice, after all."

"Is that so. You've got it all figured out, huh?"

“Don’t mock me.”
“At least give me one first hint.”

“Ha ha ha! The first hint came from you.”

“Darn it. So, how about the second hint?”
“The second hint came from Ueno Mitsuko.”

“What kind of hint exactly?”

“Now, wait. By today, it will definitely come to light. I’ll deliver the culprit to you. Well, I’ll go ahead and give you just the third hint. Listen—since there’s blood spatter splattered on the walls, I think the culprit must’ve been drenched in blood from head to toe. However, aside from Yoko, there’s no one whose clothes are covered in blood. There is blood on Iwaya Tengu’s clothes, but it isn’t the type that comes from being drenched. However, the culprit’s clothes should be drenched in blood spatter. And yet, no blood-splattered clothes have turned up in anyone’s room. This is the third hint.”

“I haven’t the faintest clue.”

“Well then, why don’t you all get to writing those surveillance logs.”
“When we have good news, I’ll inform you first.”

Evening came.
Night fell.
It was around six o’clock.

The telephone rang.
Grabbing the receiver and listening, Inspector Igurai visibly tensed up.

After putting down the receiver, he shouted to the two of them.

“Now come along with me—my benefactors.”
“This is all thanks to you.”
“You’re the ones who showed me the culprit.”
“I’ll explain the details in the car.”
“Move out!”
“We’ve got our man!”
The Inspector led the two men into his vehicle.
A convoy of cars began rolling out in succession.

“Analyzing your tailing work—that’s how the culprit becomes clear, you see.”

Inspector Igurai began explaining in good spirits.

“Now then,”
“Consider this: Kemuyama—who wore a mask on the train, buried his face in a muffler, occasionally changed seats, and swapped hats or mufflers as disguises—walked through the station exposed, without a mask, in the biting cold of early morning until boarding. Once you grasp this, one corner of this case’s mystery unravels.”
“Why did he walk around with his face exposed?”
“Because he needed to show his face to someone.”
“That ‘someone’ was you all.”
“Understand this much, and the phone call mystery solves itself.”
“Kemuyama himself made that call.”
“He needed you tailing him.”
“To fake boarding the 7:30 train.”

“So he didn’t board it?”

“He boarded. For a short while, yes. He likely disembarked around Atami or Shizuoka and transferred to the limited express Tsubame that came later. Because he needed to reach Kyoto ahead of you all. Though the Tsubame departs an hour and a half later, by Kyoto it would overtake the earlier train and gain a lead of roughly one hour and forty minutes. He needed to finish his work within that window. Upon reaching Kyoto, he rushed his car to Oshika’s studio, delivered three million yen, and exchanged contracts. The reason being—unless he handed over the money and signed the contract first, killing Oshika wouldn’t let him steal the three million yen. Yet Kemuyama had you tailing him. He couldn’t storm into Oshika’s hideout with reporters in tow. Because you lot were obsessed with tracking Oshika’s whereabouts—the moment you found his hideout, you’d barge in like true journalists and badger him about the romance scandal. But the crime had to be committed by around 11:30 PM. Because Yoko and Iwaya Tengu would arrive in Kyoto at 10:47 and reach Arashiyama by 11:30. If you clung to him, he’d miss his chance. So he switched to the Tsubame, used that hour and forty minutes to secretly deliver the money and secure the contract before you could interfere—making a round trip to Oshika’s Arashiyama hideout. To cover this, he’d prepared a scheme where Oshika would meet him at Maibara and sign the contract aboard the train. But here’s the catch. The contract signature used clear block script—impossible to write unless stationary. During Maibara’s brief stop, there’d be no time for signatures. Because Oshika would need time to locate Kemuyama and discuss terms—he couldn’t just whip out a contract out of nowhere.”

“But here’s the kicker.”
“Once it leaves Maibara, it’s non-stop all the way to Kyoto.”
“When I realized this, I couldn’t help but laugh.”
“A laugh of pure satisfaction—and with that, I’d nearly pieced together the entire case.”
“The second hint came from Ueno Mitsuko: just as she uses an apartment as her hideout, Kemuyama must have one too.”
Thus, the third hint’s mystery unraveled.
“The bloodstained kimono’s hidden there.”
“The stolen three million yen is also in that hideout.”
Kemuyama—who’d left the inn pretending to take a walk—first rushed to his hideout, changed clothes, then hurried to Arashiyama.
He might’ve even brought spare clothing.
The moment he reached the studio and Oshika turned to greet him, Kemuyama stabbed him once before mercilessly driving the blade in again and again. Then he washed the blood from his face and hands, stole the money, changed clothes again, and returned to the hideout.
There, he changed back into his original outfit, grabbed souvenirs he’d bought earlier, stopped for a drink at Shinkyogoku along the way, and went back to the inn.
“After the interrogation cleared him, he must’ve planned to stuff both the three million yen and bloodied clothes into that empty bag and take them to Tokyo for disposal.”

When he finished this explanation, the car arrived at Uzumasa’s hideout.
It was an apartment.
And from its ownerless two rooms, blood-soaked clothes, three million yen, and the murder weapon had already been discovered and were awaiting their arrival.
Inspector Igurai smiled faintly, indicated the anticipated items with a gesture, and patted both men’s shoulders.

“This is my thanks for the hints I received from you all. Before other reporters arrive, hurry to the branch office and call Tokyo headquarters immediately. And have that tail report written up at once. Well then, goodbye.”

He grinned slyly and leaned in close to their ears,

“Which carries more weight—the newspaper company’s envelope of cash, or my police department’s envelope of cash? Bwahaha!”

Laughing, he pushed the two men out of the room and whispered, "Goodbye."