Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. Furuichi Kaju Sees the Moon

And Also: On the Coquettish Demeanor of a Beauty

As the Kinoe-Inu year drew to its close—on this final day of December, the thirty-first, the very nadir of the year—a certain man emerged from Tokyo Kaikan Hall’s dazzling electrically lit entrance with an air of indignant resolve. Clutching a calico handkerchief like an eagle’s talon, he scrubbed at his nose with excessive vigor before stepping down the carriage porch’s stone steps in large strides and clomping clumsily along the pavement toward the moatside. When he looked up, above Ouchiyama’s verdant pines hung the year’s final moon, its edge blurred and indistinct. It dangled there like a willow-leaf eyebrow frozen mid-sorrowful sob.

The man in question had abruptly stopped at the corner of Fukoku Life Insurance’s construction site and was gazing up at the sky when, before long—

"Tch. The moon, huh? Mocking me..." He spat out the words like a curse, then spun toward the wooden fence and began firing his water pistol with a sharp whistling report. To any observer, something would've been clearly stewing in his gut—some unresolved agitation still simmering.

Since simply repeating "this person" would leave one none the wiser, let us indulge in some descriptive digression: he appeared to be twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old, of average build, with a modern frame that allowed a standard No.32 ready-made suit to fit perfectly without alterations. The Chesterfield coat he wore with such flair revealed—when one flipped back its collar—the label of Tokyo Tailor, that renowned purveyor of secondhand finery. The rest could be readily imagined. As for his countenance, there was nothing particularly noteworthy—the sort of face seen among salarymen thronging Nakano-dori at the noon cannon hour; while not foolish-looking, it lacked any elegance, presenting instead a pinched, fretful aspect. Yet those stubbornly pursed lips forming a へ-shaped line suggested an air of grandiosity. This might make him sound like someone of distinction, but in truth he was Furuichi Kaju—a miscellaneous news reporter for the four-page Sunset Newspaper. As readers have doubtlessly surmised, whatever resentment festered within him mattered little; that he would rail against an innocent moon proved his apprenticeship in journalism remained woefully incomplete.

Since newspapers with such names never find their way into our households, some readers may be unaware of it, but consult a newspaper yearbook and you’ll find that the "Sunset Newspaper" does indeed exist. It published a four-page evening edition daily, with its headquarters on the third floor of Suehiro Building in Nihonbashi and a side venture putting out something called "Cosmetics News." Though which was their main business remained unclear. By reputation, this Cosmetics News thrived through pushy sales tactics and was said to turn greater profits than their primary operation—not that there was any need to dwell on such details here. Meanwhile, their main business—true to its name—saw company fortunes following a downward trajectory, much like an autumn sunset being pounded in a mortar at the mountain's edge: a pitiful spectacle soon to sink completely into darkness. On this very day, as a year-end party for colleagues was being held at Tokyo Kaikan Hall, Furuichi Kaju attended as the Sunset Newspaper’s representative—only to find no seat bearing his name at the reporters’ table. Upon searching further, he discovered his name card tossed beside Ginza Dayori—a dubious society rag—at the hazy far end of the seating arrangement. Though fundamentally spineless, this man was prone to fits of passion; upon seeing this slight, he flew into a rage, snatched up his place card, and marched toward the head tables intending to claim a seat beside Asahi Shimbun—though of course it was unthinkable that Sunset could ever muscle in next to Asahi. Immediately pounced upon by committee members who hoisted him up like a cat by the scruff, he was flung back to his original seat along with the card, then had his chin jerked toward where he was told: "The haberdasher’s seat is here!" At places like the Metropolitan Police Department’s pressroom, people never deigned to socialize with him under normal circumstances; thus even Furuichi Kaju—who should have been thoroughly inured to such humiliations—found himself utterly unable to endure this brazen disgrace before the entire assembly. He kicked his chair aside and stormed out of Tokyo Kaikan Hall with fierce resolve, yet no matter what he did, the frustration in his chest refused to subside. Being the shallow hack reporter he was, there was no room for complex reflections in such circumstances; he simply flew into a senseless rage. That even the polished-yellow crescent moon now resembled a Kao Soap advertisement only deepened his churning frustration—the very same incident where he’d involuntarily cursed it as a blasted fool had already been recounted earlier.

Just as Kaju was about to holster the nozzle and start sauntering off, thunderous applause erupted from behind him accompanied by a roaring cheer. When he instinctively turned to look back, the banquet hall now appeared in full revelry - through brilliantly illuminated windowpanes he could see four or five colleagues passing by with dance-like gestures. Kaju glared up resentfully in that direction while,

"Damn them! Just wait and see. Tomorrow I'll turn you bastards' guts inside out. What outlandish plans our Sunset Newspaper has in store—you bastards haven't got a clue! Even so, our company's editor-in-chief Kouda Setsuzou must be quite the brilliant mind. Ah, once tomorrow comes—" He muttered these portentous words, then suddenly quickened his pace and strode toward Yurakucho.

The author now took Furuichi Kaju to the backstreets of Ginza. By what twist of fate Furuichi Kaju would come to encounter a certain mysterious figure there. This would become the tumultuous mystery’s inception—but as for its unfolding, I must ask you to kindly peruse the next chapter.

II. Kaju Meets a Mysterious Figure

And Also: On the Crane Fountain

Hattori's clock tower was just about to strike nine. Ginza was now at its busiest. The covetous-looking crowd that mindlessly surged toward Ginza on holidays flowed along the western side of the street, rippling like small waves. Though too early for revelers spilling out from soirées, the sight of gaudy long-sleeved kimonos and white waistcoats of swallow-tailed suits swarming everywhere was unmistakably a New Year's Eve night scene. As Furuichi Kaju was pushed along by the crowd until he reached the front of Columban, a stunning beauty of thirty-two or thirty-three—the sort Sentaro would fancy—approached with lotus-like grace from the direction of Yagumo-cho's police box, the blazing hem of her evening dress fluttering as she kicked it back with each step. Just as she tried to slip past Kaju, she suddenly stopped and let out a nightingale-like coquettish cry:

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Furuichi!”

she cooed.

This woman was Murakumo Emiko, who until four or five years prior had been a fairly renowned film actress. Surprisingly shrewd, she entangled a film company executive in an inescapable relationship, then abandoned her acting career—which brought fame but no income—like a cat kicking sand over its traces. She had someone open a secretive bar called Paris at a street corner near Dobashi in the Ginza backstreets, becoming its proprietress. Within two or three years, she reportedly amassed one hundred thousand [yen], cementing her reputation as a woman of both talent and beauty.

Emiko originated from a remote village in Hokkaido—the same hometown as Furuichi—where she had worked as an elementary school teacher during the period he knew her. But no sooner had rumors spread about her entering an improper relationship with a younger male relative than, for reasons unknown, the youth committed suicide. Due to this incident, Emiko could no longer remain in the village and came to Tokyo to take up residence as a waitress at a café called Shironeko—unexpectedly finding this to be the springboard for her social ascent.

The Emiko that Kaju had known was a woman as gaunt as a lamp wick, devoid of any softness, but now she carried a little too much padding at the shoulders and hips—a state of affairs that seemed to have become the very source of her distress. Her once sharp-edged, arid eyes were now moistened with the essence of allure and desire, buffered by a glossy sheen, and even that upturned nose of hers—which had always seemed to mock others—now appeared almost charming in this state. Emiko pressed snugly against Furuichi,

"So it was you after all, Mr. Furuichi." "We kept missing each other and I never managed to meet you properly, but you haven't changed a bit since then." Having said this all in one breath, she abruptly stretched out her arm to take Furuichi's hand, coiling his fingertips into her oily-damp, lukewarm palm. "Kaju-san, there's no one as heartless as you! Living right here in Tokyo yet never once coming to visit me—I do resent you for that." "You're simply dreadful!"

she said resentfully, pouring every ounce of emotion into her seductive eyes.

As the success of a fellow townsman was something Furuichi could not let pass without acknowledgment, he had once gone to pay his respects at Paris about two years prior, only to be coldly turned away without even being offered a glass of water. When he returned to his lodging and noticed a white gritty substance stuck to his shoulder, he pinched it with his fingertips and gave it a tentative lick—it was salty. Given these circumstances, Furuichi Kaju found himself utterly bewildered as to why Murakumo Emiko was being so uncharacteristically familiar with him tonight—it felt as if he’d been tricked by a fox. Seized by bewilderment, he could only stare at Emiko’s face. Emiko shook Kaju’s arm impatiently,

“Say something already. “You should at least say it’s been a while. “Ohh~, I suppose I’m just a fallen woman—hardly fit for your refined palate—but we *did* huddle around that rickety stove in the teachers’ office warming our backsides once upon a time. Must you be so dreadfully cold? “No matter what face you make tonight, I won’t let go of you now. “Come along to ‘Paris’ with me—I’ll make you realize your heartlessness,” she declared, digging her fingernails into Furuichi’s hand until blood seeped through,

“Well? Are you coming or not? If you refuse, then say so—I’ll just keep gripping your hand like this and scream ‘Thief! Thief!’ How about it—shall I demonstrate?”

Emiko, already quite deep in her cups, began exhibiting an uncanny fervor even as she spoke; planting both feet firmly on the pavement, she truly seemed on the verge of screaming right then and there. Furuichi finally capitulated—figuring "To hell with it"—and allowed himself to be dragged along as she directed. The two turned the corner at Fifth Block and, without a care for prying eyes, headed hand in hand into a dark alley in the backstreets of Ginza.

Passing beneath the kadomatsu—a mere formality with its poorly thriving dwarf pine crucified on five-inch nails—they opened the bar door to be met by a roaring uproar and a cacophonous chorus of children’s songs sung wildly out of tune. The banquet was already in full-blown uproar—clear proof of its utter bedlam. When Emiko came into view, a red-haired man sprang up nimbly from a smoky, dimly lit corner. This was John Hutchinson of Hovas News Agency—a correspondent Kaju also knew—who came dog-paddling through the crowd before suddenly clinging to Emiko’s waist, only to be slapped hard across the cheek with an open palm and sent retreating while wailing “It hurts! It hurts!” Navigating through this chaos, Emiko guided Kaju to a secluded table against the wall and seated him firmly in its chair,

“Wait here. If you try to run off, I won’t have it.” With a single alluring glare, she parted the red curtain beside the bar counter and hurried into the back. The bar seemed largely modeled after foreign nightclubs, with approximately fifteen round tables arranged around a central dance floor without any partitioned seating. Every table in sight was crowded with an astonishing number of champagne bottles standing in dense clusters—all presented a scene of utter disarray. Not only that, but strangely enough, of the over thirty male and female patrons, scarcely any were properly seated in chairs. The men and women—all wearing bar-issued horse-manure paper crowns crammed onto their heads and drooling alcohol from their chins—were tangled like ropes as they rolled across the floor. The tuxedoed man stepping across the dance floor while grabbing anyone within reach was none other than Indou Tadasuke—the pretentious Paris returnee and son of Yokohama’s infamous loan shark. In a dim corner near the entrance, a man in a white necktie—laughing uproariously with three beauties perched on his lap—was Iwai Michiyasu, head of a viscount family. At one point he had even sunk to being a driver for Takishii, but after being taken in by the Korean Whaling Company, he was now the talk of the town for his considerable prosperity. The three beauties seated on [his] lap were Oyuki, Hatsu-chan, and Ikuyo—renowned heroines residing in Yokohama’s Honmoku. If someone were to listen to the loudly shouted propositions, it would seem to be a hushed discussion about whether to head to the New Grand next or push on to Kansuirou in Hakone. Sprawled across the bar’s passageway was Yamaki Motokichi—a famously eccentric dilettante playboy—while firmly planting her foot upon him was Kawamata Fumie, a then up-and-coming American-trained dancer. With her silver dance shoes adorned with artificial diamond clasps, she kept kicking Motokichi’s spine, but the dilettante playboy showed no signs of waking up. The one who had stuck his nose deep into his own vile vomit and was mumbling incoherently—was he perhaps reciting a poem by Mallarmé? Perhaps growing slightly impatient, Fumie lightly leapt onto a nearby round table. Suddenly hiking her skirt up to her thighs, she thrust her shapely legs—like those of a fawn—front and back, and began dancing with ferocious energy. The precarious state of her undergarments’ construction combined with those unrestrained ceiling kicks resulted in an undeniably risqué spectacle. The drunkards roared with delight, gathered around the round table, lined their foreheads along its edge, and looked up from below in a raucous uproar of cackling laughter.

Some reached out only to get kicked in the forehead and flip onto their backs, while others tried climbing onto the table but lost their footing on the chairs and collapsed on the floor. The rest were all pounding their liquor bottles, their clattering cacophony joining a deafening chorus of hundreds upon hundreds of voices—enough to make ears ring.

But there was no point dwelling on this endlessly. Leaving the remainder to the reader's imagination—as for Furuichi Kaju's situation—he had been sitting idly since earlier, blankly clasping his hands while observing this drunken pandemonium. Such extravagance would only prove enjoyable through personal indulgence; merely spectating offered no thrill whatsoever. Moreover, given Kaju's social standing, this lavishness seemed as unattainable as a carp leaping up a waterfall—no matter how he yearned for it. This very impossibility stoked his resentment until his anger grew fiercer the longer he watched. Yet being the sole sober figure idly stroking his chin amidst such opulent revelry made for an unflattering portrait. As he continued gazing absently while half-concealing himself beneath a nearby palm tree's shadow, he unexpectedly came upon a peculiar tableau.

When he came to his senses, there in the very midst of that tumultuous uproar was a man—seated perfectly composed, alone and unperturbed, calmly raising his wine cup. He was a fair-skinned young gentleman with a handsome beard in his early thirties, wearing a crisply fitted London-tailored tuxedo that declared its provenance at a glance, an artfully arranged crimson carnation tucked into his lapel’s buttonhole. Holding a glass of whiskey soda between slender white fingers adorned with a large diamond ring, he leaned back slightly while observing the commotion. His unhurried and unflustered manner struck an uncanny note—as though an emperor were watching his subjects’ unrestrained revelry with an amused half-smile. It appeared neither affected nor unpleasant, yet this seamless naturalness made it all the more remarkable.

The author found this man quite peculiar, but considering that some readers might take offense at what could be seen as unremarkable about this strangeness, I shall now expediently elaborate in greater detail on these highly suspicious circumstances—first and foremost among them being his extraordinary countenance. Though called an extraordinary countenance, it was not like the grotesque visage of a Noh theater’s yabunozoki mask. Some of you may have obtained it—that physiognomy section in the appendix of Jingukan’s Nine Star Fortune Calendar—but his countenance was said to rival even the 'nobleman’s physiognomy' listed there, which made it all the more suspicious. Was this what they called dragon eyes and phoenix gaze? Within those long, narrow single eyelids lay a clear, unwavering light, while his lips—broad and tightly drawn—exuded infinite dignity. As for his ears—extraordinary among the extraordinary—his massive, fleshy, bell-shaped ears hung plumply from just below the corners of his eyes down to his jawline, while his jaw was densely covered with a long, jet-black beard that concealed his throat like a scarf. To put it simply, imagine Qin Shi Huang wearing a tuxedo and drinking whiskey—that should suffice. In any case, given how his demeanor and countenance were nothing short of extraordinary in this manner, Furuichi Kaju found himself utterly absorbed in observing the man’s profile—until eventually, as though sensing Kaju’s gaze, the man turned his face leisurely toward him. There, unwittingly, their eyes locked firmly together. Before Kaju could fluster and avert his gaze, the man—with eyes faintly smiling—signaled for him to come over to this table. Kaju, being a country bumpkin at heart, found himself utterly paralyzed when confronted with such imperious airs. In an instant—as if struck by an electric current—he rose from his seat almost involuntarily, weaving through the commotion to take the seat opposite the man. The man then deftly slid a whiskey soda across the table toward Kaju with uncanny dexterity,

“Lately, there’s been talk that the crane fountain in Hibiya Park sings songs—but is there any truth to that? To tell the truth, I only recently arrived in Tokyo, so I know absolutely nothing about the details.” He abruptly addressed him. For reasons unknown, the handsome crane fountain standing in Hibiya Park’s pond had begun occasionally singing in beautiful tones starting about a week prior. Needless to say, it was no song clock—not one that chimes at a set morning hour—but rather sang at random intervals, so few people happened to be there at the right moment. Yet those fortunate few swore its tones were of unparalleled beauty—some claimed it emitted delicate, crystalline tones reminiscent of a music box; others described solemn, resonant notes akin to a pipe organ. Though impressions varied wildly, this was no mere urban legend: Hibiya Park’s Superintendent had personally heard it and submitted to the *Sunset Newspaper* a flowery eyewitness account complete with a classical waka poem. Thus did the bronze crane singing beautiful melodies amid its fountain’s spray become indisputable fact—and with whispers of it being some national auspicious omen, Tokyo’s streets soon buzzed noisily about the “Singing Crane Fountain.”

Around five in the morning about a week prior, as the park superintendent—suffering his usual hangover-induced belches—made his way along a garden path toward the pond, the crane statue within the fountain, shrouded in faint morning mist, appeared to suddenly flap its wings. This man was by nature a heavy drinker who observed anomalies in all phenomena round the clock; thus, he assumed this too was likely the work of last night’s awamori and passed it by without particular suspicion. Just as he was about to leave the pond’s edge, the bronze crane began singing in the purest voice ever heard.

It was akin to a passage from a Western-style dance piece—a merry melody that could not help but lift the spirits of even the most sorrowful heart. The superintendent stood gaping at the crane’s beak, but the crane continued to sing resoundingly, heedless of his bewilderment—until about two minutes later, when it abruptly fell silent like a malfunctioning gramophone. Now, the superintendent was a kind-hearted soul who considered every tree and blade of grass in this park his friends—so overcome with awe was he at this moment that he found himself addressing the fountain’s crane in such a manner.

“Hey, Crane! Crane! Why on earth did you start singing? Ah, but what remarkable workmanship that was, wasn’t it?”

This sequence of events was detailed in the *Sunset Newspaper* as “Superintendent Sakuzuki’s Account”—ghostwritten by Furuichi Kaju exactly as described—but there remained underlying circumstances that required fuller explanation. The reason was none other than this: Sakuzuki’s daughter had been kept as a mistress by *Sunset Newspaper*’s president Kouda Setsuzou for four or five years, and feeling indebted for this arrangement, Sakuzuki had been striving to serve the newspaper diligently in all matters. Thus, upon witnessing this inexplicable phenomenon, he immediately rushed to Kouda Setsuzou’s mistress’s residence and whispered every detail of what had transpired. Kouda Setsuzou had been sitting cross-legged on his futon listening to Sakuzuki’s account when, after a short while, he suddenly slapped his knee with a pop,

“Ah, how fortuitous!” “Kouda Setsuzou—it seems fortune has at last turned its face toward me.”

It is said he then abruptly turned toward the household altar and clapped his hands twice—*pon pon*. Through these machinations, the "Singing Crane Fountain" became an exclusive feature of the *Sunset Newspaper*. Under a three-line bold headline declaring it a "National Auspicious Omen," they crafted an elaborate article and conscripted every available notable and scholar to contribute impressions. While some refused, most people offered hastily conceived ideas fearing future reprisals, resulting in over thirty dignitaries ambiguously paying homage to the fountain amid the confusion. Other leading papers dismissed it with scornful laughter, but public enthusiasm unexpectedly surged; letters condemning their arrogance for ignoring this grand omen piled high on editorial desks, panicking executives who scrambled to devise damage control—yet by then it was too late, for the fountain's popularity had been wholly claimed by the *Sunset Newspaper*. Meanwhile, this once-obscure paper abruptly gained fame, its circulation soaring as if taking flight—aptly mirroring the crane itself.

The unjust humiliation Furuichi Kaju suffered at tonight’s Tokyo Kaikan Hall year-end party was considered largely attributable to the intense professional envy rival newspapers harbored toward the *Sunset Newspaper*’s exclusive coverage of the “Singing Crane Fountain” incident. The Tokyo City Parks Department found itself compelled to address the matter as well, enlisting a music school professor to investigate its origins—yet every resulting report offered only nebulous conjectures, leaving investigators no closer to understanding what circumstances had actually precipitated this phenomenon.

Ah, but had the crane fountain truly begun singing songs? What even first-rate scientists couldn't unravel through their pondering was unlikely to be grasped by someone like the author. As there was soon to be a lecture by the renowned eccentric polymath Dr. Kaneshige regarding this matter, we resolved to have him solve its mysteries on that occasion and returned once more to the bar "Paris"—where Furuichi Kaju, having just gulped down the offered whiskey soda in one swig, wiped his mouth with his palm before shaking his head irritably,

“Well—it’s true, I tell you! It really does sing—with such a truly marvelous voice, it sings!”

The mysterious man looked at him with skeptical eyes, “While there may be such things as the wind whispering through reeds and cranes crying, I have never heard of a crane singing songs." “If it does sing, pray tell—by what mechanism does it produce these melodies?” “Surely it’s not reciting the Pine Winds Anthology like Li Bai’s legendary crane?” “Li Bai? Don’t be absurd—it sings a Mozartian gavotte!” “Even as a traveler, such ignorance strikes me as remarkably careless.” “You clearly haven’t read the Sunset Newspaper yet.” “But setting that aside—shouldn’t this strike you as the most Tokyo-like affair imaginable?”

The mysterious man nodded, “Ah, on that point I concur.” “Undoubtedly, this is a quintessentially Tokyo incident.” “What do you say—might you now guide me to see that chic crane?” “Certainly, I’ll be your guide.” “Being kind to travelers is certainly a pleasant thing, after all.” “Now that we’ve settled the matter, let us hasten to depart this place.” “I would like to hear more about the crane, but this location seems rather unsuitable for that purpose.” “From here, let us drink one whiskey soda each at B.R., A.I., Bonton, Etoile, Maxim, and Lido—these six establishments—before proceeding to the crane’s location.” “Well, let us set that aside for now.”

In this manner, Furuichi Kaju and the mysterious man left "Paris" behind and found themselves wandering into the dim backstreets of Ginza.

What time could it be now? Though the 108 temple bells still dully reverberated through Kaju’s skull, when he looked up, the moon had already sunk low—just above JOAK’s radio tower—yet whether that pale disk truly was the moon remained uncertain to Kaju’s blurred vision. The two came stumbling entangled to the edge of the fountain-adorned pond with staggering steps. The bronze crane, its shapely wings glittering, spewed pallid watery breath as if about to take flight into the sky at any moment. Gentlemen, do you wish for the crane to sing here? Yet at this moment, the crane did not sing.

Kaju swayed his head unsteadily back and forth,

“Ah, the crane isn’t singing.”

The mysterious man nodded, “Yes, it isn’t singing.” “But even that’s perfectly fine.” “I’d rather not force it to sing at this late hour.”

As he said this—as if suddenly remembering something—he brought his hands together in a loud clap, “Ah, seeing this crane reminded me.” “I still had one task left.” “Come now, let us hasten to Matsutani Tsuruko’s residence.” “Last night we were meant to share a New Year’s Eve supper there alone, yet I had utterly forgotten until this moment.” “Poor dear must have waited herself ragged—likely fallen asleep by now. It’s already three o’clock, you see.”

III. Concerning Matsutani Tsuruko’s Lover

And the Unexpected Course of Events

On the edge of the cliff at Akasaka Sannoudai stood a two-story concrete house called Ariake-so. Built in the then-trendy Corbusier style with large, wide-opening windows, this structure stood out starkly amidst the many old residential houses in this area. When viewed from the base of the cliff, it appeared exactly like a large glass display case. To reach it, one had to climb the narrow, steep path beside Hie Shrine's torii gate—but given how treacherously precipitous it was, anyone would grow short of breath and need to pause for rest midway. As mentioned earlier, Ariake-so stood on the edge of a sheer thirty-shaku cliff, its lower area forming a wide vacant lot where only a single low-roofed two-story house existed. Because its side immediately adjoined Sanno Shrine's precincts, it occupied an exceedingly quiet and secluded spot.

This house had been built at the whim of the young master of a Nihonbashi pouch wholesaler—returned from abroad—who modeled it after Western-style apartments he'd seen overseas. Though called an apartment, it bore no resemblance to those modest affairs with single six-mat rooms equipped merely with gas and water lines. Every chamber boasted such luxurious appointments as thick russet carpets deep enough to sink one's ankles into. Each unit consisted of five rooms—a living room, bedroom, dining room, bathroom, and kitchen—partitioned by an entrance door to remain independent from other units. Consequently, those residing in this apartment were all people of leisure with both wealth and refined tastes—mistresses of wealthy men, young couples returned from abroad, and unlikely high-ranking court ladies who bore no resemblance to such titles.

A twenty-four or twenty-five-year-old beauty with lingering childish charm in lovely features—now pushing open the second-floor window facing the cliff, now retrieving a splendid orchid pot from the built-in flower shelf along its ledge, now furrowing brows at the fragrant crescent moon while clicking her tongue lightly. Turning toward the dining room adjoining the living room,

“Old woman! Old woman! You’ve left this ‘King of Annam’ out again, haven’t you?” “After he went through all that trouble to bring it back from Indochina, if we let it wither or treat it carelessly, I’ll be in a terrible spot! Honestly, you’re hopeless, old woman!” When called out to in a voice tinged with mild anger, the one who soon entered the room—wiping her hands on the hem of her cooking apron—was a part-time maid named Tome, around fifty years old. She bobbed her thinly-haired head with its small chignon in repeated bows,

“Yes, I’m terribly sorry. “Being unaccustomed to handling it, I went and forgot. “From now on I’ll take proper care, so please forgive this oversight.” With that, she peered at the mantel clock on the hearth shelf. “Speaking of the King of Annam, how late the master is running. “It’s nearly a quarter to twelve already. “You don’t suppose he’s forgotten...?”

The beauty also turned resentfully toward the clock, “He’s really late. I wonder what’s happened.” “But since he made such a firm promise yesterday, I don’t think he’d forget… though.” “But maybe he’s out bar-hopping in Ginza again.” “How utterly infuriating.” “He doesn’t understand people’s feelings at all!” “If he does come late, I just don’t know what I’ll do to him!” Tome waved her hands as if to urge,

“Yes, yes, you should really tear into him!” “Making such a beauty as yourself fret like this—no matter how grand the Master may be, it’s far too weighty a sin.”

The beauty—as if suddenly coming to herself—abruptly began inquiring hurriedly,

“By the way—the supper preparations must be completely ready by now.” “And the tableware for two is all set as well, right?” “Yes, yes, everything’s been laid out completely.” “The goose liver pâté has been thinly sliced and chilled on ice, and the champagne has already been placed in the ice bucket.”

The beauty smiled wryly and, “Then stop wasting time with idle chatter and hurry back home already, please. Because tonight I’m supposed to see in the New Year alone with him.”

Tome smiled wryly and, “Yes, yes—I shall take my leave promptly, as you say.” “Then I wish you a splendid New Year.” With that, Tome withdrew.

Left behind was the beauty, alone—she threw herself onto a plush sofa matching the carpet’s hue, the gaze fixed on the clock as she grew increasingly restless. At that moment, the New Year's Eve bell began to boom solemnly. It became a somewhat old-fashioned scene, but the sound of the bell reached even the Corbusier-style new apartment. This was, in the end, an unavoidable circumstance.

This beauty was Matsutani Tsuruko—formerly a fourth-cohort student at the Takarazuka Girls' Opera School, where she had been an extraordinarily popular pupil celebrated alongside performers like Benichidori and Takachiho Mineko for her dance prowess. After injuring her leg onstage led to waning fame, she soon withdrew from the school and drifted between bars in Kobe’s Sannomiya district. Then, about two years prior, she caught the eye of that same King of Annam—Sōryū—who had casually arrived in Japan, and was tenderly transplanted to Ariake-so apartments in Sannōdai.

As some may know, this King of Annam—bearing the Japanese name Munakata Ryutaro—stood out even among Japan-admiring Oriental royalty as an especially ardent devotee of all things Japanese. He abhorred the French-style indoctrination forced upon him by his homeland's government with the visceral disgust one might feel toward caterpillars, going so far as to expressly summon educators from Japan to steep himself solely in Japanese culture. While it had been his established practice to casually visit Japan alone twice yearly during respites from state affairs—summer and winter—lingering about a month before returning home, his pilgrimages swelling to nearly bimonthly frequency after growing enamored with Matsutani Tsuruko followed as natural a progression as water seeking its level.

Now, just as Matsutani Tsuruko—waiting anxiously as previously described—heard footsteps approaching down the corridor, followed by a knocking sound at her door, she hurried to the entrance and threw it open, only to find not the long-awaited Munakata Ryutaro but Momozawa Hana, a seamstress residing on the second floor of the rental shack beneath the cliff. Carrying a sewing item wrapped in traditional paper, she hurriedly unwrapped the package on the table, pulled out a dazzling crimson formal dress, and proudly spread it out before turning back toward Tsuruko.

“Yes, it’s finished.” “Please take a look.” “I must say I sewed it remarkably well—even I'm impressed with myself.” “After all, I have a mountain of urgent seasonal work.” “I’ve been trying to finish this by tonight, so for the past four or five days, I haven’t slept a wink.” “Please praise me.” Tsuruko, holding the formal dress against her chest, went to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room and, twisting her body this way and that, scrutinized it intently from every angle before eventually turning back toward Hana with genuine delight,

“Ohh~! It’s divine—so beautifully made! Hana-chan, thank you ever so much—I’ll give you proper thanks.” “Well? Doesn’t it suit me perfectly?” “Yes, infuriatingly well.”

“Ohh~! I’m delighted.” “By the way—don’t just stand there like that. Do have a seat.” “You’ve finished your work, haven’t you?” “Yes, I’m just about to go to bed.” “But I’ll pass today.” “The King will be here soon, right?” “No way! I don’t want to be around for that.” “Oh, don’t be absurd. Ryutaro is your client too.” “Wait here and keep me company for a bit.” “Yes, that’s for another time.” With that, she narrowed her eyes mischievously,

“Tsuruko-san, shall I tell you something amusing? The King has ordered another visiting outfit besides this one, you know. See? You don’t have to fret. And then he says it’s fine to sew this one carelessly—what a peculiar king he is.”

“Well, Hana-chan, that’s a kimono meant for the wife back in his country.” “You think I don’t know about that?” “How foolish of you!” Hana poked her tongue between her teeth,

“I’m going home—that’s all I needed to hear.” “Well then, see you tomorrow.” “Oh! I almost forgot.” “Happy New Year.” “Do keep favoring me this year as well. Well, goodbye!” Hana dashed out without heeding Tsuruko’s attempts to stop her. Tsuruko was alone again. When she looked at the clock, it was already half past twelve. As the reader knows, if we supposed that suspicious figure from earlier was indeed Munakata Ryutaro, he should still have been drinking his umpteenth whiskey soda with Furuichi Kaju at some bar—meaning no matter how desperately Tsuruko waited, there was no chance he would appear there so quickly. Even Tsuruko couldn’t very well stay up waiting forever; she would probably go to bed before long.

Around 3:20 AM, there came violent knocking at the door to Tsuruko's residence. Tsuruko propped herself up in bed and strained to listen toward it; from the commotion of voices outside the door, it seemed Ryutaro wasn't alone after all. Tsuruko clicked her tongue softly and, "Ugh, what an irritating man." "He's dragged someone else here again." Muttering to herself, she went to the entrance and opened the door to find none other than that suspicious figure and Furuichi Kaju stumbling in. Ryutaro embraced Tsuruko's shoulder with a reproachful air as she tried to speak,

“Ah, I seem to have delayed somewhat excessively.” “Nevertheless, as the morning sun has yet to rise, we retain sufficient pretext for partaking of a midnight repast.” Having declared this with leisurely composure, he pulled Furuichi by the hand and strode into the dining room—only to immediately click his tongue in disapproval, “Oh, this is no good.” “The absence of guests’ tableware does appear rather deficient.” “Now then, Tsuruko-san—kindly produce whatever provisions are wanting here.”

Tsuruko involuntarily broke into a smile, “I just can’t keep up with you. What absurdly clever phrasing you always come up with.” “Oh, I’ll serve the meal alright—but before that, you simply must introduce this gentleman, Your Majesty.” “But you see, Tsuruko-san, since I don’t know this person’s name, let’s have him go by ‘Mr. Fountain’ for now, and in any case, we shall commence our meal.”

Kaju restrained Tsuruko as she tried to stand up, his bleary eyes staring intently at her face, “Ah, there’s such a thing as being too beautiful!” “How can such a beauty be allowed to exist in this world?” “If it were me, I wouldn’t want anything anymore.” “Rather than that, please stay seated here.” “That would be a far greater treat, I must say.” When he spouted such uncharacteristic flattery—or perhaps drunken ramblings—Tsuruko wriggled her body like a young girl,

“Oh, how delightful! I simply adore people who flatter me.” “As thanks, I’ll feed you myself—you and I are already bosom friends.” Having said that, she dragged her chair over, sat down snugly against Kaju, and skewered a dripping shucked oyster with a small silver fork— “Here—” and pressed it to Kaju’s lips. Kaju had no choice but to open his thick-lipped mouth and gulp it down like a carp, whereupon Tsuruko thrust the fork into his hand and—

“This time you’ll let me have a bite, won’t you? Come on, give me that foie gras.” With that, she opened her mouth wide right before Kaju’s nose. Between her perfectly aligned teeth—like tiny pearls—the tip of a small tongue quivered into view. Even through the drunken haze clouding Kaju’s eyes, this made for a truly splendid spectacle. Tsuruko had been making Kaju pour champagne while egging him on with fervor, but soon her demeanor turned disheveled. Suddenly springing up from her chair, she straddled his lap and threw an indescribably alluring glance back at Ryutaro while—

“Look here, Mr. Fountain—see that man? He may call himself a King, but heh heh, that beard of his isn’t the least bit intimidating.”

Having said that, she suddenly pulled Kaju’s head close and kissed his lips, “See? He’s not getting angry at all. How pathetic—‘Your Majesty’ my foot.”

This was likely Tsuruko’s ploy to provoke jealousy in the King—but even so, what a peculiar man this so-called King was. Leaning back leisurely against the chair’s backrest with gentle eyes crinkled in a smile, he gazed serenely at Tsuruko’s antics. Given that, it was only natural for Tsuruko to grow impatient. Tsuruko was mumbling something incoherently on Kaju’s lap when she suddenly jumped down to the floor,

“There’s a draft on my legs. Must be something open somewhere—”

Having said that, she headed toward the hallway with unexpectedly steady footsteps, but soon returned,

“As I thought—the entrance door was open.” “How strange—I’m certain I closed it earlier.”

She suddenly put on a serious expression and became lost in thought, but immediately burst into laughter, "Oh, right—it wasn’t me who closed it, it was His Majesty. Then it must still be open. …Say, Mr. Fountain, I hear there aren’t any doors on houses in His Majesty’s country." "That’s why he doesn’t know how to close doors properly. …Well now, we’ve eaten quite enough! Let’s go lounge on the sofa while we talk—Your Majesty, you’re coming too."

His Majesty sat beside Tsuruko on the sofa and, still wearing an unperturbed expression, turned back toward Kaju, “Tonight, let us three dine at Prunier.” “I will be waiting in the hotel lobby at five o’clock.” “……To be honest, I believe this person’s appetite might increase if you would kindly accompany us.” “Tonight was generally like that as well. …Oh, even if this is a joke—”

Kaju descended the steep path and reached the clearing at the base of the cliff. At that moment, a dull sound echoed far above his head. When he looked up, he saw something falling—closer, closer—a heavy object plunging rapidly through the pale remnants of moonlight. It resembled a red cloth-wrapped bundle, but what looked like human limbs flailed wildly from it, extending and retracting in desperation. No—this was unmistakably human, the spread hem of its kimono ballooning out like a windsock.

Before he could even process the thought, it grazed past Kaju's nose and crashed into the clearing with a sickening thud. Lying sprawled with her mouth agape in the gravel-strewn clearing was none other than Matsuya Tsuruko—the very woman he had parted from moments ago. When Kaju grabbed her shoulders and shook them, she remained utterly limp, offering no resistance. Over eyes gaping wide lay the shadow of the waning dawn moon. There was a house right beside him, but Kaju was so flustered that it didn't register in his vision. Suddenly hoisting Tsuruko onto his shoulder, he proceeded up the path in a state of utter absorption.

Matsutani Tsuruko, who had been so vivacious until mere moments ago, now lay limp over Kaju’s shoulder, no longer breathing. Even so—what on earth could have occurred in that ochre-toned room during the five or six minutes it took Kaju to descend to the base of the cliff?

Part Two

IV. The Swift Feat of the King of Annam

And: The Undeniable Evidence

Furuichi Kaju—a magazine reporter for the Sunset Newspaper—encountered a strange-looking man in the backstreets of Ginza on New Year’s Eve, who was in fact Emperor Munakata, the incognito King of Annam. Joining him in revelrous drinking across various establishments until thoroughly intoxicated, Kaju was persuaded to visit an apartment called Ariake-so in Akasaka Sannoudai. There, the three of them—including the Emperor’s lover Matsutani Tsuruko—shared a late-night meal before departing around 4:00 AM. Upon arriving at the clearing below the apartment cliffside, something suddenly grazed past Kaju’s not-so-lofty nose as it fell—unexpectedly revealed to be none other than Matsutani Tsuruko, whom they had just parted from moments earlier. The previous installment ended with Furuichi—astonished by this—thoughtlessly scooping Tsuruko into his arms and retracing the path he had just taken.

When Kaju saw Tsuruko's condition and judged it to be a life-or-death crisis where she was losing all vitality—needless to say—he became thoroughly flustered. Not caring that his rented tuxedo wrinkled, he suddenly hoisted Tsuruko onto his back and began retracing his path to Ariake-so in complete absorption.

The desolate locale of Hoshigaoka; the frigid four o'clock morning light; one side a levee, the other a planting of pines and cedars—their roots rustling with dwarf bamboo; the path so narrow it scraped against his legs; this pitch-dark precipitous slope. When he glanced back at Atsuru on his shoulders, her snow-white shin thrust alluringly from between crimson undergarments arranged in ukiyo-e fashion, her face turned moonward with eyes crinkled as if laughing. The ungodly hour and path’s peculiar charm meant any unknowing onlooker might have envied what seemed a dashing romantic escapade—this beauty in full evening attire carried through the night with lingering coquettishness—but in truth, Atsuru upon his back had already breathed her last.

But Kaju did not know such a thing. He thought only of reaching Ariake-so as quickly as possible to treat her and somehow keep her alive, quickening his pace while fixated on this sole purpose—but the path was strewn everywhere with grey heron droppings that hindered his progress. Each time he slipped with a slithering motion, Tsuruko’s foot would lightly kick Kaju’s backside. Interpreting these kicks as Atsuru urgently signaling him to hurry—hurry up!—Kaju’s panic grew all the more frantic,

“Ah, you’re in pain? Of course, of course—after falling over thirty feet, it’s only natural you’d feel some discomfort. Anyway, please stop kicking me. I’m trying to hurry as fast as I can, but really—”

While repeatedly trying to placate the corpse and panting breathlessly as he scrambled upward, he finally reached the entrance of Ariake-so.

He raced up the stairs and pushed on the door to Tsuruko’s residence, but unexpectedly, it appeared to be firmly locked from the inside—no matter how he shoved or slammed against it, there was no sign of it opening. Given all the commotion that had occurred, one would expect at least some sign of people stirring about—yet there was no such indication whatsoever; it remained profoundly, unnervingly silent.

Kaju stood there disconcerted and dazed for a moment, but seeing no resolution would come from this, he grew somewhat impatient and pressed the wall button to request assistance. After a short while, unhurried footsteps approached through the entrance hall corridor, and responding from beyond the door with a slurred drunken voice was none other than Emperor Munakata. Kaju, frantic with impatience, “Hey! It’s a problem if you keep beating around the bush like that.” “It’s me.” “Mr.Fountain here! Something terrible’s happened—open up quick!”

The King of Annam showed no sign of surprise at all,

“Oh—Mr.Tsuruno? This is unexpected. What brings you back at this hour?” “Though this seems rather premature for a return visit.” “…I suppose you wanted to see Tsuruko’s face again.” “Ah, that is only natural.” Muttering in his usual measured tone, he began rattling the door lock. Regarding Emperor Munakata Ryutaro of Annam—though mentioned previously—since none of you readers are likely acquainted with royalty firsthand, and considering some might feel patronized and resentful over this matter, I must strenuously emphasize he was no figment of imagination, so as to spare your sensibilities.

In the previous installment, we casually referred to him as "Ryutaro" or "the King," treating him like a friend, but this man was none other than the supreme emperor reigning over fifty-two million subjects in French Indochina. Not only had he already obtained a doctorate in Japanese literature, but he was also thoroughly versed in Europe's willow-shaded, flower-lit subtleties—a man equally celebrated for erudition and revelry, the quintessential sophisticate among sophisticates. Under normal circumstances, Furuichi Kaju would never have been able to converse so familiarly with such a figure—yet Emperor Munakata's choice to fraternize with these eccentric magazine reporters and indulge in drunken revels through Ginza's backstreets stemmed not merely from his incognito status, but revealed the Emperor's possession of an unconventional and magnanimous spirit. As for his bearing, he was a figure of calculated obscurity—akin to what we might call a poet or philosopher. Why he chose to veil such a vibrant existence lies beyond our main narrative's scope, but should one consult Annam's historical records regarding 1883, understanding may dawn of its own accord.

As previously stated, Emperor Munakata had harbored an extraordinary fondness for Japan, abhorring French cultural indoctrination as one would loathe caterpillars, and despite the French Governor-General’s displeasure, he had deliberately summoned numerous teachers from Japan to devote himself to Japanese education and culture. Yet it was certain that Japanese students who toured Paris and witnessed the military review near the presidential residence on July 14th would have recognized this very Emperor Munakata. Upon the dais installed at the residence’s entrance—standing alongside the Kings of Monaco and Morocco, and seen at every Bastille Day celebration year after year with a perpetually melancholic expression—that black-bearded gentleman bearing the Japanese name Munakata Ryutaro was none other than Emperor Munakata.

Now the King of Annam had been clattering at the keyhole incessantly, but presently he pulled open the door and thrust his characteristically noble visage composedly into the corridor. Upon seeing Tsuruko—bereft of vitality over Kaju’s shoulder—he abruptly raised his phoenix-tail eyes and began observing their bizarre union with an extraordinary gaze. Kaju barged into the familiar bedroom without regard for formalities, laid Tsuruko upon the bed, then turned toward Emperor Munakata who stood vacantly nearby,

“Water! And then quickly—someone!”

he urged shrilly. Contrary to expectations that he would come running at the voice’s summons, the Emperor began pacing around the room aloofly while tugging at his beard. Depending on one’s interpretation, it could be seen as him struggling to comprehend what was happening before his eyes—but by any measure, it remained an utterly bizarre display. Kaju loosened Tsuruko’s obi and adjusted her collar, doing everything within conventional means while endlessly calling “Atsuru-san! Atsuru-san!”—but of course, Atsuru could not respond. She no longer bore such obligations. Her face—bearing a deathly pallor unmistakable even after mere hours—floated in the desk lamp’s faint glow, already lying there as nothing more than a phenomenon. Even Kaju—with his sluggish blood circulation—seemed to have finally grasped the situation. He stood gaping at that visage until soon, with a sigh,

"Oh... She's dead." "This can't be right!" He had been pacing restlessly about the area when suddenly he whirled around, darted out of the bedroom, raced down the stairs, and began pounding on the caretaker's door at the back of the entrance as if to smash it to pieces,

“Caretaker! Caretaker!” From within came the old woman’s hoarse voice: “My, my—what could this be about?… Yes, yes—this is Granny Ouma. What is it? What is it? Has there been an emergency?” Kaju, finding no progress, “It’s terrible—terrible! Miss Matsutani Tsuruko has committed suicide! …No—I shouldn’t say such a thing." “Atsuru-san is gravely ill—no—a sudden illness—a sudden illness! Quickly call for a doctor!” Ouma fumbled upright while mumbling incoherently:

“Oh, so there’s a dead person.” “What an ill omen to start off New Year’s Day.”

After clicking her tongue sarcastically, she maintained a sweet vocal tone while remaining under the futon, “Oh my, that’s terrible.” “Understood, understood. I shall go summon them immediately.” Kaju turned back and headed up to the second floor again. When he looked, the King of Annam was sitting at the dining table adjacent to the bedroom, now composedly raising a glass of whiskey soda. Seeing this, Kaju grew furious,

“Whatever you want to do is your own business. If you want to drink, then drink. That’s fine—but how did things come to this?” With a composure that no drunkard could possibly match—or so one would think—the King of Annam replied in measured tones: “Ah, I do not know.” That was all. It was a reply utterly devoid of substance.

“I don’t know’?! That’s the height of negligence.” “After all, Miss Tsuruko’s lying cold in the next room!” “And... and that’s no way to respond!” “Even if you are the King of Annam, this is far too negligent!” Kaju believed himself to be completely sober by now, but in truth, he remained profoundly intoxicated at his core. When he saw the King of Annam’s demeanor, a sudden surge of righteous indignation overtook him, and laying bare his country-bred obstinacy, he pressed forward, implying that depending on the response, matters would not be settled peaceably.

“Hey, you—what the hell did you start doing after I left? When I left this room, you were sitting side by side with Miss Tsuruko on the sofa in the opposite bedroom. We agreed to meet in the Imperial Hotel lobby at five tonight so the three of us could go eat at Prunier together, and not long after I left Ariake-so and reached the vacant lot below the cliff, Miss Tsuruko suddenly came plummeting down from the heavens. Why did Miss Tsuruko fall?… Given that all the windows in this room are high-waisted like this, even if Tsuruko had been drunk, there’s no reason she would have tumbled out naturally—nor do I believe Miss Tsuruko had any such proclivity in her daily life. First of all, she had been making such a lively commotion just moments ago, hadn’t she? It’s truly an utterly inexplicable turn of events, I must say.”

“Indeed, it is truly inexplicable, isn’t it?” “There’s no need to mimic me. After I left this room, what exactly did you do?” “I did nothing at all, you see. Until you pressed the doorbell earlier, I had been sitting on that sofa the entire time since then.” “Oh, I see.” “However, Tsuruko left the bedroom. I had assumed I saw you off, but…” When Kaju heard this, he suddenly glared at the King of Annam with a haughty look,

“No, Miss Tsuruko didn’t come to see me off at all! When I was leaving, she didn’t even stand up, did she? Oh, you’re lying! If that’s the case, then it was you after all—” In roughly this manner, Kaju—suddenly feeling like a detective—pressed his interrogation over matters of little consequence, but since these details grow tedious, we shall omit them here. As for the King of Annam, he showed no particular concern for Kaju’s impertinent chatter. Elegantly leaning back in his chair while toying with an empty glass, he soon set it down on the dining table, rose quietly, and made his way to the parlor. There he picked up an overcoat tossed carelessly across the sofa and began leisurely slipping his arms into its sleeves. Kaju was startled,

“What the hell are you trying to pull?” “I am making preparations to depart.” “Stop spouting nonsense. What’ll you do about this situation?” “Well, I must take my leave.” “But rest assured, Mr. Fountain—matters will resolve themselves in time.” “I have formally assumed responsibility for your custody.” “There’s no cause for concern.” “Then.” Having uttered these cryptic words—as though recalling some forgotten item—he walked into the bedroom opposite the entranceway while still wearing his hat.

Judging from the surrounding circumstances, it seemed Emperor Munakata had thrown Tsuruko down, but even so, what motive could have driven him to commit such a barbaric act? Perhaps earlier, when Tsuruko had performed an excessively indecent display with Kaju before Emperor Munakata’s very eyes, he might have committed this violent act out of overwhelming jealousy. But since there was little use in the author dwelling on such matters here—these would eventually be resolved by Inspector Manako Akira, who was to appear later in this novel—let us proceed with the narrative. About five minutes later, someone began pounding forcefully on the front door. When Kaju hurriedly pulled it open, he found a police sergeant and a plainclothes officer entering.

The sergeant stepped into the room and without delay turned to Kaju, “So this is where the murder happened, eh?” “Where is the corpse?” Even as he posed this question, the detective had already stationed himself before the entrance, his posture rigidly defensive without a moment’s lapse in vigilance. Kaju’s courage failed him, “Murder!” “Oh, how on earth do you know about that?” “This is really bad.” “The caretaker there reported this, but perhaps it’s false?”

“Well, I’m not saying it’s false, but still…” The sergeant adopted a stern and formulaic demeanor. “Enough of that—just show me the way.” His threatening demeanor practically screamed, “Or should I barge in?” without uttering a word.

In the adjacent bedroom was Emperor Munakata, but thinking this was indeed the critical moment, Kaju reluctantly took the lead and entered the bedroom—only to find no trace of where the King of Annam could have hidden. Presumably he had heard the commotion and hidden himself in the inner bathroom—but given how cramped the apartment was, there was simply no way it could conceal him at all. The sergeant had been fussing over Tsuruko’s corpse by the bed, but upon hearing hushed voices conversing near the entrance just then, he apparently grew concerned and strode off in that direction. Kaju followed along a short distance behind as if dragged, and at the entrance doorway, the one engaged in a standing conversation with the plainclothes officer appeared to be Ouma—the caretaker from earlier. Ouma whispered,

“Yeees, yes. The one in the back is indeed him.” “There’s absolutely no mistake about that.” “…But you see, given their standing, I doubt they’d be careless… but there’s that matter.”

They could be heard saying such things. When Kaju entered the parlor, Ouma abruptly fell silent and performed an exaggerated bow so deep one feared her spine might snap. A woman in her mid-fifties with a malicious air. The sergeant slowly approached Kaju with a manner as if he were about to rub his hands together,

“As I was entirely unaware of these circumstances… I shall offer a full apology for that later… Now then, given this situation, it would be most appropriate to hear the course of events from your own account… Though this must cause you considerable inconvenience, however, given the gravity of the matter… particularly regarding the government’s position—” When Kaju finished recounting in full detail how he had left this room, carried Tsuruko on his back, and returned here, the two officers listened while exchanging glances and smirking snidely—but once Kaju concluded his account, the sergeant:

“So you’re stating that in this room were you, the victim, and another individual besides?” “And where is that individual?” “If they’re not here, they must be hiding somewhere. Go look for them—after all, they haven’t gone outside.” The reader has likely already surmised this, but the King of Annam was nowhere to be found—not in the bathroom, the kitchen, or even the cupboards; indeed, in any place where a person could hide.

There was a kitchen door facing the back stairs in the dining room, but that door too had been double-locked from the outside when Tome the maid departed the previous night, and its key was now tied to Ouma’s waist. A grim-faced detective had been standing guard at the entrance doorway since earlier, and aside from that ill-fated window in the genkan, all other windows were firmly locked from the inside.

Ah, thus it was certain—the King of Annam had dispersed like mist and clouds between the bathroom and the bedroom. What else can one think but that? At this moment, the sergeant's hand reached out and grabbed Kaju's arm. Ouma-baa nodded with a self-satisfied look,

"In any case, since you two were here alone together, there's no squirming your way out of this now." She interjected with this superfluous remark.

Kaju's lips quivered, "No, no—there were definitely three of us here. As proof—" As he said this, he pointed to the nearby dining table in an attempt to demonstrate they had dined together as three, but regrettably only two place settings could be found there. Kaju had completely forgotten how the previous night—when the King of Annam tried to make Tsuruko bring out his tableware—he had stubbornly refused, and how through some peculiar interplay they had ended up sharing the same fork back and forth.

V. Kaju's Trance

An Ordinary and Luxurious Breakfast

Abruptly opening his eyes, Kaju found himself having slept on something like a long couch; night had already completely broken, with pale sunlight filtering through thick curtains. Yet his consciousness still drifted between dream and wakefulness, uncertain which state held him. Only the creaking pain in his neck and lower back and his throat burning with thirst felt undeniably real. Even attempting to grasp his current location proved futile—his head throbbed as if splitting apart, leaving him unable to form a coherent thought. I remember being taken by taxi to Tameike Police Station at dawn and thrown into a pitch-black room, but nothing after that remains in my memory.

Forcing open his bleary eyes to scan the dimly lit room, he saw large desks and leather-upholstered armchairs arranged about—not opulent but substantial. Oil paintings hung in frames too, though none looked familiar. Rubbing his eyes while doubting this reality, he suddenly reached for his neck and felt the stiff standing collar. No wonder his neck ached—Kaju had slept fully dressed in his tuxedo. Half-rising, he looked toward the wall at his feet where his velvet bowler hat—more precious than life itself—hung on a nail. Ah yes, his overcoat was there too, and leather gloves. At this realization, Kaju jolted fully awake. If this wasn’t some dream, he was being held here as Matsutani Tsuruko’s murderer—meaning he’d landed in dire straits. This was no time for lying about.

In any case, I had to figure out where I was. Suddenly springing up, he approached the desk and looked down—the mountain of documents spread across it was haphazardly stamped with red seals marked “Top Secret” and “Approved.” Kaju, "Hmm, I see, I see." "This is the police chief’s office." "Given that, why the hell have they locked me up in a place like this?" He crossed his arms and pondered, then suddenly struck his knee,

"Last night the police sergeant gave some absurdly polite greeting—they must've jumped to the conclusion I'm Emperor Munakata's bosom friend or some blue-blooded aristocrat, hence this deferential treatment. At yesterday's trade year-end party, wanting to show up those bastards who always sneer at me, I paid a bleeding deposit to rent this tuxedo—never dreamed it'd land me here." "They say clothes make the man—rigged out like this, nobody'd ever take me for a penny-ante tabloid hack." "What's more, my mug's got a right noble cast to it—might've passed me off as a marquis or suchlike." "But you never know what'll prove fortuitous."

He had been smirking to himself, but suddenly his expression grew unsettled again, "It’s impressive that I can smirk in such a critical moment, but my current situation isn’t so forgiving. Of course I have no memory of it, but there’s not a single soul who can vouch for my innocence. That king bastard spouted some grandiose claim about taking responsibility for me, but with the man himself vanishing like smoke, he’s no use at all. What on earth should I do?"

he kept tilting his head in a puzzled manner. The circumstances of the case were entirely unfavorable to Kaju; he seemed to have fallen into an inescapable predicament. However, when I thought about it, there was only one way to prove my innocence. Kaju had not once mentioned his involvement with the King of Annam the previous night, but if he were to confess how he had gone on drunken escapades with Emperor Munakata hand-in-hand since their meeting at "Paris"—given that such an oddly featured emperor would surely leave an impression on one or two people who could testify they had kept company until late—then common sense would dictate that no emperor would send Kaju alone to Tsuruko’s residence. The authorities might consequently question this point and perhaps come to believe Kaju’s statement about there being three people that night held truth. It was a terribly flimsy counterargument, but for now, this alone was my one glimmer of hope.

After much deliberation, Kaju had tentatively resolved that if push came to shove, he would present this point—but on another angle, what a spectacular scoop it would be to claim that the King of Annam had committed murder. Depending on how he played it, he could make all of Japan gasp in astonishment. Moreover, those who knew this truth—apart from Old Woman Ouma and a few officials—were none other than Furuichi Kaju himself throughout all of vast Tokyo. Moreover, that Kaju was both an eyewitness to the incident and a witness to the crime itself. Would Furuichi Kaju—even if immature, yet still a tabloid reporter of some standing—overlook such a monumental scoop as if it were mere smoke and clouds?

Kaju had until now been in a drunken stupor, casually forgetting all about his profession, but at this realization, a ferocious professional consciousness surged within him. If Kaju were to scoop this case, how astonishing that would be. He could make those Asahi and Nichinichi bastards—who usually treated him with barely concealed contempt—stand there utterly dumbfounded. And the name Furuichi Kaju of the Sunset Newspaper would leap to prominence, reverberating through the industry. Just thinking about it made his heart leap.

Kaju wore a somewhat haughty expression, “Alright, alright—no matter what it takes, I’ll make this scoop mine.” “If I reveal how I was carousing with the King of Annam, they’ll release me—but then every other hack will snatch up this exclusive story before I can write it.” “That’d be useless.” “The situation looks dire now, but heaven’s net is wide—even if I don’t struggle, they’ll eventually realize Emperor Munakata’s the killer and clear my name.” “Right—I won’t breathe a word about the Emperor.” “Nor mention my real status.” “So what if one month becomes two in detention? Nothing to fear.” “I’ll plant myself firm and see this case through to its rotten end.” “They can’t keep me here forever anyway—when interrogation starts, I’ll feed them whatever answers they want.” “Once decided—no need to wait on this damned bench—I’ll call the authorities myself!”

Muttering this, he hurriedly straightened his tie, pulled at the hem of his wrinkled jacket, took out a comb and meticulously smoothed his hair; once he had sufficiently composed himself, he turned toward the doorway and declared in a voice of utmost solemnity:

“Hey! Isn’t there anyone here?” he called out.

The one who quietly opened the door and entered—as if on cue—was a man around fifty with a trim mustache, wearing a uniform with pristine epaulettes and white gloves.

He pressed both palms firmly against his thighs, shuffled to the window in sliding steps, drew open the curtain, then advanced before Kaju with ceremonial deference,

“Have you awoken, sir?”

he said. Even Kaju hadn’t anticipated such excessive formality; rather than responding, he stared blankly at the man’s face as the latter continued in an obsequious tone: “Did you rest adequately? It must have been terribly cramped for your lordship,” before launching into— “Regarding my subordinates’ indiscretion, I must beg your most magnanimous—no, gracious—no, how shall I phrase this… At the time in question, this humble officer was absent from his post… Upon receiving the report, I hastened here in alarm only to find your lordship… that is to say, you appeared comfortably ensconced in… slumber. At that juncture, I determined that while your accommodations might have been wanting in comfort, it would be preferable not to disturb your repose… Particularly given the hour had not yet reached dawnbreak, and moreover—”

Kaju finally regained his senses and, thinking this was no time to show weakness, interrupted the man’s speech in a haughty tone,

“Ah, no no—that’s quite alright….” “And you are...?” The man snapped into a bow and adopted a tone as if reciting, “Tameike Police Station Chief, Seventh Court Rank, Sixth Order of Merit, Seventh Class of Honors, Bachelor of Laws Omotecho Sangoro.” Kaju gave a slight nod,

“Ah, I see. It seems I’ve caused you considerable trouble.”

Omotecho Sangoro once again snapped into a bow, “Not at all—think nothing of it.” “However, we shall severely reprimand the officers for their blunder in due course. As for now, you may depart at your leisure—precisely at this moment—” Because Kaju thought that the King of Annam had come to the police station just now as promised and completed the release procedures, he let out a sigh of relief, “So he’s already come?”

The police chief nodded,

“Yes‚ precisely.” “Whenever you wish‚ sir.”

The police chief lowered his voice, “Though this is a tangential matter, we promptly summoned the caretaker of Ariake-so this morning and conducted a thorough interrogation. According to her testimony, it appears not a single reporter had caught wind of last night’s murd... no—rather, last night’s incident. I beg your pardon for mentioning this detail.”

As he finished speaking, a police officer knocked on the door and entered. "The car is ready," he said and withdrew.

When Kaju involuntarily jolted and looked up at the police chief’s face with upturned eyes, he saw the man twist the corner of his tightly pursed lips into what appeared to be a faint smirk. However hastily they might have assumed Kaju was a person of high status, it remained unthinkable that the police would send him back by car. Realizing their earlier discourteous treatment had been a ploy to deceive him into being transferred to the Metropolitan Police Department, Kaju felt another wave of disappointment; nevertheless, he rose with feigned composure and let himself be led by the police chief to dejectedly board the car.

The car headed from Toranomon toward Kasumigaseki. It was moving precisely in the direction of the Metropolitan Police Department. When he looked back through the rear window of the soft-top, a single car trailed behind at an ambiguous distance—neither too close nor too far. Inside sat what appeared to be three plainclothes officers. Kaju’s face contorted into a tearful grimace, his earlier resolve beginning to crumble as the car seemed to halt. Peering fearfully ahead, he expected to see the grand entrance of the Metropolitan Police Department—but instead found himself before the porte-cochère of the Imperial Hotel.

As he watched, one of the plainclothes officers nimbly jumped down from the trailing car and entered the hotel—and before he could process this, a man in a morning coat who appeared to be the manager came running out with a slightly bent posture, opened the door of Kaju’s automobile with a reverent bow.

Kaju, resigned to letting them do as they pleased, alighted from the automobile. The manager went ahead up to the second floor, guided Kaju into what appeared to be an eastern guest room, then retreated backward to the doorway, made another exaggerated bow there, and withdrew as if fleeing.

Behind him, only Kaju remained. Perched uneasily on an armchair deep enough to sink his chin into, he waited intently for the King of Annam to enter—but after about twenty minutes, the one whose footsteps echoed down the corridor and came in was not Emperor Munakata, but a bald-headed man resembling a head bellboy, clad in a glossy black uniform. Crawling forward, he wordlessly thrust a large cardstock-like object right before Kaju’s nose. Kaju, startled out of his wits and utterly flustered, tentatively took it in hand and examined it—only to find it was nothing particularly fearsome. It was a menu. The time was precisely noon.

While being impressed by this king-like thoroughness, Kaju—since this was such an occasion—ordered four or five of the most expensive dishes he could manage, whereupon the bald-headed man meticulously wrote each one down before, “Where shall I deliver this? “Or if you prefer, shall I bring it to your bedroom?” he said. Kaju gulped down his saliva and summoned every ounce of courage, “Ah, bring it to the bedroom.” he answered in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s whine.

Kaju sat in a daze with a nauseating feeling when this time a greenhorn who seemed to be a bellboy entered, handed over a telegram, and withdrew.

Kaju let out a sigh of relief while thinking this was probably a telegram from the King of Annam apologizing for his tardiness; he hurriedly tore open the seal and read through it, only to find—quite unexpectedly—that it was ciphertext which made no sense no matter how many times he read it. When he hurriedly looked at the cover, it was a telegram from the Governor-General of Annam addressed to Emperor Munakata. Kaju stood rigidly gripping the telegram. "This—this was catastrophic." "Seeing that they handed this telegram to me... then... then... th-this me as Annam’s..."

he shouted and staggered toward the chair, nearly collapsing. Kaju had better not faint.

VI. On "Crane Child Soap"

And on the Doctor’s Bizarre Oration

On that first spring morning when the New Year’s fresh jewels returned, auspicious clouds drifted across Ouchiyama’s verdant pines, and cranes too seemed ready to dance forth in celebration of His Majesty’s auspicious longevity—a tranquil day indeed.

To Ōtemae Avenue, where New Year's pilgrimage automobiles adorned with wreaths—carrying passengers in fur-trimmed hats and gold braid—glided past, there now marched a procession led by a brass band. Fluttering gaudy flags and streamers in the morning wind, they came to line up before Nijūbashi Bridge and pay homage to the Imperial Palace; then crossing the intersection from Babanosakimon Gate, they proceeded into Hibiya Park. The group wore matching work coats with "Crane Child Soap" dyed white across their backs, some sporting spirited headbands tied forward. Though unusually early for a New Year's sale, when one looked at the great banner heading the procession to discern its purpose, there it stood emblazoned in bold characters: (Japan's Premier Evening Paper) Sunset Newspaper. Yet this alone made nothing clear. Just then came a suited man with a red sash distributing flyers—taking one to read revealed its cover printed in wooden type large as cow pats:

This morning at 9:12 AM The Crane Fountain shall sing! Come and behold the auspicious omen.

Come to Hibiya Park! (Limited to annual subscribers of the Sunset Newspaper) was printed. As previously mentioned, for reasons unknown, the cranes of Hibiya Park’s fountain had begun singing in beautiful scales at irregular intervals starting about a week prior. The first to discover this was Sakuzuki, superintendent of Hibiya Park; however, the Sunset Newspaper had been quick to report this fact ahead of other outlets, proclaiming it an auspicious national omen awaited by all the citizenry. They celebrated His Majesty’s flourishing realm with bamboo gardens, published congratulatory messages from prominent figures, and mobilized scholars and doctors en masse to express their thoughts on this wondrous phenomenon. Among them were opinions expounded from medical perspectives and military standpoints—many misguided—but in essence, the Sunset Newspaper seized firm control of this “Crane Fountain Incident,” devising sensational daily contrivances to fill every page.

That bronze cranes would sing songs in elegant melodies alongside fountain spray was undeniably a rare spectacle, so public fervor for the “Singing Crane Fountain” surged ever higher. Citizens yearning to hear its song firsthand flocked en masse to Hibiya Park, crowding around the fountain’s pond from before dawn until sunset in such numbers that movement became impossible. Though no food stalls materialized, vendors before the park’s four gates clamorously rang their bells while hawking the Sunset Newspaper.

As previously mentioned, due to these circumstances, the "Singing Crane Fountain" incident had become the exclusive domain of the *Sunset Newspaper*; those wishing to learn its details had no recourse but to seek them through this paper. Mountainous stacks of *Sunset Newspapers* transported by sidecar every hour sold out in the blink of an eye—such was the booming success. Because of this, the *Sunset Newspaper*—which had previously been so obscure that its very existence was unknown—suddenly leapt to prominence, and its circulation could now be counted in tens of thousands.

Today's procession—conceived as President and Editor-in-Chief Kouda Setsuzou's most secret stratagem to further stoke citizens' surging curiosity and cement *Sunset Newspaper*'s rapidly expanding influence—culminated in an unprecedented grand spectacle: a collaboration with the auspiciously named *Crane Child Soap*, staged under the guise of an "Auspicious Omen Celebration." The ceremony's sequence would proceed as follows: first Kouda Setsuzou's opening address; remarks from the Tokyo Municipal Waterworks Director; an award presentation to Superintendent Sakuzuki as the auspicious omen's initial discoverer; congratulatory speeches from dignitaries; Dr. Kaneshige's grand lecture on this inexplicable phenomenon; all culminating in three cheers of "Long Live His Majesty" before dismissal.

In addition to presenting *Crane Child Soap* to all attendees without exception—that they might share in this auspicious omen—they distributed half-price subscription coupons for the *Sunset Newspaper*. However, this was nothing more than a fraud—as previously described—to lend gravitas to their grand spectacle. Gathering a crowd to distribute half-price newspaper coupons was the sort of thing even a half-page tabloid could manage. However, this stratagem—conceived not so much by the famed editor-in-chief as by the notorious showman Kouda Setsuzou through the exertion of his life's accumulated wisdom—was no such trifling matter.

Kouda Setsuzou declared that at precisely 9:12 AM on this Kinoe-Inu New Year's Day, the fountain's crane would unfailingly sing—then staked an audacious gamble to let only Sunset Newspaper's annual subscribers witness this once-in-a-millennium miracle firsthand. As for how they determined that the crane of the fountain would sing at 9:12 AM on New Year’s Day—needless to say, the author could not possibly know. But according to hearsay, four or five days prior, Kouda Setsuzou had visited the ramshackle hut of that eccentric physicist Dr. Kaneshige—carrying a large sake bottle—and sat cross-legged while listening to the doctor’s bizarre theories; it seems this audacious idea of Kouda’s had been suggested to him by the doctor during that encounter. After all, this was the doctor who had a habit of launching into unrestrainedly bizarre theories of dubious veracity the moment he laid eyes on someone; of course, Kouda Setsuzou hadn’t swallowed the man’s nonsense wholesale. No matter how vehemently the doctor insisted, the notion that the fountain’s crane would sing at 9:12 AM on New Year’s Day—even if one part could be attributed to chance, the remaining nine parts were pure conjecture.

Kouda Setsuzou was a man who ordinarily held the exceptional view that a newspaper’s development was proportional to its boldness; he was not the sort of timid fellow to balk at a ninety percent risk. As long as there was even a ten percent chance of success, he possessed the ferocity and courage to boldly act on a sudden idea.

Ah, if by some chance the crane were to sing precisely at that appointed hour! The status of the Sunset Newspaper would indeed be placed upon an immovable foundation. But if, conversely, it did not sing, to state the outcome would be sheer boorishness. Kouda Setsuzou being beaten to a pulp by an enraged mob would be the least of it—the Sunset Newspaper’s very lifeblood would be abruptly snuffed out by this. They would find it nearly impossible to recover.

This grand stratagem had been deeply harbored in the recesses of Kouda Setsuzou’s heart since three days prior; apart from his trusted subordinate Furuichi Kaju, he had not even leaked it to his beloved mistress Sakuzuki Etsuko. The reason he had not announced this was not only out of fear of interference from rival companies but also because the enterprise itself was already unlawful. Kouda Setsuzou had the large posters—secretly printed beforehand with the same text as the aforementioned flyers—posted simultaneously across various locations at precisely 12:01 AM on the late night of December 31. The area extended not only throughout Greater Tokyo but also into neighboring districts; it would be no exaggeration to say that every utility pole in all of Tokyo Prefecture was plastered with these posters.

Now, returning once more to Hibiya Park: when the procession arrived beside the pond, the band—facing a cloud-like throng of spectators—began playing the popular song *If I Call You "Darling"* in a buoyant rhythm. Meanwhile, the Crane Child Soap workers in their matching coats somehow procured two large carts from somewhere and hastily erected a makeshift platform beside the pond. As the appointed time drew near, the crowd grew ever larger—embankments and pine trees alike festooned with people, so packed that one couldn’t even move to wipe their sweat. In the front row, two girls stood unsteadily, jostled and shoved by the crowd. They appeared to be around the same age, but their looks were as different as heaven and earth.

One was a slender, lovely girl with lively eyes, but the other was a stout, bearishly bulky girl whose very sight weighed on the spirit. The latter had been stretching up and ducking her head this whole time, peering restlessly about, but the pretty girl—seemingly troubled by something—kept her right hand tucked into her obi, her face clouded with dejection. Before long, the bearishly bulky girl turned back toward her companion, stared intently at her face, then clicked her tongue in irritation.

“Hey, what’s the matter, Hana-chan? What’s with such a gloomy face? It’s supposed to be our rare day off, but now even I’m getting depressed because of you! Oh, stop making that face already!” When she snapped at her, the one called Hana—appearing to be a docile girl—merely grinned sweetly without resistance, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just feeling rather down today—please don’t mind it.” With that, she let out a soft sigh. The bearishly bulky girl ignored this and stretched up again toward the band—when suddenly, in a shrill voice,

“Hey, look, look, Hana-chan! Things are getting interesting!” When the girl called Hana looked up toward that direction, she saw two police officers approach the band and appear to order the bandleader-like man to cease playing. When he showed no sign of compliance, the angered officers—one grabbing the clarinetist’s arm, the other the cornetist’s—dragged them out from the circle. The popular song abruptly lost its melody, leaving only the feeble thump of drums.

The crowd erupted in uproarious laughter. As the officer, now thoroughly incensed, moved to confiscate even the bass drum, two figures emerged near the podium by shoving through the crowd. One was a burly man in his mid-forties with bulging eyes like a country sumo wrestler; the other a diminutive fiftyish figure with salt-and-pepper hair tangled like a sparrow's nest—so insignificant he might fade from view. The first was identified as Kouda Setsuzou, President of the Sunset Newspaper; the second as Dr. Kaneshige.

When Kouda noticed the altercation between the band and the officers, he hurried over and issued an imperious command; the constables soon withdrew, pushing through the crowd with reluctant expressions. At that moment, a raucous ringing of bells sounded from the park entrance as about five newspaper vendors came running in, shouting "Sunset! Sunset! Extra edition! Big news! Special photo edition!" Upon hearing this, the girl called Hana suddenly looked startled; she hurriedly pulled out a small drawstring purse from her obi, purchased a copy of the newspaper, and began scanning it furiously—then,

"It still hasn't been published at all. Oh, what am I going to do?!" she muttered anxiously. Readers, you have likely not yet forgotten. This girl was Momozawa Hana—the seamstress living on the second floor of the converted shophouse below the cliff—who had brought the ceremonial dress she finished sewing around midnight that previous night to Matsutani Tsuruko’s place. What could possibly be the nature of this adorable girl’s persistent, gnawing worry? However, even if one were to ask, she likely wouldn’t answer; thus, for now, there was no way to know.

As the clock neared eight, Kouda Setsuzou ascended the podium amidst thunderous applause to share his thoughts on today's Auspicious Omen Celebration—but these remarks being merely variations on themes already repeatedly published in the Sunset Newspaper, there was no need to recount them here. Next, the Waterworks Department Chief took the podium and gave a speech about the underground construction of the Crane Fountain and the hardships of that time, then retreated looking somewhat embarrassed.

The commemorative award ceremony turned out to be nothing more than sewing a gold medal onto Superintendent Sakuzuki’s chest—a matter settled with equal swiftness. As for the congratulatory addresses, Kouda Setsuzou read them all aloud himself. Among them were congratulatory addresses from the Home Minister and Army General, but their veracity remained unclear. In the midst of all this, it became ten minutes to nine. In twenty-two more minutes, the crane fountain should start singing... It seemed everyone shared the same thought—the crowd’s eyes were all trained on the bronze statue, riveted there. As for the crane, for some reason today, the water it spouted up was thin and faint, its wings drooping listlessly. This bashful crane, with countless eyes fixed upon it, must have felt so overwhelmed by shame that its very body seemed to wither away.

The nearby clock tower struck nine o'clock.

This appeared to have been the prearranged signal, for Dr. Kaneshige, practically hoisted up by Kouda Setsuzou, ascended the podium. When the crowd saw Dr. Kaneshige’s peculiar appearance, they burst into uproarious laughter, but he showed no particular concern and began speaking in a shrill voice that belied his age, “Gentlemen, in my opinion, there should be no such things as mysteries or oddities in this world. They say no monsters come from Hakone this way, but in today’s age of scientific progress, there’s no longer any such thing as mysteries in this world. Even what people call mysteries or oddities—if you research them properly—ultimately operate according to logical principles they should follow, so everything aligns perfectly with mathematical precision, you see? Therefore, even this crane fountain’s singing—whatever it may be—is ultimately governed by physics, so it’s not some mystical, unfathomable phenomenon as you gentlemen imagine. Not only that, but there exists a similar precedent in Egypt from four thousand years ago. In ancient times, in the Egyptian city of Thebes, there was a stone statue of a deity called Memnon. Every morning, when sunlight struck the statue’s forehead, it would begin to hum a tune like a folk song. Because the people back then were all fools, they must have thought there was something like a harp installed inside its belly. But when they examined it in modern times, there was nothing particularly miraculous about it. Now, Egypt is a place where it’s hot during the day but suddenly turns cold at night. Listen up—this is a bit complicated, so pay close attention. Now, as for why such a sound occurs—the stone statue is a hollow cavity, so the cold air trapped inside its belly warms under the morning sun, rapidly expands, and forces its way out through narrow openings like nostrils or gaps between teeth. That’s what creates the noise, you see? Now, as for this bronze crane statue—the reasoning behind why it sings is roughly as follows. Since I’m a meticulous man, I’ve diligently recorded the exact times when the crane has sung. Now, upon reviewing these records and investigating which days it sang, I discovered that it sings precisely at the boundary between high and low tides during spring tides. But needless to say, the ebb and flow of tides didn’t begin just yesterday—so if that were the sole factor, this bronze crane statue should’ve been singing since the day it was cast. However, since it only began singing very recently, it cannot be thought to sing solely due to the ebb and flow of the tides. We must conclude that some change capable of producing song has recently occurred in the subterranean strata. Once we’ve logically deduced things this far, the rest becomes exceedingly simple. Gentlemen, as you know, subway construction recently began.”

“As you can see, it’s shoddy construction—the kind you could thread a pipe stem through—but even something that crude causes shifts in the substrata and groundwater.” “I believe the reason the Crane Fountain has only recently begun to sing lies in those aforementioned changes to the subterranean strata.” “Let me make one final point—all this talk about singing, but it’s not actually the crane itself that’s producing the song.” “You may already know this, but this bronze statue is a hollow cavity—to put it another way, it’s structured much like a violin’s resonance box, making it highly susceptible to reverberation.” “In other words, you should understand that the sound of something vibrating underground resonates with this crane statue, causing it to produce a singing-like tone.” “This reasoning is by no means nonsense.” “Now, today is a spring tide, and the time of low tide is 9:12 AM.” “According to past precedents, it must start singing at this time without fail.”

With that, he pulled out a pocket watch and gazed at it,

“Oh, it’s already nine ten!” “In two more minutes, it will finally start singing.” “Since I’ve given my ironclad guarantee like this, if I say it will sing, it will sing without fail.” “There—that’s one minute gone.” “Another minute… thirty seconds… ten seconds…”

The massive crowd surrounding the Crane Fountain held their breath in unison, their eyes fixed on the statue’s beak. Not a soul coughed. Dr. Kaneshige on the podium peered at his watch’s second hand while raising one arm to signal 9:12 AM—a breathless moment.

At last, Dr. Kaneshige raised his arm swiftly skyward with a look brimming with confidence. —But the Crane Fountain did not sing. Five minutes passed amidst scorching anticipation. The crane did not sing. Ten minutes passed. The crane still lofted water skyward with mystical nonchalance. Had the crane forgotten its song? Uncontainable anxiety and agitation began to show on both Kouda Setsuzou’s and Dr. Kaneshige’s faces, while among the crowd, murmurs of discontent began to be heard. Thirty minutes passed, but the crane still did not sing.

At this moment, a man of political activist bearing pushed through the crowd and climbed onto the podium. He turned toward the crowd and declared in a theatrical, overbearing tone,

“Gentlemen, it’s fraud—a con!” “We’ve been set up!” “That bastard Sakuzuki who just got a medal—his daughter’s Kouda Setsuzou’s mistress!” “They rigged it all thinking nobody’d notice!” “This whole ‘singing crane’ farce was Sakuzuki’s idea from the start!” “Don’t let ’em fool you!” “That bird never sang once since they built it!” “Calling this swindle a ‘national auspicious omen’?!” “Outright treason!” “No more talk!” “I’ll punish this traitor for all of us—watch close now!”

As he said this, he turned toward a cluster of men in suits with canes gathered in the front right row—a single cohesive group— “Hey, you lot—let’s do this!” he gave a jerk of his chin. In response to the call, about ten men with distinctively rough features—each seemingly bearing some peculiar trait—broke haphazardly from their ranks and charged fiercely toward Kouda. Kouda scurried beneath the podium trying to flee into the crowd, but was immediately grabbed by the collar by the man with political activist bearing, dragged back, and slammed forcefully against the base of the podium.

The enraged crowd raised a war cry and came charging at Kouda from all directions. At the very moment Kouda Setsuzou was about to be pummeled by a rain of fists, the Crane Fountain began to sing in a voice of utmost purity. It was like an old hymn with a monotonous melody and simple scale tones.

Part Three

Seven: A Sudden Night Gale

And: A Matter of Varied Accounts

In contrast to the bustling night, the backstreets of Ginza in the morning were utterly quiet. And how much more so at 8:30 AM on New Year’s Day—not a rustle from the kadomatsu pines, not a cry from the kites—a pristine stillness so profound it seemed as if all the noisy humans and beasts in the area had perished overnight. Then came a taxi sliding in quietly with a honk, stopping right before a bar called "Paris," from which four or five men and women emerged. The men wore tuxedos, the women evening gowns—all their clothes thoroughly soiled and wrinkled, they looked like ghosts from a soirée bewildered in broad daylight.

Looking at their faces, they were the same familiar bunch from two chapters prior who had been engaged in decadent revelry at "Paris" the previous night. Namely: Intou Chuusuke—the famously precocious nephew of usurer Inui Nihei; Yamaki Motokichi—renowned dilettante and son of the Coral King; Kawamata Fumie—the then-rising star dancer recently arrived from America; and Murakumo Emiko—former film actress, current mistress of Count Iwaishi Michiyasu (president of the Joseon Whaling Company), and proprietress of "Paris"—these four individuals. They appeared to have suffered some painful ordeal; all of them disappeared into the bar like drenched birds, dejectedly slumping their shoulders. After a short interval, the one who next arrived there was also part of last night’s cohort—a correspondent for the French “Havas” News Agency named Jean Ousman or John Hutchison, a versatile man who could effortlessly transform himself into a Frenchman or an American. After parking the roadster he had driven by the sidewalk, he too hurriedly went inside "Paris."

If I were to mention the Japanese name Oshima Joji, some of you may know him—this man was a half-Westerner born to a French embassy official and an Ikuta-ryu koto instructor. At the Kinryukan theater in Asakusa, he had imitated tenors alongside figures like Ujihara Yoshie—who would later gain fame—but after following his father, who had been promoted to Administrative Resident of Annam, to that land, he soon gained a reputation for engaging in shady dealings across Yunnan and Guizhou with Louis Baronseri, a Japanese-French mixed-race man who would later appear in this novel as the leader of the "Kāmasu Shōo" group. Then around last summer, he abruptly returned to Tokyo as Havas’ bureau chief.

Peering into the bar’s interior where daylight never reached, torn tape hung from the ceiling like spiderwebs, chairs lay overturned, and tables were upturned as if in the aftermath of a fierce battle. Hutchison skillfully leaped over vomit and empty bottles that left no room to step, approached the four people slumped limply in the dim corner, dragged over a chair to sit down, then smirked as he surveyed the group. He appeared to be thirty-seven or thirty-eight, with a thin mustache perfectly trimmed. His features were strikingly handsome yet his gaze was utterly cold—he looked every bit the Western villain. The area from his nape to behind his ears was cleanly groomed and so stylish that even men found themselves captivated. His flawlessly elegant demeanor rather took on a fearsome quality.

Hutchison crossed his right ankle over his thigh and, in an exceedingly dashing tone, “Heh heh, you’re quite the mess.” “Terrible—the monk’s gone all pious, so don’t you put on that virtuous face now.” Having said that, he turned toward Yamaki Motokichi—long-haired, pale-faced, and resembling a decadent poet— “I didn’t get to greet you properly this morning, Mr. Yamaki—how are things on your end?”

Yamaki blinked his bloodshot eyes blearily, "Ah, total disaster for us." "...Well, seein' as Fumi-chan and I were right by the waitin' room entrance, they barged in and tore through the place in a flash—turned into this gaudy spectacle like somethin' straight outta Casanova's memoirs in full color." Having said that, he leaned his head against the wooden wall, sullenly blowing cigarette smoke, and cast a sidelong glance toward the medium-built beauty of about twenty years old.

“As for Fumi-chan on the other hand—not even havin’ time to come to her senses—she clung to that plainclothes fella tryin’ to rouse her and made a whole scene wailin’, ‘Don’t wanna go home yet!’” Fumie hitched up her hem and tossed her shapely legs onto the table like she couldn’t be bothered,

“Cut it out! Don’tcha go blabbering foolish things when everyone does it for real! Who’d—” With that, she abruptly raised her long eyelashes and pretended to glare coquettishly.

Now, given how incomprehensible all this talk must seem, let me backtrack to recount events properly: Soon after Furuichi Kaju and Emperor Munakata left "Paris" last night, the pure American revue troupe "Kāmasu Shōo"—set to open at Nihonza Theater from New Year's Day—finished their stage rehearsals and came piling in noisily. This caused the drunken revelry to escalate into even greater frenzy, gradually taking on the clamor of a hellish uproar; but around 3:30 AM, seemingly by prior arrangement, these six—now including Iwaishi—each paired off with their preferred companions and withdrew to a certain location in Tsukiji, where, just as their amorous clouds and rain had been growing thick and impenetrable, an unforeseen night gale swept in, leading to them being hauled off to Akashi Station in a chain gang, thoroughly interrogated (to the point of being "squeezed like anana"), and finally released this morning at 7:30. It was precisely at the time when Furuichi Kaju awoke in the chief’s office at Tameike Police Station.

By way of digression regarding "Kāmasu Shōo"—this was a world-class revue troupe second only to New York's great Ziegfeld, and in Japan where proper revues remained unseen, even just the rumor of their impending visit had whipped up extraordinary frenzy. The America-savvy cognoscenti and well-connected tastemakers naturally promoted it with lanterns as numerous as those at Buddhist memorial services—even earnest music critics joined this illuminous chorus—so when Nihonza Theater finally prepared to raise its curtain, the pre-opening excitement reached monstrous proportions. Particularly remarkable was how both leisured aristocrats and industrial magnates threw their weight behind it—ten-yen premium tickets had reportedly sold out entirely two full months prior. After all, witnessing firsthand this world-class troupe's dazzling spectacle while imagining oneself reveling in New York's pleasure quarters without leaving home—such popularity seemed only natural. Yet for even the connoisseur class who normally prized substance over style to become so desperate—this frenzy concealed substantial underlying reasons.

When it was decided that this troupe would come to Japan, a peculiar rumor abruptly surfaced in certain exclusive circles. This rumor claimed the troupe's dancers were not only exceedingly kind-hearted but went to great lengths to promote Japan-US friendship. As if to prove its veracity, specialized brokers soon emerged to thoroughly facilitate arrangements in that particular sphere, so at various business clubs every gathering buzzed solely with that gossip—all gripped by a judge's restless impatience, clamoring "When? When?" The preview tickets sold as if winged—one could only nod at their swift disappearance. Now, as for how this affair ultimately concluded—though the author can hardly claim knowledge—if we were to suppose this had been a promotional stratagem, it must be acknowledged as nothing less than a resounding success.

It’s no wonder they were so ‘kind-hearted’—for this Kāmasu Shōo was neither a genuine Broadway revue troupe nor anything of the sort, but rather a ragtag group of itinerant provincial vaudevillians scraped together from Shanghai to Hong Kong, among whom were some so-called performers who had until yesterday been blooming in the shadows of Daimalu Road. It may seem boorish to state the obvious, but this was a fabricated scheme by John Hutchison and his bosom friend Louis Baronseri. Though more could be said about this matter, here we shall limit ourselves to briefly outlining their relationship. Now, returning to the earlier scene at "Paris"—Hutchison had been listening to Yamaki's story with a smirk, but when Fumie finished speaking, he suddenly adopted a solemn expression and surveyed the group.

“We’ll return to our frivolities later—masters and mistresses, lend me your ears.” “...To put it plainly—upon reflection, there’s something about this morning’s affair that doesn’t quite add up. Are you aware of this?” “This morning’s... You mean the raid?” “I haven’t a clue—do enlighten me.” The one who uttered this in an unsettling voice was Intou Chuusuke—a man of twenty-two or twenty-three years with the stunted physique of someone appearing no older than seventeen or eighteen. His face—elongated like that of Narihira Ason from the Hyakunin Isshu poetry anthology—had been lightly powdered with ochre No.28 greasepaint, an artificial beauty mark placed beneath his right eye’s outer corner creating an uncanny visage.

Hutchison nodded and, “Now I’ll explain in detail.” “…When you were all thrown out of Akashi Police Station at 7:30 this morning, you went to the Fish Market to eat breakfast, right?” “Mr. Iwaishi returned to his main residence, and I immediately went to the office and tried calling various people.”

Yamaki thrust out his slender jaw, "That girl and that girl." Without so much as a smile, "Now listen without joking around. As you may well know, the Japanese police run rather sophisticated operations—they make it a rule to turn a blind eye to most matters on New Year's Day. But this morning's incident. John Hutchison—skinny or shriveled—remains a newspaperman through and through. Thinking there must've been some major incident, I immediately called the Metropolitan Police detectives—they said there'd been no major incidents last night or this morning. But just to be thorough, when I personally rushed around conducting a full investigation—indeed, no emergency raids had occurred in any jurisdiction."

Yamaki exchanged glances with Emiko, “Well, this is astonishing.” “But there’s another astonishing fact. …As you’re aware, we six weren’t the only ones who got involved with Kāmasu Shōo for some revelry last night. Yamabishi’s Mokube and Yamato Life’s Santarou have also been handling things without a hitch. However, according to my investigation, those people are still sleeping soundly, lying side by side with the enemy forces. How about that?”

“Well now, this is astonishing.” “What on earth does that mean?”

“To put it plainly—the only ones scattered by last night’s gale were six residents of Ariake-so Apartments: Ms. Emiko here, the dance instructor, Mr. Intou, Boss Iwaishi, Yamaki, and yours truly. That’s the bizarre conclusion we’ve reached.” Emiko furrowed her brows. “Ugh, how affected.”

She muttered as if to herself and quietly turned back toward Fumie. Fumie had turned strangely pale and addressed Hutchison: “Don’t keep us in suspense—just say what happened.” “Whatever happened or didn’t happen—in the end, I can only think some major incident occurred at Ariake-so.” Fumie grew utterly impatient: “Ugh, I’m so impatient already! Hurry up and spit it out, idiot!” Hutchison raised his hand to restrain her: “Now, Madam, please wait. Getting angry at me won’t help. If I knew, I would tell you, but I don’t have the slightest idea. As you know, given my resourcefulness, I thought to summon Ouma-baa and inquire about the situation—so I tried calling Ariake-so Apartments, and then—”

Emiko jiggled her plump knees,

“Ah, so…” “So—since they’d taken the receiver off the hook—it wouldn’t connect at all... This was turning into a thoroughly unsettling affair.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances, but after some time, Yamaki, using his slender fingers to push back his hair, leaned forward, "As you gentlemen are aware, of the seven residents of Ariake-so Apartments, only Tsuruko-dono did not attend last night's year-end party." "In other words, she declined the year-end party with an apology, saying tonight's plan was to have an intimate tête-à-tête with the King." "Last night, Emperor Munakata slipped out of 'Paris' unnoticed—undoubtedly heading to Tsuruko-dono's residence. If so, this likely means some quarrel arose between the King and Queen that may have led to this morning's incident... To put it bluntly—a lovers' quarrel." "How does this part of the assessment strike you?"

Hutchison gave a wry smile, “Why, quite so.… As I just said, in all of vast Tokyo, only we residents of Ariake-so Apartments were detained, you know.” “No—if you don’t understand, I’ll clarify. In my view, this morning’s affair was an emergency raid in name only. In truth, it was a calculated measure to keep us from returning to Ariake-so until a certain time.… And why prevent our return? Needless to say, because some absolutely unreportable major incident occurred at Ariake-so.”

“Oh, is that so?” “I see—I understand well enough, but what exactly do you mean by ‘a certain time’?” “It’s no use being as sharp as you are, Mr. Yamaki. …‘A certain time’ refers to when certain parties will have wrapped up the incident—to put it plainly, the time when they’ll have hushed it all up.” “Do you understand now?” “Having explained this much, you must have grasped that this is some sort of major incident, Mr. Yamaki.” Yamaki audibly gulped down a dry swallow,

“Ah… so someone got killed, huh?”

Fumie said in a desperate voice,

“Cut it out! You’re just spouting nonsense.” “There’s no way such a foolish thing could happen!” “It’s something else.”

Yamaki stubbornly shook his head, “No—that’s exactly it, that’s exactly it.”

Emiko grabbed Yamaki’s sleeve and— “Hey, Mr. Yamaki—so which one was killed?” “Of course, it was the King.”

“By whom? For what purpose?” “Tch, you’re joking.” “If it were me, it’d be a lovers’ suicide.”

Hutchison had been leaning back and listening to this debate, but eventually remarked in an ironic tone, "Well, everyone knows such grand things... By the way, Mr. Indou, what's your opinion?"

Indou pursed her thinly lipsticked lips, “If they were killed, it was undoubtedly the Queen.” “If one knows about the Emperor’s conduct during his Paris days, I think it seems quite plausible.” “He may seem gentle, but in reality, he’s quite intense.” “That savagery is rather extraordinary—in that respect alone, he truly resembles a king, I must say.” Hutchison burst out laughing,

“Oh! Is that so? After all, Mr. Indou and Mr. Iwai were the ones who directly latched onto the Emperor and lived it up in Paris—so if those gentlemen say so, then it must be true. But if you ask me, it’s you gentlemen who are the intense ones. They take advantage of the Emperor’s magnanimity and swindle twenty or thirty thousand a day—now that’s what I call intense.”

With that, he cut off his words, "This might be rude to say, but gentlemen—no, ladies too—might you not be underestimating the Emperor? To your eyes he may seem a fool, but I've met with Annam Independence Party members in Paris and learned everything about his activities there. I know about the Eleventh Restoration King exiled to Réunion Island in the Indian Ocean, and I'm fully aware of Li Guangming's pro-French scheming—that imperial nephew's every move. This Hutchison holds secrets in his breast that even the Foreign Ministry's Intelligence Bureau doesn't suspect—earthshaking matters! Should they want this knowledge, the Ministry must come begging to me, bowing their heads in supplication. In short—since there are imperial truths beyond your ken, you'll hold your tongues! The incident has already commenced. Given its monumental scale, those with guilty consciences had best plot escape routes now rather than waste breath here—unless you fancy dire consequences."

Hutchison suddenly fell silent and scanned each face in the group one by one, "Oh my, what's this? You're all making such peculiar expressions." "Hah, hah—don't pay that any mind. It was all in jest." "...Forgive my frankness, but this case isn't something your lot can manage—Mr. Hutchison here knows full well." "Whether Matsutani Tsuruko died or lived—such trifles hardly merit consideration." "What exactly transpired? Naturally, I haven't the faintest notion." "Yet I've understood the karmic threads destined to unravel this since time immemorial."

With that, he suddenly stood up,

“Since a considerable amount of time has passed, I shall conclude my sermon here—Mr. Hutchison will now finally attend to his main business.”

Hutchison, with an expression tenser than his tone suggested, deftly fastened his overcoat buttons and was about to step toward the entrance when the door swung open to reveal Count Iwai—likewise clad in a tuxedo. Hutchison swiftly addressed him, "Oh, Count Iwai! You've returned to your main residence yet haven't even changed your attire?"

Iwai sat down in the chair Hutchison had been using, then vigorously pushed up his hat's brim to expose his refined forehead, "Well now, you see—there were police officers stationed at Ariake-so's entrance, and they simply wouldn't let me inside."

Hutchison’s eyes glinted, “Oh ho! So, has something unusual happened?”

Iwai supported his chin with the head of his walking stick while, “Gentlemen and ladies，listen．The fact is，this morning，Miss Tsuruko threw herself from a window and committed suicide．”

Upon hearing this, the entire group collectively held their breath, each seemingly struck through the chest with shock, but before long they all rose to their feet as one, “Th-that can’t be!” they shouted out in unison.

VIII. On the Morning Scene at the Police Affairs Bureau

On the Troublesome Telegrams

Looking back later, one cannot help but say that New Year’s Day of the Year of the Boar was an exceedingly eventful day.

At the Imperial Hotel, Furuichi Kaju—a tabloid reporter—teetered on the brink of collapse; by the Crane Fountain in Hibiya Park, Kouda Setsuzou, president of the Sunset Newspaper, commenced reciting his congratulatory address; and now Hutchison’s Roadster came to rest before the entrance of the bar “Paris.” Precisely then, in the secretarial office of the Home Ministry’s Police Affairs Bureau at Kasumigaseki, Secretary Taniguchi—seated behind an imposing desk—kept darting glances toward the door while irritably twirling his mustache. As this unfolded, an attendant entered and announced Inspector Manako’s arrival. When the secretary rose halfway from his seat in anticipation, a singularly distinctive set of footsteps—sinister, like nails being driven into a coffin—approached from the corridor’s distant end and halted before the door.

The one who pushed open the door and entered was a tall man of about forty-two or three—emaciated to skin and bones, dressed entirely in black like mourning clothes, an extremely gloomy figure with eyelids drooping as if half-asleep. This man was none other than Manako Akira, Head of the First Investigation Division of the Metropolitan Police Department’s Criminal Affairs Bureau—a man who possessed a meticulous mind and steadfast character, having solved numerous difficult cases over the years; yet he was such a man of few words—so taciturn one might think him a misanthrope—that not a single soul within the bureau had ever seen him smile. A man of unyielding integrity, relentlessly harsh toward injustice—he spared not even his superiors in his pursuit of wrongdoing, as though born into this world solely for the sake of prosecution. If you readers have read Victor Hugo’s *Les Misérables*, you may recall the coldly persistent and sinister police inspector Javert who appears in that novel; but if one were to describe Inspector Manako in a single phrase, it would suffice to say he was the very image of Javert.

Inspector Manako assumed a military-style upright posture at the doorway, then walked straight to the secretary’s desk and halted there. The Deputy Director gazed at that face with disgust, then slightly arched his chest, “Oh, Inspector Manako, I do apologize for summoning you so early on New Year’s Day, but a grave incident occurred this morning, hence this meeting.” Manako remained standing upright on the other side of the desk without moving a single eyebrow. He appeared as though he were asleep. The Secretary said hurriedly,

“But what could this be about, Inspector Manako? You’ve likely never been summoned by the Police Affairs Bureau before, so even you must have been a bit surprised! Ha, ha, ha.” Manako glared sharply at the Deputy Director’s face, then lowered his eyelids and resumed his former demeanor. The secretary, utterly shocked, choked violently on cigarette smoke while, “Well, that’s fine. “Well, that’s fine. Since the Police Affairs Bureau has summoned you, you should assume it’s some sort of extraordinary major incident.” “...By the way, do you know that Emperor Munakata of the Annam Empire is gracing Tokyo incognito?”

Manako said in a gloomy voice, "I am not aware of that."

Secretary Taniguchi rubbed his hands together gleefully, “Exactly. There’s no reason you would know. “We ourselves only learned of it three days ago... In any case, to summarize concisely: His Majesty the Emperor had formed a common-law relationship in Tokyo with a former actress named Matsutani Tsuruko... However—however—last night, that woman was mur... no—she threw herself from a window. “In short—suicide. “But unfortunately, His Majesty was present at her residence at the time. “They were sharing supper together. “...Well? You’ve grasped the situation by now. “Now Inspector Manako—you’re no greenhorn who joined the force yesterday. I needn’t belabor this further—you understand.”

“What do you mean?” “What do I mean?… Isn’t that obvious? When the emperor of a nation was at his mistress’s house, that mistress threw herself from a window and died. If such a matter were to leak abruptly to the public, it would become an enormous scandal. Don’t you agree?”

As he said this, he took out a handkerchief and began vigorously rubbing his thick, greasy neck until it turned red,

“If that were all, it would be manageable, but the real trouble is that a police sergeant from Tameike Station went and arrested His Majesty the Emperor!” “A police sergeant!” “The Emperor!” “…They’ve really done it now.” “Because of that blunder—starting with the Minister—we’ve been scrambling since five o’clock this morning—”

Manako abruptly cut in, "So, there was also suspicion of murder, then." Taniguchi frantically tore at his handkerchief, "Now, now, it's troubling if you put it so bluntly." "...So we've got to take some sort of action." "Are you ordering me to handle that disposition?" Taniguchi waved a handkerchief as if fanning himself,

“That’s right—I’m begging you, begging you,” he proceeded to recount this morning’s incident in detail. Manako listened to the end, then in his usual toneless voice, “At that time there was another man present at the scene—three people dining together. Therefore, if Matsutani Tsuruko was murdered, it must undoubtedly be that man’s doing—or so His Majesty the Emperor asserts.” “However, no one saw this other man, and there exists no evidence that another man dined at that table.” “In other words, there are only dishes for two people.”

“Exactly.” “Is this the first time His Majesty has graced Japan with a visit?” “No, he visited last year and the year before as well. However, this marks his first visit to Tokyo. Previously, he would build a tea house deep in Yamashina, Kyoto—staying there with the woman for about a month at a time before returning—yet until recently, not a soul in either the Kyoto police or Foreign Ministry knew this fact. His Majesty arrived in Tokyo on the 24th of last month and has remained at the Imperial Hotel since.”

“Was His Majesty accompanied by that woman as well?” “No—the woman came up to Tokyo last September and was already living at her current residence.” “If we presume this was His Majesty’s first visit to Tokyo—” The Deputy Director nodded insistently,

“Exactly, that’s right. Not a single one of us knows Emperor Munakata’s face—not even the French Ambassador knows!” “Then who identified him?” “It was Hayashi Kinnao from the Hayashi Conglomerate—they run bauxite mines in Annam—who happened to spot Emperor Munakata in the hotel lobby and immediately alerted the Director. As you know, our relations with France have been strained since Japan left the League of Nations. Having His Majesty visit now leaves us between a rock and a hard place—we must handle this like touching a festering boil.” “We’re at a complete loss about why His Majesty keeps visiting Japan. Surely he wouldn’t come all this way just for a woman! The Foreign Ministry’s Intelligence Division is investigating that angle, but with His Majesty having come twice already, the French authorities in Indochina are on high alert.” “I just heard from Intelligence—rumors are spreading in places like Hue that Japan’s pushing to restore suzerainty over Annam! Probably planted by Havas News Agency. With this incident happening now of all times, the Minister’s beside himself.” “Listen, Manako—if you handle this through official channels like some ordinary case, you’ll plunge the government into crisis! Consider that and proceed carefully.” “As I said earlier, Matsutani Tsuruko clearly killed herself—no use digging around now. Just find evidence confirming her suicide and leave it at that.” “There’s an apartment called Ariake-so in Akasaka Sannōdai. Go question the caretaker woman Ouma there—she’s our only witness.”

“Are there no other lodgers?” Taniguchi made a strange coughing sound, “They do exist. However, I’m told none stayed in the apartment that night—so this shouldn’t pose significant complications. ...Once your investigation confirms suicide, submit the report under your name immediately. I’ll process the settlement paperwork without delay. Understood, Inspector Manako? ...Let this drag on carelessly, and leaks could emerge from anywhere.”

“Then I shall go.”

Manako bowed and started toward the door but suddenly stopped and turned back toward the secretary. “I need hardly mention this, but as part of my official duties, I intend to conduct a thorough investigation and return with a complete report. I intend to thoroughly probe the truth and submit a fair and accurate report.”

With that, he left.

Taniguchi stood there with an odd posture, vacantly watching him leave. Gradually his expression turned sour; clicking his tongue repeatedly with muttered "damn it"s while appearing deeply tormented—until at last he sprang up from his chair as if unable to endure it any longer, bolted from the room like something rolling downhill, and dashed into the Director’s office adjoining the corridor.

When he entered and looked, the Director was clutching the telephone receiver like an eagle’s talons, seething with rage as he conferred with the Superintendent-General of Police. He was saying something along these lines: “Of course!” “It goes without saying... Of all places, in Hibiya Park...” “Damn it! Kouda Setsuzou is a damn fool. …Let them do it! I don’t care—let them do it!” “A bug-like bastard like that should be clamped down on at a time like this.” “Right, I’ll go too.” “Right now, right now! Don’t hold back—go arrest them!” “Understood?”

With that, he slammed down the receiver and whirled around to face Taniguchi, “What? What do you want?” he snapped. If this had been a report of some blunder, it couldn’t have come at a worse time for the secretary. Nevertheless, he had come to deliver an accurate report that Manako had pierced to the truth—but after uttering something unpleasant and leaving, he found himself unable to shake off that one remark and timidly proceeded with his report.

When the Director heard this, he turned pale, then red; for a while he couldn’t speak and simply glared at the secretary—then with the force of a sudden storm,

“What, wh-what did you say?! “Hey, I definitely told you this morning to find someone who’d write a report following the directive!” “Th-that…” The secretary had already lost all color in his face, “Yes, but—”

The Director pounded the desk, “Enough! Shut up! Shut up!” “What’s the use of whining now?” “Of all people—you had to assign that obstinate bastard to the investigation?!” “This’ll completely wreck everything we’ve worked on since morning!” “What possessed you to do such an idiotic thing?” “Have you gone mad?!” “No, sir!” “Try it and see!” The secretary replied in an incongruously sweet voice,

“Well, as you’re well aware… After all, in Criminal Affairs, he’s… he’s our most capable man… And without at least Inspector Manako’s name on the report—” The Director’s rage intensified. “What the hell d’you need some hotshot for with a report like that? Even an idiot could do this! What’s in a damn name? Don’t get clever with me! …Mr. Taniguchi—you think Manako’s the type to follow our directives? Don’t be absurd! Try forcing him and he’ll dig in his heels—root out everything! That’s exactly why we kept this morning’s business from him! Can’t you grasp that much, you fool? Let Manako file some ‘truthful report’ and see what happens! The Bureau’s honor’ll be shredded! When that hits, neither you nor I’ll keep our heads! Worse—if this leaks and they grill us in the Diet? Ah, that’d—”

Just as he was raging like an Asura, a messenger entered carrying a telegram. The Director snatched it up and read it, but this only reignited his fury; he trembled so violently it seemed he might suffer a stroke at any moment. Then, abruptly deflating, he sank into his chair, pulled out a handkerchief, and began mopping his brow while muttering— "But if we mishandle this, it becomes a matter of honor for the Ministry of Home Affairs." "What a mess, what a mess... How on earth should I respond?"

After muttering in this manner, he addressed the secretary in an uncharacteristically gentle tone, “Hey, Mr. Taniguchi—an urgent telegram from Annam’s Resident-General addressed to the Minister has arrived.” “Now listen to this.” “…Regarding His Majesty currently staying at the Imperial Hotel in Uchisaiwaichō, Kōjimachi Ward, Tokyo: Despite repeated urgent telegrams sent since the afternoon of the thirty-first concerning critical matters, no reply has yet been received. We hereby request that the Home Minister of the Empire of Japan promptly investigate all circumstances deemed to be obstructing both His Majesty’s secure continued residence at said hotel and his ability to respond, and provide an immediate return telegram.” “…Well? What do you make of this, Mr. Taniguchi?” “This phrasing makes it sound as if we’ve been intercepting telegrams—the sheer disrespect!” “Whether His Majesty chooses to reply or not—what concern is that of ours?” “…However… should there indeed be circumstances on Japan’s side hindering imperial communications… we cannot simply let this stand.” “What a disaster—what an absolute disaster.”

He had been groaning while clutching his forehead but suddenly stood up, went to the secretary’s side, and grabbed his shoulder— “I have such a premonition… Hey—Mr. Taniguchi—just wait and see. We’re going to suffer something terrible before long.”

IX. The Quaking of Hibiya’s Woods

And Matters of the Foreign-Style Gentleman

Kouda Setsuzou, president of the Sunset Newspaper, had staked his company’s fate on a grand gamble: to make that splendid-looking crane fountain in Hibiya Park sing magnificently at precisely 9:12 AM on New Year’s Day. This was no pet nightingale he could coax—persuading a bronze crane to vocalize proved no simple feat. Kouda had used this dubious performer as his main attraction, brazenly pushing three-yen annual subscription vouchers while drawing nearly three thousand spectators around the pond. Yet even thirty minutes past the appointed hour, the crane remained stubbornly silent. This debacle alone spelled disaster, but matters worsened when a man dressed like a political agitator stormed forward, exposing the collusion between Hibiya Park Superintendent Sakuzuki Morimori and Kouda. As the incensed crowd surged toward Kouda from all sides—fists poised to unleash a storm of blows—the fountain’s crane suddenly burst into song with a voice as pure and invigorating as a mountain dawn breeze rustling through pine boughs.

At this moment, the grand spectacle at Hibiya Park’s pondside came to an abrupt halt, its movement ceasing suddenly like a snapped film strip. Those who had raised their fists remained with fists raised; those who had seized Kouda by the collar kept their hands gripping his lapels; even Kouda Setsuzou—who had been mercilessly ground face-first into the dirt—stayed frozen with his mouth agape, all becoming as motionless as tableau vivant figures. But it wasn’t just the human drama below— All things surrounding this pond—even the City Hall’s great clock—appeared to abruptly halt time’s progression.

The bronze crane glittered its water-soaked wings in the pale sunlight—ah!—as if ready to take flight at any moment, stretching its beak skyward in yearning, all while continuing to sing resplendently with a miraculous melody that might rival even the Kalavinka dwelling in the snow-capped mountains of India. It was something akin to ancient Saibara court music or a Western pastoral song—a serene melody that could not help but soothe the hearts of all who heard it, no matter how burdened with sorrow they might be. The crane continued singing merrily for about two minutes more, but then, as if suddenly abashed, abruptly ceased its song. The vast crowd by the pondside, as if under a spell, had lost themselves in ecstasy, utterly entranced by the wondrous melody; then, at this very moment, erupted into thunderous applause accompanied by a tremendous cheer—their voices so powerful they seemed to make even Hibiya’s woods tremble. The band, which had fallen silent, took encouragement from this and struck up a lively tune ("If I call you..."), while the newspaper vendors once again noisily rang their bells and dashed about. At the sudden roar of "Long live the Sunset Newspaper!", turning toward the podium revealed that the exhilarated crowd had already hoisted Kouda Setsuzou onto their shoulders and was beginning to parade him around the pond with chants of "Heave-ho! Heave-ho!" The ones who had been left in an impossible position were those suit-clad men involved in the affair, but by this time, not a single one of them could be found—they had already vanished somewhere.

Beside the pond, two figures had been standing motionless and rigid since earlier. One was a middle-aged gentleman of foreign appearance—evident at a glance—with a swarthy face, wide eyes, and curly hair, dressed solemnly in a frock coat; he appeared utterly flustered by this strange occurrence and stood clutching a Tokyo map in one hand while gaping in astonishment at the crane’s beak. The other was a gaunt, towering figure draped in an antiquated Inverness coat over his suit—an altogether gloomy character clad head to toe in black. This was none other than Inspector Manako of the First Investigation Division, who had earlier left the Police Affairs Bureau’s secretary office. His sharp eyes glinted between thread-like slits as he coldly and gloomily observed these proceedings with the obsessive rigor of a prosecutor. At that moment, he sharply turned on his heel, pushed past the foreign-style gentleman beside him, and strode away.

Now, after being paraded around the pond while still carried aloft, Kouda Setsuzou ascended the podium as if buoyed by the crowd and delivered a triumphant speech of gratitude—though we shall omit its trivial contents here. Originally, the true nature of this miraculous phenomenon had been precisely identified by Dr. Kaneshige, meaning two-thirds or more of the credit should rightfully have gone to him. Yet the brazen Kouda now monopolized it all without a hint of compunction. Even the normally imperturbable doctor finally appeared thoroughly incensed; pushing Kouda aside mid-speech along with his oration, he stepped to the edge of the podium, his white-haired head shaking repeatedly, and began in his usual shrill, piping voice—like that of a child actor:

“Hey, gentlemen! What did I tell you? It sang after all! If I say it will sing, it will sing without fail. Admittedly, it didn’t happen at the scheduled time, but that’s not my fault. It’s like a city council meeting at noon starting at midnight—you’ll just have to accept that this is how things go in Tokyo. Well, be that as it may—what song do you think the crane actually sang in the first place? Asking such a thing would only be boorish, for you uneducated gentlemen have no hope of understanding it. To your ears, it may have sounded like gibberish—but that was Kankyōraku, a rare piece of gagaku court music not easily heard in this age. According to tradition, this was composed by Yōretsuten. When the Han king ascended the throne, court musicians played this piece—striking a single drum to celebrate peace across the realm—a most auspicious melody indeed. The time being New Year’s Day, putting aside the reasoning, a bronze crane chanting Kankyōraku must indeed be some kind of auspicious omen. There’s no doubt about that—but”

And then, as if muttering to himself, “But there’s something about that sound that bothers me.” Originally meant to be performed in Ichikotsu-chō ryo-sen mode—so why had it been sung in Hyōjō? And why did that tonic note carry such a mournful resonance?... Puzzling. He crossed his arms and sank into contemplation before abruptly shaking them loose, “Hmm—this won’t do.” “I’m leaving.”

After muttering something incomprehensible, he hurriedly descended from the podium, pushed through the crowd, and left. The russet-bear girl who had been gawking cluelessly at the doctor’s antics since earlier now turned to Hana beside her with an irritated look, “Hey, Hana.” “What’s up with that old man just now?” “He was just spouting a bunch of nonsense, but does this mean the Crane’s song is over now? …Ugh, how awful.” “They swindled us out of three yen and then made us listen to some fart-like noise in the water—and now they’re just ending it like that? They’re taking us for complete fools.” “Ugh, boring, so boring! If I’d known it would be like this, I should’ve gone to see Kabuki instead.” “Even if I treated you to Benmatsu, I still wouldn’t get any change back.” “Isn’t this just maddening?”

Hana—as you already know—was the adorable seamstress living on the second floor of the boarding house beneath Ariake-so Apartments' cliff. She placed a hand on the elbow of the blunt-speaking Russet-Bear Girl, looking thoroughly apologetic. "Oh, do forgive me," she said. "But it was so highly praised..." The Russet-Bear Girl rolled her eyes. "I didn't ask for an apology. So what now? You promised to keep me company all day today, right?" Hana lowered her head dejectedly. "That was the promise... but today I just don't feel well at all. Please understand."

“Oh, you selfish girl! You’re always making others go along with you.” Even as she said this, perhaps finally growing concerned, she peered into Hana’s face, “What on earth is wrong with you? You’re deathly pale! Is there something worrying you?” Hana pressed a hand to her chest as if startled, staggered unsteadily toward Russet-Bear Girl, but finally steadied herself and forced a desperate smile. “There’s nothing to worry about... but I just feel... like I might faint.”

The Russet-Bear Girl supported Hana as if holding her up, “Then you should’ve said so sooner! I didn’t know, so I just blurted out whatever—sorry about that. …How about it, can you walk? C’mon, grab onto my shoulder!” No sooner had she spoken than an extraordinary commotion erupted with a collective gasp from the park entrance, and before anyone could process it, a massive wave of people surged back toward the pond. Russet-Bear Girl stood on tiptoe to look in that direction but then hurriedly seized Hana’s arm.

“Hana! Hana! A whole bunch of chin-strapped officers are coming in trucks!” “C’mon, let’s run! If they catch us, we’re done for!” Hearing the word “officer,” Hana suddenly took on a frenzied look and tried to dash blindly toward the western gate, but Russet-Bear Girl pulled her back, “Idiot, idiot! Going that way’ll get you caught!” “C’mon, over here!”

[She] took Hana's hand and dashed along the path toward the flower beds.

10. The Matter of the Sendai-Hira Ceremonial Hakama

And the Matter of the Curt Greeting

On the high plateau of Yatsuyama that commanded a full view of Minami-Shina's waters, there stood a mansion of unparalleled grandeur. Now appearing at its grand shoin-style entrance adorned with an ancient kagami mochi decoration stood a portly, Ebisu-faced man in his early fifties, clad in a black figured silk crepe formal kimono and sharply pleated Sendai-hira hakama trousers. The vermilion-like gloss suffusing his face came not from toso sake—it was the sheen of excellent daily nourishment.

This man was Hayashi Kinnao, the boss of Hayashi Kogyo—a leading figure among emerging zaibatsu that wielded immense, quiet influence in modern Japan’s industrial world. Smoothly passing through women prostrating with their formal shimada bridal hairstyles, just as he was about to step down onto the polished hinoki entrance platform, a student attendant came running up to inform him of an urgent telephone call from the great oyabun of the Maeda-gumi in Dōkanzan. Hayashi hurried back to the telephone room and pressed the receiver to his ear, nodding with a series of hmm sounds, but soon his voice took on an anxious edge.

“What? The Nikko-affiliated Tsurumi-gumi is making trouble in Uchiyamashita-cho?!” “If they’re planning something like that… Yes, exactly—if that’s their intention, I can’t just let it slide.” “Alright, I’m coming right now.” As soon as he hung up, he hurriedly ran down from the entrance platform and boarded the Overland waiting at the carriage porch,

“Hey, get us to Uchiyamashita-cho! Now, now!”

He stamped his feet in frustration. The twin pillars of emerging conglomerates in Japan. One began as a mere eight-hundred-kilowatt electric company deep in the mountains of Kumamoto and now comprised twenty-seven constituent companies with three hundred million yen in paid-in capital. The Nikko Conglomerate of Koguchi Tsubasa—hailed as nothing less than the Enterprise King of Northern Manchuria. The other had risen from a modest iodine company in a Boso Peninsula fishing village that utilized waste materials, competed against Sweden’s Match King Kreuger’s match trust, and grown into Hayashi Kinnao’s Hayashi Conglomerate—a massive structure comprising twenty-four direct and affiliated companies centered on Hayashi Kogyo, with a stated capital of two hundred twenty million yen.

These twin conglomerates, both aiming for defense industries, had begun clashing spectacularly in Annam since the winter before last to develop resources in French Indochina. However, Koguchi—overestimating his position—allied himself with the pro-French imperial nephew Li Guangming, causing his Nikko Conglomerate to lag one step behind Hayashi’s Nissan Mining, which had swiftly secured Emperor Munakata as an advisor. Thus did Hayashi preempt him in obtaining mining rights for premium bauxite (aluminum ore) spanning 600,000 tsubo with an annual output of 50,000 kW. Hayashi had thought Koguchi’s Nikko Conglomerate would never idly stand by—and sure enough, recent rumors reached his ears that Nikko was now secretly prodding the pro-Li Guangming faction from behind the scenes, busily scheming something. In such unstable times, the Emperor’s sudden solo arrival in Japan had thrown Hayashi into utter panic. Ever since discovering His Majesty in the Imperial Hotel lobby on the 24th of last month, he’d been consumed with anxiety that some mishap might befall the Emperor’s person.

However, at 5:30 that morning, the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs had called to inform him of a troublesome incident involving the Emperor. Horrified by this confirmation of his fears, Hayashi had persistently telephoned the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau until learning the details: in a drunken state, the Emperor had thrown his mistress Matsutani Tsuruko from a window to her death. Though temporarily detained at Tameike Police Station, His Majesty had safely returned to the Imperial Hotel by around 8:30 AM. It was an exceedingly delicate matter. While anxiously pondering what measures the government might take regarding this, a subsequent phone call informed him they had resolved to keep the incident confidential and had already implemented certain countermeasures. Finally able to breathe a sigh of relief, he was just about to depart through the entrance—intending to promptly pay his respects at the Imperial Hotel and first humbly express relief at His Majesty’s well-being—when the earlier call came.

Some of you may know this already, but the Maeda-gumi and Tsurumi-gumi are the two top-ranking factions of the Kanto Civil Engineering Club. The former, with its main residence in Nippori, was collectively called Dōkanzan; the latter, headquartered in Yokohama, was referred to as Nogeyama. Each commanded thousands of fervent sworn members who had pledged to lay down their lives for their oyabun at any time—two titanic forces locked in mutual rivalry. Since the Maeda-gumi belonged to Hayashi Kogyo and the Tsurumi-gumi was under Nikko’s umbrella—and since this call from Dōkanzan reported that very Tsurumi-gumi was causing trouble in Uchiyamashita-cho, practically next to the Imperial Hotel—it was only natural that Hayashi found his heart seized by unease once more and hurried to the scene.

Now, when Hayashi Kinnao’s Overland approached the vicinity of Hibiya Park, a tremendous roar erupted from the direction of the park. Looking, he saw police officers with ceremonially fastened chin straps clambering down noisily from a truck stopped before the West Gate, pushing back the crowd as they charged into the park. When Hayashi parked his car at the corner of the first block and leaned out the window to observe the commotion, the one who noticed this and came rushing over was Dōkanzan’s adopted son, Komagata Denji—a dapper figure in morning coat and top hat, his straight brows etched with severity, closely-shaven chin bluish with stubble: a rugged young tough. After bowing respectfully,

“I have been awaiting your arrival. As you can see, we’ve got ourselves quite the commotion here.”

“What on earth is this commotion about?”

“Well, it’s a rather odd situation... It seems to be tangled up in whether that crane fountain is singing or not.” Hayashi grew impatient, “That’s not what I’m asking about. What’s Nogeyama making such a fuss about?” “Right, about that…” With that, he recounted the recent incident where about ten young members of the Tsurumi-gumi had disguised themselves like Dairin-kai activists and come to attack Kouda, “Partners in crime—why would they pull such a strange stunt today of all days? I just can’t make sense of it. You may laugh at this, but with the hotel bein’ right nearby and all, I figured there’s gotta be some big scheme behind it. So I called up the old man and whispered a heads-up over the phone. That’s all there is to report, sir, but here’s another odd thing—Inspector Manako himself is right here on the scene. Just from seeing how he’s been staring fixedly without leaving the pond’s side, I can’t help but think there must be some truly significant reason behind all this.”

With that, he looked around restlessly before suddenly lowering his voice. "Oh please look there! He's standing over there now." When Hayashi looked where indicated, he saw Manako standing motionless beneath a utility pole on the opposite sidewalk—arms crossed, those chillingly gloomy eyes fixed on the wave of crowds spilling through the gate as police drove them back. At that moment, two young women with disheveled hair were pushed forward by the surging mob. As they reached the sidewalk's edge, the smaller pretty one caught her foot on a street tree root and fell to her knees on the pavement. Before her companion—the Akaguma girl—could react and pull her up, the crowd surged with terrifying force. People piled atop them in a domino-like collapse until the girl disappeared beneath the heap. Instantly, Manako rushed over like a great crow taking flight. He shoved aside the tangled bodies, grabbed the girl's obi, and yanked her forcefully into the roadway.

The girl sat slumped on the pavement with a deathly pallor, but fortunately seemed to have no serious injuries, and before long she gradually rose to her feet and eventually came to bow alongside her companion. Manako frowned with an annoyed look and nodded coldly, then abruptly left her side and walked off toward the Imperial Hotel.

When Hayashi saw this, he hurriedly called out, “Ah, Inspector Manako seems to be heading to the hotel, but there’s something I must discuss with him before he meets the Emperor." “Hey, Denji! I’m going to intercept the Inspector now, so you run around and find out as much as you can about why those Tsurumi-gumi bastards picked such a strange fight with Kouda.”

As he was saying this, Denji once again let out a shrill cry, “Oh! Oh! Look there! Sakuzuki and Kouda are being chased by detectives and fleeing!”

The lobby of the Imperial Hotel, usually bustling, was—as befitted New Year's morning—utterly still and devoid of people. Hayashi guided Manako to a dimly lit chair in the shadow of an Oya stone pillar, "I'm sorry to have stopped you when you're busy, but there's just something..." Manako quietly took a seat and fixed his gaze on Hayashi’s face. Hayashi, flustered,

“By the way, what’s that commotion in Hibiya about? They’re spouting such ridiculous nonsense about whether that crane fountain is singing or not.” Manako said in his usual gloomy voice, “That is a crime.”

Hayashi started laughing, “To your eyes, all creation must appear criminal.” “Precisely. Even crimes too subtle for your perception stand vivid to mine.” “Was this what you wished to discuss?” Hayashi smoothly stroked his florid cheeks, “Inspector Manako, you intend to meet His Majesty now, do you not?” “The reason I detained you is that there’s an urgent consultation I must hold beforehand.”

With that, he suddenly lowered his voice,

“By the way—is it truly safe to release the Ariake-so residents already?” “What are you referring to?” Hayashi looked sullen,

“Since five o’clock this morning, four officials—the Foreign Minister, Bureau Director, Superintendent-General, and Home Minister—have been gathered at the Home Minister’s residence agonizing over this matter until they decided that until the situation is stabilized, the six residents of Ariake-so will not be sent home but instead transferred from the meeting place to Akashi Station for detention. I know this because I heard it directly from the Bureau Director himself—so there’s no need for you to take that tone with me.”

With this, Manako came to know for the first time the circumstances he had been unaware of until now. And in that instant, he comprehended everything. That if he were to act according to his conscience as a prosecutor, he would need the resolve to fight against the government. Manako maintained a calm expression, "I don't know... And as for what you mean by 'consultation'—" "I'm in a hurry—please keep it brief."

“If Matsutani Tsuruko’s case is ruled a suicide, I see no need to trouble the Emperor with procedural interrogations.” “From the Emperor’s standpoint, this whole affair has been calamitous enough as it is.” “Mr. Hayashi, let’s dispense with this charade.” “Forgive my bluntness, but your intentions are transparent.” “You’re instructing me not to conduct thorough inquiries when meeting the Emperor—lest further irregularities come to light.” “Precisely.” “For the record, I had no involvement in this morning’s detainment of Ariake-so residents.” “This marks my first awareness that such measures were even implemented.” “…Spare me your theatrical astonishment.” “…Regardless, this case remains a suicide by all official determinations.” “With the Bureau Director and Superintendent-General having realigned circumstances per government policy, procuring additional evidence would prove futile even through my utmost efforts.” “Should I proceed to Ariake-so now, our sole witness—the caretaker Ouma—will deliver testimony strictly adhering to directives, and I expect all material evidence has long since been sanitized.”

“If it’s already been decided, there’s no need for you to go out of your way to visit Ariake-so.” Manako coldly interrupted, “Don’t you dare speak so presumptuously. As an official employed by the Metropolitan Police Department, I must adhere to directives in accordance with official service regulations to the letter. The directives I have received are to go to Ariake-so, meet the caretaker woman named Ouma, and search for evidence that this incident is a suicide. I will of course comply. …but any investigations beyond that are my prerogative. When I complete the investigation as per directives, I will commence a rigorous investigation, in my capacity as Head of the Investigation Division, unrestricted by directives. Of course, I will interrogate the Emperor as well. As my duties as an official make this course of action only natural, and furthermore, since I am acting in accordance with my conscience, no amount of eloquent argumentation from a bald-headed fool like you will prove anything but ultimately futile. Don’t underestimate me. If you think all prosecutorial authorities are as lowly in spirit as you underestimate them to be, you’re making a grave mistake. I must decline any further conversation with you.”

With that, he stood up. Hayashi too rose from his chair as if pulled along, his voice pressing, “Hey there, Manako—don’t go spouting such childish drivel.” “This isn’t about some prosecutor’s petty integrity or pride—it’s a grave matter affecting the Japanese government’s authority and dignity.” “You may flaunt that rigid righteousness of yours all you like, but bending government policy to humor your obstinacy simply won’t do. …Come now—must you always be so stiff? Try showing some understanding.”

Manako maintained an impassive expression as if hearing nothing, quietly slipped his arms into his overcoat, and began walking toward the entrance. Hayashi suddenly broke into a smile and hurriedly caught up to Manako, “Now, now, Manako.” and grabbed his sleeve. Manako wordlessly brushed off the sleeve with an indifferent air, walked over to the front desk, borrowed writing paper and an inkstone box, ground the ink with leisurely composure, then took up a brush and dipped its tip liberally into the ink before beginning to write in precise, methodical strokes—

Letter of Resignation he began writing.

Part Four

11. Kaju Flies into a Rage

And Matters of Base Appearance

For Hayashi Kinnao, head of the Hayashi Conglomerate which held bauxite mines in Annam, Emperor Munakata’s sudden incognito visit to Japan was nothing short of an immense nuisance. The Nikko Conglomerate, which sought to supplant the Hayashi Conglomerate and seize its current influence, had reportedly co-opted the Emperor’s opposition faction—the pro-French Li Guangming faction—and was engaging in various covert maneuvers; he had no moment’s peace of mind, fearing that some violent plot might be afoot against the Emperor. At such a critical juncture, the Emperor went and did something utterly troublesome. In a drunken stupor, he threw his beloved concubine Matsutani Tsuruko out the window and killed her. If this were made public, it would provide convenient pretext for the French Indochina Government-General—which had long sought to depose the pro-Japanese Emperor Munakata and enthrone a pro-French imperial nephew—and once the new emperor ascended, his mining rights would naturally be revoked and end up seized by his competitor, the Nikko Conglomerate. Thus, while fretting anxiously and probing the government’s intentions, he finally realized they had decided to suppress the incident internally. Relieved at last, he was heading to the Imperial Hotel to pay respects when he encountered Inspector Manako—renowned for his inflexible integrity—along the way. Therefore, intending to have even the formality of interrogating the Emperor omitted if possible, he invited Manako into the hotel lobby and engaged him in a thorough discussion, but during this, Hayashi inadvertently blurted out something that would have been better left unsaid.

The depth of Inspector Manako’s inflexible integrity was truly formidable—he detested injustice and corruption more fiercely than one might loathe an ancestral foe, and his refusal to yield even an inch in the face of absurdity meant that no one in their right mind would consider him a suitable candidate for handling such a cover-up. Given that he held the position of Head of the Investigation Division, under normal circumstances it would have been proper procedure for the authorities to assign this matter to Manako above all others; but for the reasons previously stated, they bypassed him to swiftly carry out an expedient cover-up, then wiped their mouths clean and feigned ignorance. Unaware of this, Hayashi had carelessly let slip the circumstances of the matter in front of Manako himself, and even the normally composed Manako could not suppress the smoldering fury that erupted within him. In effect, Hayashi’s single remark poured oil on the flames. Inspector Manako ignored Hayashi, who was frantically trying to appease him, wrote his letter of resignation at the front desk and tucked it into his pocket, then left through the hotel entrance, leaving a dumbfounded Hayashi behind in the lobby.

Needless to say, he was likely heading to the crime scene at Ariake-so Apartments now—but what great secrets would Inspector Manako’s scathing investigation bring to light? That would be recounted in due course—for even as a mental drama of the sort described above unfolded in the lobby downstairs, a no less intense anguish played out in an opulent guest suite upstairs.

As detailed in earlier chapters, Sunset Newspaper's miscellaneous reporter Furuichi Kaju—having been invited by Emperor Munakata on that previous night, namely around 3:00 AM on New Year's Day—went to the Ariake-so apartment in Akasaka Sannoudai where he shared a late-night meal with the Emperor and Matsutani Tsuruko, the beloved concubine. When he left around 4:00 AM and descended to the vacant lot beneath the cliff, no sooner had they parted than Tsuruko plummeted from above. When they hurriedly carried her back to the apartment, Tsuruko had already passed away. From the surrounding circumstances, one could only conclude that Emperor Munakata had thrown her out the window to kill her—yet the man himself had vanished into thin air, leaving behind nothing but an impolite and extraordinary farewell. Kaju was left alone with the corpse, perplexed, when two officers rushed in on the report from Ouma, the caretaker at the entrance. Kaju argued that since there had been another person present until just moments ago—making three of them sharing a late-night meal—if Tsuruko had been killed, it must unquestionably have been that man’s doing. However, during said meal, Kaju had shared the same plate and fork with Tsuruko, leaving only two soiled sets of utensils on the table. Consequently, there was no possibility of his claims being taken seriously. He was hauled away on the spot as a murder suspect without a word of protest and detained at Tameike Police Station—but as morning approached nine o’clock, he was released in an abnormally ceremonious manner and delivered to the Imperial Hotel via official vehicle.

Kaju assumed this meant the Emperor had pulled strings to secure his release and summoned him to the hotel to fete him with a banquet in recognition of his efforts thus far. Settling into an armchair to wait, sure enough, what appeared to be the head waiter entered and thrust a menu right under his nose. So far, so good—but when a waiter who entered next respectfully presented a telegram, assuming it was likely from the Emperor apologizing for his tardiness, he hurriedly tore open the envelope and read it, only to discover it was an urgent coded telegram from the chief councilor of the Annam Empire addressed to Emperor Munakata. He had been filled with doubt, but seeing the bellboy hand it to him without hesitation—ah, it seemed Kaju was being mistaken for the Emperor. Even Furuichi Kaju—who prided himself on aspiring to become a veteran of the streets—could not help but be utterly astonished by this. For a brief while, he stood transfixed in a daze, having lost all composure.

That a mere local reporter could be mistaken for an emperor of a nation was in itself too fantastical—convincing our astute readers to accept this as fact would prove rather difficult. Indeed, depending on how one takes it, it’s not impossible that some might grow indignant, thinking this a mockery. The reason is that you, our esteemed readers, already know full well that there is absolutely no possibility of Furuichi Kaju being mistaken for the Emperor. To be sure, their facial features bore some resemblance—yet one possessed the indelible nobility of a highborn seen once in tens of thousands, his jaw adorned with a magnificent jet-black beard worthy of Qin Shi Huang himself, while the other revealed his utterly base origins at first glance, his countenance such that even if he sported jawline hair, it would amount to little more than stubble. It was plausible that Ouma, the caretaker of Ariake-so, and Chief Omotecho of Tameike Police Station did not know the Emperor’s face—but there was no reason for the hotel bellboys to be unacquainted with him. How on earth had Kaju been mistaken for the emperor?

No one knew better than Kaju himself that there was absolutely no reason for him to be mistaken for the emperor. So when he realized he was being treated as royalty, the first thought that flashed through his panicked mind was a chilling notion: perhaps the government intended to use him as a substitute and execute him as the murder culprit. In other words, no matter how he protested his innocence, he would be put on trial under inescapable circumstances and executed without recourse. He certainly remembered reading something like that before. If it were a crime I had committed, that would be one thing—but to be sentenced as a murderer and confined to a place where I’d never see daylight again, all without the slightest memory of wrongdoing… That was too grim. In that case, I couldn’t afford to sit here complacently. At any rate, I must escape while I still can—with this thought, he suddenly leapt up from the chair, pulled the white silk scarf over his nose, yanked his hat brim low, gingerly opened the door to step into the hallway—only to find three or four familiar plainclothes officers from the Metropolitan Police Department already pacing there with feigned nonchalance.

Kaju hurriedly closed the door, leaned his back against it, and panted for breath; but as his agitation gradually subsided, he began to think this idea was somewhat odd. The notion of executing me as a substitute for the Emperor was not only utterly absurd—had they truly intended such a thing, they would never have released me in the first place, let alone had any reason to treat me as His Majesty. After all, hadn’t Chief Omotecho just now very obliquely hinted that this case was already resolved, and since not a single reporter had caught wind of it, there was absolutely nothing to worry about? That this was neither lie nor conspiracy could be sufficiently inferred from how utterly discomfited he had seemed—not even knowing where to put himself. In that case, there was no other conclusion but to think that Kaju had indeed been mistaken for the Emperor.

Kaju furrowed his brows as he frantically marshaled his crude mental faculties to ponder this and that, but when he suddenly raised his head and looked toward the mirror on the mantelpiece, he let out an involuntary cry of astonishment—Ah! The reflection in the mirror’s surface was neither the Emperor nor Kaju. In short, it was nothing more than a single masked figure with a furrowed brow.

As for why Kaju had been mistaken for the Emperor, it was due to a truly simple coincidence of the following nature. When Kaju exited the gates of Tameike Police Station earlier, it appears he had unwittingly—without even realizing it himself—fallen completely into the psychological state of an accused man. Not wanting by any means to be seen by colleagues being escorted to the Metropolitan Police Headquarters right at the start of New Year's Day—as any defendant ashamed of public scandal would do—he wrapped his face with a scarf, pulled his hat brim down to his nose, got into the car as if rushing, and alighted at the Imperial Hotel's porte-cochère in that very state. Upon entering the room, he did at least lower his mask, but in its place sank into a large armchair and received both the menu and telegram presented to him with a bow—all over his shoulder. All of these were coincidences that unfolded with utmost naturalness, whether Kaju anticipated them or not. Even if someone had planned it deliberately, things would never have gone this smoothly. Hoteliers were by nature idealistic creatures; thus they never entertained such outlandish doubts as whether this Emperor—who had arrived grandly at the porte-cochère under plainclothes escort despite his mask—might be genuine. The deeds of nobility often possessed extraordinary aspects that defied measurement by commoners' conventional wisdom; thus they found nothing particularly suspicious about that ostentatious mask, assuming it merely another manifestation of royal eccentricity. Through such delicate convergences of circumstance, Kaju had been flawlessly mistaken for the Emperor.

Kaju, as if having forgotten his earlier panic, adopted a sort of insolent demeanor and flung himself back into the armchair, "This has gotten even more scathing!" "In all of Tokyo, aside from Ouma at Ariake-so and a few officials, I’m the only one who knows the facts of this 'Emperor Murder Case.'" "Not only that, but I—this person here—am the sole witness who was at the scene until just five minutes before the crime." "When I realized they'd mistaken me for the criminal earlier, I thought—hell, this was the perfect chance! As a reporter born and bred, I'd plant myself firm with guts of steel. Even if they kept me in detention without trial for a month or two, I'd never reveal my identity until I'd wormed my way to the very heart of this case. I was determined to seize this scoop of the century and make every last one of those smug first-rate newspaper hacks eat their hats. But then the situation started spiraling into sheer absurdity—now there's no backing out! ...A nobody reporter from a fifth-rate rag, mistaken for the Emperor!" "And since it’s the police authorities who caused this mistake, this itself is one hell of a special scoop!" "If I were to satirically lay bare these circumstances, all of Japan would flip over laughing. …No—it’s far more than that." "From what I can gather, the government seems to have strictly concealed this incident—so depending on how I handle this, I could even bring down the entire cabinet!"

He had been muttering such things under his breath, but gradually his eyes took on a frenzied look. "If it were to come to such a conclusion!" "Ah, Japan’s so pathetic!" "If I were to publish this report, the name Furuichi Kaju of the Sunset Newspaper would instantly become world-renowned." "My investigative report would ride radio waves to be broadcast to every corner of the world." "……Damn it, this can’t be a dream." "……‘The Murder of Emperor Munakata Ryutaro of the Annam Empire!’…… I’ve really got something huge here." "No journalist has caught wind of this case—don’t joke about it!" "Excuse my bluntness, but that’s precisely what the Sunset Newspaper—detested like a venomous bug—has firmly in its grasp." "If they knew, they’d be trembling in their boots." "That Sunset Newspaper was fundamentally different from the Amacha Newspaper—all showy foundation with no real stability. After all, with their very survival hanging by a thread, they’d already plunged into a death-defying frenzy." "No matter what damn interference they throw my way, I’ll seize this scoop without fail and catapult us into the ranks of first-rate newspapers in one fell swoop." "Whether it’s the Sunset Newspaper that goes under or the Cabinet that collapses—keep your eyes wide open and watch!" "They’ve sure had their fun mocking me as a country bumpkin till now—but this time I’ll make them truly witness the unyielding grit of us country folk." "Listen up—just watch!" he declared, his entire being brimming with indomitable resolve. What Kaju said was no lie. In foreign countries, secret politics always serves as a weapon for opposition parties to attack the government. If such government methods and their secretive collusion with industrial companies were exposed, it might well lead to the cabinet’s collapse. It was only natural for Kaju to be worked up.

In the first installment of this novel, the author had introduced the character Furuichi Kaju by dragging him out from Tokyo Kaikan's entrance without once explaining his background; this man was a civil engineering graduate of Hokkaido Agricultural University. One might consider civil engineering an eccentric academic choice, but such opinions served no purpose now. Though he presumably held suitable ambitions upon enrollment, graduation left him with no employment prospects. After teaching at a rural Hokkaido elementary school, he drifted to Tokyo without aim, surviving hand-to-mouth in a boardinghouse until rescued by his hometown senior Kouda Setsuzou—becoming a general assignment reporter for the Sunset Newspaper exactly one year prior. A plain man drawn to civil engineering hardly qualified as sparklingly clever, yet he possessed an unyielding spirit akin to a construction foreman's dogged perseverance—inflexible once resolved, yet burning with impractical fervor to brave fire and flood for those who inspired him. Having been saved by Kouda during his darkest hour—an act whose kindness seemed etched into his very marrow—he labored with simple diligence under the delusion of single-handedly propping up the newspaper's daily decline, while Kouda came to trust this zeal as though it were his own right arm.

Judging by his current mutterings, Kaju appeared not to consider even a month or two of detention without trial as anything of consequence if it meant securing this major scoop dubbed the "Emperor Murder Case." Even this determination stood apart, possessing a certain solid grandeur incomparable to the petty courage commonly found elsewhere. This lovable countryman—whose earnestness ill-suited him for urban life—would soon be exploited for some vile purpose, his grand ambitions ending in ruin as he became a mutilated corpse too gruesome to behold, sprawled upon the street. Yet until that moment arrived, it promised to be a most intriguing spectacle to observe what bold strokes this lumbering rustic might paint while outmaneuvering razor-edged first-rate reporters. But that was a story for later; having said this, Kaju suddenly furrowed his brows and—

"Wait—more importantly, where the hell has that damn King bastard hidden himself? I have to find a way to catch him quick... Though no need to panic yet. Once he learns they've kept this incident under wraps, he'll come crawling back here sooner or later. Better to stay put and wait patiently than scurry around like a rat—I'll nab him for sure that way. ...Right now both hotel staff and cops are fully convinced I'm the King—if I keep acting regal, I can stall them awhile. But if anyone gets a proper look at this face of mine, the jig'll be up instantly."

He had been muttering this when he suddenly stood up, walked to the desk at the back of the room, picked up the silver-framed photograph of the Emperor lying atop it, carried it to stand before the large mirror over the mantelpiece, covered the photograph’s nose and lower face with his palm, and scrutinized his own reflection—comparing it back and forth—until at last he let out a sigh along with... "No, no—we’re as different as snow and charcoal. …But when I cover everything from the nose down like this… my eyes and brows look uncannily like his." The hairline and facial structure were identical, but no matter what I did, these eyes alone couldn’t be disguised. My eyes dart about shiftily like a pickpocket’s, but the eyes in the photograph exude tremendous authority—moreover, they appear crystal-clear to their very depths. Impressive indeed. The difference in one’s birth is a terrifying thing.… If it were just a beard on the chin, I could hide it with a scarf, but with this commoner’s face of mine, no amount of artifice could ever make me look like a king. If that’s how it is, then rather than resorting to shoddy tricks, it’s best to simply remain in my true face. What’ll even come of this? If I’m exposed, so be it. There's no need to cower. That said, it’d be trouble if the truth came out too quickly. "Well then, at least like this…"

He repositioned the armchair to face the large mirror at an angle, returned, and sank completely into the chair,

"If I sit like this, anyone coming in will only see the back of the chair, but from my position I can observe their every move in detail through that mirror. If some dangerous bastard were to enter, I'd take improvised measures before they could make a move. Roughly speaking, with things positioned like this—"

Before he could finish speaking, there came a knock at the door. Who do you suppose entered? In all of Tokyo, those who had recently seen the King’s face with their own eyes were limited to just Hayashi Kinnao—aside from the six residents of Ariake-so Apartments. Therefore, should Hayashi enter this room now, Kaju’s disguise would be instantly stripped away, rendering this situation extraordinarily intriguing. The author himself would greatly desire this outcome, but since Hayashi was still in the hotel lobby at this very moment, blankly watching Manako’s retreating figure, there was no possibility of him entering here. Contrary to our expectations, the one who entered—or rather, what appeared reflected in the mirror—was the bald-headed hotel manager.

The bald-headed man crouched by the doorway as was his custom, nearly as if about to lick his own shoe tips, and declared—in a tone that seemed to both lament and plead—that the Vice-Minister of Home Affairs now sought an audience. The one who entered next was a bureaucrat-type man around fifty years old, his frock coat worn smartly. After saluting with an intensely tense expression, he began gliding smoothly closer as if sliding across ice, which startled Kaju,

“Don’t come near me—you’ll catch my cold.” “If it’s a conversation, I can hear you just fine from there.”

The Vice-Minister pompously furrowed his eyebrows, “Your cold... “Oh, Your...” “Then I shall promptly summon your doctor.” Kaju said irritably, “Leave it be.” “So what’s this about?” The Vice-Minister rubbed his hands together in an unusual manner, “This morning’s blunder arose entirely from our own negligence, and while the Minister should have promptly requested an audience to humbly offer his apologies, as today coincides with the day of the imperial New Year’s audience, he has instead entrusted me to—”

“So what’s your point?” “Make it quick.” “You know I’m in a foul mood, don’t you?” “Ah—most regrettable indeed. I shall be brief: Through extensive inquiries, it has been conclusively established that Miss Matsutani Tsuruko took her own life due to worldly despair. The Head of Investigative Affairs will shortly present an official report.” “As stated, this regrettable incident stemmed from various oversights on our part. However, given the Japanese Government’s swift remedial actions and sincere contrition, both ministers humbly entreat Your Majesty to magnanimously pardon this unfortunate affair.”

“Hmm, I understand that part. But what about the newspaper reporters?” “Ah—not a single individual has been permitted involvement.” “How can you be so certain about that?” “Fortunately, as it occurred early on New Year’s Day and thorough measures have been taken to maintain strict confidentiality, there is absolutely no risk of external leakage.” “Moreover—and most fortunately—Your Majesty did not visit Ariake-so that night. As we believe Miss Tsuruko’s suicide likely resulted from a hysterical episode, even should word of her death somehow leak, it would naturally bear no connection whatsoever to Your Majesty’s esteemed person.”

“Understood. Then that’s acceptable—but you must take every possible measure to ensure this matter never reaches newspaper reporters’ ears… Should it do so, there’s no telling what I might do. Never forget this. When you return, make sure to convey this properly to both ministers.” The Vice-Minister declared he would relay the message thoroughly and retreated in a scrambling manner. Kaju let out a strange “Ugh” sound. “Oh, close call. Close call,” he muttered. “I somehow bulldozed through the first stage on instinct alone, but who knows what bastards might come crawling out next? Maybe I’ll grab some shut-eye until breakfast arrives. Better keep my head sharp or this’ll go south fast.”

While saying this, he stretched, but soon slumped back into the chair and began to emit a defiant snore.

After about ten minutes had passed, Hayashi finally entered. Hayashi was at the doorway,

“I am Hayashi Kinnao.”

He announced his name and crouched low like a hunched spider awaiting a response, but even after two minutes passed, there came no reply. Even Hayashi could not maintain such an unnatural posture indefinitely. Timidly raising his head and standing on tiptoe to peer into the mirror, it appeared His Majesty the Emperor was indeed sleeping soundly. Perhaps His Majesty had caught a cold, he thought, picking up the overcoat that had been tossed onto the sofa. Slowly circling around to the other side of the chair with the intention of draping it over him, he found not the emperor but a figure with a scarf sloppily dangling beneath his chin, sprawled in an unsightly manner—a vulgar-faced youth he had never seen before, a most lowly-looking young upstart.

12. The Matter of the Parlor Gossip

And the Matter of the Strange Secret Meeting Midway down the alley bending toward Shinmachi from before the Ichijō residence in Akasaka Fukukichō, peering between two geisha houses revealed a latticed entrance at the rear. The nameplate marked with "Such-and-such Residence" could only be the dwelling of a certain man's mistress.

Two women were engaged in a lively conversation across the long hibachi in the parlor. One was a twenty-four- or twenty-five-year-old with a slender face, of medium height and an authoritative air. She wore an indigo-gray lined kimono with an old man’s checkered maru obi, her hair styled in a low shimada knot secured by a tortoiseshell comb—a peculiar sight, like an amateur attempting to masquerade as a geisha. The other was a prune-faced woman around fifty, who had perched a small topknot on her thinning hair and wore an old-fashioned Ichiraku-style kimono with a loosely tied collar, leaning so close into the long hibachi that her chin nearly touched it. “Well now, you must listen to this. She goes on about how eating breakfast in bed is the Western way—scattering boiled eggs everywhere, picking at summer citrus, and then in the end demanding vermouth and coffee to be brewed. What an impossible mistress she is! She drags around that stained silk underkimono all day long—really now, isn’t it maddening to say? If she doesn’t carry on like this, her patron won’t be pleased. As for that patron—to put it bluntly—he’s a Chinaman. It’s not as if Japanese men have gone out of stock—there was no need for her to go out of her way to take up with a man of such different stock. …And what a ridiculous way to carry on! Come evening—though ‘evening’ for her means brewing coffee from three o’clock sharp—she flits in and out of the doorway like some street vendor’s dancing monkey. It’s enough to make your head spin, dear.”

The one chattering away here—as the reader will have already surmised—was none other than Tome, the live-in housekeeper who had first appeared in Chapter One, wiping her hands on the hem of her apron as she emerged from the kitchen of Matsutani Tsuruko’s residence at Ariake-so. The slender-faced woman responding to her was Etsuko, daughter of Sakuzuki Mori, Superintendent of Hibiya Park. While working as an elevator girl at Marukoshi Department Store, she had caught the eye of Kouda Setsuzou of the Sunset Newspaper and become his kept woman from the winter before last—though her so-called “carriage to wealth” was in name only, with a monthly allowance equivalent to that of an appointed official’s salary. At times, she would dash out into the alleyway with a miso strainer in hand. Disliking being called a mistress, she had arranged for the kraft paper envelopes bearing the *Sunset Newspaper*’s logo delivered monthly to be addressed to “Secretary Sakuzuki” on their fronts—though such trivial contrivances seemed hardly necessary now. This Tome had been acquainted with the Sakuzuki family since their days living in the alleyway beside the Monopoly Bureau in Yodobashi, but Etsuko regarded her as if she were her own servant.

Etsuko had been listening to Tome’s story with a cocky curl of her lips when she suddenly turned serious. “By the way—is it true that your patron is the King of China? If that’s true, how splendid that would be!” Her eyes took on a dreamy look, thoroughly envious. Tome nodded exaggeratedly. “Yes, that does seem to be true. You see, with that hefty allowance she gets, she guzzles down champagne costing thirty yen a bottle like it’s nothing, and in the dead of winter demands sweet summer citrus like she’s craving ayu fish—it’s just…”

Etsuko clicked her tongue resentfully, “Oh, how impertinent! And she’s not even that beautiful.” “What’s so great about someone like that?” Tome waved her hands about vigorously, “Oh no no no—when it comes to beauty, hers could never hold a candle to yours.” “And she’s so terribly proud of being an actress! Just the other day, she said she’d show me a dance—and what do you think she did? She suddenly stripped down completely naked, tossed everything aside, and started dancing around in what looked like men’s undergarments.” “Then she’d suddenly screw up her face as if seized by some hysterical fit and start shrieking things like ‘Just kill me already!’—utter lunacy, I tell you.” “That’s one thing, but you must know about this dancer called Kawamata Fumie living across the way. It’s just indecent, I tell you—she comes over nearly every night and shares the same bed like they’re man and wife.” “Have you ever heard of such a thing? I’ve never even heard tell of it in all my days as a mistress’s attendant.”

Just as she was saying this, Kouda’s gruff voice boomed from the alley entrance, followed by the clatter of the front door opening. As Tome began to rise, Etsuko—

“Oh, come now—there’s no need to scurry off like that. Today’s a day off anyway. Then stay a while and tell me the rest of what you were saying.” With that, she stood up smoothly and, with her hands behind her back adjusting her obi, headed toward the entrance. The ones who entered were Kouda and Sakuzuki. With utterly composed expressions, as if they hadn’t a care about how they’d shaken off the detectives. Kouda, swaying his slightly plump body like a country sumo wrestler, pushed past the long hibachi, sat cross-legged on the large zabuton cushion with a thud, and looked up at Sakuzuki from below,

“Hey, Sakuzuki.”

Kouda growled. Sakuzuki scraped a zabuton cushion closer with his foot, then using it as a pillow, flopped onto his back with a thud, “Hmm, I was surprised too,” he said while fixedly gazing up at the ceiling. Kouda propped himself up on one elbow over his morning trousers, “Astounded—utterly astounded! Redundant as it may sound, Kouda Setsuzou hasn’t been this shocked since the day they cut his umbilical cord! …Right? Not even *you* could’ve imagined that crane would start singing!”

“Damn straight.” “Whether in dreams or reality—I tell you, it definitely sang.” Sakuzuki replied in a nonchalant tone, “Ah, it sang all right.” Kouda gazed searchingly at Sakuzuki’s profile, “I’ve got my suspicions—surely *you* didn’t rig something?” “That’s what *I’d* like to hear from *you*!” Kouda crossed his arms, “Hmm. Is that so?” Sakuzuki blew cigarette smoke toward the ceiling while, “Hey Kouda—you’re riding the tide now…” “Ah, you’re a real pillar.” “Can’t keep up with bold bastards like you.” “Making that bronze crane sing through sheer guts—hats off; Sakuzuki doffs his helmet.”

Etsuko was sloppily sprawled out beside the long hibachi, listening to the two men's conversation with a cunning look in her eyes when she suddenly snorted, "Oh come on! Don't tell me you're serious—both of you keeping such straight faces like that! You think I'd fall for that old trick just 'cause you're talking it up?"

Kouda clicked his tongue irritably, "You lot, get over there for a bit." "Don't just sit around there—go get some sake ready or something, damn it." Etsuko stood up with a petulant shake of her body,

“Oh my, how terrifying.” “Tome-san, come to the back.” “It’s a secret talk, you see.”

With a rough clatter of protesting tatami mats, she slid open the fusuma door. Tome cut short her New Year's greetings and, saying "Excuse me," also headed to the back.

Kouda edged forward on his knees, “Hey, Sakuzuki—why do you think that crane sang?” “How the hell should I know?” “No matter how you smack that tin crane, it wouldn’t so much as sneeze, let alone sing. We were just sitting there waiting for the cops to come charging in any minute and break up the whole show—then of all times, that damn bird had to start singing! Never heard anything so batshit crazy in my life.”

As one might infer from this conversation, to lay bare the behind-the-scenes circumstances would reveal that the so-called “Singing Crane Fountain” had been a baseless fabrication from the very beginning. One morning, Sakuzuki—clearing his hangover-induced belch from his throat as he passed by the fountain—had suddenly conceived this wicked scheme. Were one to thoroughly interrogate those who claimed to have heard the fountain’s crane sing, needless to say, they would all prove to be associates of these two men. The sole pitiable figure was Dr. Kaneshige, who had been roped into such chicanery—though of course, that was hardly the doctor’s fault. Indeed, the very fact that they had been so smoothly taken in by this transparent contrivance instead served to evoke the doctor’s untainted integrity—a purity transcending worldly concerns.

Even so, advertising that the fountain’s crane would sing at 9:12 AM on New Year’s Day and attempting to collect nearly ten thousand yen in ill-gotten money might seem like an overly reckless approach, but in truth, the trick behind it was actually quite simple. In other words, if someone were to hold an unapproved illegal assembly at nearby Hibiya Park, the Metropolitan Police Department would inevitably dispatch officers to order its dispersal. That was their intended outcome. They swiftly collected three yen per person in advance admission fees, but as you can see, since the authorities regrettably ordered a disbandment, the *Singing Crane Society* would hereby conclude—and with that, the curtain would fall with the clapper’s strike, as per their design.

Kouda and Sakuzuki had been utterly confident that the gathering would be disbanded almost immediately after opening, but their calculation proved spectacularly wrong—for some reason, even when 9:12 AM arrived, the police force still did not appear. Even Kouda and Sakuzuki, for all their usual bravado, had grown thoroughly vexed until they found themselves in an inescapable predicament; just as they were about to be pummeled like straw bags, the fountain’s crane—miraculously—began to sing with a serene melody. Given these circumstances, the astonished faces of Kouda and Sakuzuki at this moment were truly a spectacle to behold. What foolish expressions they made—dear readers, you can likely imagine. It was, so to speak, a case of heaven’s irony against the villains.

Kouda wore a look that still hadn’t given up, “Hey, quit lying around and get up. Why did that crane sing anyway?”

Sakuzuki threw the cigarette butt into the hibachi and, “The idiots’re busy countin’ their coins—no use harp’n on the same damn thing.” “Anyhow, we’ve hit the grand finale proper—why fuss ’bout some crane now?” “Would’ve been fine silent, but since it sang so sweet-like, our standing’s improved plenty.” “Ain’t lettin’ nobody call this fraud.” “Once they square away the illegal assembly crap, this mess’ll wrap up neat as you please.”

Kouda gave a bitter smile and,

“Far from straightforward—doesn’t it feel like the winds have turned against us something fierce? Getting Kouda hauled in by the cops—that wasn’t part of the script, damn it. It’s a damn miracle we’ve made it this far unscathed.” “Even so, the outcome’s already decided anyway. A fine or detention. They wouldn’t go so far as to demand our lives.” With that, he abruptly sat up and propped his cheek on the hearth board, “Hey Kouda, me being surprised wasn’t about the crane singing. It’s about those thugs who came raiding... Don’t you think so? Huh? Well, that...”

Kouda nodded, "Exactly, exactly! It doesn't sit right with me either." "If it's 'Kokumin,' then the Dairin-kai; if it's 'Asahi,' then the Kiyokawa-gumi." "But there's no conceivable reason Nogeyama would come picking holes in this..."

Sakuzuki pulled the teacup closer, gulped down the cold tea with a grunt, then looked up piercingly at Kouda’s face. “Hey, this is big.” “If Nogeyama’s making moves, this is way bigger than we thought.… Hey, Kouda—why would a crane with no reason to sing start singing?” “Why would Nogeyama come to wreck it?” “If we follow this trail to its end, this could blow up into something huge.… What do you say? We’re already in this deep—might as well ride the first high tide all the way out and see where it takes us.”

Kouda stared intently at Sakuzuki’s face, then uttered a single word:

“Very well.”

he said.

At that moment, someone roughly shoved open the lattice door,

“Is Granny Tome here?”

The one who came flying into the entrance along with that voice was the bird shop apprentice who frequented the Ariake-so Apartments just upstairs. He clung to the lattice and let out a shrill cry. “Granny Tome, it’s terrible, terrible! The king’s mistress has thrown herself off!” Kouda stood up with a grunt, his eyes gleaming. Tome ran out from the back,

“What did you say? “You’re saying the Mistress threw herself off?” “So is she alive or dead?” “She’s dead, of course.” “She fell from the window all the way down to the bottom of the cliff.” “There’s no way she could’ve survived.”

Tome dramatically furrowed her brows,

“Oh dear! Must I really prepare a ritual bath or such? What wretched luck for New Year’s Day!” “No—they say the police already took her body away.” “How peculiar… Did you notice anything else strange? I’ve some inkling myself…”

Kouda came out to the edge of the entrance. “Hey, you’re the Shinmachi Bird Shop’s apprentice, right?” “Yessir.” “So that wasn’t a suicide—she was murdered, wasn’t she?” The errand boy suddenly made his eyes gleam,

“Yes, actually, I think so too.” “Oh? Why do you say that?”

“But that’s how it is. Someone about to jump to their death wouldn’t order birds, right? She called us around two in the morning on New Year’s Day and told us to deliver two mallards tomorrow morning.” “When was that?” “On New Year’s Eve… no—around two in the morning on New Year’s Day.”

Kouda turned toward the sitting room and exchanged a piercing glance with Sakuzuki.

A café called Bansēken near the intersection at Toranomon. The woman sitting at the window-side seat that offered a full view of the street at a glance was one of the residents of the Ariake-so Apartments who had just been at "Paris" moments earlier. Kawamata Fumie, a dancer who had returned from America. With a terribly unappealing expression on her face, she gazed at the sidewalk while fidgeting restlessly, her whole body unable to settle. Before long, a figure flickered at the glass window, and entering with his coat collar raised to hide the front of his tuxedo was none other than Yamaki Motokichi—the son of the so-called Coral King—who had also been at "Paris" just moments earlier. From his disheveled appearance alone, it could be seen that he had come straight here from "Paris". Judging by the time, not even an hour had passed since Count Iwai last appeared at "Paris" to report Matsutani Tsuruko's unnatural death.

Yamaki entered hurriedly, his usually sallow and lusterless cheeks looking even more ashen than usual, the tip of his nose reddening in a pauper-like manner; pulling a chair over, he sat down beside Fumie while—

“I was pestered by that Hatchi bastard—that’s why I’m late,” he said apologetically, but Fumie, visibly irritated, kept her face turned away without responding. Yamaki thrust his pointed chin toward her. “Hey, you. Has he sniffed something out?” Fumie’s body twitched before she suddenly turned to face him. “What do you mean, ‘noticed’?” “Our affair—I mean.”

Fumie shrugged her shoulders, “Don’t play dumb. What’s so scary about that?” “Oh? You’re not scared? Even if Count Iwai finds out about this, you wouldn’t be scared?”

When he glanced over, Fumie was frantically tearing her handkerchief under the table. Yamaki too seemed startled by this, “Well I’ll be damned! What’re you getting so worked up about all by yourself? If you don’t speak up, I won’t understand a thing. Hey—what’s wrong with you?”

Fumie raised her face intently and pressed forward with her words, “Hey, you—won’t you back out of that deal?” Yamaki was caught off guard, “Huh?! The deal—you mean the 295-carat one?” “You don’t need to spell it out. Haven’t I told you that already?”

Yamaki was shaking his leg restlessly, “That’s a problem. Even if it’s your request of all people, that’s impossible.” he said, uncharacteristically serious, “I’ve been wanting to ask for a long time now. Why do you keep pestering me to back out, over and over?” “It’s just that the deal’s too big for you to handle. What makes you think a dimwit like you could manage something like this? You’d better quit while you still can. I’ve come to believe that with all my heart.” “What’s wrong with it being big?… It’s precisely because it’s big that I’m running myself ragged like this without sparing any effort. I haven’t told you yet, but now that we’ve sorted things out with Inui Nihei and it’s finally starting to materialize, why on earth would I back out at this point? That’s impossible!”

Having said that, he took Fumie’s hand and, “Hey—Tsuchan. “I’m already flat broke, you know? “Not just broke—I’m over a million yen in debt with no way out. “Call it my own damn fault if you want, but if I don’t pull this off, I’ll never surface again. “You know it. “You’ve gotta have some idea yourself. “So why keep nagging me to quit? Over and over? “……If there’s some reason, spit it out already. “Though mind you—I’m fighting for my life here. Won’t back down from most excuses.”

Fumie gripped Yamaki’s hand in return,

“Even though I’m begging you like this…”

“Oh, give me a break!”

“Don’t you find it terrifying?”

Yamaki, for some reason, suddenly took on a timid look, “Hey, Tsuchan—you’re misunderstanding something here. “…You might suspect something, but what I’m doing is a fair-and-square deal, I tell you. I’m just trying to deliver the goods properly and collect my commission. Why should that be scary? …Though there’s a reason I can’t make this public—I’ve only told you and Indou about it—keeping it secret is this deal’s top condition, so there’s no choice but to ask you to let that slide. Because if I talk about this, it’ll cause people an awful lot of trouble.”

Fumie, as if she hadn’t heard him at all, let out a sigh—"Aah…"—and then,

“We’ve both ended up in a terrible plight, haven’t we? Even if we tried to run now, there’s nowhere left to go. Oh, why on earth did I ever come back to Japan? How hateful.”

Yamaki lowered his eyes, “This is what they call a cursed bond.” “There’s nothing left but to beg forgiveness.” “I’ve no excuse for Mr. Iwai, but what’s done can’t be undone.”

Fumie suddenly widened her eyes, “Cut the act already.” “What did you say?”

“What about this morning’s incident with Tsuruko? Why was Tsuruko killed? There’s no way you don’t know the reason for that. So I—” Yamaki hurriedly pulled Fumie’s sleeve, glancing around furtively toward where the waiters were, “Hey, what are you going on about?” Fumie sulkily blew out cigarette smoke while, “Don’t panic. I’m not saying *you* killed her—it’s just that you’re being too damn tight-lipped.”

Yamaki’s face twisted in panic, “Don’t spout nonsense. If there’s some reason behind this, you’re the one who’d know it better than anyone. ……Let me ask you something, Tsuchan—why did you keep sneaking off to Tsuruko’s place all the time when you were badmouthing her behind her back? And besides, according to rumors, haven’t you gotten into some improper relationship? ……Why were you putting on such an elaborate act?”

Fumie abruptly lost all color from her face,

“Shut up! What’s that supposed to mean? Instead of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, you’d better start thinking about how to clean up your own mess, Tonchiki!” After hurling the vulgar retort, she whipped her face toward the window. Depending on one’s interpretation, the gesture might have been an attempt to hide her pallor from scrutiny. Yamaki sat with an awkwardly bowed head as he smoked, his fingertips trembling ever so slightly—what could have caused that?

At that very moment, Hana—the beautiful seamstress apprentice living in a modest house beneath the cliff of Ariake-so Apartments—passed by outside the window. Having apparently parted ways with her companion, the daughter of someone called Akaguma, she walked on with her head slightly bowed. When Fumie saw this, she grabbed the gloves from the table in a fluster, stood up without so much as a word to Yamaki, and dashed out of the café. “Hana! Hana!”

called out as she caught up to Hana at the sidewalk corner and grasped her hand with unnerving familiarity, “Hana, I hear this morning was quite dreadful.” Hana looked flustered as she squirmed and tried to pull her hand free. “Yes.”

Fumie peered into her face as if— "You know something more, don’t you?" "No." "Nothing at all?"

"Yes." "You must've been shocked - you two were so close." "Yes." Fumie- "The dead always get cheated in the end." -she muttered like someone talking to themselves through a knowing smile that lingered on Hana's face before abruptly pressing close enough that lips brushed ear.

“Hana-chan, congratulations,” she said.

13. The Prosecution’s Obsession

And the Parting of Crimson Lips

The gloomy figure clad entirely in black, ascending the steep path from Sannō-shita to Ariake-so with a stubbornly unyielding gait, was none other than Inspector Manako Akira, Head of the First Investigation Division of the Metropolitan Police Department. That he was being dispatched there under an internal directive from the Police Affairs Bureau to solidify evidence of Matsutani Tsuruko's suicide was something you, dear readers, already knew. Whether Matsutani Tsuruko's cause of death had ultimately been suicide or murder remained undetermined as a matter of fact, rumors notwithstanding. Though everything would depend on Chief Inspector Manako's ruthless interrogation results, synthesizing Hayashi Kinnao's inadvertent slips of tongue moments earlier in the Imperial Hotel lobby with other evidence suggested that since receiving the Tameike Station Chief's report at 5:00 AM that morning regarding Tsuruko's suspicious death and the emperor's arrest, four individuals—the Ministers of Home and Foreign Affairs, the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau, and the Governor-General of the Metropolitan Police—had gathered at the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal's official residence for intensive consultation, whereupon they had hastily fabricated circumstances supporting suicide.

Manako was now being dispatched to the scene. In other words, he was being sent to search for evidence of suicide at a location where the circumstances of suicide had already been fully fabricated. As for why Inspector Manako was being dispatched there—it was because a report bearing Manako’s signature was required. Put another way, Manako was being sent to perform an utterly wretched duty, one that came after having been betrayed by the Metropolitan Police Department itself. Regarding Inspector Manako’s conduct in prosecutorial matters, it has already been stated that his coldly tenacious and sinister nature was in no way inferior to that of Inspector Javert from Victor Hugo’s *Les Misérables*. One could gauge just how deeply this man was devoted to suppressing evil and investigating wrongs by the fact that even within the Metropolitan Police Department, the severity of his harshness was profoundly feared. When the dull, coffin-nail-like footsteps characteristic of Manako began echoing from the far end of the corridor, his subordinates and colleagues would all fall silent at once, waiting motionlessly with bowed heads for those footsteps to disappear into the chief inspector’s office—like boatmen bracing for a malevolent storm to pass.

If you were to observe the receding figure of Inspector Manako ascending this path now, you would surely nod in grim comprehension.

Cloaked in a funereal atmosphere, his black Inverness coat's shoulders hunched like a graveyard crow, he ascended like some ill-omened apparition—behold, even the roadside grasses quailed and lay prostrate before that murderous aura.

In the grand actions of a nation, there were times when one could not afford to be bogged down by trivialities of right and wrong. This case was no exception—processing this imperial murder case according to protocol would have caused a host of troublesome international issues. Even the Emperor of Annam's visit to Japan had already been a delicate matter, but the complications of exposing that emperor as a murderer were something anyone could imagine. Moreover, since daring to do so promised a hundred harms without a single benefit, they preferred to settle matters without stirring up trouble if at all possible. In such circumstances, entrusting any role to someone like Manako—the very incarnation of prosecutorial rigor—would have been a profound miscasting; thus, the police authorities' decision to outmaneuver him and swiftly arrange the situation stood as an unavoidable measure in one sense.

Meanwhile, Inspector Manako held an inflexible conviction that legal principles stood far above the state and should not be lightly swayed by governmental intentions or policies; thus, when he learned through Hayashi's words in the hotel lobby about the measures the government had taken regarding this case, he felt boundless indignation. In other words, maintaining the Japanese government's dignity meant declaring those guilty as guilty—even were that person the emperor of a nation—and not needlessly bending legal principles to demonstrate loyalty to foreigners, or so it was argued.

From the author's perspective, both sides seemed to have their reasons, and it was difficult to definitively say which was right. However, if one were to insist on exposing the truth of this case, Inspector Manako would have no choice but to take on the entire apparatus of the Metropolitan Police Department—but did he possess the resolve to do so? We knew that within Manako's breast pocket lay a letter of resignation. If that were the case, he might already have made that momentous resolution. Even through his drowsily drooping eyelids, a fierce light seemed to leak out, giving the impression that he harbored some indomitable resolve deep within his heart. Yet to imagine that Manako sought to avenge his marginalization through such means would have been doing him a grave disservice. Manako was sinister, but he was no coward. Moreover, being a man of such seasoned composure, he would never have devised such childish schemes. Manako sincerely believed this to be his duty as a prosecutor.

When Inspector Manako arrived at Ariake-so Apartments and surveyed the scene, merchants were already bustling in and out as if nothing had transpired. Not a single patrolman or detective was in sight. When he turned right at the entrance and opened the door to the caretaker's room at the end, a mean-looking old woman around fifty crawled out from the stairway entrance. This was the meddlesome old woman Ouma, who in the first instance had informed the detectives that the person in the inner room was Emperor Munakata. Bulging, gilded eyes and a contorted, vulgar countenance. Because her hair was tightly pulled back, her eyes were drawn upward in an odd manner, making her look all the more malicious. By nature quick to underestimate others, when she saw Manako's rather unimpressive demeanor—reminiscent of a long-serving principal—she immediately looked down on him and,

"My, my—another investigation? You really won't survive long at this rate." She sneered. Manako settled at the stairway's edge and spoke in a leaden monotone: "So you're Ouma?" he began interrogating. The caretaker kept her face averted, "Yes, that's me." "What exactly do you do here?" "Well now, I mind the entrance like this," she simpered, "and tend to everyone's trifling needs." "That's all there is to it." "When His Majesty visited last night—did you notice anyone accompanying him?"

“Oh? And who might this ‘King’ be? If you mean his real name, I might know, but—” “He is the one who goes by the Japanese name Munakata Ryutaro.”

“If you mean Mr. Munakata, he did not come last night.” “That is most certainly the case.” “No mistake, then?” “Yes, indeed.” Manako kept his eyelids lowered as ever, “You’re quite tight-lipped.” “Impressive.” “No matter who asks, you should stick to that story. …Now then—how does that entrance door open?” “And what would you do with that information?” “Answer the questions you’re asked.” Ouma puffed out her cheeks,

“Each resident is supposed to open it with their own duplicate keys.” “And to close it?”

“When you push it, it closes by itself.” “Is that the only way in and out?” “There’s a back staircase for errand boys to use when making deliveries, but everyone goes through that main entrance.” “Only the one entrance-exit, you understand.” “Did this Tsuruko woman seem to be expecting anyone else besides His Majesty?” “A visitor maybe? Or some acquaintance?”

“I don’t think anyone else was waiting.”

“How did you know that?” “Last night, just before midnight, Hana—the seamstress apprentice living on the second floor of that boarding house down the cliff—delivered something to Ms. Matsutani’s place. On her way back, she stopped by here to chat and mentioned that since Mr. Munakata hadn’t come at the promised time, Tsuruko-san was terribly anxious.”

“So that’s why you thought that?” “What does it matter? This old woman suddenly thought that way at the moment, so that’s how I answered. Can anyone truly know what’s in another’s heart? It’s not like I have clairvoyance!” “What else did that girl talk about?” “Tsuruko-san said she was happy. She always says that—not just last night.” “Is that all?”

“The rest I’ve forgotten, I’m afraid.” “What was the exact time that girl Hana came there?” “I think she came around ten minutes to twelve.” “After talking for about ten minutes, the New Year’s Eve bells rang, and when she heard them, she said ‘Happy New Year!’ and ran off.” “Is there anything else…?” “Just a bit more. …So that means that girl would be the last person to have seen Tsuruko alive.”

“That’s correct.” “After that, did anyone go up to Tsuruko’s residence?” “There wasn’t anyone, I’m afraid.” “After the incident occurred, did anyone leave through the entrance?” “No one came out, I’m afraid.”

“How do you know that? It’s not like you were standing guard at the entrance.” “Who would stand guard? Don’t be absurd… You see, every time someone opens or closes the entrance door, an electric bell rings in this old woman’s room.” “So after the incident, it never rang once.” “Neither before nor after—from when Hana left until the officers arrived—that bell didn’t ring even once.”

“What time did the housekeeper Tome leave?” “Around half past eleven, she left after handing me the back door key as usual.” “What about that key?” “This old woman has it here.” “Only one key exists?” “That’s correct.” “Then when did you become aware of the incident?” “I believe I heard a gasp precisely at four o’clock.” “You heard that gasp from the cliff base here?” “That’s correct. Not to boast, but these ears are sharp.”

“I see. So?”

“Then I hurried down to the cliff base to look, and she was already dead.” “I shouldered it and brought it up to the room.” “You did that?” “This old woman may not look it now, but I once reached maegashira rank in women’s sumo!” “Then Tsuruko—” “What?! It’s obviously suicide!” “How can you know that for certain?” “But you must see—last night there wasn’t a soul in the apartment besides Tsuruko-san.” “And she’d been saying ‘I want to die’ over and over.”

“There, there, full marks.” “So would that seamstress Hana be at home now?” “I can’t guarantee that, sir—today being New Year’s Day and all.”

“You’ve done well.” “Though I’ll be returning again shortly.”

After saying this and standing up, Inspector Manako lumbered down to the base of the cliff. As he slid open the lattice of a dilapidated two-story house crouching in a corner of the vacant lot—about to announce himself—soft footsteps pattered down the stairs. From behind the shoji screen emerged an extraordinarily beautiful girl of eighteen or nineteen, her fair complexion accentuating wide, luminous eyes. The moment she saw Inspector Manako's face, she gasped "Oh!" and sprang upright with the abrupt grace of a sparrow taking flight from its perch. This was Hana the seamstress—the same girl who, barely an hour earlier, had been trapped beneath a human avalanche near Hibiya Park and nearly crushed to death before Inspector Manako pulled her free. Even the inspector seemed momentarily struck by this bizarre coincidence of fate. Yet true to form, he merely cracked his eyelids half-open and subjected her face to a brief, appraising glance.

Beauty of such magnitude was indeed an event in itself. For instance, while one might pass many beauties in Ginza, those that made your eyes widen weren't so common. Hana's face was one of those rare few. To explain by analogy, it resembled that beautiful girl's countenance as depicted by Miyamoto Saburō - a visage where modern vivacity and innocence bloomed forth like flowers. When encountering such a face, any man would feel life was worth living, if only for a moment. Hana had been smiling with a radiance almost too lavish for her beautiful face while expressing gratitude in various ways, but when Manako announced he was from the Metropolitan Police Department, both that childlike innocence and her smile vanished like frost meeting morning sunlight, and she began peering anxiously at Manako with an upturned gaze. After all, someone like the Chief of Investigations at the Metropolitan Police Department would hardly be welcomed warmly by even the most amiable girl, so this much was only to be expected.

Even so, perhaps thinking it too rude to leave him at the stairway entrance, she led Manako through to her own six-tatami room on the second floor.

The sewing table and needle box were neatly arranged against the wall, with a single branch of red plum blossoms—their buds still tightly closed—resting atop the sewing machine draped in its cover cloth. Even in this modest New Year’s celebration, one could glimpse the tender sincerity of this poor girl’s heart. Inspector Manako slumped sullenly by the window and began in a brusque tone: “When did you start frequenting Tsuruko’s place?” Hana kept her head bowed low, her voice trembling on the edge of tears. “Around last October.” “I hear Tsuruko confided all sorts of things in you.”

“She was always joking around.” “Lately, had Tsuruko blurted out anything about being sad or wanting to die?” Hana widened her eyes,

“No, never once.”

“Do you know what the King looks like?” “I do.” “Because Tsuruko-san showed me photographs many times.”

“He’s quite the handsome man—you’d agree, wouldn’t you?”

When Inspector Manako said this, Hana gasped “Oh!” and flushed crimson up to her forehead. Keeping his eyes fixed on her face, “You’ve never met him in person yet, I see. A pity.”

"But since I'm scheduled to deliver the visiting outfit to the hotel, I should be meeting him soon." When she answered, she buried her chin in her collar and suddenly fell deep into thought. Inspector Manako silently observed this, but when he reached out to open the window's shoji, the Ariake-so building loomed toweringly right before his eyes. Inspector Manako pointed in that direction while,

“Oh, I can see Ariake-so. “That second window from the right on the second floor—the one they say Tsuruko threw herself from—isn’t it?” “Yes, that’s correct.” Inspector Manako slowly turned back toward Hana and, “Miss, around what time did you go to bed last night?” At this question, a violent change came over Hana the seamstress’s entire body. In short—with eyes like a fawn cornered by hounds and a desperate gaze—she stared back at Manako; then collapsing onto the tatami mats, she wailed once before suddenly lifting her face.

“I know all sorts of things.”

Inspector Manako did not show surprise. Keeping his gloomy eyes downcast, "Oh? What kind of things?"

Hana’s lips quivered as she, "I... I saw everything. From this window."

What on earth had Hana seen?

Part Five

14. The Chestnut Head Incident

And the Matter of 295 Carats

At 4:20 AM on New Year's Day of the Year of the Boar, Matsutani Tsuruko—mistress to Emperor Munakata Ryutaro of Annam residing at Ariake-so Apartments in Sanno-dai, Akasaka—plunged from a second-floor entrance window some thirty shaku down a cliffside to meet a mysterious death. Only the Emperor had been present at the scene, and since the unfortunate window’s opening mechanism was positioned approximately five shaku above the floorboards, it would have been difficult for anyone to voluntarily leap out without using a stepping stool. Given these circumstances, deeming His Majesty responsible proved straightforward enough—yet formally charging him with murder presented altogether different challenges. Unless authorities were prepared for the diplomatic maelstrom that would inevitably follow through such an accusation—a storm certain to roil Franco-Japanese relations and jeopardize colonial mining concessions—the indictment simply could not proceed.

At 5 AM, when this incident was reported, the ashen-faced Ministers of Home and Foreign Affairs summoned the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau and the Superintendent-General of the Metropolitan Police to the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal’s official residence. After agonizing deliberations, they unanimously resolved to treat it as a suicide case. Under strict secrecy, they urgently arranged all circumstances, and by 8 AM had completed preparations so thorough not a drop of water could leak through. Having arranged all this, the Director intended to dispatch a mere sergeant for the investigation, have them submit a suicide report, and briskly settle the matter—but whether by ill fortune or sheer folly, his bungling secretary specifically chose to assign this task to Chief Inspector Manako, a man utterly ill-suited for such work.

Manako was a man of about forty-two or three, emaciated like a skeleton draped in skin, with high cheekbones stark beneath lead-colored flesh and eyelids that hung heavily as if perpetually half-closed, rarely opening fully. Clad year-round in gloomy all-black attire, his manner of walking—head slightly bowed, furtively drifting like a shadow—was that of a wraith. He possessed an extremely meticulous mind and had solved various difficult cases up to now, yet toward the absurd, he was so merciless that one might think him a monomaniac. Once he recognized even the slightest injustice, he would not hesitate to accuse God Himself—such was the unrelenting ferocity that stripped flesh and gouged bone, casting a sinister unease even over the police department itself.

This man had graduated from Tokyo Imperial University's philosophy department in 1922, remaining in his classmates' memory as a prodigy through his incisive graduation thesis titled *The Philosophy of Contradiction*. Yet upon graduating, he spurned numerous coveted positions and wordlessly accepted an appointment as police sergeant in the Metropolitan Police Department. He was a man of complete solitude, possessing neither relatives nor a wife. Each night until midnight, he would lean against the battered desk in his government quarters, his solitary form motionlessly devoted to criminological research—a man who might have been born solely for the prosecution's purpose. True to character, Inspector Manako appeared to burn with outrage at the government's处置, tucking his resignation notice into his breast pocket and wrapping himself in an ominous murderous aura as he rose like one gripped by monomania. Even should the entire Metropolitan Police Department marshal all its functions to hinder him, he resolved to unfailingly produce incontrovertible evidence and arrest the Emperor as murderer.

A bitter conflict between the government and a prosecutor was about to commence. From a crime scene that the Metropolitan Police’s elite had swarmed in to thoroughly secure, how Manako would uncover evidence of murder—precisely this process proved most intriguing. Yet where reality diverged from detective novels lay in this: the detective performed no heroic feats of naniwabushi ballads, no superhuman exertions. In this uncompromisingly realistic society, one operated by the principle that even a dog out walking found itself facing the stick. A detective's achievements always had to yield half their credit to chance. At this time too, as was ever the case, an unexpected witness appeared from an unexpected quarter. That witness was Hana—a beautiful seamstress living on the second floor of a modest house beneath Ariake-so’s cliff—who had seen everything about the Ariake-so incident from her window that night; a shocking revelation that had regrettably concluded the previous installment just as she began to disclose it.

Now, as for Manako—though he had likely anticipated every obstruction and difficulty, resolved to fight with every ounce of his strength—he could never have imagined that such a crucial witness would emerge from such an immediate vicinity. Even the cold-blooded Manako must have been unable to suppress an inner leap of anticipation—or so one might speculate. But observing Manako himself revealed no such emotion: whether pleased or otherwise, he sat with hands neatly arranged on bony knees, eyes gloomily downcast, not a flicker of feeling disturbing his countenance. He maintained an air of chilled composure, as though he had heard nothing at all.

Clad in an ill-fitting, baggy serge suit that hung loose on his frame, his scrawny neck covered in downy hair drooping dejectedly at the nape, he sat slightly hunched over with a faint shadow—the very image of a former ward office clerk who’d lost his job and now worked as a flagman at a railroad crossing. None would believe this figure to be Chief Inspector Manako—that brilliant, sharp-witted man feared as the Metropolitan Police’s most formidable operative. He cut a wretched figure to behold.

Hana glared resentfully up at Inspector Manako with upturned eyes like a petulant child while— "I hate detectives—they've got no humanity." "I want to smack even you...... Listen... I'm telling you this to pay back a favor, so please believe that." "Otherwise I wouldn't make such a meddlesome report." "......If I tell this story, someone'll become a criminal—how pathetic...... Ah, I wish I'd never been saved by someone like you."

With a deep sigh, she adopted a contemplative gaze and— “Last night after hearing the New Year’s Eve bells, I finished up cleaning and went to the bathhouse.” “When I got back from buying plum branches and offering mochi at the year-end market, it was already past two.” “After fixing my hair and collar cover, I checked the clock—nearly four already.” “I tried lying down in the kotatsu for a bit, but it felt like wasting sleep so I got up again.” “I opened the shoji there, left the light off and propped my elbows on the threshold like this... Then when I happened to look up at Tsuruko-san’s place—lights were on in her entryway, dining room and bedroom both! Oh, I figured His Majesty must’ve come.”

When she raised her eyes to look at Manako, he appeared to be dozing with closed eyes. Hana looked uneasy, "Oh, are you listening?" He hadn't been sleeping. A low "Hmm" came in response. Hana leaned forward, "Then suddenly, the entrance window curtain lifted, and I saw someone trying to pick up Tsuruko-san." "She seemed to be thrashing desperately, but I couldn't hear any voice." "While I was wondering what they'd do, the man hoisted Tsuruko-san up high like this and threw her out the window." "The entrance light went out right then, so I couldn't see anything after that." "...I went straight downstairs and touched the lattice door, but I felt like I'd be killed too if I went out, so I went back upstairs and trembled till morning."

Manako said in a low voice, “What did the man look like?” “It all happened so fast it’s a blur, but I think he was a tall, large man with a chestnut-shaped head.” “But perhaps he was wearing something on his head that made it look that way… And then, it seemed like he had something shiny wrapped around his wrist.” “When he raised his hand like this, it glittered.” “Was it a wristwatch?” “I can’t say anything definite.”

Manako glanced up at Hana’s face. “Young lady, you said you saw a photograph of the King. Didn’t that man resemble him? Did he have a beard like this?” Hana’s face twisted with anger. “How unfortunate for you—there’s no beard in that photograph. And besides, the King would never kill Tsuruko-san.” “Hoh? How can you be so certain?” “Tsuruko-san used to say she’d get so frustrated—no matter what she did, he’d just laugh it off.”

“The King did love Tsuruko, didn’t he?” Then Hana perked up and—

“No. Tsuruko-san’s situation was dire, but the King’s wasn’t like that at all. Yes, I do think so.”

“I see.” “So, did Tsuruko show any signs of having male friends?” “Male friends? Let alone those—even her female friends were just me and Ms. Fumie.” “Besides, she just stays cooped up at home and never goes outside.” “So, is there anything else you can tell me?”

Hana buried her chin in her collar and fell silent, but soon raised her face. "There’s still something I know, but I won’t tell you this." "I’d feel bad toward the dead." Whether he was listening or not, Inspector Manako sat quietly with his arms crossed, seemingly deep in thought, but soon began fumbling through his coat pocket. He pulled out a crushed bar of chocolate along with some tissues and held it out toward Hana.

“Here, have one.”

Hana tightened her lips sharply, “You think I’m a child, don’t you? Doing such a thing won’t work—I won’t tell you.” Manako started to put away the chocolate but then took it out again. Puffing away the dust that had gathered on the wrapper, he began clumsily peeling off the silver foil, but the softened chocolate refused to yield as intended. Using his grime-encrusted pinky nail, he scraped it away meticulously over a long while, then said in a gloomy voice,

“Here, have some. It’s not dirty.”

As he said this, he placed it firmly on the tatami mat. A visibly burdensome, clumsy method.

Inspector Manako shouldn't have been this clumsy a man... No renowned actor could have executed this scene as masterfully as Inspector Manako. Were this a play, one would have no choice but to deem it far too cutting. Hana stared at the chocolate with uneasy eyes cast downward, then resolutely said "Thank you" and put it in her mouth. She studied Inspector Manako's face intently until her eyes suddenly welled with tears,

“You’re such a clumsy oaf. If you keep acting like that, even a child like me will end up looking down on you. You must be a rookie detective, then… I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’re so pitiful I’ll tell you. …Tsuruko-san, you know, she was troubled because the King had entrusted her with something terribly important. Since I don’t know what it is either, you’ll just have to put your back into being a detective now, okay?”

Manako let out a sound that was neither a greeting nor a thanks—*No—*—and stood up,

“Last night at the time of the incident, only the King was present at Tsuruko’s residence. Therefore, this ‘someone’ you mention—that would refer to His Majesty himself.” Appearing every bit the high-strung girl, Hana’s face twisted into a convulsive grimace upon hearing this. She gazed up at Manako with eyes that seemed ready to faint at any moment— “Please wait—it’s true only His Majesty was there at that time.” Inspector Manako remained planted heavily in place and stated in an icy tone,

“When I went to investigate, only the King was there. In the dining room as well, there were only traces of two people having eaten together... No—there are various complications.”

With that, he went downstairs, slowly slid open the lattice door, and left. Hana collapsed onto the tatami mats,

If she'd known that, she wouldn't have said such a thing. Oh, what was she to do? What was she to do?

She writhed, clutching her body and wailing as though her world had ended, but then abruptly raised her face. "I can't keep doing this. At any rate, I must help Your Majesty escape quickly." Finishing her preparations hastily, she took out a furoshiki bundle from the closet and clutched it protectively to her chest. As she slid open the lattice door and glanced up toward the garden path, there was Inspector Manako—his black inverness sleeves flapping like a great crow's wings—being buffeted by the winter wind as he ascended nonchalantly toward Ariake-so Apartments. Hana watched him go with sorrowful eyes, then shuddered, quickly locked the front door, and raced off toward Sannō-shita.

Inspector Manako stood at the entrance of Ariake-so Apartments examining the doorbell mechanism and external telephone line connections. Having finished this task, he clomped up the nearby staircase to the second floor. At the entrance to Tsuruko’s residence stood a single plainclothes officer. “Has anyone entered this interior since completing the post-mortem examination?”

“Around nine o’clock, only His Excellency the Superintendent General entered.” “Have you been here continuously since the incident?” “I have been here the entire time.”

“I have been here the entire time.”

"What about the kitchen entrance?" "Same as here—a colleague has been posted there continuously."

When he opened the door and entered, what lay beyond was less an entrance hall than a wide corridor—one side a wall, the other a door to the parlor. At the far end stood a large glass wall with steel sashes in what you might call the Corbusier style, its operable section positioned about five shaku (1.5 meters) above the floor—left mournfully ajar as it had been during the incident, allowing damp air to seep through. On the floor was a footstool about two shaku high (approximately 0.6 meters / 2 feet). Beside it lay a pair of peony-red satin slippers for women—one facedown, the other upturned—scattered as beautifully as flower petals.

Manako stood motionless, staring fixedly at it, “Impressive. With this setup, one could leap out.” He muttered, then smirked.

Ah, had someone been there to witness this smile, they would surely have felt a chill run down their spine. To call it a smile would be an overstatement—it was nothing more than a slight twitch at the corner of his lips, yet no villain’s grin could ever chill the bones so profoundly. It was as if fire burned within ice—all the cruelty and wrath in this world seemed frozen upon this single face. After bringing his eyes close to the window’s edge and making a peculiar expression, he tried to enter the parlor, but found the door not only tightly locked but also sealed. To put it bluntly, Manako was being prohibited from proceeding further inside. Having learned that Manako had gone to investigate, someone must have rushed here in a panic—the seal’s surface still bore a faint dampness. With an impassive expression, Manako took out a hook-tipped wire bent at the end from his coat pocket and set to work opening the door. After about a minute of rattling, the door opened.

As one would expect of an apartment touted as Tokyo's finest, every detail exuded opulence. Ankle-deep russet carpets bore low-slung French modernist furniture, while ash-white velvet drapes hung sleekly across windows. In an ostentatious Belgian glass bowl, ranchu goldfish idly flicked their tail fins despite the midwinter chill—such was the scene's composition. Upon entering the dining room, he found a table draped with linen flanked by two opposing chairs—one champagne glass per setting, two napkins, two forks and fish knives each, a platter heaped with oyster shells and individual plates of foie gras, plus twin ashtrays. In short, the tableau stood as mute testimony to a private dinner for two. After surveying the table, Manako peered into one ashtray containing three lipstick-stained Gerbezolte cigarette butts. He crossed to the opposite side and inspected the other ashtray—home to a single premium cigar stub.

Manako sat down on the chair and,

“Tsuruko sat on the opposite chair, and the Emperor sat on this chair like this—” As he spoke, he stretched out his leg until his shoe tip touched the crossbar of the table leg. Manako crawled under the table to examine the crossbar. Faint traces of damp mud still clung to it. Moving to the opposite side, he inspected that crossbar as well. It appeared the underside of the slippers had rubbed against it, thinning the dust layer precisely at that spot. Up to this point, everything aligned logically—save for one anomaly: the peculiar positioning of what was presumed to be Tsuruko’s chair. Manako sat down and reached toward the dining table. His hands fell short of the dishes entirely. He pressed his face close to the carpet, searching for drag marks from moved furniture, but found none. The chair legs remained firmly entrenched in their indentations. When he glanced to the chair’s right side, cigarette ash lay scattered across the carpet—dull black residue from an inferior brand utterly unlike Gerbezolte. Why here? Sitting in the chair himself revealed the answer immediately: the ashtray lay beyond reach. To avoid sprinkling ash on one’s lap, one would naturally let their idle right hand flick it discreetly to this spot. But if this person couldn’t reach the ashtray, how had Tsuruko managed? Only one conclusion remained: she must have been seated on the man’s lap. Manako promptly examined the chair leg’s crossbar.

The corner of the crossbar bore faint traces of damp mud. One would only hook one's heel on such a high crossbar when bearing weight on their lap or struggling to keep something from sliding off. This observation conclusively proved the individual was male. No woman's high-heeled shoe could achieve such leverage. So where were the cigarette stubs? Had they been stubbed out and pocketed? Impossible. Manako began lifting each oyster shell from the towering pile. Beneath the briny heap lay a sodden cigarette butt whose side clearly read GOLDEN BAT. Through this method, Manako verified the Emperor's testimony held truth. He'd now confirmed a third man had been present alongside the Emperor and Tsuruko until moments before the incident.

Manako opened the door in the corner of the dining room and entered the kitchen. Next to the wide kitchen counter stood a large kitchen stove. The only notable items were a shallow wooden box containing oil-based modeling clay and lime plaster. He quickly deduced their purpose. The wall beside the service entrance had peeled across an area roughly two gou* in size—this was leftover plaster from repairs. When Manako leaned closer to examine it, faint traces remained on the newly patched surface where someone had pressed their back. The vertical seam of a jacket's spine, the horizontal line of a coat hem, and carelessly dangling end of a leather belt were faintly imprinted like mold carvings. The dangling belt tip and choice of leaning spot suggested this man might have been drunk. While the plaster lump in the box remained damp, the wall's repair had dried completely. No fingerprints remained when pressed. The rapid drying stemmed from a steam pipe running adjacent. By cross-referencing when they finished plastering with when steam began flowing that morning, they could easily determine when he leaned there. Shoe prints lingered on the linoleum floor. He cut paper to carefully lift a print, stored it in his evidence bag, measured from jacket hem to floor with a tape measure, then noted "0.86m" in his notebook. Pressing his ear to the service door revealed someone standing guard outside. Leaving the back stairs for later inspection, he opened another corner door into the next room. It was a bathroom. Finding nothing unusual there either, he proceeded through another door. This room served as combined bedroom and living quarters. Against the far wall sat a divan-style double bed whose velvet spread lay coldly sunken into human contours from corpse weight.

By the window stood a Western-style dressing table with a round mirror. To its right was built into the wall a large wardrobe. Inspector Manako pulled out each drawer of the dressing table one by one and meticulously examined their contents. He found nothing unusual here. Manako opened the wardrobe doors. A cascade of multicolored fabrics spilled forth like a chromatic waterfall. Every item proved to be either Western-style nightgowns or underrobes. There were no jackets nor outdoor garments. Instead, each underrobe displayed intricate craftsmanship - crimson crepe ones, tea-colored de chine slips embroidered with yellow blossoms, satin taffeta varieties differing in both hue and form. What Hana had reported held truth. Tsuruko had indeed spent her days cloistered indoors wearing these various undergarments while pining solely for the King's visits. This wardrobe bore silent testimony to Tsuruko's pitiful daily existence. When he opened the bottom drawer, a man's vest lay inside. Fashioned from pale green high-quality soft fabric, it clearly showed a first-class tailor's meticulous handiwork. After inspecting the four outer pockets, he turned the lining inside out. Though barely worn, only the inner right pocket's fabric had stretched completely into an egg-shaped bulge. This revealed how some heavy elliptical object had been forcibly crammed into that narrow space over extended periods. Manako carried the vest to the window for closer inspection of its pockets' interiors. After laying it on the dressing table, he stole silently into the kitchen and returned clutching a lump of oil-based clay. Seated at the dressing table chair, he began rolling the clay while measuring the bulge's dimensions with a tape measure.

After numerous attempts and adjustments, there took shape a flat-bottomed hemispherical ellipsoid—about two-thirds the size of a chicken egg, resembling a boiled egg split lengthwise. Aligning it with the faint tortoiseshell-like pattern remaining inside the pocket, he engraved a faceted glass design onto the hemisphere's surface. When dropped into the pocket, it fit perfectly into the bulge without a hair's breadth of gap. He carefully wrapped this in a handkerchief for carrying, then bundled the vest in newspaper and placed it too upon the dressing table. Returning to the wardrobe, he opened its second drawer. An immense quantity of bed linens lay within. While the outer drawers' disarray had concealed signs of disturbance, here—with sheets folded precisely—the evidence of someone's hasty rifling became immediately apparent. Manako began meticulously sifting through them himself. From between the linens emerged something wholly incongruous—a rosewood cigarette holder carved with exceptional craftsmanship into a lion's head, its open maw shaped to clasp a cigarette between sculpted fangs. Manako lifted it for closer inspection. A baleful light seeped from between his heavily lidded eyes as he placed it on the dressing table and sank into the chair, bowing his head until all motion ceased him. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Not so much as a tremor stirred his frame—this gaunt shadow of a man sitting like some funerary monument in the deserted murder scene radiated an almost supernatural dread. Could Inspector Manako be contemplating seppuku? His cheeks hung sunken in profound dejection, drained of blood to an ashen pallor; his bony shoulders heaved like storm-tossed waves—manifest proof of some titanic inner struggle being waged beneath that still exterior. After some indeterminate span, he raised his face.

By this time, his demeanor had already returned to its usual cold composure. Clutching the newspaper-wrapped bundle under his arm and dangling the craft package from his fingertips, he exited Tsuruko’s residence, descended to the lower floor, ascended the back staircase reserved for official merchants, and arrived outside the kitchen door. Without so much as a glance at the plainclothes officer standing guard, he pressed the paper-wrapped bundle against the edge of the corridor and began meticulously examining the hallway. At the top of the stairs lay cigar ash. It became clear that a man who smoked the same cigars as the Emperor had either descended or ascended these stairs. At the bottom of the stairs lay a cigar stub—just lit and partially smoked, about one-fifth consumed—still rolling slightly. From this, it became clear that the man who smoked the cigar had not ascended but descended them. Though the cigar stub lay here, its ash couldn’t have been in the second-floor hallway. When he brought his eye close to examine it, he realized the cigar had fallen vertically onto the floor, ash end first. The man must have either stumbled or knelt there, involuntarily dropping it from his mouth. Had he been holding it to throw away, some momentum would have carried it forward—it never would have fallen straight down. Peering closely at the linoleum floor slightly beyond the stub, he saw two shiny lines beginning on the surface as if dragged toward the entrance. Soon the linoleum gave way to mosaic tiling, obscuring the trails. Manako returned to the second-floor hallway, retrieved his bundle, stopped by caretaker Ouma’s room to inquire about the plasterer’s residence and that morning’s steam heating start time, then casually departed Ariake-so.

Now then, Inspector Manako confirmed the time the plastering had been completed at the Tameike plasterer’s workshop, hailed a taxi to the Ibuki tailor shop in Nihonbashi, made some detailed inquiries there, and then proceeded directly to the Matsuzawa Jewelry Store in Muromachi. Taking out the aforementioned craft item from his handkerchief, he grabbed a seemingly annoyed young clerk and said the following. “It’s rather an odd request to make right on New Year’s Day, but could you create an imitation diamond of the same size and shape as this one?” “If we can keep it around a hundred yen, that’d be ideal.”

The clerk gazed at Manako’s face with a look of disbelief, but— “This is what’s called a rosette cut—an old style.” “…Well, if it’s made of pure glass, it might be possible… but as for the price—that’s rather hard to estimate.” “About how many carats would something this size be?” “First off, it would be around three hundred carats.” “How much would something like that cost?” The clerk gasped and,

“You must be joking.” “No—I’m asking how much it would cost.” The clerk wore an expression of utter absurdity. “The standard rate is three hundred yen per carat, but for a precious stone of this size, we square the number of carats—three hundred squared makes ninety thousand carats.” “...Three, nine, twenty-seven—twenty-seven million yen.” “Then there’s grading—even at minimum, fifty million yen... It’s preposterous.”

“Does a diamond of this size even exist in Japan?” The clerk, exasperated, “This is rather troublesome... “…We do have an illustrated English book called *Jewel of World* (‘Sekai no Houseki’). If there’s anything you’d like to investigate, I could show it to you.”

With that, he brought out a large quarto-sized book from the inner bookshelf. Manako received it and was looking through the world’s famous gemstones one by one, but soon snapped the book shut and placed it on the desk. What struck Manako’s eye was a full-scale diagram of a pale violet, magnificent diamond—identical in every detail to his craft item—published next to a gem called the “Great Mogul.” The illustration had been annotated as follows.

The Emperor: 295 carats. (1886: Produced at the Bremer Mine, South Africa. (Annam Empire Imperial Family Collection)

Fifteen: A Candle Before the Wind

And: The Matter of Knee-to-Knee Negotiations

Someone knocked on the door. At this sound, Furuichi Kaju—a reporter for the Sunset Newspaper—awoke in a luxurious guest suite of the Imperial Hotel. Even for an imitation king, the comfort of the bed must have been remarkably splendid.

Through some twist of fate, merely for having been beside Matsutani Tsuruko’s corpse the previous night, he had suddenly become the Emperor of Annam. According to Kaju, their mistake was their own doing—it wasn’t his fault. Kaju was stubbornly holding his ground here—determined to witness this colossal incident dubbed “The Murder of Emperor Munakata Ryutaro of the Annam Empire” through to its bitter end and secure the scoop at all costs—an event known to none in all of Tokyo beyond a handful of officials and old Ouma-baa, not even his fellow journalists. But was it really permissible to be lounging about like this? While Kaju had been taking a brief nap here, not only had the incident begun developing beyond his control into something too large for the likes of him to handle, but Hayashi Kinnao—who knew the Emperor’s face—had now seen this utterly wretched sleeping visage of his. Kaju’s fate now hung by the thinnest of threads—a candle flickering before the storm.

But Kaju, unaware of such matters, groaned and stretched before declaring in his usual solemn voice: "Come in." The door opened to reveal the lanky head waiter. Braised duckling, spiny lobster with mayonnaise, grilled beef - all arranged on an oversized platter - glided into view through the surveillance mirror's frame. True, nearly eleven hours had passed since his last meal, but no respectable person took such fare for breakfast. This alone might have betrayed his common roots, yet Kaju remained blissfully ignorant. His reasoning had been sound enough - order only expensive dishes to avoid exposing his cheap imitative nature - but this very calculation inverted proper aristocratic custom.

The unfamiliar food settled in his stomach without issue, and as he drifted into a drowsy haze of pleasant heaviness, the hotel manager entered to announce that a messenger bearing some ordered item insisted on delivering it personally. The door opened with utmost silence, and what entered into the mirror was a girl of eighteen or nineteen—so beautiful she might have stepped from a painting. What exquisite features! Could it be that only through generations of pure-blooded unions among the handsome men and beautiful women of the downtown districts—untainted by any incongruous lineage—that such refined features could emerge? Eyes, nose, and lips—each element perfected unto itself—came together in contours devoid of excess, crafting a face of peerless purity that nonetheless held tender warmth: a luminous modern countenance. Not some cinema-favored hybrid visage, but Tokyo’s very essence of unadulterated Japan.

In the mantelpiece mirror facing Kaju was reflected a scene of such beauty it could be called rare. It went without saying—this was Hana the seamstress apprentice, who had been sitting across from Inspector Manako earlier. With such impeccable hospitality—an extravagant feast immediately followed by the appearance of such a beauty—no one could help but be left dazed. Kaju was in an almost dreamlike state. Hana clutched a cloth-wrapped bundle to her chest and stood pale with tension by the doorway,

"I am Hana the seamstress apprentice, residing below Ariake-so." "I have brought the visiting attire you ordered." "And also, there’s something…" she faltered. Kaju let out a vulgar forced laugh—ha, ha, ha—and,

“That was quite the task,” he said with forced grandeur. “Well, go enjoy yourself for a bit. I’m feeling rather at leisure myself.” His voice dropped into what he imagined passed for regal composure. “Come now—sit here in this chair.” Hana advanced with traditional sliding steps until she reached Kaju’s side. Perching on the facing chair, she peered up at him through lowered lashes—then abruptly sprang to her feet. “Your Majesty,” she shrilled, “you’re not him at all!” Oh hellfire—the game was up. His carelessness toward this mere slip of a girl had torn away the royal masquerade. All those sleepless nights scheming for the scoop of the century now meant less than yesterday’s newsprint. Still, what a viperous child she proved to be. Even Kaju’s famously shameless cheeks burned crimson as he fumbled upright from his seat. Hana collapsed onto the carpet in a wailing heap,

“Please forgive me... I...” “I...”

Having said this, she haltingly recounted an episode from the previous chapter, “Had I known only Your Majesty would be present, I would never have dared utter such things—not even were it to cost me my life!” “Please, I beg you to believe this much.”

With a flushed gaze darting toward the doorway, “Your Majesty, this has become a terrible situation." “Even as we speak…” “Now, please escape quickly!" “Forgive me." “Forgive me.”

With this, she collapsed into tears once more.

The notion that the perpetrator Hana saw was someone other than the King was a bit hard to swallow—though truth be told, there was no telling how a romantic girl’s eyes might perceive someone like His Majesty. Moreover, His Majesty—the one being urged to flee—had in fact already gone into exile somewhere, so this was, in a sense, exactly as requested.

Kaju placed his hand on Hana’s shoulder, “Hana-kun—no, that doesn’t sound right. Ah, Miss Hana." “There’s no need to apologize so much—after all, everyone has their mishaps now and then.” "Moreover, to be honest, His Majesty has already made his escape." “There’s a place for that there, so there’s absolutely no need to worry.” “Now, now, please stand up.” “The jade silk kimono will be ruined.”

Hana placed a hand on her chest, suddenly looking so dejected she seemed unable to speak. Kaju applied increasing force with his hand,

“Even so, why are you being so kind to me? Is it merely curiosity, or something like sympathy?” Hana shyly cast a fleeting upward glance and, in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s hum, “Your Majesty once told Tsuruko-san that I was a lovely girl, didn’t you? …That’s why.” As she said this, she blushed up to her forehead and covered her face with both hands. Kaju couldn’t quite grasp this roundabout explanation. Hana stiffened her body, waiting eagerly for the King to say something—but the clueless Kaju failed to notice. The sight of him staring blankly at the beautiful nape of Hana’s neck with his hands clasped was frustrating to behold. Eventually, Hana raised her face and, while glaring resentfully at Kaju’s face with eyes full of tears,

“With Tsuruko-san having passed away, Your Majesty must be utterly devastated.” Kaju mournfully furrowed his brows, “Ah, I’ve lost heart.”

Hana's face took on that same convulsive look as before,

“Oh, surely you must be so terribly disappointed.” “It’s truly unbearable. “Oh… What’s wrong, Miss Hana?” In the blink of an eye, Hana lost all color in her face, turned as pale as a finely crafted Western candle, and slumped down onto the carpet. Kaju uttered a strange “oh,” hurriedly lifted Hana onto the settee, then sat down on the floor and shook her limp hand while fruitlessly repeating, “Miss Hana… Miss Hana…”

Hana soon regained consciousness and sprang up from the settee as if startled. Even through Kaju's notoriously poor blood circulation, a warm tide of affection must have surged within his chest; just as he reached both hands toward Hana and prepared to voice some fitting sentiment, the manager entered again and deferentially extended a single business card over the chairback before withdrawing. Looking at it: Sou Shuuchin (Iha Tousou, Okinawa Prefecture native)

It read:

Hana sighed as she straightened her attire, then left with lingering reluctance. Reflected in the mirror as they passed each other was that peculiar gentleman—the swarthy-complexioned man in a stately frock coat, with curly hair and darting eyes, who had stood gripping a Tokyo map in one hand while blankly staring at the bronze crane’s beak throughout the previous "Singing Crane Fountain" event at Hibiya Park’s pondside. Upon adopting a rigid stance at the doorway,

“Sou Shuuchin—Second Secretary of the Foreign Ministry of the Annam Empire, Intelligence Director Attached to His Majesty the Emperor.”

he announced. Yet another formidable figure entered. There was nothing left for Kaju to do but resign himself. However, as previously mentioned, Kaju harbored grand ambitions; even so, he still sought some way to navigate this crisis, mobilizing every ounce of his mental faculties to devise a plan—yet no particularly brilliant ideas emerged. If he couldn’t proceed any further, he would just have to talk his way through until something gave.

Feeling a sense of resignation, he adopted a haughty tone, “Hmm, come here and take a seat.” and pointed to the chair where Hana had been sitting until now. The Intelligence Director stepped back, “Such a thing is unthinkable! How could I possibly—”

“Sit, I said.” The Director stiffened his posture further, “How could one of my lowly position dare perform such an audacious deed?”

Kaju, driven to desperation, “Just sit down already!” The Director bent forward as he approached, sat properly on the chair, and respectfully stared at Kaju’s face while— “We deign to accept this chair solely to comply with Your Highness’s august command.”

This too must surely be some deep-laid conspiracy. For an intelligence director attached to the emperor could not possibly fail to recognize his sovereign's face. Despite Kaju's confusion, the Director radiated reverence, fixing a gaze of utmost sincerity upon him as he spoke: "Ah! What profound bliss this must be! To behold Your Highness's august visage at such proximity feels truly dreamlike. With all due respect, I must humbly submit that such magnanimity exceeds proper bounds."

Having said this, he once again raised his voice in reverence, “Ah, what a gallant august visage.” “Though I have long been familiar with Your Highness’s noble countenance through the imperial portraits displayed in household alcoves and postage stamps, those depictions—intent on rendering Your Highness ever more resolute—have presumptuously added a lengthy beard to your jawline. I must say it can only be described as a disrespectful manner of representation.” “For ten years now, this humble servant has been attending the Foreign Ministry, yet this marks the first occasion I have had the honor of beholding Your Highness’s true visage.”

Ah, so that was how it was. Kaju immediately became emboldened, “Take a good look and remember. It should be better than the photographs. So… what business have you come here for?”

The Director quietly stood up, went to the doorway, thoroughly scanned the hallway, then returned and said in a hushed voice, "I must beg your pardon. This humble servant speaks thus because I have come bearing a vital secret missive." "Speak!" "Since the twenty-fifth of last month—in response to repeated encrypted telegrams from Her Highness the Princess and the Chief Councilor which had gone unanswered by Your Highness—I was commanded by royal decree to personally receive your response. Having departed Hanoi via passenger aircraft on the twenty-ninth, I arrived moments ago."

The encrypted telegram had indeed been received moments earlier. Yet how could Kaju possibly decipher it? Cornered and desperate, “Telegrams? I don’t accept such things!” “Ah—not a single one reached you?” “Precisely the sort of maneuver Li Guangming’s faction would employ.” “Without such prescience, I would have ultimately failed in my grave duties as Intelligence Director.” “We anticipated this contingency early and brought duplicate copies.”

With that, he retrieved two telegrams from an inner pocket and attempted to present them with utmost deference. Kaju panicked and pushed him back,

“Shut up! You read it!” “You read it!” The Director acknowledged respectfully, “‘To His Majesty Emperor Munakata Ryutaro of the Annam Empire, residing at the Imperial Hotel in Uchisaiwaicho, Kōjimachi Ward, Great Japanese Empire, Tokyo—From the Chief Councilor of the Annam Empire. As we have repeatedly reported via telegram, the faction supporting Crown Nephew Li Guangming has secretly denounced Your Majesty to the Annam Administration, misrepresenting your removal of “The Emperor” [diamond] as an intent to sell it in Japan to secure funding for Annam’s independence. The French Governor-General of Annam has already cabled a request to the French Ambassador stationed in Tokyo to investigate these claims.’” “‘If the fact of its sale is confirmed, they are positioned to demand Your Majesty’s immediate abdication on grounds of an independence conspiracy.’” “‘We earnestly entreat that such a thing as Your Majesty selling the treasure shall not come to pass.’…The other is from Her Highness the Princess…‘We are in great turmoil here. Please return home at once.’” “‘When will Your Majesty return? We humbly await your reply.’…That concludes the message.’”

With that, he fixed a stern gaze upon Kaju’s face, “First, I shall humbly receive Your Majesty’s response regarding the imperial treasure.” and straightened his posture. Even the usually unflappable Kaju turned pale. This was no trivial matter that could be brushed aside with nonsense. At this critical juncture where, should matters go awry, the emperor governing five million six hundred thousand subjects might be forced to abdicate. Being by nature an obstinate country bumpkin, he flew into a rage upon grasping the gravity of the situation. He had to respond somehow, but he absolutely could not bring himself to utter either a clear “Yes” or “No.” Moreover, having now heard such state secrets, a mere apology for wrongdoing would not suffice. There was no telling what dangerous thing might spring forth from the pockets of this utterly loyal Director. Kaju was overcome by an indescribable chill surging up through his chest and trembling, bringing on nausea that made him want to vomit.

The Director remained facing forward without turning his head. "We humbly await Your Highness's response." Kaju felt as if blood were draining from his skull. Ah—why was the Director's face before him growing increasingly blurred? At that precise moment, another knock sounded at the door. The manager entered and announced that Inspector Manako of the Metropolitan Police Department's First Investigative Division requested an audience. Kaju hovered in semi-delirium,

“Hmph—the reply can wait.” “I have urgent business with Inspector Manako.” “Get out.”

The Director performed a ceremonial bow and withdrew. As was his custom, Inspector Manako entered with funereal solemnity. After executing a precise bow at the threshold, he remarked in measured tones, "Mr. Furuichi, you find yourself in curious circumstances."

Sixteen: Getting Caught in Birdlime

And Also: The Matter of Manako's Declaration

While this commotion was unfolding elsewhere, an incident arose at the Police Affairs Bureau. At precisely 10:10 AM—the same moment Inspector Manako stood rigidly at the entrance of Hana’s house requesting admittance—the door to the bureau chief’s office burst open violently. Bureau Chief Otsuki stormed in with the Superintendent-General in tow, his footsteps thunderous with barely contained fury. Veins like twisted cords bulged across his forehead as he dropped heavily into the leather chair. “Hey, Superintendent-General! The Metropolitan Police shouldn’t be limited to traffic control—fix this mess!”

He bellowed. The Bureau Chief’s explosive outburst was not without reason.

What an ill-fated year this had become—no sooner had a murder case involving the Emperor occurred on New Year’s Day than a police sergeant from Tameike Station went so far as to arrest His Majesty himself. After he had finally established proper procedures through painstaking negotiations with two ministers, his own secretary went and ordered an investigation by Manako. If by any chance Manako were to submit a truth report and that were taken up in parliament, that would indeed cause a tremendous uproar. To make matters worse, this time Kouda of the corrupt *Sunset Newspaper* had brazenly perpetrated an open-air fraud in Hibiya Park—of all places, right under the nose of the Metropolitan Police Department—while they were gloatingly watching without lifting a finger.

The Bureau Chief pounded the table, “What’s wrong with you—have you gone senile? “Since when does the law permit letting such a half-baked scheme slide until past nine o’clock? “What in hell was your Security Department Chief doing? “Was he nursing a two-day hangover in bed? “Your squad’s packed with real gems, I see. “Deploying that many men and still failing to nab a single Kouda even now—this is nothing less than a national spectacle! “Do something! At this rate, the Police Affairs Bureau’s honor will be ground to dust!”

The Superintendent-General bent his massive frame, waiting for the storm to pass over his closely cropped, round crown. Deciding the timing was about right, he raised his pale face. “However, regarding today’s matter, I believe I have handled it sufficiently well.”

The Bureau Chief flared up again, "What do you mean, 'handled it well'?" "Amusing." "Let’s hear it then." "In what way did you handle it well?" "Kouda deliberately carried out such a bold act precisely because he anticipated we would disperse the crowd before the announced time when the crane fountain was supposed to sing. If we had disbanded them before nine o’clock, we would have fallen right into his trap." "The reason I intentionally delayed dispersing them was because I wanted to let them carry out their fraudulent act and secure irrefutable evidence." "As expected, Kouda was forced into a corner and made the crane sing, which means even he can no longer wriggle free. Since investigating will immediately reveal what kind of mechanism he used, this time I’ll have him swallowed up without letting out so much as a squeak."

The Bureau Chief had been leaning back with a stern expression, but upon hearing this, his face immediately broke into a broad, jovial grin.

“Damn it! So that’s what you intended.” “Oh! So that’s how it is.” “That was well handled.” “That you didn’t fall for his scheme is truly commendable.” “No—I’m impressed, truly impressed.” “And Kouda—”

The Superintendent-General, true to form, seemed to find this amusing as well, and a smile broke across his well-bred lips, “The Metropolitan Police Department isn’t only capable of traffic control, Bureau Chief. …A report just came in that they’ve caught that Kouda bastard hiding at his mistress’s place in Akasaka—so by now, he’s likely been tossed into Tameike Station’s detention cell.” As he was saying this, the telephone bell rang. The Superintendent-General picked up the receiver and responded, then immediately turned back toward the Bureau Chief and—

“Kouda has been apprehended, but he’s demanding to see you and they say he’s making such a racket that he’s become unmanageable.” The Bureau Chief roared in fury once more, “What?! He wants to meet me?!” “Fine, I’ll meet him.” “If they’d been lenient before and let it slide, they’d get complacent—this time I’ll finish off that red rag for good! Immediately—right away—bring him here at once, I tell you!”

About ten minutes later, Kouda entered, his arms gripped by two plainclothes officers. Having apparently put up quite a struggle, his tie was gone and his shirt buttons had popped off, exposing his alcohol-flushed red chest. As Kouda brushed the hem of his morning coat and sat down on the chair, the Bureau Chief watched him with a look of grim satisfaction,

“Hey there, Mr. Kouda—even monkeys fall from trees.” “The spectacle was grand, but your curtain call proved rather clumsy.” “Surely even you never imagined resorting to outright fraud for profit.” “This time you’ll find it’s a tougher nut than simple extortion.” “Now then, Mr. Kouda.” “Do you know why we let the show go on without intervening?” “To avoid swallowing your little charade hook, line and sinker, see?” “To let you hang yourself with incontrovertible proof of fraud, understand?” “One good look at that fountain and we’ll have your rigged mechanism exposed.” “This time there’ll be no wriggling free.”

Kouda laughed—“Ahaha”— “Exactly.” “Whether it’s fraud or not—investigate it and you’ll know right away.” “Trying to break this Kouda with something like that? Impossible.” “...Hey there, Bureau Chief.” “By the way—I’ve got something like this here.”

As he spoke, he tossed a bundle of seven or eight sheets of coarse paper covered in hasty pencil scrawls onto the table. The Bureau Chief abruptly paled, picked it up, and began reading while Kouda watched sidelong from beneath lowered lids, “It details everything from Matsutani Tsuruko’s entanglement with the King of Annam to the Emperor’s assassination case—even the clause about the Metropolitan Police Department’s arbitrary detainment of Ariake-so residents.” The Bureau Chief’s face darkened to a mottled purple as he bellowed, “Kouda! You bastard—are you trying to shake me down?!” Kouda stretched out his arm and swept the manuscript back from the table,

“Bureau Chief, that’s going a bit too far.” “I’m still Japanese, Kouda Setsuzou—I know full well whether exposing this case would benefit Japan or not.” “That’s exactly why I’m handing over this information so solemnly.” “…And you call that extortion?”

Twisted the manuscript into his pocket and stood up, "In that case, I've got no choice—I'll withdraw this gracefully."

With that, he started walking toward the door. The Bureau Chief hurriedly called to stop him, “Now, wait a moment, Mr. Kouda.” Kouda reluctantly turned around, “Do you still require something?”

The Bureau Chief wiped forehead sweat with a handkerchief.

“I can’t say I’ve fully grasped the matter yet, but we’ll discuss it again later. For today, could you make a tactful withdrawal?” “Yes—I’ll be withdrawing back to Tameike Police Station now.”

The Bureau Chief made a disgusted face, “Now, there’s no need to sulk like that. I’ll come by to pay my respects before the day’s over.”

Kouda strode back in, “Bureau Chief, why couldn’t you understand how this conversation should’ve gone from the start? The problem is you insist on seeing everything through tinted lenses. You needn’t worry about this matter. Kouda here is every bit a man!” Whether it was a lie or truth, he left leisurely after saying such things. The Bureau Chief gnashed his teeth while glaring at the retreating figure, then exchanged looks with the Superintendent General—his expression one of marrow-deep frustration— “Dammit, it just keeps going... going... But this is bad. Having carefully selected… only for it to end up in that bastard’s clutches. That poisonous insect—there’s no telling what he’ll do next. What will you do?”

“In other words, it’s a trade-off. I doubt he’d actually go through with it—but if he does, he’d set himself on fire.” “Surely he wouldn’t do it. Can we leave such a major incident to vague uncertainties?! It can’t be helped—I’ll have Hayashi handle it somehow and suppress this.”

Just then, a call came from Hayashi Kinnao. The Bureau Chief had picked up the receiver and held it to his ear, but no sooner had he done so than he leapt up from his chair, “What?! The Emperor is an imposter?!” “...Is that certain? Did you confirm it with your own eyes?” “...Oh no, this is bad!” “Then, who on earth *is* he? No—speculating here won’t solve anything.” “Come here immediately.” “Right away!” When he hung up the receiver, he groaned “Ugh…” and clutched his head.

In less than five minutes, Hayashi came rushing in in a flustered panic and explained the situation in detail. The Bureau Chief finished listening, "So the original mistake began at Ariake-so Apartments... Still, why would he claim not to be the Emperor? Is he an idiot, a lunatic, or someone associated with the Emperor?"

The Superintendent General also grew slightly flustered, “I must say, when traced back, this was our blunder.” “Then let’s have them brought in discreetly for questioning.” “After all, that’s the quickest way.” The Bureau Chief stared with frightened eyes,

“Wait,” Otsuki interjected. “What if he turns out to be someone of actual nobility? I refuse to court further complications.” Hayashi fidgeted anxiously, barely registering their debate. “Chief, that whelp’s trivialities matter not,” he pressed. “The Emperor—what of His Majesty? Surely no ill has—” The Bureau Chief cut him off with an impatient wave. “Enough of these baseless conjectures, Hayashi. Though should your fears prove true...” He glanced at the Superintendent General. “...it would spell catastrophe.”

he turned to the Superintendent General, “Call the hotel and confirm whether the Emperor was indeed staying there until the day before.” When they promptly called to check, the hotel reported that the Emperor had taken his evening meal around 7:00 PM on December 31 and gone out after 9:00 PM. They had calls made to every place he might have visited, but none yielded favorable responses. Soon after, Hayashi—under the Bureau Chief’s instructions—left for Kouda’s residence. Left behind, the Bureau Chief and Superintendent General could only exchange glances and mutter “This is bad” repeatedly. Though it seemed senseless, with Kaju’s identity still unclear, they couldn’t act rashly. By the time they realized it, the clock had struck two-thirty. As they agonized over this impasse, Manako walked in.

Manako stepped forward before the Bureau Chief, took a single document from his breast pocket, and placed it on the table with an expression that bordered on indifference. “As a result of the investigation, it has become clear that Matsutani Tsuruko committed suicide.” “This is the investigation report in question.” With that, he executed an about-face and began walking toward the doorway. The Bureau Chief called out to stop him, “Very well—take a seat over there.” “A rather troublesome situation has arisen.”

With that, he explained the current matter, "I want to find out that man’s identity somehow—do you have any good ideas, hmm, Manako?" Manako glared sharply up at the Bureau Chief’s face and,

“Bureau Chief—is this merely a consultation, or is it an order?” The Bureau Chief could only stare at Manako’s face, utterly dumbfounded. Manako bowed formally, “I have resolved to resign from my position as Head of the Investigation Division for personal reasons. However, since my resignation letter has yet to reach you, I shall comply with any and all orders in accordance with official duty regulations. That said—even if you are the Bureau Chief—I have no time to lend an ear to your consultations.”

The Bureau Chief stroked his forehead, “Well, given how urgent this was, there were oversights on our part—but really, it’d be troublesome if you took offense.” “We’ll address that matter later. For now, I ask you to handle this one affair.” Manako replied in a somber voice, “I await your command.” The Bureau Chief looked faintly irritated, “Very well. Then I shall issue an order.” “Sit down—no need to remain standing.” Manako slumped into the chair, “I have just now completed the investigation you instructed me to conduct per internal regulations.” “However, so long as I hold the position of Head of the Investigation Division, I cannot professionally disregard crimes before my eyes. Accordingly, I undertook an independent inquiry into this case.” “I request your formal acknowledgment.”

The Superintendent General, who had been silently crossing his arms until now, abruptly opened his mouth, "It’s not about acknowledgment—there’s nothing here requiring acknowledgment!" "What’s done can’t be undone by words." "...You’re being unnecessarily confrontational." "We excluded you from this case precisely because we feared that rashness of yours." "It wasn’t contempt—it was reverence." "Let this settle matters." Manako kept his eyes lowered, "If mere satisfaction were possible through such reasoning, I’d never have resolved to resign." "I submitted my resignation earlier today—it should reach you by tomorrow morning at latest. However, certain reconsiderations compel me to request its temporary suspension."

The Bureau Chief accepted it and, "I understand. Since you insist on clarity, I shall formally accept your resignation letter while keeping it in abeyance. That being settled—now that we've reached an understanding—let us put this morning's affairs behind us and renew our cooperation."

“With all due respect, I don’t understand a word of this.” “My resolve to resign has not changed.” “My temporary postponement of resignation stems solely from my personal will and bears no relation to your admonitions. […] I had resolved to indict the emperor as the murder culprit in exchange for my position as Head of the Investigation Division—dissatisfied as I was with the government’s policy on this case. However, the investigation’s outcome has unexpectedly nullified that purpose.” “…The emperor is not the perpetrator—he is the victim. …The emperor was kidnapped by someone around 4:30 this morning.”

The Bureau Chief leaped to his feet,

“Wh-What? Is that true?” “Therefore, as far as this matter is concerned, my resignation—”

The Superintendent General grew agitated, “Understood, understood—that’s beside the point. Inform me of the circumstances first.” Manako explained the details of the investigation in a monotonous tone. He omitted only his visit to the tailor shop and recounted everything in full—from Hana’s interrogation and the actual conditions at the scene to Kaju’s account of the previous night’s events, why Kaju had been impersonating the emperor at the hotel, his purpose for doing so, and even the hair-raising predicament they had faced. The Superintendent General and the Bureau Chief exchanged aghast looks, but then he turned back to face Manako.

“So, in other words, it’s like this.” “The emperor came to Japan in possession of an imperial treasure for some purpose.” “Given that this diamond forms the linchpin of the case, we can only conclude that both Tsuruko’s murder and the emperor’s kidnapping were committed with the aim of seizing that diamond.” “To summarize—shortly after Furuichi Kaju left Ariake-so Apartments, someone arrived and threw Tsuruko out of the window for reasons unknown, then lured the emperor out from the kitchen, rendered him unconscious at the bottom of the stairs, and took him away somewhere.” “Considering how Tsuruko never screamed, how easily the emperor was lured out, and how one of the external phone lines connected to the entrance bell had been cut to create a removable key—all these factors make clear that the culprit was intimately familiar with both the emperor and Tsuruko, and thoroughly acquainted with Ariake-so’s layout. Therefore, I believe there can be no mistake in focusing our search along these lines.” “That’s right, isn’t it, Manako?”

“I cannot state anything definitively.” At that moment, the telephone bell rang.

The Superintendent General picked up the receiver and was listening, but he covered the mouthpiece with his hand and turned back toward the Bureau Chief,

“Bureau Chief, another troublesome matter has occurred.” “Through a call from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the French Embassy has pressed us to confirm whether the Emperor can indeed remain safely at the Imperial Hotel. They have inquired whether responding that he can stay there would pose any issues.” The Bureau Chief muttered to himself—“Ah, this keeps piling up”—groaning while clutching his forehead. Then resolutely lifting his face: “Instruct them to answer there’s no issue in confirming His Majesty can safely remain at the Imperial Hotel.”

The Superintendent General hung up the phone after saying that. The Bureau Chief replied in a dignified tone, “We have no choice but to proceed this way—we can’t possibly let it be known His Majesty has disappeared.” "If this fact were to leak to the public, it would spell catastrophe." “To prevent rumors from spreading at all costs, we must absolutely maintain the facade of His Majesty securely residing at the hotel. Until we locate the Emperor, we have no alternative but to keep that man Furuichi acting as his substitute.” "No matter what extraordinary measures we must employ, we must see them through." "In an emergency scenario, having the intelligence director provide authentication should allow us to sustain this pretense until we recover His Majesty." "Under these circumstances, we must mobilize all government resources to protect Furuichi as the Emperor and implement flawless measures to prevent any exposure." “The most pressing issue remains our response regarding the diamond—provided they don’t utter some absurdity that compromises our position.” “In any case, I shall proceed to the hotel now and—”

Manako quietly raised his face,

“I have brought the Intelligence Director and had him tour the Metropolitan Police Department’s interior.” The Bureau Chief heartily clapped his hands together,

“Brilliant! “Well done.” “Superintendent, have that man held for now.” “In the meantime, I’ll report this matter to the Minister, then go to the hotel to meet Furuichi—no, the Emperor—and subtly ensure he understands what may and may not be said.” “…Manako, I need you to exert yourself and find the Emperor at once.” “I beg you.” “The circumstances have become entirely different from before.”

As he was about to leave after saying this, another phone call came. The Superintendent General answered it and, “It’s from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.” “...The French Ambassador has canceled his weekend trip, departed Kyoto on the 4:10 PM train today, and will arrive at Tokyo Station at 4:00 AM tomorrow morning; upon arrival, he will proceed directly to the hotel to make some significant proposal—this intelligence has been received, hence their notification.” The Superintendent General’s face turned pale. When he looked up at the electric clock on the wall, it was exactly 4:00 PM. There were only twelve hours left until 4:00 AM tomorrow.

The Bureau Chief stood rigidly in the center of the room, his head hung motionless. Finally he approached Manako and, in a voice too ghastly to describe, uttered a single word: "Manako!" Manako nodded slightly.

By 4:00 AM tomorrow—no matter what transpired—they had to return the Emperor to the hotel. Ah, twelve hours!

Part Six

XVII. It Takes One to Know One

And the Two Villains' Misapprehension

In Akasaka Shinmachi was the *Sunset Newspaper*. Kouda Setsuzou’s mistress’s residence. In the tearoom sat a lean man in his mid-forties with a sinister countenance—already known to all present as Sakuzuki Mori—hanging an octopus hotpot over the long brazier while nursing a cup of awamori alone. The Park Superintendent’s position was but a disguise to live incognito; strip away one layer, and he stood revealed as a person of interest from the Karafuto Prefectural Police Department. After bleeding Honshu dry through exploitation, he had crossed over to Karafuto to become an empty-handed schemer, skimming profits from desperate profiteers to line his pockets—until his entanglement in the Showa 5 government forest illegal logging scandal forced him to narrowly escape capture in Awaya and flee back to Tokyo. Drifting through life in this guise, he eventually saw his daughter Etsuko forge ties with Kouda—a connection that led him to compose that notorious piece: *“The Singing Crane Fountain.”*

The bronze crane that should never have sung must have had some profound reason for doing so, but as heaven was their witness, Sakuzuki and Kouda knew nothing of it. In any case, having committed such a brazen open-air fraud in Hibiya Park—practically under the nose of the Metropolitan Police Department—there was no way they would get off scot-free. Pursued by detectives, they fled like madmen and finally managed to retreat to this hideout, but even Kouda now appeared to be in peril.

Then, as if heaven favored villains, came the sudden news of the suicide of Matsutani Tsuruko, the Annam Emperor’s beloved concubine. As if Tome, Tsuruko’s live-in maid, were seated right there at that very moment, she had apparently made some astute remark like, “Well now, if Tsuruko-san kept going on about being killed all the time, then this must be exactly what she meant.” At that moment, another resident of Ariake-so Apartments—John Hatcheson of the *Hovas* News Agency—came to visit his partner Baroncelli, leader of the *Karmas Show* troupe, and proceeded to recount how all six residents of Ariake-so had been temporarily detained for convenience at Akashi Station that morning.

Being shrewd operators when it came to villainy, they quickly pieced together the essence of the case from these materials and drafted an article titled “Emperor of Annam Murdered! Authorities Frantically Conceal [the Truth]”—writing out about ten pages of shrewd speculations on cheap manuscript paper under that clever headline—when Kouda was summoned with a “Hey, come here” and taken to Tameike Police Station. In the end, when that manuscript was laid before the Director of Police Affairs Bureau’s eyes, everything somehow got muddled in the confusion and he wound up being safely released. As for the delicate particulars of these developments, they had already been covered in the previous installment; there seemed little need to revisit them here.

Sakuzuki’s daughter—that is, Kouda’s mistress Etsuko—had gone out with Tome to see the opening day of the “Karmas Show,” leaving Sakuzuki naturally in charge of keeping watch here. Even so, five hours had already passed since Kouda had left. Having grown weary of the sake and finding himself utterly bored with nothing to do but stare up at the pillar clock, nearly four hours had passed when Kouda finally returned. From the sequence of events, this coincided precisely with the moment when, following Manako’s report of the emperor’s kidnapping and the information that the French ambassador would attend an imperial audience at 4:00 AM tomorrow morning, the Police Affairs Bureau had turned ashen with shock.

Sakuzuki said in a voice like he was throwing a tantrum, “You’re late! What took you so long?” he snapped. Kouda sat down cross-legged before the long brazier with a ground-shaking thud,

“After going through the Police Affairs Bureau and stopping by the office to work on the newspaper’s typesetting, Shimatoku’s man—that Matsuzawa from the Tokyo Gem Club—showed up, see? That’s why I’ve been jawing with him till now.” “You’ve got no damn consideration for others,” he snapped. “...So what’s the word on the case?” Kouda replied casually, as if brushing off lint: “Smooth as river silt—didn’t make a peep.”

Having declared this, he suddenly thrust out his knee, “By the way, there’s another strange story. ……Since we’re in a hurry, I’ll keep it brief: Around last spring, I started hearing rumors now and then that some major item had surfaced in Kansai, and the big players at the Osaka Gem Club were making quite a stir.” “Even the Kanto authorities eagerly conducted investigations, but before long they abruptly stopped hearing any rumors about it, so it was dismissed as mere gossip.” “…But then, around two o’clock today, Manako brought a rather unusual diamond model—one that must be about three hundred carats—to Matsuzawa’s shop. Under the pretense of casual inquiry, he investigated wanting a replica of it and asking how much the real thing would cost.” “Matsuzawa’s a seasoned operator—he wouldn’t leave any gaps in his plans.” “Using the model he’d glimpsed from the back room as a clue and cross-referencing the registry… Hey, don’t be shocked—that’s the Annam royal family’s secret treasure, the great diamond called ‘The Emperor.’” “Even as a fire sale—fifty million ryō.” “…How’s that?”

“I see.” “As for why the Emperor has been rushing to Japan so frequently—this solves the mystery completely. He and Tsuruko had been holed up together in Yamashina, Kyoto trying to offload that diamond in Kansai. When that fell through, they came to Tokyo this time.” “Hmm. Interesting.” Kouda gulped awamori with a groan. “Matsuzawa turned pale right then and there. He started chasing every lead, but neither major syndicates nor small-time fences showed any signs of movement. When he checked if they might be working outside proper channels...” He leaned forward, voice dropping. “He caught wind that Yamaki Motofuru’s son—you know, the Coral King—had been cozying up to Inui Jinpei’s adopted heir Indou Chuusuke. Those two’ve been haunting Inui’s place lately. That’s when everything clicked.” He slammed his cup down. “Yamaki and Indou both live at Ariake-so. Back in their Paris days, they used to carouse with the Emperor himself...”

“You’re being redundant.” “So, what’s the plan in the end?”

“After all, it’s too big a fish—even Matsuzawa can’t get his hands on it. When we took it straight to Shimatoku, he got all fired up and decided they’d swipe it for us by any means necessary.” “There’s more than one way to pull a heist. So how exactly do you plan to pull this off?” “We’ll lure Indou here to cut Yamaki’s supply lines, buy up all his promissory notes to force compulsory execution, then threaten him with forcible seizure if he resists—that way we can crush him and grab it for peanuts.”

“So you’ve figured out where they’ve stashed the actual item?” “Without knowing exactly where it’s hidden, that stunt’s impossible to pull off.” “That’s precisely it… Indou likely doesn’t know that far.” “Tsuruko would’ve known those details better than anyone, but dead men tell no tales—this one’s proving troublesome.”

Sakuzuki looked up, “According to Granny Tome, Tsuruko would always share heartfelt personal stories with Hana—that seamstress apprentice living in the amateur tenement below the cliff.” “…Let’s try putting some pressure on that girl.”

Kouda leaned forward, “That’s good.” “There might be another unexpected story.” “...Then I’ll handle Indou, so you get Emiko to lure out the girl and bring her to ‘Nakasu’ by seven.” Sakuzuki stood with hands tucked in his sleeves, pondering something absently, when suddenly his gaze sharpened. “By the way—the way things are going, Your Majesty probably isn’t safe either.” “Huh?!” “Possibly, Your Majesty has already been killed.”

Kouda pressed urgently, “H-how... But I heard that Hatch bastard just confirmed it!” “Did he barge in there and actually lay eyes on him?” “When we checked by phone, he was safe at the hotel.”

Sakuzuki turned away, “What nonsense. If His Majesty were safe, there’s no reason Manako would be running around with a diamond model, would there?” “Hmm.” “First of all, don’t you think it’s a bit too flustered for someone of Manako’s standing to be carrying around such an absurd thing? If it were just stolen, they’d openly circulate a police bulletin. The fact that they’re fidgeting around without doing that means there’s definitely something fishy going on. ...After all, he’s not safe.”

Kouda jutted out his jaw, “So, Yamaki?” “Who knows?” “If he’s got over a million in debt and can’t make ends meet, then pulling this off isn’t beyond him.”

Sakuzuki suddenly looked up, “However, there’s a reason we can’t say that’s entirely the case.” He remembered something odd. “...The truth is, earlier after you left, when I casually mentioned to Hatch that Yasui had caused a commotion at the Hibiya meeting, the bastard suddenly stood up and stormed out like a madman, ranting something about ‘If that’s how it’s gonna be with you half-breeds, it won’t end with just the King!’” ‘King’ must have referred to His Majesty. ‘Half-breeds’ likely meant his partner Baroncelli—which suggested there was some scheme on our side too. Hatcheson and Baroncelli must’ve been in on something together... Now that he thought about it, that Hatch bastard had been acting strangely calm. “Normally, he should’ve been running around dealing with major cases, but seeing him making a racket here like this—that bastard knew from the start His Majesty wasn’t the killer! Damn him!”

Kouda was making a strange face while nodding along with vague interjections like "Right" or "I see," when suddenly he slapped his side. "I’ve got it!" he exclaimed, leaning forward. "Hey, Sakuzuki—didn’t you notice? By the pond, next to the gazebo—there was a curly-haired, wide-eyed, dark-complexioned, well-dressed Annamese man standing there. …That was Your Majesty!" Sakuzuki also held his breath. "So they caused a commotion as cover," he said, "then pulled off that job in the chaos?"

Even these two villains could only stare at each other in silent bewilderment, but soon Sakuzuki crossed his arms, “Nogeyama’s the one who did it? That’s rich.” “This just jumped up another digit.” “We’ll set aside Shimatoku for now—might as well take care of this one while we’re at it.” “Sell it to Doukan-yama—they’ll be pleased as punch, man.”

Kouda nodded decisively, “Very well.” “No harm done however it falls.” “If it doesn’t work out, we’ll just grease the wheels again.” “This time it’ll burn hotter than any previous deal—who’d be surprised? …Kouda Setsuzou, seems you’ve hit a lucky streak.” “Well then, shall we head out?”

With that, Kouda grinned slyly.

They were free to laugh, but this was a miscalculation. Dear readers, you must already know—the figure standing agape beside Manako at the pond's edge was not the King. The one who had threatened False Emperor Furuichi Kaju was none other than Intelligence Director Sou Shuuchin of the Annam Imperial Court. The true Emperor had already been kidnapped by unknown assailants around 4:30 AM, as Manako had conclusively proven. Then why had the Nogeyama faction caused such commotion at the "Singing Crane Fountain" venue? We shall entrust this mystery to your wise conjecture; as it stood, these two villains—oblivious to these truths—appeared intent on yet another nefarious scheme, though matters had now spiraled beyond even this author's control. What fresh turmoil this might unleash remained unknowable—in the end, one could only let events take their course.

The moment the two men bounded vigorously out to the three-tatami entranceway, the lattice door clattered open. Kouda stood frozen at the entrance to the three-tatami space, exchanging startled glances with Sakuzuki before suddenly spinning around to dash into the tearoom and slip out the back door like a skittering house mouse. The visitor wasn't a detective. It was Komagata Denji - Doukan-yama's adopted son and that familiar figure who'd waited by Hibiya Park for Hayashi's car on three separate occasions - now whispering with feigned concern about Yasui Kamejirou of Nogeyama causing disturbances in the park. Carrying Hayashi Kinnao's orders and two thousand yen in his pocket, he'd come to bury the "Emperor Murder" case.

In a stylish morning coat and bowler hat. A man with straight eyebrows, a sharp gaze, and the rugged look of a gangster. As he pulled open the entrance’s sliding door with a clatter and watched Kouda’s retreating figure dart into the kitchen, “Tch, stingy old badger.”

Komagata muttered.

18. The Meeting Leaps into Motion

And: Concerning the Emperor's Design

Around the same time—specifically, at approximately 5:00 PM—the six individuals comprising the Ministers of Home Affairs and Foreign Affairs, their respective vice-ministers, the Director of the Europe-Asia Bureau, and the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau were gathered around the large conference table at the Nagatacho Minister of Home Affairs Official Residence, their postures rigid with anguished deliberation. They were all wearing gilt-embroidered grand formal attire, their brows furrowed as they sat rigidly in silence—a scene resembling a satirical cartoon one might title *The Government's Anxiety*. The faint glimpse of one or two lights from the problematic Ariake-so Apartments through the trees beyond the large western window provided an exquisitely appropriate backdrop at this juncture—truly the final brushstroke that brought the whole scene to life. A neighborhood where even on ordinary days, the winds of worldly affairs do not blow too harshly. Moreover, as it was the evening of New Year's Day, the surroundings fell into complete silence, with nothing audible but the ticking of a pendulum marking the seconds.

Just when it seemed this frozen tableau might last eternally, the Minister of Home Affairs abruptly shattered the scene's equilibrium with a twitch of movement. With eyes brimming consternation, he swept his gaze across the assembled officials and heaved a sigh laden with bureaucratic despair. "This is catastrophic." The words burst from him like steam from an overpressured valve. The Director of the Europe-Asia Bureau raised his head, launching into a lecture steeped in colonial history: "I always considered His Majesty's pro-Japanese stance suspect... As you're aware, when the Japan-France Treaty was ratified in Meiji 41 [1908], our government ruthlessly expelled two Annamese exiles seeking refuge here—Phan Thi Han of their independence movement and Cuong De, Marquis of the Outer Domains from their royal house." "Phan was instantly apprehended by French gendarmes," he continued, fingertips drumming the table's gilt edge, "while Cuong De barely escaped to America with his life." "The backlash struck hardest at His Majesty's father—the Eleventh King of Ishin—deposed at seventeen and exiled to Réunion Island in the southern Indian Ocean." His voice dropped to a funereal register. "To this day, that wretched soul scrapes survival by fiddling for coins in alleyways." "Given this history," he concluded, adjusting his pince-nez, "the Emperor's supposed goodwill toward Japan defies reason. His 'pro-Japanese posturing' was mere camouflage to smuggle out imperial treasures for sale here... Though I must say, even by those standards, this venture reeks of recklessness." Leaning forward, he tapped the dossier before him. "Should this come to light, French authorities will seize pretext to demand his immediate abdication—'revolutionary fundraising' being their ready-made justification."

The Vice-Minister of Home Affairs interjected, "Why on earth would the Emperor take such a risk?" "Well, I can't say for certain either. Whether we speak of the Vietnam Nationalist Revolutionary Party or the Annam Independence Party, the independence movements in Annam have fallen into complete inertia. They've grown so lax that even if revitalized now, nothing could be salvaged—so I find it difficult to believe His Majesty's actions relate to those factions. In my estimation, might it be that the Emperor, anticipating his abdication, intends to sell it and seek political exile in America or some such place?"

The Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs wore a thoroughly bitter expression, “In any case, that is not an immediate problem. As for us, we’ll have no complaints so long as we can have the Emperor returned to his hotel by the time the French Ambassador goes for his audience tomorrow morning.” With that, he turned squarely toward the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau— “Well, Mr. Ōtsuki—can you manage to locate him reliably? Give me one clear answer. ……As the Foreign Ministry, we want no further trouble no matter what happens. ……What on earth happened? This entire commotion since morning has arisen from your blunders! Moreover, now that I hear you already knew the Emperor was an impostor when I pressed for confirmation—why didn’t you whisper a word about it then? If you had just done that, we could have kept that part somewhat ambiguous. This way, we’re forced to shoulder all your cowardly blunders at the Foreign Ministry—leaving us no room to maneuver. ……This unilateral approach simply won’t do. If you keep handling such critical matters without consulting the Foreign Ministry, we simply cannot endure it!”

The Vice-Minister of Home Affairs frowned. "Save your complaints for later—first let's hear your opinions on the Police Affairs Bureau Director's proposal."

The Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs puffed out his cheeks in a sulk, "That's precisely my point. ...As the Foreign Ministry, our answer is that we cannot approve such an absurd plan." “Using some lowly tabloid reporter as a substitute for the Emperor to try to paper things over—isn’t this too desperate?” “Even mistaking the Emperor was shameful enough—and now you want to compound that disgrace by—”

The Vice-Minister of Home Affairs sharply interrupted— “If that’s disgraceful, yours is no better. The fact that *you* prostrated yourself before a fake emperor and retreated—that’s equally shameful. Since none of us know the Emperor’s face, arguing now is pointless. ……So the Foreign Ministry claims it’s acceptable to announce his kidnapping?”

The Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs cleared his throat, “D-Don’t talk nonsense! How could we possibly allow such a thing to be announced?!” “As the Foreign Ministry, we refuse to take part in such a precarious conspiracy.” “See here—once this comes to light, there’ll be no way to contain it.” “On the contrary, I believe arresting that idiot Furuichi and proceeding with sincerity will ultimately secure our final victory.” “At least it would give us grounds to justify having mistaken him for the Emperor.”

The Director of the Police Affairs Bureau adopted a defiant attitude,

“With all due respect, arresting Furuichi Kaju now would only expose the Emperor’s disappearance—it wouldn’t erase our blunder of misidentification.” “...Should it become known His Majesty hasn’t returned since last night, the French Embassy won’t stay quiet. Let rumors of abduction take root from that, and we’ll face irreparable chaos.” “For the government’s dignity and to ensure an unimpeded investigation until we find him, the Emperor must remain securely at the hotel at all costs.” “…There appears to have been some misunderstanding—I never proposed creating a decoy.” “Since both options are equally flawed, I intended to suggest we simply prolong the misidentification a while longer.”

The Minister of Foreign Affairs, who had been silently crossing his arms until now, abruptly spoke up: “Does that man bear any resemblance to the Emperor?” The Director of the Police Affairs Bureau shook his head. “He doesn’t resemble him in the slightest.”

The Minister of Foreign Affairs gave a wry smile, “That works to our advantage—but how do you plan to keep him contained? What if he declares on his own that he’s not the King?” “He’d face dire consequences for such an admission, so there’s no risk of him slipping up. Naturally, I’ll make sure to drive that point home myself.” The Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs pursed his lips, “But Inspector Manako already exposed his true identity earlier. If he’s grown desperate enough, there’s no telling what reckless scheme he might attempt now.”

“As His Majesty is currently showing signs of confusion, I have already instructed the hotel manager by telephone that he must absolutely not respond should you summon him.” “Aren’t you worried he might try to escape?” “He has been securely protected.” With this, the room fell silent once again. The Director of Police Affairs Bureau glanced up at the clock with growing impatience,

“Now, regarding the Director of Annam’s Intelligence Agency—we’ve detained him at the Metropolitan Police Department and entertained him during these consultations, but we cannot keep holding him indefinitely.” “When Director Sou returns to the hotel, he will immediately press Furuichi for answers about your return date and the treasure—but since that idiot cannot possibly give a satisfactory response, the deception will inevitably be exposed.” “At present, that man is currently the only credible witness who could testify that Kaju is the Emperor in an emergency—but if he were to take the lead in causing an uproar, this situation would spiral far beyond containment.”

The Minister of Home Affairs wiped sweat as he,

"It’s absurd beyond words, but given the critical situation, perhaps we should resort to extraordinary measures." Having said this, he turned toward the Minister of Foreign Affairs, “If such a commotion arises beyond this point, we will be unable to contain it. This may be somewhat contrary to standard procedure, but I ask that you cooperate as well.” The Minister of Foreign Affairs wore an irritated expression, “If circumstances have grown so dire, then we’ve no choice but to paper things over this way for the time being.” Having said this, he turned to the Director of Eurasian Affairs Bureau and,

“Mr. Yanagihara, you shall go with the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau to the Imperial Hotel and kindly cram some knowledge about Annam into that tabloid reporter—swiftly.” “At the very least, it would be inconvenient if he doesn’t even know the name of the capital.”

The Minister of Home Affairs unsteadily rose to his feet while addressing the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau, “Well then, I’ll leave everything in your hands.” “In any case, I can’t have you doing anything that might make them catch on.” “Kindly handle that matter with utmost care. … And don’t forget to take the money with you.” “A tabloid reporter like that is bound to be penniless anyway. No—rather than that, kindly suggest he stop wandering around and go to sleep already.”

With that, he clutched his head and prostrated himself over the desk,

“Ah, even so—why did that idiot have to come barging into this?”

XIX. Kaju’s Foolish Considerations

And the Black Beard Swaying in the Wind Furuichi Kaju—the very man currently enjoying such widespread acclaim—was, as usual, holed up in a luxurious guest suite at the Imperial Hotel. Yet upon observation, his earlier insolent expression had vanished; he sat sunken into an armchair with an evening paper in hand, lips twisted into an inverted V shape, "A dream... An illusion." was muttering.

As this alone would be like grasping at clouds—making it impossible for you to comprehend what was happening—I shall now recount the subsequent dealings between Furuichi and Inspector Manako to convey the circumstances of that time. In the previous installment, this chapter had concluded at the moment when Furuichi, engaged in a tense kneel-down negotiation with the Intelligence Director attached to the King of Annam and teetering on the brink of disaster, found Inspector Manako slipping into the room and declaring, “You’re Furuichi-kun of the Sunset Newspaper, aren’t you? What an odd place to find yourself.”

Now, using the announcement of Manako’s arrival as an opportunity to temporarily extricate himself from his predicament, Kaju had broken free—then, before Manako could expose him, he dashed toward the window facing the outer garden and attempted to flee into the murk. Any audacious villain who heard Manako’s name would undoubtedly feel this same impulse. Manako’s severity was truly fearsome; he overlooked no crime, however concealed. Once he latched on, he never released his grip. Not even a wicked woman’s slander could match such relentless tenacity. There’s a story in Vigny’s novels about a detective who pursues a criminal all the way to the North Pole—but how could he not! If it were Manako, he would pursue them down even to hell. If one were to encounter this relentless pursuit, no master could ever hope to escape from his grasp.

Kaju was still a fledgling tabloid reporter but knew full well how fearsome Manako was from his regular visits to the Metropolitan Police Department. Whether he had genuinely intended to flee or it was merely a reflexive reaction, he pushed up the window in a half-crazed state—yet attempting such an act before Manako’s eyes was futile struggling by any measure. Manako dashed over like lightning and clamped down on Kaju’s wrist with strength unimaginable for his gaunt frame. Even a vise grip wouldn’t have penetrated his bones this deeply. Resignation became his only option. The pain proved utterly unbearable. Kaju found himself anchored to the leather chair while Manako sank deep into the armchair. Their positions as host and guest had inverted irreversibly. Kaju now stood stripped of any royal pretense—merely a criminal defendant.

And so the interrogation—or rather, Kaju’s confession—began. Manako, as usual, lowered his eyes half-closed and merely listened gloomily. “The matter of how I rushed out from the Tokyo Kaikan’s year-end party, met His Majesty at ‘Paris,’ bar-hopped through backstreet Ginza with him arm-in-arm, went to Ariake-so around three o’clock to have supper with Tsuruko and him; the matter of Tsuruko descending from the heavens; His Majesty’s extraordinary remarks; and how he vanished like mist from the bedroom… Then being transferred here from Tameike Police Station and getting turned into a king before I knew what was happening… As for why I stubbornly stayed there—it wasn’t to mock the Metropolitan Police or Japanese government, but purely due to my professional zeal to secure this special story… Then Director Sou of Intelligence pressing me about what happened to the grand diamond that had been taken out—just as I was about to collapse from a dizzy spell—ah!—how you appeared like a savior angel…” Since Manako remained silent no matter what he said, Kaju grew increasingly emboldened, testifying almost cheerfully.

Manako occasionally opened his eyes slightly to steal glances at Kaju’s face. Seeing his guileless appearance—froth gathering at the corners of his mouth as he rambled on endlessly—it became immediately clear that this man was not lying. Every detail of his testimony aligned precisely with the results of the on-site investigation. Through the cast imprint on the kitchen wall, it had already been established that Kaju was not the culprit. This medium-built tabloid reporter, even if he stood on tiptoe, could not reach the line of the coat hem carved into the wall. Not only that, but his overly abundant hair by no means gave the impression of a close-cropped hairstyle. But Manako was quite the crafty one. In this manner, he attempted to guide the interrogation.

“When Tsuruko saw you to the entrance, did she appear rather drunk?” “She didn’t come to see me off at all—didn’t even get up.” “I see. Then she must have handed you the front door key.”

“I didn’t get any key!” Manako’s eyes glinted sharply,

“You said Tsuruko got up during supper to lock the front door and came back with the key.” “...How did you leave through the entrance without the key?” “Isn’t that rather odd?” “What misunderstanding is this?” “I never said anything about ‘having the key’!” “I said, ‘Tsuruko closed the front door and came back.’” “And then?” Kaju remained composed. “In short, the front door was open.” “As proof—now that I think of it—I didn’t even touch the knob.” “I staggered against the door and it opened on its own.”

“Was the entranceway lit at that time?” “No, it was pitch dark.”

If Kaju’s memory was accurate, then from that, the following scenario could be deduced. The culprit had already entered the entranceway before Kaju left and had been hiding in that darkness. Soon noticing this, Tsuruko came to close the entrance. And then… The lingering doubt that the third man—the dining companion of the Emperor and Tsuruko—might be the culprit had now been resolved. As deduced, the culprit was the tall "fourth man" who had been leaning against the still-damp kitchen wall.

“You said Tsuruko fell like a furoshiki bundle. Then, the second-floor window must have naturally caught your eye—what kind of figure did you see in it at that moment?” Kaju tilted his head, “I have no memory of seeing the window. No—or rather, since I was positioned almost perpendicular to the building, it might be more accurate to say that from that angle, I couldn’t see the window. After all, what remains in my memory is only the waning moon and Tsuruko.”

This concluded the interrogation. When Manako called the Metropolitan Police Headquarters, four individuals arrived within five minutes. They all bore an icy demeanor, like men who had emerged from a scientific laboratory. When Manako whispered something, something strange began here. Thus commenced an elaborate indoor investigation. Kaju stood cluelessly gaping at the scene, but as for what exactly Inspector Manako was searching for—dear readers, you know far better than he did. Manako was searching for "The Emperor".

The four individuals moved with such swiftness and methodical precision that one might have thought they’d spent their entire lives conducting indoor investigations in this manner. Poe’s “The Purloined Letter” Since then, had indoor investigation methods advanced to such a sophisticated degree? They divided the space of the four rooms adjoining this audience chamber into several sections, sparing nothing within them, no matter how minute. They turned over even the undersides of dust particles to examine them while proceeding with their investigation at a speed too swift for the eye to follow. They tore apart the chairs and desks. Because he had been standing dimly within one partitioned section, even Kaju was stripped naked and had his ear canals searched.

Soon, the investigation ended. The room had returned from its battlefield-like chaos to its original pristine elegance. That "The Emperor" was not here was more certain than truth itself. Manako had summoned the four investigators to a corner of the room and issued orders, but once the group left, he briskly approached Kaju’s side,

“You will not move from here,” he declared dismissively, then vanished like a shadow with silent swiftness.

The dejection of Kaju, left behind, was truly a sight that could have been painted. He had dreamed of a global scoop—"The Murder of Emperor Ryu-oh of the Annam Empire"—and endured every hardship to cling here, but even that was now a vain effort: the culprit who killed Tsuruko seemed to be someone other than the emperor after all. Having been so hell-bent on making this his breakthrough—to the point of nearly bursting a blood vessel—the sudden slackening of tension left him utterly deflated. For some time, he sat slumped in the chair like a dementia patient, his hollow gaze drifting aimlessly, but eventually—almost unconsciously—he picked up the evening paper from the desk and scanned it. There, in a small single-column space near the bottom of page two, was printed this morning’s incident.

Suicide in Apartment—This Morning at 4:20 AM At around 4:20 AM, a former student of the Takarazuka Girls' Opera School,

Matsutani Tsuruko (23) of Akasaka Sannoudai, from the second-floor window of the Ariake-so Apartments, approximately thirty plunged from a thirty-foot cliff below and committed suicide. The cause was world-weariness. In all of vast Tokyo, there could be no one who read this mere six-line article as profoundly as Kaju. No, not just Kaju—had there been anyone who knew the circumstances behind this incident, they surely could not have helped but let out a sigh of lamentation at the utterly heartless contrast between appearance and reality. This must be why they call Tokyo—in one breath—the Devil’s City. Incidents begin and incidents end without our knowledge. Of the countless crimes that ceaselessly occur day and night in this great metropolis, less than one percent ever reach our notice. And even those forms sink deep into obscurity, with only occasional reflections flickering momentarily into our view.

This article must certainly have reached your eyes, dear readers, but at that time, not a single one of you could have discerned the immense turmoil lurking behind these mere six lines. Not only that—the incident had only just begun. The turmoil so far had been merely a prelude. With this suicide incident as its catalyst, a turbulent grand orchestration of crime was about to be performed—though. Kaju knew nothing of this; convinced he had lost his purpose, he muttered in a sentimental voice,

“Ah, a dream, an illusion… If this had been real, it could’ve shaken the world—but now it’s all ruined.” “…Waking from that infuriating half-sleep—ah! Pointless, utterly pointless!” “…Because I’d been so damn sure the King did it, I swore I’d solve this even if they kept me locked up for months—but if he’s innocent, whether Tsuruko’s lover lives or dies ain’t my problem anymore.” “I’ve seen some shit, but never felt life’s emptiness like today.” “Such is the way of this fleeting world.” “Until minutes ago, they were all bowing and scraping—‘Your Majesty’ this, ‘Your Majesty’ that—but that glory lasted barely half a day.” “No special treatment now—they’ll arrest me and ship me off to prosecutors. Serves me right for reaching above my station.” “Might as well die.” “…And yet I’m disgusted by my own stupidity.” “Why did I fixate on the King as the killer?” “First off—who’d make dinner plans with three people right before murdering Tsuruko?” “He kept that dopey grin through supper—didn’t seem the type to snap and kill.” “Even when vanishing from the bedroom like mist, he stayed calm—nothing like a murde—” He cut himself off, eyes widening suddenly,

"Hmm, this is a bit strange." "...The Emperor possesses a peerless great diamond.... That King vanished like mist...." "This is bad." "Perhaps the King hasn't fled in disgrace but has been kidnapped instead—I wonder." "...It wasn't entirely impossible." "Then this is a major incident." With that, he once again took on a wild-eyed look and began pacing restlessly as he started to stand up, but then sat back down, "There's no use getting so flustered." "Alright, let me calm down and carefully think through everything that's happened since last evening."

and ceremoniously folded his arms, “...I got furious and stormed out of the Tokyo Kaikan last night at seven o’clock.” “Up to that point... nothing unusual had happened.” “Then I met Murakumo Emiko in Ginza... Wait, now that I think of it, this was already strange. [...] A colleague from when we taught at the same elementary school in Hokkaido had risen to become a movie star and even opened a lavish bar called ‘Paris.’ Out of hometown nostalgia, I once went to pay my respects, only to be literally given the cold shoulder.” “...Why was Emiko so unusually friendly last night of all nights?” “That haughty woman took my hand and forcibly dragged me to ‘Paris.’” “The Emperor was there, and that morning a murder had occurred.” “...the Emperor was kidnapped, and I alone was left at the scene.” “I alone at the scene….” “Ah, damn it!” “Moreover, Emiko is a resident of Ariake-so Apartments. ...There’s something here.” “Even if my meeting with Emiko in Ginza was coincidental, there was something decidedly abnormal in her attitude of trying to forcibly take me to where the Emperor was.” “...Even so... There’s no use with just this.” “I wonder if there’s any article that could serve as a lead.”

Muttering to himself, he hurriedly picked up one evening paper after another, his eyes darting across the pages—but before he could reach the Sunset Newspaper buried at the bottom of the pile, he involuntarily let out an astonished cry of "Ah!"

The front page of the Sunset Newspaper's special edition bore a massive five-column headline proclaiming "Crane Fountain Sings This Morning!", beneath which the paper devoted its entire layout to grandiosely chronicling every detail in lavish prose—from the event's bustling attendance and prize distribution protocols to the full texts of congratulatory messages and Dr. Kaneshige's lecture summary, all culminating in that ecstatic moment at 9:35 AM when the crane at last resoundingly cried out "Long Live the Empire".

Kaju wore a dumbfounded expression,

“Well, I’ll be damned. ...That was a joint scheme between Superintendent Sakuzuki and President Kouda—they knew if they held an unlicensed illegal assembly at Hibiya Park right under the Metropolitan Police’s nose, they’d absolutely get shut down before the promised 9:12 AM crane song. So the plan from the start was to rake in admission fees as fast as possible, then wrap it up with a ‘So sorry, folks!’ before leaving any traces that could bite them in the ass... But then—why the hell did that crane actually sing? This added another mystery to the pile... Alright, time to line them up. (Emiko, who should never be friendly, acts friendly. A crane fountain that shouldn’t sing does so)... At first glance, these two phenomena seem entirely unrelated... But perhaps they share some crucial connection after all.”

He kept tilting his head while glancing upward, but soon gave up as if resigning himself. "No matter how much I rack my brains, my wisdom just isn’t up to it." "There’s nothing for it but to charge ahead as usual." "First I’ll get a rough idea, then investigate the crane fountain—somehow I should be able to figure out this connection." "Alright, now that it's settled—I should get going right away."

Just as he stood up with fiery determination, the hotel manager entered and announced that the directors of the Police Affairs Bureau and Eurasian Affairs Bureau had arrived. Kaju—face streaked with tears—collapsed back into the chair,

"Ah, I'd forgotten. I'm supposed to go to prison, huh. No special treatment—it's goodbye to everything." When he muttered this, he turned to the manager in a voice as thin as a mosquito's whine,

“Tell them I’m prepared.”

Soon, the two bureau directors entered. When they reverently announced their presence at the doorway, first the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau stepped forward with every fiber of his being radiating deference in his gestures, "Your Highness, we have once again come before you to offer our most humble apologies. "Since this morning, we have committed blunder after blunder, leaving us too ashamed to show our faces before Your august presence. Thus we donned masks and now approach you with bowed heads." "At this very hour, we most humbly report that one called Manako has again intruded upon Your Highness' august presence, appearing to have caused various injuries to Your illustrious honor through his actions—an unpardonable impertinence indeed. Though that individual has already been subjected to the most severe disciplinary measures, regarding this matter, we both..."

He looked utterly breathless. The Director really knew how to put on a show. The Director’s performance would leave even those new theater actors utterly flustered.

Be that as it may, there was nothing as unfathomable as Kaju’s circumstances. Just moments after being kicked off the throne, he found himself being placed back into the emperor's seat out of necessity. Even a marionette wouldn’t be manipulated this harshly. If that were the case, it would appear all the more tragic indeed.

Kaju kept his guard up. Peering sideways at the two men through lowered eyelids, he saw their hulking frames trembling uncontrollably, brows glistening with cold sweat as if they might dissolve into nothingness at any moment. Though their shaking stemmed from rage and their sweat from bitter frustration, under such circumstances even the wisest man would misinterpret these signs. How much more so for someone as guileless as Kaju—he had tumbled headlong into this plot without resistance. Suddenly he felt as though the sky itself had been cleft like a gorge. Do this right and you might escape prison. Drawing himself up with all the haughtiness he could muster,

“There’s no need to apologize. You know full well how magnanimous I am. You’ve done well enough. That settles matters—you may withdraw now.”

The Directors would not withdraw so easily from this. They courteously saluted, "As always, Your Highness's magnanimous—" Kaju waved his hand impatiently, "Then—do you still have some business?" "With all these different people coming one after another like this, I can't even catch my breath." "If you have business, spit it out quickly and have it taken care of." "I'm feeling slightly under the weather, you see—my mood isn't particularly favorable at the moment."

The Director of the Police Affairs Bureau remained utterly deferential, “Then—to come directly to the point—we most humbly inquire whether it would be acceptable to leave the Imperial Household’s secret treasure, which has been kept in the Metropolitan Police Department’s vault, stored as is.” So that was the reason! Ah, if only I’d heard this just one hour earlier—I could’ve avoided such a terrible predicament. Kaju slapped his thigh,

“Ah, I’d completely forgotten. Please, leave it exactly as it is. It’s not like keeping it around would do me any particular good anyway.”

Well, Kaju wasn't such a fool after all. The Director of Police Affairs Bureau retreated three steps with practiced reverence, making way for his counterpart from Eurasian Affairs Bureau to advance. "It has come to our understanding that Your Highness will be returning to your country within two or three days—though we find ourselves most reluctant to bid you farewell," began the new speaker with ceremonial cadence. "We profoundly regret how our repeated failures during this affair must have diminished Your Highness's regard for Japan, yet we earnestly entreat you not to let this unfortunate episode discourage your future benefactions..."

Narrating this negotiation in full would have made for an exceedingly dramatic scene, but there was no use dwelling on such matters indefinitely. In short, leaving the rest to the reader’s imagination, these two bureau directors—after devising all manner of devious schemes sufficient to bring Intelligence Director Sou Shuuchin into line—earnestly suggested he “stop dawdling and get some sleep,” then took their leave.

Whether they had properly coordinated the timing or not, Sou Shuuchin returned almost immediately after their departure. Having been generously entertained at the Metropolitan Police Department, he entered with a faint tipsiness and an energetic stride. After saluting at the doorway, he respectfully approached Kaju’s side. “Ah, what an unparalleled honor this is! We have until this very moment been receiving the Metropolitan Police Commissioner’s most impeccable hospitality. This too can only be attributed to Your Majesty’s august virtue, leaving us with nothing but boundless gratitude to express.”

Kaju haughtily indicated the chair with his chin, “Don’t drink unfamiliar liquor and upset your stomach. …Now then, I’ll give my answer to your earlier request.”

Shuuchin properly seated himself in the chair, “We humbly await Your Highness’s response.”

Kaju triumphantly declared, “Listen—don’t get the wrong idea. “The diamond has been properly deposited in the Metropolitan Police Department’s vault. “If you think I’m lying, go ahead and call to verify.”

Shuuchin’s face flooded with profound emotion, “Ah, truly! Truly!” “To even dare suppose that Your wise Highness would engage in such reckless conduct would be utterly disrespectful.” “Thus have we received Your Highness’s answer regarding the secret treasure... Next, concerning Your return date—” “I shall return within two or three days.” “You will send a coded telegram to the Director-General beforehand.”

he said with an odd, forced smile, “Shuuchin, you’ve been quite helpful this time. When I return, I’ll award you a medal.” Shuuchin leaped up from his chair, “Don’t mention it! Such a trifle hardly warrants any reward from Your Highness!” “No—I insist. …Now, there’s something I want to discuss—since you’re the intelligence director, you must be well-versed in various disguise techniques, no doubt?” Shuuchin puffed out his chest,

“Such an inquiry—if I may say so without offense—is ultimately superfluous.” “Given our professional obligations, we perpetually maintain all requisites for disguise within immediate reach.”

Maybe I can escape from here. Then he'd head straight to Hibiya Park... Kaju excitedly leaned forward, "Well then... grow me a beard like those on postage stamp portraits." "I plan to take a walk with you now—but here in Tokyo, unlike in Annam, this face of mine is far too recognizable. That poses something of a problem." "And it's dangerous too."

Shuuchin nodded solemnly,

“Ah, that is indeed the most fitting consideration from Your Highness.” “For a personage of Your Sacred Majesty’s stature, such precautions are indeed only natural.” With that, he exited the room and soon returned carrying an old-fashioned briefcase. From its neatly organized compartments he retrieved wig varnish and bundles of hair. Apologizing for the intrusion, he applied the varnish to Kaju’s chin, then began meticulously implanting each strand of beard hair one by one using slender tweezers.

Finally, it was finished. Though the vulgar look in his eyes couldn’t be helped, aside from that he closely resembled the emperor. After scrutinizing himself in the mirror from every angle and finalizing arrangements to meet at the park’s west gate, Kaju exited with deliberate nonchalance—ignoring the plainclothes officers he recognized—and walked toward Hibiya Park, his black beard reminiscent of Qin Shi Huang fluttering in the wind. He was now going to investigate the singing crane fountain.

Twenty: A Series of Mistakes

Twenty-One: The Evening Scene in Akashi-cho

Tsukiji Akashi-cho—the inner tatami room of Sumiyoshi. Against a backdrop of Ōkyo's Hōraisan-zu painting and a large moss-pine with peonies at its roots sat Hayashi Kinnao, the Dōkan-yama Maeda-gumi oyabun, flanked by five retainers from Hayashi's household. Here too unfolded a stern tableau of crossed arms and knitted brows. They had just sent Denji to Kouda's mistress's residence when word arrived from the Police Affairs Bureau about the emperor's disappearance—now they huddled together devising countermeasures. Hayashi had curried favor with the emperor to secure exclusive mining rights for premium bauxite in Annam. Nikko Conglomerate—Koguchi's rival enterprise matching them in capital and structure—worked feverishly through anti-emperor factions promoting the imperial nephew's claim, seeking to snatch these rights away. This alone made Nikko prime suspect in their eyes. Compounding suspicions was how Nikko's Kantō Civil Engineering Club faction—the Nogeyama Tsurumi-gumi—had stirred commotion that very morning near Hibiya Park's Imperial Hotel. Though insufficient grounds alone, should this prove true, they held the Dōkan-yama Oyabun's backing—the Kantō group's commander of three thousand reckless souls. Bloodshed seemed inevitable.

The seven men huddled together without a shred of collective wisdom among them, standing idly with folded arms, when Komagata Denji burst in with a face drained of blood. He had received a secret report from Kouda stating that Yasui Kamejirou—a member of the Nogeyama faction who controlled territory in Bushu Koganei—had caused a disturbance at the “Singing Crane Fountain” venue and abducted the emperor amid the confusion; he had raced back here with this news in haste. Denji properly creased the knees of his morning coat as he sat formally down, glaring sharply at Hayashi all the while.

“The situation’s exactly as I’ve just reported, but there seems to be another angle here that ain’t so simple—something’s piquing our interest in a mighty peculiar way.” “After all, they’re a bunch of filthy bastards—getting them to spill ain’t no trouble—but anyhow, I figured I’d get this bit in your ears first, so I hightailed it back here.” There was no need to dwell tediously on these details. This was yet another instance in that series of mistakes—the claim that the Emperor had indeed been standing before the arbor by the pond.

Hayashi clawed at his knee and erupted in anger, “What an utterly foolish thing to do! Even if it’s harassment, I won’t—I absolutely won’t—stay silent any longer. Do we need any damn pleasantries? Just call the Metropolitan Police right now and have Koguchi and Nogeyama tied up!” As Hayashi’s already ruddy Ebisu-like countenance flushed an even deeper crimson, transforming him into a veritable fireball of rage, Doukan-yama calmly restrained him, “Mr. Hayashi, that won’t do.” He appeared to be in his mid-fifties, his silver-white hair combed back in an all-back style, with not a wrinkle on his forehead to match his age. Arched eyebrows, tightly pursed large lips. His Danjuro-style eyes brimmed with a gentle light as he rested a clenched fist on his hakama-clad knee, leaning leisurely against the pillar. His figure exuded a spring-like mildness befitting a retired gentleman of Yamate, yet there was an indefinable sense of latent power in his flawless posture. Doukan-yama calmly parted his lips,

“Mr. Hayashi, that won’t do. If I weren’t present here, it might be acceptable, but as long as I am here, having such a thing done would compromise my honor.” Doukan-yama couldn’t handle it himself, and it would be problematic if people said he had clung to the police’s coattails. From what he was hearing now, it seemed rather doubtful whether Nogeyama had actually done it based solely on that—and besides, it wasn’t the sort of thing Nogeyama would do. However, well—if we have even that much of a lead, it’ll at least give us a thread to pull. “I will now go over there to negotiate amicably, listen thoroughly to their side of the story, and somehow retrieve His Majesty. …You may think this is just an old man’s cold water, but I have some prior knowledge in these matters.”

With that, he stood up. Because Kouda had blurted out that nonsensical conjecture, matters had finally reached this state. How would this resolution unfold? To resume—before long, Doukan-yama’s automobile sped out through Sumiyoshi’s gate toward Shiba.

Directly across a single moat from there, at the foot of Akebashi Bridge, there was a man keeping close watch on a deep-set house called "Kuretake." He appeared to be in his late thirties, with a Western-style mustache that suited him well—a high nose, slightly sunken eyes, and features that immediately marked him as mixed-race. This was John Hatcheson: one of Ariake-so Apartments' residents and a correspondent for the French "Hovas" News Agency, arriving at "Paris" in his roadster for the third time.

The kadomatsu rustled softly while shuttlecocks clacked rhythmically—a tranquil New Year's evening steeped in tradition. Stylish house kimonos occasionally passed by along the street. Crouched in the shadows of a side wall, he fixed a piercing gaze on "Kuretake," but his impatience soon drove him to dart forward and peer through the gate's depths. About fifteen minutes later, boisterous farewells echoed from deep within the alleyway. A lanky man in his mid-thirties emerged at a hurried pace, coat collar turned up to conceal his face—sunken cheeks, shifty eyes, features radiating cunning. Evading the streetlamp at Tsuyurokuchi crossing, he turned right toward Akebashi Bridge. Hatcheson clattered out from the wall's shadow to block his path, seizing the coat collar to yank him close—

“Hey Baroncelli, why are you sneaking around?” Dear readers, you must surely recall that infamous “Karmas Sho.” These two had been the masterminds behind gathering a troupe of provincial vaudevillians from around Shanghai and molding them into a grand revue company rivaling New York’s great Ziegfeld—as if this very day marked their debut at the Nihonza Theater. Both were mixed-race offspring of Japanese and French parentage. This shared heritage had forged their partnership, and like shadow and form they moved together through Annam and Guizhou pursuing shady enterprises. Their names became inextricably linked—whenever Hatcheson’s was mentioned, Baroncelli’s inevitably followed in the same breath. What discord could have arisen between these two whose bond surpassed even that of blood brothers?

Hatcheson pressed Baroncelli against the bridge railing and shook him with all his strength as he demanded, “Hey—say something! Spit it out!”

Baroncelli lowered his eyes with a troubled look while, “Wh-what am I supposed to say—it’s not like that!” Hatcheson ground his teeth gratingly,

“This isn’t some backwater town in Huế—this is the heart of Tokyo. Even if you try to outsmart me… Hey, where did you take the king?” “I don’t know!”

“Oh, is that so? It’s opening night, and yet what the hell were you doing in a place like that?” “Patron business.” “Shut up. …You bastard, you double-crossed me and sold the King to Nogeyama, didn’t you?” As he said this, he went for Baron’s throat with his right hand, “I’ve got a clear picture that the ten Yasui gang members who were causing trouble in Hibiya this morning are in the detached room of ‘Kuretake.’ Well? Had enough?” Baroncelli held his breath sharply and spoke in a voice like a rasp,

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” “…What the hell are you doing?” “What’s this hand?!” “Let go! Let go!” With a groan, he desperately thrust an uppercut into Hatcheson’s chest. Hatcheson staggered but immediately regained his footing,

“You pull a slick move like that, huh?” He reached into his coat as if to draw the white scabbard but changed his mind and slipped it back inside. Taking Baroncelli’s arm with sudden earnestness, he continued: “I could’ve stormed right in there—nothing stopping me. But I waited here rubbing my chest instead. Wanted to hash this out just between us.” “C’mon Baron—quit trying to cut me loose, I’m beggin’ ya. Don’t want a percentage or nothin’.” “All the profits are yours.” “…So spit it out already.” “No secrets, no problems—that’s what I’m sayin’!” “Wh…what’s with…” “Quit makin’ that face. …Laugh.” “Hey—laugh for me!”

Baroncelli abruptly turned his face away and, as if peering into the dark water’s surface, clenched his teeth with all his might. When he looked, tears were streaming down his cheek, unseen by Hatcheson.

Hatcheson stood staring at Baroncelli’s back, then finally let out a sigh, “It’s like you’ve become a different person… I can’t make sense of your behavior.” “…What’s wrong, Baron? Talk to me.” “Come on.”

Baroncelli swiftly turned around. No trace of tears remained. With a petulant demeanor,

“If you don’t get it, I’ll spell it out for you. I’m sick to death of your big brother act!” “Huh?!” “It’s been a long partnership… but this is farewell. If we meet on the street again, don’t you dare speak to me.” Hatcheson’s fist trembled, “You’ve gone greed-crazed, you bastard. You think you can trade me for that filthy cash?” Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes, “Hey, Baron—after all the hardships we shared in the backwaters of Indochina—is this how it ends? Is this how we part? …You fool—you utter fool…”

Baron leaned his back against the railing and whistled vacantly,

“Ah, it’s fine,” Baroncelli said. “I’ve gone money-crazy.” “Just leave me alone.” “So… you’re serious about this?” Hatcheson asked. “You’re tedious.” “At least… tell me why—” “Do whatever the hell you want!” Hatcheson’s body shook violently as he glared at Baroncelli with a fierce glare, but soon erupted in a voice like bursting dam water:

“Fine—I’ll end it for good. …But in return, I’ll smash it all to bits! Don’t you forget that.”

With trembling hands, he finished fastening his coat buttons, then quickly disappeared into the darkness along the same walled path as before.

XXI. Concerning the Strange Neck Experiment

And Concerning the Voice on the Phone

Before the large office desk in the cold, desolate expanse of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police’s First Investigation Division Chief’s office, Inspector Manako sat like a solitary shadow, utterly still. Just as he had done previously at Ariake-so, once again adopting a posture as if about to perform seppuku—arms crossed, face bowed low, an expression of profound anguish etched upon him—he remained motionless, as though turned to stone. A glance revealed the trophies from Ariake-so neatly arranged atop the desk: a green vest, a lion-headed cigarette holder, a paper-carved shoe last, and a notebook inscribed with “〇Rice86.”

For Manako, these items seemed to be a considerable source of distress. Depending on how one looked at it, it even appeared as though he were bowing to them. This was now the second time he had done this, but why did these items torment Inspector Manako—a man who could be called ruthlessness incarnate—to such an extent? Now that one considered it, there was something that didn’t quite add up. Earlier, when Inspector Manako explained the on-site investigation at the Police Affairs Bureau, he had inexplicably omitted the detail about visiting a tailor shop called Ibuki to make inquiries. That wasn’t all. He had not mentioned a single word about either the characteristics of the cigarette holder or the mark left by someone leaning against the still-damp wall. Among fellow experts, such trivial matters might be considered inconsequential, but coming from Manako—who prided himself on meticulousness day in and day out—there was something slightly difficult to accept about this behavior.

Undoubtedly, these items contained some profound and critical secret. There must have been a significant reason why Inspector Manako—so thorough and precise—kept silent about this; but regardless, when he looked up at the clock, it was already 5:15 AM. The irregular express carrying the French ambassador had already reached the vicinity of Hikone. By 4:00 AM tomorrow morning—when the ambassador was to attend his audience—no matter what occurred, the emperor had to be returned to the hotel. Yet here he was, agonized over such matters—was this truly permissible? If one must agonize, they should do it leisurely after resolving the case—those growing impatient were likely not just the author.

Before long, the clock struck 5:30 AM. Then, as if precisely timed to that signal, the four musketeers entered and stood rigidly at attention before the doorway in perfect formation.

Finally, Manako began to move. He slowly turned in that direction and signaled the rightmost musketeer with a glance. The man who had received the signal took a step forward and, in a clear, concise tone, "The six residents of Ariake-so—Iwao Michiyasu, Indō Chūsuke, John Hatcheson, Yamaki Motofuru, Murakumo Emiko, and Kawamata Fumie—alongside six members of Kāmasu Shōo, boarded three automobiles, departed Paris at 3:10 AM, and arrived at the Suzumoto establishment in Tsukiji Kojimachi by 3:20 AM. As soon as the twelve arrived, Suzumoto locked its entrance and did not open it once until the 5:20 AM inspection. We interrogated the six members of Kāmasu Shōo, but the six residents of Ariake-so Apartments have testified that none of them went out until the time of the inspection. We investigated Suzumoto’s back gate, but absolutely no traces of recent entry or exit were found."

Manako signaled to the second musketeer. The second man stepped forward, “The Superintendent-General of Police passed through Akasaka Ward’s Fifth Guard Post and Tameike Intersection during his New Year’s Eve welfare inspection at 3:50 AM.” “4:40 AM, Sixth Guard Post at Akasaka Mitsuke—” “4:45 AM, Kōjimachi Ward’s Second Guard Post at Miyakezaka—4:50 AM, First Guard Post at Sakuradamon.” “...That concludes my report.”

The third musketeer stepped forward. "Matsutani Tsuruko's registered domicile was Kyoto City, Higashiyama Ward, Yamashina Town, Fukano 120-banchi." "The registered domicile of the Honorable Former Chief of the Kyoto Prefectural Police Department was Kyoto City, Higashiyama Ward, Yamashina Town, Fukano 120-banchi." When Manako jerked his chin, the fourth musketeer exited the chief’s office and soon returned with the beautiful seamstress Hana in tow. When Manako issued a low-voiced command, the four musketeers withdrew accordingly. Manako motioned Hana over and had her sit in the chair, then, in his usual monotone,

"There's something I need to ask of you, so that's why I had you brought here."

Hana raised her face, “This is perfect timing. I was just about to come see you myself.” “Oh? And what business would that be?” Hana wore an earnest expression, “The culprit isn’t the King. I went to the hotel and met His Majesty.”

“You look happy.” Hana smiled faintly, then immediately put on a serious expression, “The King doesn’t have a chestnut-shaped head, nor is he that tall. I must ask you not to misunderstand.”

“I don’t recall ever claiming His Majesty is the culprit, but you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. … That aside, my request is nothing complicated—there’s something I want you to look at.” “Come here.” With that, he took a pistol from the desk drawer, slipped it into his pocket, and left the chief’s office with Hana.

Soon, the figures of Manako and Hana appeared in the dark concrete courtyard. Surrounded on all sides by three-story buildings from which bright lights streamed forth, the space resembled the bottom of a well. Manako had Hana sit there and pointed to one of the high third-floor windows. “The height from here to there is roughly the same as from your room’s window to Tsuruko’s window at Ariake-so. … Now, when I give the signal, that curtain will suddenly rise and a man will appear at the window.” “It should follow the same sequence as when the criminal threw Tsuruko off this morning.” “Pay close attention to that man’s height, head, and wrists.” “Do not let your attention be drawn to the other windows.” “And then, no matter what you see, you must not speak here.” “...Are you ready? Then I’ll begin.” “Do not take your eyes off that window.”

With that, he took out a pistol from his pocket, aimed its muzzle skyward, and fired a single thunderous shot. Countless windows on all sides flew open at once, and various faces were thrust out. From the window Manako had pointed to, the Superintendent-General—his chestnut-shaped head thrust halfway out—leaned over to peer down into the courtyard, shouting, "What’s this? What’s this?" Manako took Hana’s hand and calmly withdrew from the courtyard. On the third floor in the Superintendent-General’s office, the Superintendent-General, who had pulled his head back from the window, was barking into the loudspeaker telephone in a voice that seemed on the verge of a tantrum.

“What in the hell is this? What’s going on?”

The loudspeaker answered in a grating voice: "Inspector Manako was accidentally shot. There is no damage."

“With this much damage, isn’t that splendid? … So you still haven’t located the six individuals from Ariake-so?”

(There is still no report)

The Superintendent-General clicked his tongue in irritation, pulled a cigarette from his cigarette case, then reached into his vest breast pocket and gave a wry smile. Since he always kept the cigarette holder here, it had become a habit; even having dropped it, he forgot and his hand would automatically reach there. He had just lit his cigarette when the loudspeaker bellowed again. (Mr. Hayashi called to report that another incident had occurred and requested your immediate attention.)

The Superintendent-General threw down his cigarette and,

"Quickly, connect it! Don't dawdle!" Just as he was shouting, the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau entered alongside Manako, muttering, "What a dreadful ordeal." The Superintendent-General waved his hand, "Director, they're reporting another incident. Hayashi is about to take the call." Before the Director and Manako could settle into their chairs, Hayashi's gruff voice came through the loudspeaker. (Is this the Superintendent-General? (This is Hayashi. I haven't time to come there—I'll speak by phone—but something appalling has occurred. (Are you alone there?)

The Director lunged at the telephone transmitter, “I’m here too. Manako’s here too. What the hell happened? Out with it!”

To summarize Hayashi’s account: When Doukan-yama stormed into Nogeyama for negotiations, he claimed total ignorance about Yasui’s alleged disturbance in Hibiya. Though he’d kept quiet to avoid family disgrace, something had nagged at him—this past summer, he’d forced Yasui to return their ceremonial sake cup and severed ties, declaring they were now strangers who shouldn’t burden him with their mess. Then someone suddenly looked suspicious and mentioned an odd incident. Around the 28th or 29th last month, an unfamiliar mixed-race man had come wanting someone killed. When I pressed him—since he’d come to me—that eliminating this person must serve Japan’s interests, he insisted it wouldn’t benefit Japan at all. I sent him off with a warning not to underestimate me, but later began suspecting their target might’ve been the Emperor. Even if fabricated, such a plot’s mere existence posed grave risks—hence my call.

When the call ended, the Director turned back toward the two with a wry smile, “Hayashi’s getting flustered over nothing. Such trivial matters. ...Dragging baseless speculation into this is absolutely intolerable! He’s lost his mind.”

The loudspeaker began to blare. (At this moment, an automatic telephone call from Ginza 12-chome reports a critical tip-off regarding an emperor assassination plot and requests the Superintendent-General.)

Manako ran up to the telephone transmitter, “We’re not prolonging this conversation any further. Contact Yakumo-cho police box at once and have them detain the caller by any means necessary.” “Once their notification concludes, route it through the loudspeaker.”

Before even a minute had passed, the loudspeaker reported back.

(The notification to Yakumo-cho police box has been completed.) (We will now connect you.)

As the three waited with bated breath, a hoarse voice began pouring from the loudspeaker.

(Is this the Superintendent-General? …This is Ginza 12-chome. I’ve kept you waiting quite some time. Trying to drag out this conversation to catch me won’t work. I arranged from the start to make only one call. …You kept me waiting so long that a minute and a half has already slipped away. Only ninety seconds remain. Even mid-sentence, once this call ends, that’s it—so do keep that in mind. …Now then—there exists a plot to assassinate the Emperor of Annam in Tokyo. Assassins bearing secret orders from Imperial Nephew Li Guangming’s faction—the emperor’s opposition—arrived in Yokohama aboard the President Hoover on December 27th. Two conditions apply: First—ensure Japanese authorities handle the execution as much as possible. Second—dump the corpse at Tokyo’s most conspicuous location. …You’ve received similar intelligence by now, I presume? With the ambassador scheduled to visit the hotel tomorrow at 4 AM, they intend to complete the assassination beforehand. Since I happen to know the assassins’ address, I’ll share it while I can: That individual… WILL NOW BE PROCESSED THROUGH TWO CALLS.)

The *clang* of the receiver being slammed down reverberated sharply through the loudspeaker.

Every nerve of the Metropolitan Police Department was simultaneously jolted by a violent stimulus and began remarkable reflex movements.

The Director rushed out of the Superintendent-General’s office like a whirlwind. However, Manako alone remained silently bowed, not making any move to rise. The Superintendent-General frowned as he watched Manako’s motionless form, but finally unable to suppress his irritation any longer, he spoke in a voice as sharp as a slashing blade—

“Hey—what’s going on, Manako?” Manako looked up sharply at the Superintendent-General’s face and said in a gloomy voice, “Superintendent-General, I had been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you alone.”

The time was exactly six twenty. Less than ten hours remained until 4:00 AM tomorrow. Would the Metropolitan Police Department prevail, or would the assassins? ...And in this critical moment, what on earth could Manako, appearing so nonchalant, be about to say?

第七回

22. The Matter of Manako’s Lengthy Discourse

And the Matter of the Lion-Headed Pipe

What initially appeared in the evening paper's gossip column as a mere few lines about Matsutani Tsuruko's suicide—the former Takarazuka Girls' Opera School student's death hastily labeled self-inflicted—proved upon closer examination to be anything but straightforward.

On society’s surface, not even a ripple of turmoil appeared, yet beneath—like a submarine volcanic eruption in the Mindanao Trench—in the dark abyssal depths, it roared, surged, and seethed with all the frenzy of utter pandemonium. In the initial circumstances, matters appeared so thoroughly suggestive of the Emperor having thrown Tsuruko from the window that the authorities hurriedly endeavored to conceal the truth, finally framing it as a suicide case—only for it to become shockingly clear that the Emperor himself stood on the victim's side, having been kidnapped by someone around 4:30 AM shortly after the incident.

That no less than a nation’s emperor had been kidnapped within Japanese territory—and right in the heart of Tokyo at that—was an exceedingly grave matter indeed; one could well imagine the authorities’ shock and panic. The Ministers of Home and Foreign Affairs and other government leaders hastily convened to discuss countermeasures, but the incident became enshrouded in hazy clouds and smoke, making it difficult to grasp the truth. In the end, it was concluded that they had carried out such an audacious act with the purpose of seizing "The Emperor"—the Annam Imperial Family’s secret treasure that had been brought out to Japan to be sold.

However, from the author's perspective, this conclusion seemed somewhat abstract. Wasn't this exactly like the hackneyed plot of a detective novel? If they were content with that explanation, then how did they intend to account for the singing crane in Hibiya Park's fountain?

Just as it was becoming apparent this was no simple case, a tip-off arrived—one that spoke of an assassination plot against the Emperor. Assassins who had received a secret decree from the Imperial Nephew faction—which sought to depose the Emperor and install Imperial Nephew Li Guangming in his stead—had arrived in Japan aboard the President Hoover approximately one week prior, on December 27. Moreover, their mission came with stipulations: Japanese authorities were to carry out the assassination wherever possible, and the corpse was to be discarded in Tokyo's most conspicuous location.

That this tip-off was neither jest nor joke would be readily acknowledged by anyone sufficiently versed in the conflict between Annam's Emperor Faction and Imperial Nephew Faction as highly plausible. Not only that—through this act—one could discern a sinister aim to provoke a grave international incident while driving a wedge between Japan and France, achieving two objectives with a single stroke. The informant even knew that the French Ambassador was en route back to the capital to attend the Imperial Hotel at 4:00 AM tomorrow morning—to confirm the secret treasure's sale and urgently advise His Majesty's immediate return. The informant's telephone voice emanated from the loudspeaker in the Superintendent-General's office with solemn, compelling force.

A mere suicide incident in the city had twisted and turned threefold, ultimately evolving into a grand-scale incident of this magnitude. The government had literally shriveled up. If they were to actually face such a situation, the very contemplation of its consequences would reach the pinnacle of dreadfully hollow terror. Even by mobilizing all functions of the government, they must prevent the Emperor’s assassination plot before it materializes and return him to the Imperial Hotel by tomorrow at 4:00 AM no matter what. Looking at the clock, it was exactly six twenty. The irregular express carrying the ambassador had already reached the vicinity of Gifu. Only nine hours and forty minutes remained until 4:00 AM. In this critical contest, would the Metropolitan Police Department prevail and manage to safely return the Emperor to the hotel?

From the informant's tone, they could generally surmise that the Emperor was still alive, but they couldn't even discern which direction he might be in. It was like grasping at clouds. The Metropolitan Police Department abruptly erupted into frenzied activity. The entire Tokyo police network simultaneously shifted to wartime mobilization. At headquarters, they urgently convened an investigative conference to establish the main investigative policy, then deployed leakproof investigative teams across all jurisdictions and five adjacent prefectures. The Investigation Division immediately launched pursuits of both the six residents of Ariake-so Apartments and the Ankame faction—rumored to have abducted the Emperor from Hibiya Park's "Singing Crane Fountain" venue—while the Foreign Affairs Division initiated a nitpicking investigation into every arrival since early December and foreign resident's movements, scrutinizing them one by one.

Amidst a war-like commotion that threatened to overturn the Metropolitan Police Department itself, Chief Inspector Manako alone remained slumped in his chair in the Superintendent-General’s office, making no move to stir. Manako—the Metropolitan Police Department’s foremost prodigy, leading figure of the prosecutorial brain trust, a man known for his ruthless efficiency—should by all rights have been spearheading the investigation at such a critical juncture. Yet here he remained stubbornly entrenched, dismissing this monumental uproar as little more than wind whistling through empty air—a demeanor utterly unbefitting of one normally renowned for his swift decisiveness.

In the previous installment, even the Superintendent-General—ordinarily unflappable—had clicked his tongue in frustration at Manako’s vexing demeanor and demanded, "What’s gotten into you?" Whereupon Manako glared sharply up at the Superintendent-General’s face and declared in a sepulchral voice, "I have been waiting all this time for an opportunity to speak with you alone"—uttering something unnervingly grave—before the chapter concluded. Having said this, Manako once again let his face fall and bowed his head. What on earth was he about to say? Be that as it may, this must be what they meant by "withered trees in winter’s severity." His shoulders jutted boneward as if chilled, the hair at his crown having thinned into disarray, hands resting faint-shadowed on his knees as he sat hunched in dejection—a visage of utter desolation. This could not be mistaken for a living human being. It was as though a corpse had been vomited forth from the grave’s maw to wander lost into this very place.

The Superintendent-General turned his pale face toward Manako and waited for him to speak, but Manako had merely offered a preamble before lapsing into complete silence, so the Superintendent-General grew somewhat impatient. "Is this talk related to the current case?" "That is correct." "Why must you speak with me alone?"

“……” “Is it truly such a grave matter?” “That is correct.”

Manako remained bowed over, “Superintendent-General, we’ve identified the culprit.”

The Superintendent-General jumped up from his chair, “What?! Is that true? Have you definitively identified them?” “We have determined it conclusively. Should you require, I can provide a full physical description of the individual here and now. Moreover, I’ve completely reconstructed their movements on the night of the crime.” “Remarkable! What new evidence emerged? When did this come to light?” “It was established during our initial on-site investigation earlier today.”

The Superintendent-General immediately assumed an unpleasant look, “I must say, you never cease to astonish me… I find your actions utterly incomprehensible… If you knew during the investigation, why didn’t you mention it in your earlier report?” The Superintendent-General sternly knitted his brows, “I will pose a somewhat overreaching question, but surely you are not deliberately prolonging this incident to indulge in some perverse satisfaction.” “I don’t want to think that excluding you from this morning’s preparations has led you to adopt such a retaliatory attitude, but I can’t help but feel that this approach of yours suggests precisely that.” “What on earth is wrong with you?” “First, why don’t you start by telling me the reason for that?”

“Superintendent-General, as I am someone who will resign from my position as Chief Inspector the moment this case concludes tomorrow morning, whether you deem me narrow-minded or denounce me as a scheming villain, it affects me not in the least.” “Therefore, I shall decline to address that particular matter.” “I find little merit in squandering precious time on such quibbling. With due deference to your words, I shall now proceed directly to substantive matters.”

When it came to Manako’s unyielding obstinacy, he stood as its very paragon. Once matters had reached this point, not even a lever could shift him. The Superintendent-General, thoroughly exasperated, stroked his neatly close-cropped crown while—

“If that’s how it is, then so be it.” “Then proceed to tell me at once.”

Manako closed his eyes for an instant, as if in silent prayer, then—

“During my earlier crime scene report, I fully described the general circumstances suggesting His Majesty was lured through the service entrance. […] I presented all of Hana’s testimony, the discovery of what appeared to be His Majesty’s regular waistcoat in the wardrobe, and every trace indicating the culprit had leaned against the service entrance wall for some time. However, I withheld detailed explanations about the evidence left on the partially dried wall surface.” “Furthermore, regarding a certain item I found in the wardrobe drawer, I refrained from uttering a single word.” “These matters could gravely impact a certain individual’s standing. As I too needed to exercise extreme discretion in disclosing them, I request your understanding regarding this delay in reporting.”

Having said this and cut off his words, Manako slowly raised his face. "Superintendent-General, what on earth do you think was imprinted on the wall? Though it proves most regrettable for the culprit, upon that surface—from their height and social standing to habitual movements and even psychological state at the time—everything had been engraved as though drawn in full detail." "Oh!" "On the wall, a vertical line from the Western coat's back seam and a horizontal line from its hem were clearly imprinted intersecting at right angles. The height from floor to coat hem measured 0.86 meters. Not only does applying a coefficient make calculating their stature exceedingly straightforward, but the distortion in the coat's back seam impression also conclusively reveals this individual suffers from a constitutional spinal curvature—scoliosis."

“But on what basis can you conclusively determine that this imprint belongs to the culprit?” “Couldn’t these perhaps be traces left by the Emperor leaning against it?” “The Emperor’s shoe size is 12.30. That individual’s shoe size is 12.00. The shoe prints on the kitchen floor made it unequivocally clear they did not belong to the Emperor. ...To begin with, this wall had been damaged for roughly two weeks prior. Pressed by Tsuruko, they finally finished plastering it at 11:00 PM on New Year’s Eve. The maid Tome remained in the kitchen until 11:30 PM, and after 4:30 AM, a detective from Tameike Precinct stood guard outside the door without moving. Therefore, the imprint had been made between 1:00 AM and 4:30 AM—neither earlier nor later than that period.” ...When I pressed my finger against that wall during this morning’s investigation at 11:30 AM, not even a fingerprint remained.” “In front of the iron stove in the kitchen sat a wooden box containing leftover plaster. I touched it as well, but that plaster had not yet dried.” “The wall plaster dried quickly because steam pipes ran directly alongside it. By checking when the hot water supply was suspended last night and when it resumed this morning, we could pinpoint with greater precision when the imprint had been made under those conditions.” “Since Ariake-so Apartments’ steam heating ceased at 1:00 AM and resumed at 5:00 AM, correlating this with the imprint’s physical state allowed us to conclusively determine it was made between approximately 3:00 AM and 4:30 AM.”

“I see… So you’re saying we can determine their social standing and occupation?” “Upon closely examining the wall imprint,” continued Manako Akira with forensic precision, “I noticed something resembling a leather belt end hanging from the coat’s hem—partially transferred onto the wall directly beneath the spine.” His voice remained clinical despite the Superintendent-General’s growing agitation. “When I first observed this slovenly belt arrangement, I initially suspected intoxication.” He paused meaningfully before delivering his coup de grâce: “However”—the word crackled like static—“the shoe prints near the wall showed heels neatly aligned two centimeters from the surface.” His index finger tapped an invisible diagram midair. “More critically—they revealed repeated nervous foot-shifting inconsistent with drunkenness.” Manako leaned forward slightly—a predator cornering prey—as he dismantled alternative theories: “An intoxicated person wouldn’t maintain such posture against walls.” His gloved hand mimicked a belt’s trajectory through smoke-filled air—leftward then rightward—“Loosened belts hang forward or flip back naturally—never cling vertically beneath spinal columns.” The silence thickened until Manako shattered it with surgical precision: “If not ordinary belts…” He let tension coil before releasing—“Needless to say—sword belt ends.” His final thrust landed cleanly: “This proves our culprit belongs to a profession requiring daily sword-bearing.”

The Superintendent-General drew a breath,

“Well… That is truly unexpected…”

“You must recall that in Hana’s testimony about witnessing the heinous act, there was an item stating the culprit had something glittering wrapped around their wrist.” “Hana said it might have been a wristwatch, but if what hung below the waist was a sword belt, then naturally the true nature of that object becomes apparent, does it not?”

The Superintendent-General involuntarily leaned forward, “Oh, then that means…” “Exactly. It was a sleeve insignia like the one on your official uniform’s sleeve. Having now fully explained the nature of the imprints on the kitchen wall, I shall proceed to the entrance hall and discuss an evidentiary trace that the maintenance staff likely overlooked. [...] When I entered the entrance hall and examined the window from which Tsuruko was thrown, along with the wall surfaces to its left and right, there was one particular detail that caught my attention. It is three faint scratch marks imprinted on the right side of the window’s wall, 1.45 meters from the floor. Though extremely shallow, upon examining them, it becomes clear that these marks were created when a rather hard substance—spaced approximately one centimeter apart—was scraped upward abruptly at an angle of about eighty degrees. What on earth kind of substance could create such scratch marks in a place like this? Even roughly considered, there could be dozens of possibilities, and these scratch marks alone do not provide any clear explanation.”

Manako suddenly adopted a listless tone, for some reason, "In other words, crime scene investigations are a kind of fateful endeavor." "Science pursues; chance decides this." "This may sound like unscientific bluster, but it's something only those of us steeped in investigative grime can state with confidence." “Superintendent-General, those three scratch marks were made when a star insignia on an official uniform sleeve scraped against the wall while someone tried to lift something heavy.” “…Because we found minuscule gold braid fragments directly below them on the floor.…The culprit’s height approximates five shaku seven sun five to six bu [174.5 cm].…Superintendent-General, while Your Excellency’s stature exceeds five shaku seven sun five bu, I take pride in matching nearly that same measurement.” "Therefore, experimental verification proved remarkably straightforward."

When he had said this much, Manako abruptly fell silent. From what one could observe up to that point, he had been speaking in an excruciatingly roundabout manner. Why didn’t he just get on with it? To onlookers, it was utterly maddening. What could possibly make Manako act so hesitant and evasive? Of course, the author had no way of knowing, but one could at least discern that he was handling something of grave importance with exquisite delicacy—touching upon it as if not touching upon it at all. As this unfolded, while Manako gradually took on an air of increasing composure, the Superintendent-General’s complexion grew increasingly sallow, revealing a kind of vague unease. The Superintendent-General—his elegant forehead, more befitting an artist than a prosecutor, bowed deeply—pursed his well-shaped lips into a taut straight line, occasionally casting swift, troubled glances over his brow toward Manako.

Manako sat with his arms deeply crossed, eyes lowered in silent anticipation as if awaiting something. However, as had often been noted before, his face did not clearly reveal emotions, making it impossible to discern what he might be thinking. Moreover, when he grew weary of speaking, he would abruptly fall silent even with others present and remain that way for half a day or more. The Superintendent-General appeared to fully grasp this habit of his and, with an expression that seemed to say 'Here we go again,' patiently kept waiting.

After prolonging this peculiar face-off—a wordless communion reminiscent of Zen monks grappling with koans—Manako abruptly lifted his eyelids and,

“Ah, exactly ten minutes have passed.” “Given that certain aspects of my prior explanations may not have been fully comprehended by Your Excellency, I shall now speak with greater directness. [...] Superintendent-General, with your permission, I intend to delineate as precisely as possible here the physical characteristics of Matsutani Tsuruko’s killer—the individual whom the Metropolitan Police Department is currently investigating with its full operational capacity.”

The Superintendent-General wore a look of stunned bewilderment, “You say such outlandish things… There can’t possibly be any objection.” “Please proceed.” Manako shook his arms free with a flourish and—uncharacteristically—arched his back slightly as he fixed the Superintendent-General with a gaze that seemed ready to challenge him.

“Then I shall state: The man is fifty-two or fifty-three years old, approximately five shaku seven sun five to six bu in height—roughly 174 centimeters—with a chestnut-burr haircut and a muscular, large build. Scoliosis with a stooped posture. Wears size 12.00 Princeton-style shoes manufactured by America’s Edith Company. Exhibits a slight limp in his left leg. Occupation: police officer or naval personnel—if police, of inspector rank or higher; if naval, between warrant officer and special duty lieutenant.” “This constitutes the physical description of both the culprit who murdered Matsutani Tsuruko and abducted the Emperor, as well as the would-be assassin targeting His Majesty.” “Now regarding occupation—should this individual prove to be law enforcement, it would align perfectly with the anonymous tip’s stipulation about utilizing Japanese authorities whenever possible. A model of consistency, one might say.”

The Superintendent-General appeared unconvinced, “While it’s evident that Matsutani Tsuruko’s killer and the Emperor’s abductor are one and the same, by what reasoning do you infer this individual will also become the Emperor’s future assassin?” “Were it me, I would take the opposite view. [...] If they meant to dump the Emperor’s corpse in the streets per the assassination terms—whether by stabbing or strangulation—doing it then and there would have been simplest. Why resort to kidnapping?”

Manako made a bored-looking gesture,

“That is because he has another purpose besides assassinating His Majesty. ...Needless to say, he wants to steal the Emperor’s diamond.” “Then he could just kill him and take it afterward.”

“The reason they refrained was because killing His Majesty would render the diamond unobtainable.” “In other words, since the diamond has been concealed in an unknown location, they abducted the Emperor to extract its whereabouts.” “That rationale remains unclear to me.” “You maintain His Majesty was kidnapped—why dismiss the possibility of on-site execution?” “Precisely at the base of the service stairs lie two circular degreased patches on the linoleum floor. As you are doubtlessly aware, only two chemical agents in existence possess the capacity to completely dissolve resins, aromatic oils, and similar substances.” “...Namely, chloroform and ether.” “Moreover, minute glass fragments—likely from a shattered chloroform ampoule—were discovered scattered nearby.” “...This evidence forms the foundation of my deduction that His Majesty was not murdered, but rather abducted.”

Manako briefly glanced at the Superintendent-General’s face and resumed his previous gloomy tone: “Superintendent-General, I had thought it unnecessary to state matters to this extent, but since you appear skeptical of my investigation, I shall now fully recount the culprit’s actions on that fateful night to substantiate that my suspect identification is anything but baseless. At precisely 3:50 this morning, the culprit drove a roadster past Akasaka’s Fifth Night Watch Post and through Tameike Intersection to Ariake-so Apartments. There, he disabled the front door’s bell mechanism—which he had previously tampered with—and slipped into the entryway of Tsuruko’s residence, concealing himself in the darkness.” “Not long after that,” he continued, “the thoroughly intoxicated Furuichi Kaju left the entryway.” “This occurred at exactly 4:10. Two or three minutes later, Tsuruko entered the entryway to secure the door and pressed the wall switch, instantly exposing the man who had been lurking in the shadows. What transpired between them during the next five or six minutes remains unclear, but Tsuruko resisted fiercely until the final moment when she was lifted up and thrown from the window—yet throughout this ordeal, she never once cried out for help.” “The Emperor in the adjacent room heard no screams,” Manako pressed on, “nor did Hana below the cliff or Kaju report hearing any such cries. She met her death in resolute silence—whether motivated by affection or terror, it’s evident Tsuruko endured extreme psychological coercion from her assailant.” “The culprit restrained the struggling Tsuruko with his left hand while using his right to fling aside the window curtain,” he demonstrated with a sharp gesture, “forced open the window’s pivot frame, hoisted her up, and cast her out before switching off the entryway lights moments later.” “He then fled Ariake-so’s entryway,” Manako’s fingers traced an imaginary escape route across the desk, “and had just begun descending the slope toward Sannō-shita when Kaju came trudging upward with Tsuruko’s body on his back. As you know, that slope offers no hiding places—he spun around and retreated toward the apartments.” “But the corridor blazed with electric light,” his voice dropped conspiratorially, “leaving him no refuge save the kitchen stairs. At their base stood Tsuruko’s service entrance—for which he’d prudently procured a duplicate key. Slipping inside, he took position against the wall beside the door, poised for any eventuality.” “Meanwhile,” Manako pivoted narratively, “Kaju discovered Tsuruko’s lifeless form and raced to alert caretaker Ouma before returning upstairs—where he found His Majesty abruptly abandoning his wine in the dining room to retrieve overcoat and hat before withdrawing to his chambers.” “Kaju remained unaware of subsequent developments,” he emphasized, “but consider this—the Emperor likely sought to sober up. Forensic traces confirm he washed his face and gargled in the washroom.” Manako produced an evidence envelope. “Minute cigar fragments on a towel edge and food residue in the basin attest to this.”

“As you are aware, the washroom connects to the kitchen through a door,” Manako continued in his methodical tone. “The man who had been leaning against the kitchen wall opened this washroom door and took one step into the bathroom. The culprit’s right shoe print—clearly stamped on the new matting—proves this movement.” His finger tapped the evidence photo. “Through either pretended camaraderie or abuse of official authority, His Majesty was led out with utmost quietness.” Manako’s pointer moved across the floorplan. “That Kaju heard nothing from the separate dining room—combined with His Majesty lighting a fresh cigar upon exiting—allows us to reconstruct events. We found a single match stub in the washroom and this cigar,” he brandished an evidence bag containing the half-smoked item, “which had been puffed barely ten times before being dropped at the stair’s base.” The inspector’s narration grew tauter. “The man closed the kitchen door with his duplicate key. His Majesty descended first—a fatal courtesy.” Manako’s pointer jabbed at stairwell diagrams. “At the bottom step, His Majesty staggered—dislodging the cigar from his lips.” Suddenly Manako’s hands mimicked violent motion: “In that instant, the culprit crushed a chloroform ampoule hidden in gauze against His Majesty’s face!” His palms smacked together sharply. “When His Majesty collapsed, he was dragged by the collar to the entryway—propped against a gatepost like discarded luggage!” Chalk screeched as Manako scrawled timestamps: “4:40 a.m.—Akasaka-mitsuke checkpoint! 4:43—Miyakezaka! By 4:45...” The chalk snapped as he slashed through Sakuradamon Gate on the map. “Their roadster vanished near our own headquarters—a brazen insult!”

The Superintendent-General nodded, "I see. I fully understand." “Be that as it may, the immediate question is the Emperor’s survival—is he still alive?” “He is still alive.” "Well now, how can you be sure of that?" "The reason is that I have deduced where the Emperor hid the diamond, and since it remains safely in that location, I infer that His Majesty is still alive."

The Superintendent-General raised himself slightly from his chair, "Oh! Where on earth is it..."

Manako acted as though he hadn't heard the question. "The Emperor has likely been confined somewhere by now, but the moment he reveals the diamond's location will mark his final hour—and that moment may come sooner than we think." "It's like a candle flickering in the wind." "However... Forgive my boldness, but as long as I'm here, I won't let them kill him so easily." "They may have their schemes, but I'm not sitting idle." "I will take them down." "No matter what happens, I'll return the Emperor safely to the hotel and present him to you by tomorrow at 4:00 AM. That's how determined I am." "Superintendent-General, this might sound absurd to you, but I already have the culprit by the collar." "You know how relentless I can be." "Once I get my hands on them, I won't let go even if my head gets ripped off."

With that, he twitched the corners of his lips into a frown so slight it was almost imperceptible. This was Manako’s smile. If you would allow it to be called a wry smile, you may consider it his signature smile. That being a matter of interpretation, Manako—having made such a facial movement—inserted his right hand into his coat pocket. "I must apologize for reversing the sequence of events, but I had not yet reported what I discovered in Tsuruko's wardrobe drawer...... In truth, it was something so trivial it hardly bears mentioning."

With that, he took out the rosewood cigarette holder with its lion’s head—this small item favored by the Superintendent-General and known to everyone in the department—and placed it on the table. After offering a formal bow, he quietly opened the door and left.

23. A Transaction of Vengeance

And: The Courtesan's Artifice

The shadow of New Year pine decorations cast upon sacred lanterns. A dizzying flurry of sitting-room kimonos coming and going. Hakochou’s Patchi, wiping sweat repeatedly, dashed about recklessly in boar-year fashion through Konparu-chō as evening deepened. On the corner of the second block stood "Nakasu," its architecture meticulously refined in the Omotesenke tea ceremony style. In the inner chamber where a kaiseki banquet lay prepared, Shima Tokubei—that proxy of renowned capability—occupied the seat of honor, flanked by his subordinate Matsuzawa Ippei of the Tokyo Precious Stones Club and Sunset Newspaper president Kouda Setsuzou. Across from them, affecting a coquettish slouch in his tuxedo, his elongated features lightly dusted with Ochre No. 28 greasepaint and flushed faintly pink as he sipped liquor with performative delicacy, sat the man introduced during Act Three’s scene at the "Paris" bar—Indou Chuusuke, adopted son of Inui Nihei among Ariake-so’s six residents.

As to why these four individuals had gathered in such a place on New Year’s Day—as previously stated—it concerned the great diamond known as “The Emperor” that His Majesty possessed. Another resident of Ariake-so, Yamaki Motoyoshi—son of the renowned Coral King—had been entrusted by the Emperor with its sale. Through Indou’s mediation, he had brokered its transfer to Inui, securing a commission that would effortlessly leap to five hundred thousand yen without lifting a finger. Now he rushed about frantically, seeking to plug debts that refused arithmetic resolution. In this world of survival of the fittest, they could not possibly hear of this and let it slide. That greenhorn’s overreaching work—they would seize it for themselves. By bringing Indou to their side to sever Yamaki’s lifelines in advance, buying up all his promissory notes to enforce collection, then abruptly taking over by force—such was their scheme. However, unless they ascertained where Yamaki had hidden the actual item, this play could not proceed.

There, in an ordinary house below the cliff of Ariake-so Apartments, lived a beautiful seamstress named Hana. Since she had been on intimate terms with Tsuruko and got along with her like sisters, she likely knew about those circumstances. If she knew anything, they would make her spill it by any means necessary. That Hana would soon be brought there by Kouda’s partner, park superintendent Sakuzuki Morimamoru.

Matsuzawa pressed his knees against Indou’s, wrinkled his admirably bald forehead with feigned solemnity, and pursed his lips into a salt-rimmed pucker while—

“That’s heartless.” “That’s unacceptable.” “From what I hear, you and Yamaki have been inseparable since Paris... And yet you’d pull something so petty? So cold?” “Making your foster father play go-between for this and that, working you ragged—only to ditch you when things get serious and hog all the commission? That’s downright shameless.” “No way that flies—no way at all.”

Matsuzawa shook his head repeatedly as he pressed his argument. Indou Chuusuke bit his thin, lipstick-painted lips in vexation, "You'd call me cute and nuzzle my cheek like that, but it was all lies... Oh, I never imagined he could be such a man." "After I poured my heart into this work, to be cast aside so shamefully—it's utterly infuriating..."

[He] brought a handkerchief to his eyes. Even Matsuzawa seemed somewhat overwhelmed, knocking his forehead with an awkward chuckle, "This is a bit... awkward to bring up." "I hadn’t imagined it had gone that far." "Well, let's have a drink." [He] sheepishly thrust out a cup to hide his embarrassment. Kouda came to the rescue, "Now then, what exactly was the scheme?" “Let me hear the details.” “Depending on the circumstances, I might just lend a hand.” “After all, with Mr. Shima here as well, and—if I may be so bold—with me, Kouda Setsuzou, taking your place to make Yamaki taste retaliation and realize his faithlessness, such a thing is no trouble at all.” “……What exactly were the actual circumstances?”

Indou crudely licked his lips. "It all began around May two years ago when an unsigned telegram arrived addressed to 'Nara Hotel,' urgently summoning Yamaki. He found it creepy but went anyway—only to find His Majesty sprawled out with some strange woman." "This was Tsuruko," he continued, "but since Yamaki didn't know their history, he panicked and asked, 'Your Majesty, why this sudden summons?' The King just grinned slyly: 'I'm no majesty—I'm a mining engineer from Annam.'" "You wouldn't know this," Indou leaned forward, "but he'd already visited Japan twice as an engineer. When pressed about his purpose, the King led Yamaki to the hotel's rear garden—said there was something crucial to discuss." "'Certain circumstances require immediate funds,' he explained. 'I've brought a diamond passed down through my royal line. Can you dispose of it discreetly?'" "We tried Amsterdam and Antwerp first," Indou flicked ash from his cigarette, "but Europe's crawling with economic spies—too risky. Japan's our only option now.'" "He promised five percent commission plus bonuses if successful. Even offered to summon Winegel from Amsterdam—some master cutter—if the stone proved too large." "Yamaki was drowning in debt from his eccentric hobbies—literally contemplating suicide. This was manna from heaven." Indou's lipstick smeared as he sneered. "He raced to Yamanishi at Osaka's Precious Stones Club, whispering promises." "The operation was precarious—if word leaked about the diamond's origin, the King faced deposition. Yamaki gathered Kanou Trading, Ishida, and Tsuge at Suigetsu in Kita Shinchi for a secret viewing..." Indou paused dramatically. "...But when they saw its size? Even those veterans gasped like fish." "They wanted it quartered—500,000 yen per head." His lacquered nails tapped the table. "A pittance! That stone could fetch fifty million discounted! The King walked away disgusted." "But Yamaki?" Indou's handkerchief fluttered. "Desperate men cling to rotten dreams. Last December he wrote the King—claimed Tokyo prospects looked bright." "When His Majesty arrived diamond in hand?" A bitter laugh escaped him. "Yamaki stood there gaping like a fool! 'Just starting negotiations,' he stammers. The King exploded: 'Useless! I'll handle this myself!'"

“Yamaki panicked completely and came begging me to fix things.” “In the end, they decided to consult my foster father. On the 27th of December, they had the King accompany them to show him the genuine article. When my foster father saw it, he got excited and agreed to put up ten million yen.” “Since even the King realized my old man wasn’t scheming anything, they decided to strike a deal on those terms.” “However…”

Matsuzawa gulped. “But?”

Indou grinned slyly and—

“That fell through.”

Shima Tokubei leaned forward,

“H-how did things come to this? Was there some interference?” “The King’s faction had a change of heart.” “Well now.”

“The following morning, a coded telegram arrived from Annam revealing that the King had secretly taken out the diamond. Lee Komei—the opposition faction’s nephew scheming to overthrow His Majesty and claim the emperorship himself—had stirred up chaos by supposedly informing the French Governor-General about His Majesty’s independence fund scheme… So when this urgent message came from the chamberlain begging him to abandon the diamond sale under these circumstances, even His Majesty got rattled and announced he’d call off the deal.”

The three villains involuntarily exchanged glances at Indou’s unexpected words, but Kouda turned back toward Indou. “So, the diamond is no longer in Yamaki’s possession?” Indou stared back fixedly at Kouda’s face with a belittling gaze. “No. But that’s not how it is.” Matsuzawa began to flounder. “So, what happened? Does Yamaki still have it?” “Who knows?”

“You can’t just throw in the towel at the crucial moment.” “Then, do you know who has the diamond?”

Indou nodded,

“Yes, I do know.” “Huh, who on earth has it?”

Indou wriggled sinuously, striking a provocatively coquettish pose, "No way, I won't tell you for free." With that, he turned toward Shima,

“Rather than haggling with these foot soldiers, I’d rather talk directly to you—well, Shima-san? How much will you pay altogether for the defection bonus, snitching fee, and commission?” Shima Tokubei loosened his sun-baked, taut cheeks. “I wouldn’t be cheap enough to flip you for free.” “The handling fee will be paid in full.” “Three thousand per item across three categories, plus a cosmetic allowance to round it up to ten thousand ryō.” “If checks are acceptable, I’ll draft one right now.”

Indou indolently stretched out his legs, “Fine. Then write it right away.” Shima Tokubei took out a checkbook from his pocket, filled in the amount, placed it on his knee, then grinned slyly at Indou. “Now, drop dead.”

Indou twisted his lips into a sly grin, “Shall I throw in one more?” “……The diamond’s with Yamaki.” “Hey, Indou-san—is that all for ten thousand ryō?” “Don’t get ahead of yourself—there’s more.” “……To answer why Yamaki’s got it…” Indou swept a sharp gaze over the group,

“That’s ’cause Yamaki killed the King.” “...Now fork over ten thousand yen.” “I’ll lay out the whole story.” The group exchanged glances, faces frozen mid-shudder, not a soul daring to speak. At length, Shima Tokubei slid the check across to Indou without a word, and Indou snatched it up quick as a pickpocket,

“Thanks a lot.”

As he said this, he slipped it into his pocket, “...Here’s how it went down. Last night, six of us from Ariake-so had our year-end party at Emiko’s bar, and Baroncelli from the ‘Carmeuse-Chaud Revue’ insisted we spill everything, so all twelve of us—our six and their six—left ‘Paris’ around three in the morning. From there, we headed straight to Suzumoto in Odawara-cho, and once everyone had gathered, we drank some light tea and decided to call it a night. That was around 3:20 a.m....My room was at the far end facing the garden by Bizenbori, with just one Tsukiji wall separating it from the street....About twenty minutes had passed since I’d gone to bed, I suppose. I heard a sound like someone softly creeping across the eaves of the neighboring pawnshop. It wasn’t a cat—definitely human footsteps....Feeling suspicious, I quietly slipped into the bathroom and peered up at the eaves through the gourd-shaped window. There, under the pale moonlight glowing white on the roof, Yamaki was crawling with a terrifying expression, making his way down toward Sakai Bridge. While I was wondering what the hell he was up to, about five minutes later, I heard the sound of Hatcheson’s roadster starting up, and it drove off in the opposite direction toward Bizen Bridge.”

Indou laughed coldly, “Yamaki’s been abandoned by both his father and relatives—without this 300,000 yen here, he’s at a critical juncture where he’ll either resort to document forgery or hang himself.” “When driven into a corner like this, he’d be willing to do anything.” “No wonder—I understand how he feels all too well.” “...But if he was that desperate, why didn’t he say a single word to me about it?” “He’s slathered on greasepaint and acts all careless, but truth be told, even he’s got a bit of backbone.” “If he’d asked, I might’ve helped him carry the burden of killing the King. ……That’s what pisses me off.” “It pissed me off how damn standoffish he was being.” "Damn it," I thought, and became determined to grab him by the tail and give him a piece of my mind no matter what. “Surely this wasn’t a mistake,” I thought. Intending to confirm it, I stepped out into the hallway to go to Yamaki’s room when Janet of the “Golden Powder Dancers”—who should have been sleeping with Yamaki upstairs—slunk out of the neighboring room wearing nothing but a chemise. “Hey, Janet—what’re you doing in such a strange place?” I called out. In a whisper, she explained: “Mr. Yamaki and Mr. Fumie made a thoughtful arrangement—they let me and Ronald sleep together.” "I’d smelled a rat all along, and sure enough, that’s how it was." Those bastards had been screwing around behind Iwai’s back for ages. Far from showing tact, it turned into one hell of a mess. They’ve got some nerve, putting Iwai’s husband to sleep in the next room like that. ……When you think about it, Fumie’s birds of a feather with them. After thoroughly enjoying themselves together, the two of them had neatly arranged their scheme. ……So then I called out, “Hey, Janet—Yamaki and Fumie told you to come back quietly in the morning once it's light out, didn't they?” She replied, “Yeah, that's right. Before daybreak, I'm supposed to return to Mr. Yamaki's place and Ronald to Ms. Fumie's, then play dumb like we know nothing.” ……After making Janet keep quiet about this, I sat down in my room and waited. “……Around five o’clock, there was a faint sound of a roadster stopping beside Suzumoto.” Thinking they had returned, I went into the bathroom again and waited, but they didn't come up for a long time. On the roof, there was only the moon.

“……About fifteen minutes must have passed when he finally showed up on the roof.” “……Then, after about twenty minutes, a night storm blew in, and the six of us—strung together like prayer beads—were hauled off to Akashi Police Station, only to be thrown out around eight-thirty.” In front of the police station, we parted ways with Iwai and Hatcheson; then the four of us—me, Fumie, Yamaki, and Emiko—went to Tentoku at the fish market for breakfast. “I sat right across from Yamaki and kept staring at him—he really did have a vicious look about him.” “…He’d made a huge scratch behind his ear, and the glass was gone from his platinum wristwatch.” “There was this reddish-black stain on his cuff edge—when I casually leaned in to look, it turned out to be blood.” “Where the hell had he been clawing? The tips of his right hand’s index, middle, and ring fingers were completely worn down, with white plaster-like stuff crammed between the nails.” “……Well, that’s about it.” “You’ll have to figure out the rest yourselves.”

Outside the sliding door came a crystalline voice calling *“Good evening,”* as a geisha of twenty-three or twenty-four appeared—her shimada hairstyle glistening like water about to drip, sleekly combed with every tine aligned, her figure slightly slender, eyebrows thick, eyes wide and bright, so nobly beautiful she seemed regal—and kneeled lightly at the threshold,

“Happy New Year. I suppose that’s your way of asking for continued patronage this year as well.”

Gracefully entering the tatami room and closing the door behind her, “The villains have gathered to scheme again… My, what an impressive roster you’ve assembled here.” “Well now—even Commander Komei graces us with his presence.” “How fares this illustrious gathering?”

Wearing a crested formal kimono with crane-feather motifs and two layers, trailing a hem patterned with scattered pine needles, she went to Shima Tokubei’s side. "You're scheming something bad again." "Starting your mischief right on New Year’s Day?" "Do show some restraint."

With a sharp slap, she struck Shima Tokubei’s head.

Shima Tokubei made a face like a goldfish nibbling at food and laughed—Ah-ha, ah-ha-ha— “Izumi, I simply can’t handle you. “Well, here’s the goods.”

With that, he tossed out a bundle wrapped in a fukusa cloth. Izumi picked it up with a carefree demeanor and dropped it into the drum-shaped fold of her obi, "I'll keep this as a charm—a demon-warding one."

At that moment, Sakuzuki entered, bringing Hana with him. Leading her in as if escorting a criminal, he thrust Hana into the exact center of the tatami room. With a forbidding expression, he slumped sullenly before Shima Tokubei, kept one hand buried in his coat pocket, and gave a curt bow. "May we again enjoy your patronage this year." Shima Tokubei accepted this with a lordly "Ah," "You've gone to considerable trouble." With that, he jutted his chin toward Hana. "This is the article in question?"

"That is correct." "Please, by all means." "...Though I must say, I'm not good with young women, so I'll leave the rest to you." He stood up, wedged between Kouda and Matsuzawa, took the cup, and wordlessly thrust it toward Kouda with brusque indifference. Hana kept her face lowered—a picture-perfect beauty—shrinking her shoulders as if to disappear while nervously picking at the downy nap of her tsumugi silk kimono. Her form resembled crabapple blossoms weighed down by rain.

Izumi twisted her body to gaze enraptured at Hana's profile, then suddenly stood up with an "Ah," smoothly came to Hana's side, and sat down as if pressing her knees together,

“I couldn’t help but stare,” she said, tilting her head to peer up at the face. “How rude of me—I’m sorry. ...But you’re simply too beautiful. Oh, whatever shall I do?”

and she pressed and rubbed her body against hers. Shima Tokubei scowled,

"Izumi, step back for a moment." Izumi looked crestfallen. “Oh, am I being left out? How tedious. And here I was enjoying the view.” Matsuzawa waved his hand as if fanning the air. “You’re being unfaithful, aren’t you?” he spouted some cringeworthy drivel. Izumi placed three fingers on the floor in formal posture. “This humble wife shall take her leave.” She stood up. “If you reprimand this person, I won’t have it.” She exited, trailing her kimono hem with a fluttering rustle. This too was beautiful. A figure from behind as though she had slipped out from within the moon.

Kouda shook his knees—swollen like a country sumo wrestler’s—while “Hana, you don’t need to be so scared. “I’m not saying I’ll snatch you up or anything. …After all, you must’ve heard from Sakuzuki—just answer our questions and that’ll be enough.”

Hana said in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s hum,

“If it’s something I know, I’ll answer…” She bit her lip tightly,

“But… this…”

“I won’t ask about things you don’t know. Let’s cut to the chase—you know who has the King’s diamond right now, don’t you? You’re Tsuruko’s close friend, and Yamaki and Fumie both doted on you something fierce, so you must know about that situation... Who’s got the diamond?”

Hana remained looking down, “What do you mean by ‘the diamond’?” “Hey, playing dumb won’t work. …We’ve already got solid evidence that Yamaki slipped out of Suzumoto via the rooftops this morning, rushed to Ariake-so in Hatcheson’s roadster, snatched the diamond Tsuruko was keeping, then returned to Suzumoto acting all innocent.” “How’s that? Hit the mark, didn’t I? ……If that’s not enough to convince you, want me to spell it out in even more detail?” “Around three o’clock this morning…”

and parroted the information he'd just heard from Indou, "It's undeniable Yamaki did it.... Hey, Yamaki's got the diamond, right?"

Hana raised her face, "If you already know, then there's no need to ask, is there?" Kouda glared, "What are you—you harlot!"

Matsuzawa restrained him from lunging up, “There’s no use being so rash.” “Let me handle this for a bit.” Turning back toward Hana, he spoke in a charmingly coquettish, cat-like voice, “Hana dear, since they won’t let you stay silent anyway, you might as well give a clever answer and get it over with.” “Even if you cover for Fumie and Yamaki, you won’t gain a single penny from it.” “……Come on, be a good girl.” “I’ll give you a reward if you just tell me. ……Hmm?” “Yamaki’s the one holding it, right?”

“I don’t know.” “Come on now, don’t say that.” “I can’t comply.”

Matsuzawa sidled closer,

“If that’s the case, I won’t force you to tell me—but then you must know where Yamaki is. Where is Yamaki now?” “I don’t know.” “Hmm. Seeing how you’re covering for them, you’re in on the conspiracy too.” “……Well, this is just great.” “Fine then! I’ll drag you to the Metropolitan Police Department right now and make you talk whether you like it or not!” As if deceiving a child, he made a show of standing up. Hana said in a firm voice,

“That’s fine—I’ll come along.”

Matsuzawa turned toward Kouda and Indou, pressing his forehead, “This here’s a tough nut to crack.” “Let’s pass this to the next one.” Indou had been slouching carelessly against the wall, surveying the scene with a mocking gaze, but he wordlessly stood up and strode briskly over to Hana, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not that difficult.” “All you need to do is tell me where Yamaki is—just one word.”

Hana looked up at that face resentfully, "Oh, even you... I really don't know anything, so please have mercy." Indou twisted Hana's hand, "Just say it already—it'll be easier." Hana pressed her hair against the tatami, writhing in agony, "Please forgive me." Her knees were forced apart, revealing pale shins through the vibrant hues of her kimono as she let out a pained "Ah!" and furrowed her brows in distress. It was a scene of floral devastation. Indou hummed a tune while forcefully prying [it] up,

“Still nothing?” “I-I don’t know.” “You’re being stubborn.” “Then I’ll make you talk like this.” Thrusting Hana’s back, he knocked her face down onto the floor, then straddled her. “Hana, I’m sorry, but I’m going to strip you naked.”

Without hesitation or ceremony, he began untying her obi. “Huh? What are you doing?” “Hey—underestimate this, and it’ll be one hell of a mistake. Just stripping you naked won’t be enough. …Just wait and see what I’ll do, you wench!” After untying the obi, he grabbed her collar and yanked it off forcefully. Her fine-textured shoulder—plump and white like glossy silk crepe… Alas, her chest now lay exposed.

The sliding door opened, and Izumi entered. Fluttering the hem of her skirt, she approached Indou and snorted derisively, "What a brute you are, Iwafuji!" Stretching out a slender hand, she thrust it lightly into Indou’s chest.

There may be those who know. She had been a star pupil at the Franco-Anglo-Japanese Girls' School, and even after leaving the area, continued visiting a French nun while carrying armfuls of horizontally-written books. Her lover was a professor at a certain university and a certified master of the Fujiyama school. She was someone who had accompanied interpreters and her master to France, where she fully observed their dances there. The fingertips she had honed through dance struck with precision matching a karate master's thrust, sending Indou crumbling as he tumbled from Hana's back. Kicking at the ceiling with his soles while—

“Bastard!” Izumi smiled seductively,

“You spineless coward—don’t act so high and mighty.” Pulling Hana up and quickly tying her obi, she tucked her underarm with a sleeve like a mother bird sheltering her chick, then led her to the sliding door,

“As for the rest… I’ll…” Striking an alluring pose with theatrical flourish, she gave her chest a resounding slap.

24. The Matter of Annam’s National Anthem

And Also: The Matter of Manako’s Declaration

Around the same time—specifically around seven-thirty in the evening—a man sporting a long black beard entered Hibiya Park. Following the yatsude-lined path up to the high ground, he crossed his arms and began gazing at the fountain pool below. Normally, one might catch glimpses of couples nestled together at this hour, but given it was New Year’s Day, evidently no one wandered such a place; though still early in the evening, it lay utterly hushed and still, with only the arc lamps along the pond’s edge shining coldly bright to no purpose. The crane of the fountain spread its bronze wings in stillness, stretched its beak toward the zenith, and sent shimmering sprays of ethereally white water sparkling into the night sky.

The man gazed intently at the fountain's crane with an expression verging on unbearable emotion, then finally spoke in a voice that seemed forced out:

"That crane sang a song—there truly are such mysterious things in the world," he mused. This wasn't some fairy tale realm—a bronze crane couldn't possibly sing on its own. They must've hidden a phonograph inside or rigged up some radio contraption; that had to be the trick. But as for President Kouda and Sakuzuki—I, their own co-conspirator, knew better than anyone they wouldn't make such a blunder that'd leave their tails pinned down without escape. So then—who in hell's name would go through such elaborate trouble?"

The black-bearded man was none other than our familiar Sunset Newspaper reporter Furuichi Kaju. That morning, at the scene of Matsutani Tsuruko’s murder, he had been mistaken for the Emperor and sent to the Imperial Hotel; after much turmoil, as a last-ditch measure to prevent public speculation about the Emperor’s disappearance, he had been stationed there as a stand-in until the real Emperor could be found. But upon later piecing together the circumstances, his suspicion grew strong—that Emperor whom he had naively assumed had fled into exile somewhere to avoid chaos might instead have been abducted. Now that I thought of it, it was suspicious how Murakumo Emiko—one of the residents of Ariake-so—had forcibly taken my hand and dragged me to “Paris” where the Emperor was staying, and equally suspicious how the Emperor had shown such particular interest in me. Moreover, the fact that the crane fountain sang a song—it’s possible there might be some connection to this case. Though still a rookie, Kaju—being at least a fledgling tabloid reporter—suddenly grew emboldened, thinking that probing this angle might reveal the truth behind the Emperor’s disappearance. Taking advantage of Sou Shuuchin, the intelligence director who had come as a secret envoy from Annam and mistakenly believed Kaju to be the real Emperor, he deftly deceived him into affixing an imperial-style beard to his chin. Then, brushing past the plainclothes guards, he dashed out of the Imperial Hotel and headed straight for the “Paris” bar in Ginza’s backstreets—only to find, to his astonishment, a sign reading “Closed Today” plastered on its door. It wasn’t a government office—there was no way a bar of all places would close on lucrative New Year’s Day. Still suspecting there must be some reason, he circled around to check the back entrance just in case, but here too, a sturdy lock had been fastened from the outside, with no sign of anyone present. Since he had arranged to meet Shuuchin at seven o'clock at the main gate of Hibiya Park, he decided to postpone pursuing Emiko and hurried back. The intention behind trying to bring Shuuchin there had been to explain the situation and borrow his wisdom, but for some reason, that very Shuuchin still hadn’t shown up. Since there was no other choice, he resolved to try figuring things out on his own, wandered up to the pond, and while gazing at the fountain’s crane, muttered incoherent thoughts—as already described.

Then, about ten minutes later, when sudden clattering footsteps came racing up the path, Kaju—his wounded shin throbbing—startled and instinctively turned toward the sound, bracing himself, only to see Sou Shuuchin emerge from the shadows beneath a pine tree. Breathless, Sou arrived beside Kaju and snapped to attention, “Your Highness, an unforeseen situation has arisen this very moment. Thus, though it pains me deeply, I have arrived later than intended.”

Kaju’s heart pounded,

“What in the world kind of incident has occurred? Out with it!”

Shuuchin jerked upright, confusion washing over his face. "It is far too grave a matter—in the end, I find myself unable to divulge it before Your Highness."

“Never mind that—out with it.” “However…” “Spit it out. If you don’t talk quickly, you’ll regret it.”

Shuuchin suddenly and resolutely lifted his face, “Ah, no matter what, we have no choice but to obey Your Highness’s command.” “In that case… I shall humbly comply with your words and report accordingly. However, I most earnestly entreat beforehand that Your Highness might refrain from becoming enraged.” “Enough.” “In truth, we—as Your Highness commanded—detained the detectives in the back of the hotel lobby while Your Highness exited through the main entrance, engaging them in casual conversation under the pretense of nonchalance.” “……As it soon became apparent that Your Highness had safely emerged, we ceased our conversation and were preparing to return to our rooms when I caught a snippet of two bellboys chatting at the end of the corridor.”

“Hmm. What were they saying?” “What’s with that bearded fellow just now? That’s not the King,” one said, to which the other replied, “I think so too. The King has a much more refined face and is taller than that.” “In any case, that kind of…” “What kind of ‘that’?” Shuuchin clasped his hands, “I beg your forgiveness, Your Highness.” “Never mind. No.” Shuuchin spoke in a voice trembling on the edge of tears, “They are not such lowly imposters. …Truly, I found it utterly intolerable, so I summoned those two and sternly rebuked them—yet both men show no sign whatsoever of retracting their claims.” “Thereupon, we confronted those two men, declaring such foolishness was impossible. ‘As the Intelligence Director attached to the King,’ I declared with great force, ‘there could be no mistake once I had spoken thus—what nonsense are you spouting?’ The two men retorted that if the current King were genuine, then the one present until last evening must have been an imposter.” “They even displayed a sulkily defiant attitude, insisting that their eyes could never be mistaken. …Given that matters have reached such a state, we could hardly leave them unattended. After exhaustively pursuing every investigative avenue—ah, there we uncovered a most grave revelation.”

Kaju edged back, “Hmm. Proceed.” “In other words, Your Highness, it has been ascertained that during your stay at Ariake-so Apartments, an individual intruded upon your chambers and usurped your august name.” “What audacity! What boldness!” “…Not only that, but for what purpose would they commit such an audacious act? We find ourselves at a loss to comprehend their true intentions.” “We promptly reported this matter to the Metropolitan Police Department, but they dismissed it with a curt remark that ‘such trivialities might occur,’ leaving us momentarily speechless with mouths agape.”

Shuuchin looked up at the tall buildings around him, bathed in the halo of neon lamps, and let out a long sigh as if lamenting, “Ah! “What a demon-haunted city this has become! “To these unworthy eyes, it feels as though innumerable demons and spirits run rampant and unchecked within this great metropolis’s air—like argon in the atmosphere of grand Tokyo itself. …Your Highness must already be aware—could such a thing even be conceivable? And yet, in reality…”

and pointed at the crane fountain below, "This morning, that bronze crane emitted a voice and sang out resoundingly." “The astonishment we felt when we heard it with our own ears! …Ah, how can I possibly beg to explain that rapturous wonder and awe!” Kaju became agitated, “Ah! So you did hear it?” “Then recount every detail of how this came to pass.” “We arrived at Tokyo Station at eight o’clock this morning.” “Resolved to proceed directly to the hotel, we set out from the station front toward Hibiya Park with map in hand.” “When we reached this main gate shortly thereafter, an immense crowd was streaming into the park.” “We followed them to the pond’s edge, and upon inquiring what transpired, were told this fountain’s crane would soon deliver a New Year’s address to the citizens.” “As we stood there with bitter smiles—most unexpectedly—when the appointed hour struck, that bronze crane recited in a voice of unparalleled clarity, resoundingly.” “Ah! What mystery! What bewilderment!”

Having said this, he cut off his words and stared intently at Kaju’s face. “What kind of song do you suppose it sang?” “...It was none other than—truly beyond all expectation—precisely the national anthem of Annam!”

The cold, spacious Chief Inspector’s office.

Under the vexatiously bright electric light, Manako sat motionless as ever like a solitary shadow. The loudspeaker on the desk kept gratingly announcing moment-by-moment updates about investigation progress across the entire city and prefecture, yet he appeared wholly indifferent—sitting ramrod straight with an expression of utter composure as though privately steeling himself for some resolution. When the wall clock struck eight, an unarmed policeman entered to report that a seamstress called Hana living below Ariake-so's cliff was waiting at reception with urgent information. After Manako nodded, roughly two minutes later Hana burst in with wild eyes and threw herself into the chair before him.

“You—this is terrible! You can’t just sit here dozing in a place like this! There’s someone who stole the King’s diamond!”

Manako wore a sullen expression, “Hmm, that sounds like valuable information. Who in the world took it?” Hana, frantic, pressed closer and placed her hand on Manako’s arm as she recounted every detail of the incident at Nakasu and what Kouda had said. When Manako finished listening, “So you’re saying Yamaki had plaster stuck under his fingernails?” “Yes, that’s right. And apparently the wristwatch glass was broken… Didn’t any glass fragments fall somewhere? …See? I told you so. His head looked like a chestnut burr, but maybe he was wearing something that made it appear that way… And the shiny thing on his arm was indeed a wristwatch, just as I said.”

Manako rested his cheek on his hand atop the office desk and sat in silent meditation with his eyes closed for some time. Then he suddenly stood up, pulled out a thin Western-language book from the shelf, and quietly flipped through its pages on his lap while— “Miss Hana, have you ever read Turgenev’s prose poems?” Hana opened her eyes wide in surprise, “No, I haven’t. Why?” “I see. …There are some remarkably fine ones.” “I’ll read you one.”

With that he placed the book on his palms and began reciting in a melancholic tone that gently enveloped the listener's heart: "Sparrow—suddenly the dog slowed its pace and began moving stealthily as if it had caught the scent of prey ahead. Across the road sat a fledgling sparrow with yellow around its beak. Downy feathers covered its head. The young bird had been knocked from its nest and lay immobilized. The dog crept closer... Then abruptly, from a nearby tree descended a parent sparrow with black breast feathers—"

The clock struck nine.

There are only seven hours left until tomorrow at 4:00 AM. Amidst this great commotion, what could Manako possibly be thinking, reading Turgenev of all things?

Part Eight

Twenty-Five: The Scenery of Ochanomizu

Twenty-Six: The Matter of Monkey Sundries

Looking out, Greater Tokyo spread row upon row of tiled roofs beneath a hazy moonlit sky, their edges dissolving into pale mist. To the right lay the dark stillness of Hibiya Woods; in Surugadai's direction glimmered a whitish plaster building that was likely St. Nicholas Cathedral.

The long horizon beyond Hibiya was enveloped in a kind of dreamlike halo; green, blue, red, yellow—flickering, spinning, bursting forth—every conceivable type of neon lamp blazed so fiercely they seemed to scorch the clouds, forming an aerial burst of five-colored light that appeared to hang suspended in the air.

The national railway trains thundered across the elevated tracks' rooftops while trucks and taxis darted like arrows through Toido's ravine-like streets in chaotic flux. Every sound intermingled and blended into disorderly confusion, reverberating through the heavens to play the metropolis' nocturnal symphony.

Within this vast metropolis spanning eight leagues, countless millions of lives swarmed and seethed, some raising their first cries while others gasped their final breaths. Some completed insidious murders; others ended their earthly existence by scattering their brains across this world. The metropolis itself became a living Asura hellscape, vividly depicting tableaux of infernal wails and torment. What tragedies occurred and what evils lay hidden beneath each of these tiled roofs was nearly impossible to measure. Of the countless crimes that ceaselessly occurred day and night in this metropolis, only a mere fraction ever reached society's notice; hundreds of other schemes and tragedies began and ended without our ever knowing.

Previously, Intelligence Director Sou Shuuchin of the Annam Empire had stood by the pond in Hibiya Park and, while gazing up at the surrounding tall buildings enveloped in five-colored halos, lamented that he could not help feeling as though countless demons and malevolent spirits were running rampant through this diabolical metropolis’s atmosphere like argon gas—a perception that was indeed most reasonable. This morning, the bronze crane in Hibiya Park had cried out, and now near St. Nicholas Cathedral, a new incident was about to unfold.

Having inadvertently indulged in digressions while piggybacking on Sou Shuuchin’s musings, I shall cease these useless authorial sentiments—they bear no relation to the case’s progression. Now then: Emperor Munakata Ryutaro of Annam had secretly brought to Japan the imperial diamond known as “The Emperor,” a treasure passed down through generations of his royal house, intending to sell it. Yet having brought such a jewel to this diabolical metropolis, one might have assumed matters wouldn’t end peacefully—and indeed, at approximately 4:20 AM this early morning, he was lured out through the back entrance of his beloved mistress Matsutani Tsuruko’s residence at Sanno-dai, Akasaka: the Ariake-so Apartments, vanishing without a trace thereafter. It was evident from the crime scene that the Emperor had been drugged and taken away, but the fact that he had been kidnapped rather than killed suggested that the perpetrators aimed to force him to disclose the diamond’s whereabouts—leading Chief Inspector Manako to conclude that the Emperor was likely still alive somewhere.

The murder case of Matsutani Tsuruko involving the Emperor of Annam at the Ariake-so Apartments had twisted and turned through countless developments, ultimately taking an unexpected leap forward. The authorities had passed it off as a suicide case and breathed a sigh of relief, thinking everything was settled—but unexpectedly, this turned out to be merely the opening act, like the prologue before the curtain rises on the main drama. The Emperor, who had been thought to be the perpetrator, was in fact the victim—not only was his diamond being stolen, but his very life was now under threat of being taken as well.

Assassins from the Emperor's opposition faction—having received a secret decree from Ri Komei's group—had already arrived in Yokohama aboard the President Hoover on December 27th, and someone informed the Metropolitan Police Department that they planned to carry out the assassination before 4:00 AM tomorrow, prior to the ambassador's audience. The ambassador had departed Kyoto today at 4:10 PM on an irregular express train and was currently en route back to the capital. By tomorrow at 4:00 AM, no matter what happened, if the Emperor was not returned to the hotel, a grave crisis would erupt. If, within Japan—oh, and in the very heart of Tokyo at that—the Emperor were to be assassinated... the consequences would be unimaginable.

The Metropolitan Police Department entered wartime footing. Every neural pathway of the prosecution system began exhibiting a state of ferocious excitation, as if injected with caffeine. The investigation area spanned five neighboring prefectures, with twelve search branches reporting developments nonstop to the central command. The loudspeaker in the Criminal Affairs Director's office—now serving as investigation headquarters—screamed madly, but not a single trace could be found of the Emperor's whereabouts; nor of Ankame's faction, rumored to have abducted him from Hibiya Park; nor of Tome, Matsutani Tsuruko's live-in maid and the sole credible witness on whom the investigation pinned its greatest hopes; nor of the six residents of Ariake-so Apartments suspected of involvement in Tsuruko's murder—as though they had all plunged into the earth's depths at once.

Time pressed on moment by moment, and finally it struck nine o'clock. The investigation headquarters' heightened state was now reaching its peak.

Now, among the six residents of Ariake-so Apartments whom the Metropolitan Police Department was frantically pursuing, three were currently in such a place: Count Michiyasu Iwao; his mistress Murakumo Emiko—a former film actress now serving as Madam of the Bar Paris; and Kawamata Fumie, a then up-and-coming dancer who had recently arrived from America. The long, gradual slope ascending from Surugadai Post Office toward St. Nicholas Cathedral. In the middle of the town stretching from Koubaicho toward Sobu Line’s Ochanomizu Station stood a mansion with a deep, secluded layout, surrounded by high Tsukiji-style plaster walls and bearing a nameplate marked “Matsunaga.” In the spacious front garden stood a startlingly large old pine tree stretching upward, serving as the landmark for this house.

To all appearances, it seemed like the mansion of some respectable merchant; in truth, however, this was in fact the most thriving gambling den among the twenty-six such establishments within old Tokyo city limits—referred to in their parlance as "Ochamatsu." Iribune Nennosuke—a relative of Nogeyama Seikichi of the Tsurumi-gumi and one of the leading figures of the Kanto Civil Engineering Club—was managing this gambling den. Until recently—though not that long ago—up until around August of last year, Yasui Kamejirou, who had his territory in Bushu Koganei, managed this gambling den. However, it seems he made some sort of mistake and was forced to return his cup to the Nogeyama oyabun, thereby cutting ties with the Tsurumi-gumi.

When Yasui managed the gambling den, this establishment hadn't been very successful. A reputation spread that they were using loaded dice and marked dice, and it abruptly became deserted. This fraudulent die—alternately called "dobu," "roppou," or "usu"—was made by mixing gold dust into its core; when placed in the dice cup, it would settle without rolling. When flipped face down in the cup, it would show the reverse side that had been visible upon insertion. The "ryōtsū" type—a slightly more sophisticated version—was constructed such that gold dust weighting affected both sides. When directed downward and flipped, it would land on the half numbers 5-3-1; when shaken upward and flipped, it showed the even numbers 2-4-6.

I had inadvertently described these rather unsavory matters, but this was merely hearsay and by no means based on the author’s own experimentation. I trust you will fully understand this point; it could be inferred that Ankame had been made to return his cup likely due to these circumstances. The reason three residents of Ariake-so Apartments—Iwao Yasumichi and Kawamata Fumie—were present at this gambling den was their role as organizers of a welcome gambling tournament held in honor of Lou Gehrig, who had recently arrived in Japan hailed as the world-famous slugger.

After being released from Akashi Police Station, Iwao appeared to have met five others at Bar Paris in Ginza’s backstreets and come straight here; now sitting cross-legged beside the large hearth with its suspended hook, still wearing the same tuxedo from last night’s Ariake-so residents’ year-end party at Bar Paris, he showed clear signs of fatigue—hands on knees, utterly slumped. The area around his forehead was slightly pale, rendering his appearance—more poetic than aristocratic—all the more melancholic. His eyes and nose were too perfectly defined, almost sharply so, yet years of dissolute living had cast over them an indescribable shadow of stagnation and fatigue, revealing in their own way a decadent beauty. The moist crimson lips resembled some poisonous flower, appearing almost sinister; a discerning physician would have detected upon them the unmistakable precursor symptoms of syphilis. His jet-black hair was combed back in an impeccably neat all-back style—so precise the comb’s tracks were visible—as he slightly tilted his head downward, smoldering a fragrant Western cigarette.

In a thirty-tatami-mat room stood two imposing rustic hearths as previously described, their adjustable hooks bearing a massive red copper kettle that boiled furiously. About a hundred teacups had been laid out alongside five curved chimneys, above which a heated iron kettle whistled with the pine wind's murmur. Beyond ten tatami of wooden flooring rose a three-tiered serving shelf where fifty eel rice bowls—each swaddled in small quilts—stood in neat rows, while side dish bowls crowded every available space above and below the shelves.

The gambling den appeared to be thriving now, with fierce shouts erupting between each slam of the dice cups. Amidst them, occasionally, “Odd” or similar shouts “Even” The one roaring these calls was none other than Lou Gehrig. Looking over, Lou Gehrig had sprawled his bull-like massive frame carelessly beside the gambling mat while gesturing with his chin toward a man named Nanataro—a former foreign correspondent for a major newspaper who bore a simian face and served as the caller.

Iribune Nennosuke—the man acting as banker, who had attended a certain high school in Tohoku up to his first year and even drifted to San Francisco for a spell—sat cross-legged on two large stacked zabuton cushions, his face flushed and glistening, “Come on, place your bets! This time we’ll get a good roll!” In between rattling off his usual spiel, “No problem, no problem” “Here it comes—jackpot!” ...he continued nonstop, dispensing charm left and right.

Indeed, Lou Gehrig was not alone—there were about fifteen Westerners... Half of them were still youthful ladies sitting in peculiar cross-legged positions around the gambling mat while letting out shrill cries incessantly. This group consisted of the most refined individuals even among the diplomatic corps, and among them could be seen the face of a certain famous counselor from an embassy in Azabu, renowned as a dandy.

Beside the counselor sat Kawamata Fumie in a carelessly cross-legged posture, her evening dress's hem revealing shapely kneecaps as she restlessly shook her leg. She seemed oblivious to her scandalously revealing state—furrowing her brows, biting her lips—her whole demeanor radiating profound unease. This marked the fourth time she'd had a suspicious secret meeting with Yamaki Motoyoshi at Banseiken in Toranomon, and having come straight here afterward, she still wore the same wrinkled evening dress from that encounter.

She had been mechanically placing and collecting bets with a distracted air when suddenly she gathered the bills before her knees into her handbag, heartlessly kicked away the counselor’s foot that had been slyly tucked beneath her knee, then rose with a listless gesture and made her way over to the hearthside where Iwao sat. She roughly tossed down her handbag and slumped exhaustedly beside Iwao. Leaning petulantly against his knee, “Let’s go home and sleep.”

and ground her elbow into Iwao's knee. Iwao lifted his face in a daze and gave an ambiguous reply. Fumie snapped, “Hey, I said let’s go home already!” “I’m so sleepy I could melt.” she said. Yet she showed no signs of actual sleepiness. On the contrary, from the depths of her bloodshot eyes, something like flames flickered and danced, burning upward. As you readers are already aware, Iwao Yasumichi kept Murakumo Emiko as his mistress—having her run the bar “Paris”—while also maintaining Kawamata Fumie as his lover. This seemed an unlikely oversight for someone as sharp as Emiko, but as of now, she appeared not to have noticed their relationship.

Now, regarding this Fumie—while evading Iwao's notice—she had become involved in a rather complicated relationship with Yamaki Motoyoshi, another of the six residents of Ariake-so Apartments and son of the renowned Coral King. This had been made clear in the previous "Nakasu" chapter through the account of Indou Chuusuke, adopted son of the moneylender Inui Nihei. The situation resembled an endless game of cat-and-mouse in its convoluted complexity, leaving even the author somewhat dumbfounded. At this rate, there was no telling what Murakumo Emiko herself might be up to either. Rumors persisted that someone had spotted John Hatcheson—correspondent for the "Hovas" news agency and one of the residents—emerging hand-in-hand with Louis Baroncelli, leader of the infamous "Kaamas Show" troupe and a Japanese-French mixed-race man, from a Tsukiji teahouse in suspiciously intimate fashion. Whether this constituted rumor or fact remained unclear for the time being.

Iwao nonchalantly pushed aside Fumie's elbow and, “When you say ‘go home,’ where exactly do you mean?” “If you insist on going home, it’s back to Ariake-so.” “Don’t joke around. If we try slinking back now, we’ll catch hell.” “If we get caught this time, it won’t be some morals charge—we’ll be buried till this case gets solved.”

Fumie’s eyes widened. "Oh? Is that so?" "But it has to be Hanako who did it." "That idiot—she must’ve been caught ages ago." She spoke with feigned innocence. Yet her manner suggested deeper knowledge. True to form，Iwao seized on this．His dewy eyes narrowed as he studied her face． "Hanako... How would you know that?" "Do you have proof Hana did it?"

Fumie pursed her lips oddly, “You could say there is, or you could say there isn’t... but I know a truth more certain than any evidence.” “Oh ho.”

He feigned nonchalance but maintained an unguarded vigilance all the same. Through eyes narrowed to slits that seemed both observing and unseeing, he stole furtive glances at Fumie's face. His visage bore a venomous cast. "When I heard Tsuruko had been done in this morning, I knew right off it was Hana's handiwork... Though the why of it makes for a right chilling tale." Fumie rolled her eyes upward sharply,

“Around early December last year, when I went to hurry along the tailoring of my visiting attire, Hana was nowhere to be found.” “Thinking she’d return soon, I went up into her room and waited, but no matter how much time passed, she didn’t come back.” “…Growing irritated, when I tried to stand up, something like the edge of a piece of paper was sticking out from the seam of the tatami at my feet.” “…It wasn’t ordinary paper.” “Long ago in America, my father had diligently kept his diary on this old-fashioned Mikawa hanshi paper I recognized. Wondering how such paper still existed nowadays, I felt strangely nostalgic and touched it with my finger—only for it to slip further beneath the tatami.” “Even if it’s antique paper, it didn’t look like it had been like that for even a year or two.” “I realized it must have been placed there just recently…” “Even so, the paper couldn’t have slipped under the tatami mat by itself—so if someone put it there, they’d absolutely have had to lift the tatami. That’s just logical.” “Seeing that delicate Hanako would lift the tatami mats with her own hands makes one think this must’ve been an extremely important scrap of paper to her… Running my fingers along the edges and looking closely, sure enough, straw from under the tatami was sticking out here and there, and what’s more, fragments remained scattered atop the black borders. There could be no mistake—she must’ve lifted the mats last night or this morning before leaving.” “It seemed she’d used fire tongs to pry it up—the triangular corner of the black border had become severely weakened in that spot alone.” “This wasn’t just once or twice—you could clearly tell she’d been lifting and laying those tatami mats frequently.” “…Wondering what this scrap could possibly be, I pried up the tatami with the tongs and pulled out the paper… Even someone like me felt a chill as if doused with cold water—it was so horrifying I let out an involuntary cry.”

With a frightened look in her eyes, “...What do you think was written there?” “What exactly was written there?” Fumie’s voice trembled visibly,

“It was… the Five Monks’ curse diagram. You know it—the one Yoshiwara courtesans use to curse people to death… They draw a doll of whoever they want to kill in the center, then paint two ghouls flanking it—an ox-headed demon on the right and horse-headed demon on the left—each yanking at its arms.” “At the Hour of the Ox, you sit in the northeast corner of the tatami room. Every day, you burn one spot with incense—eyes, mouth, nose, limbs, belly—one hole each day.” “…On the twenty-first day, the vow would be complete.”

Iwao also wore a chill-stricken expression, visibly shuddering, “Nasty business... So...” Fumie nodded, “Ah, that’s right… On the doll’s chest, it said ‘Matsutani Tsuruko, twenty-three-year-old woman of the Rabbit sign.’” Iwao held his breath, “A face so beautiful she wouldn’t hurt a fly… That’s something else… But hearing it now, there’s something pitiful about it too.” “She must’ve been utterly obsessed with the King... Still, what an old-fashioned method to employ.” “Where the hell did she learn that kind of thing?” “Don’t tell me you’re the one who taught her that shit.”

“Idiot… Hanako’s mother was a procuress in Yoshiwara. Since she was raised there till twelve or thirteen, she must’ve picked it up from some top courtesan.” “That’s just the sort of thing she’d do. Even on regular days, blue veins bulge at her temples with this mad glint in her eyes.” “…I’d never seen such terrifyingly beautiful eyes since the day I was born.” “When she stares straight at you, it makes every hair stand on end.” “The old couple downstairs say she often has fits and causes scenes—maybe madness runs in her blood… Once she gets desperate, there’s no telling what that girl might do.”

Iwao frowned so slightly it was almost imperceptible,

“I see, that makes sense—but are you saying Hanako killed Tsuruko?” Fumie stretched her legs out. “Well, that day she’d slipped the Five Monk Curse drawing under the tatami and dashed out looking innocent enough, but that image stuck with me—too damn gruesome.” “About fifteen mornings later, when Hanako seemed to have left, I fed some half-baked story to that amateur couple downstairs and went up to the second floor. Lifting the tatami mat, I saw the curse’s burn marks had reached the navel—one final burn to the heart would’ve completed the ritual.” “More than fear, it was her relentless obsession that made me shiver—I practically crawled back home that day too.” “When I realized the next night would finally fulfill the vow… even I couldn’t keep still.” “They say the Five Monk Curse never misses its mark—so imagining Tsuruko being cursed to death that very night… I couldn’t stay cooped up in my room.” “Horrifying as it was… part of me wanted to see how she’d die.” “When I finally cracked and went to Tsuruko’s room around eleven… there she was—same as always—sprawled on her chaise lounge in nothing but a slip, cigarette dangling from her fingers.” No sign anything was wrong. “…She insisted on playing karuta cards—six hundred rounds later, it turned two AM.” “…Still felt eerie somehow.” The lamp’s thick wisteria-colored shade left every corner swimming in murky darkness. Maybe my mind played tricks… but that darkness seemed alive with swarming spirits—ghouls and hungry ghosts pointing clawed fingers, cackling and hissing… Cold sweat drenched me whole, every hair standing on end till I nearly fainted… Yet Tsuruko kept chugging absinthe and chattering away like it was nothing. …Half past two chimed… then three… three-thirty… Not a twitch from her. “Instead of dying cursed, she turned into this roaring tiger—acting out some wild story with hand gestures… I stayed over that night… but nothing happened.” “Something must’ve botched the curse… That’s where things went wrong…”

Iwao narrowed his eyes and snapped his face toward Fumie. In a tense voice, he declared: “She might actually kill.” The words fell like an axe blow. “...That girl’s thick with Granny Ouma—knows about flipping the switch in her room to silence the entrance buzzer. What’s more, since she runs errands for the old bat sometimes, she’d have a spare key. Could come and go from Ariake-so whenever she damn pleased.” “The old couple downstairs left for their hometown at year’s end never came back. Nothing below the cliff but that amateur’s shack, surrounded by desolate Sanno Forest.” “Not a soul to witness anything.”

She cut off her words, "Moreover, throwing someone out a window is such a characteristically feminine method—the kind of killing that stems more from hatred than murderous intent." "The approach is indirect." "If it were a man determined to kill, he wouldn't choose such an unreliable method... Even with a thirty-foot drop from window to cliff base, he wouldn't make the crude assumption that a simple push would guarantee death." "What if she only broke her leg and survived—then what?" "He'd never take such a stupid risk." "Not only that—knowing Hanako's second-floor window lay directly below, he wouldn't consider throwing her from a spot where he might be seen at any moment." "That psychological barrier alone should make that window unusable... Yet Tsuruko was thrown from it."

Iwao laughed with a cruel edge,

“Even with just this much, I’m certain Hanako’s the one who threw Tsuruko out.” “The reason being—for Hanako, having a house below the cliff doesn’t work as psychological restraint.” “She knows better than anyone there’s no risk of being seen if you toss someone from that window.” “What’s more, using that window’s perfect for her—downright defensive.… When questioned, instead of playing dumb, she could claim she saw some bastard do the throwing—sketch a phantom culprit to throw the cops off track.” “Either way, she doesn’t need to say anything substantial.” “Just mutter whatever vague nonsense’ll get her off the hook.” “A girl that sharp could manage that much easy.”

Fumie nodded,

“That’s true… No matter how you look at it, Hana’s the easiest one to carry it out.” “She knew we’d be at ‘Paris’ for the year-end party until morning. She knew Tsuruko alone would remain at Ariake-so. She knew we’d presented Ouma with that New Year’s sake barrel… In any case, if you meant to kill Tsuruko, you’d have no chance but to do it from the night of the 31st into the morning.” “On the night of the 2nd, Tsuruko was supposed to go to Atami with the King—in fact, arrangements had been made for her to escort him all the way to Shanghai afterward. But aside from us, only Hanako knew about these plans. The mere fact that she chose this particular day makes the suspicion that Hanako did it all the more compelling.”

With that, she shifted into a shockingly indecent pose where her inner thighs threatened to become visible, recrossed her legs, and rested her chin atop her kneecap. "That’s not all—there’s more. When I left you at ‘Paris’ this morning and was walking through Toranomon, Hanako came toward me with an awfully pale face. When I called out to her suddenly, she jumped as if she’d been electrocuted." "When I casually asked if she knew about this morning’s commotion at Ariake-so, that efficient girl turned completely mute—couldn’t utter a coherent word. When I grabbed her hand, she was trembling so violently with cold sweat that it soaked my palm." "When I thought, ‘This little brat—’, pity turned to hatred. ‘Hanako,’ I said, ‘Tsuruko-san has died. Happy New Year.’ She gaped like an idiot—as if struck by lightning—staring at my face with eyes rolling back, nearly convulsing. That told me everything... I tried again: ‘Hanako, Happy New Year.’ She revived instantly—‘Oh, forgive my delayed greeting! Happy New Year! Please continue your patronage this year!’—but that smile... Lonely, resentful, like a deathbed grin—utterly fragile." "I watched intently and couldn’t help but be struck…thinking, ‘So this is how someone who’s killed a person laughs.’" "I still can’t get that smile out of my mind." "When she killed her, she must have been in a frenzy, but once she’d done it, fear finally caught up with her. Couldn’t stand being in her own room after that—probably why she ended up wandering around that area." "Young girls are scary—when they get desperate, you never know what they’ll pull."

Iwao laughed.

“She’s got the instincts—born with ’em,” Iwao declared, his voice rough with criminal certainty. “You’ll find that breed among overprotected merchant’s daughters or girls raised in brothel backrooms. Had a pal once—one of those types latched onto him like a barnacle. When he shook her off, she bargained for one last night together. Come dawn? Slit his carotid clean through with a straight razor.” He ground his cigarette into the tabletop, ash scattering like confetti. “Little viper… Wonder if they’ve nabbed her yet.”

Fumie curled her thin lips, “If she isn’t caught, I’ll turn informant.” Iwao couldn’t help but widen his eyes in surprise,

“Huh, you got some kinda grudge against her?”

Fumie whistled nonchalantly, "I don’t have any grudge. She’s just too damn impudent." As they were speaking, Murakumo Emiko entered, guided by a messenger. Her silver-threaded silk crepe double-layered kimono’s hem tangled carelessly around her ankles, fist thrust into her sleeve as she struck a defiant pose. Thoroughly drunk, her taut eyelids faintly reddened, she stood unsteadily before the storehouse-style heavy sliding door staring intently at the pair. Suddenly stiffening, she bit her lip and glided smoothly toward them with hands still tucked in sleeves, stopping abruptly to speak in a voice both fierce and alluring:

“Well, isn’t this a feast. “That’s not it at all. I don’t know if this is the American way or what, but show some discernment, will you?” “If you think staying quiet makes you all high and mighty, then cut it out already, you bitch!” She stamped her feet in frustration.

Fumie, on the other hand, remained completely unperturbed, smirking all the while.

“What’s this—drunk already?” “Spare me your reek of burnt sake lees.” “Don’t come closer! That stench will cling!” Emiko’s eyes narrowed sharply, “You bastard—shooting your mouth off!” As Emiko lunged to grab her, Fumie—true to her dance instructor reflexes—slipped beneath the grasping arm and glided to the hearth’s far side with dancer’s steps, then impishly stuck out her crimson tongue. “Quit it, Emi—I’ve seen enough of these shoddy theatrics overseas.” “Don’t waste your fury—it’s absolutely absurd.”

As she tried to chase after [Fumie] with her hem in disarray, Iwao roughly pulled her back,

“Cut it out—this is pathetic!” “Where the hell did you get yourself plastered?” “Tch. What a disgusting face.”

Emiko slumped down heavily, “How kind of you to mention this disgusting face.” “Do you want to know where I’ve been drinking?” “I’ve been drinking with a real charmer named Baroncelli over at Kuretake until now.” “How about it? Want me to spill more sordid tales?” With a fearsome expression, she crawled menacingly toward Iwao. Even Iwao found himself at a loss for how to handle her,

“This one’s a handful—if I don’t keep her fed, she’ll start rampaging in no time.” “Get over here!” Grabbing her hand and yanking her close, Emiko seized his collar with samurai-like ferocity, slammed Iwao onto his back, straddled his chest, and began raking her nails indiscriminately across his face and cheeks—

“How’s that? Gonna apologize?” Iwao shielded his face with both hands, “I did! I said I was sorry!” “Say ‘I’m sorry’ properly!”

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Emiko pressed the sole of her tabi sock against Iwao’s face, “If you’ve apologized, then I’ll forgive you. Pull any stupid stunts next time, and I won’t let it slide.”

With that, her face suddenly cleared, “Let’s go check the gambling den—it’s really lively tonight.” Trailing her long hem, she headed in that direction. A chorus of shouts erupted. The gambling den seemed to grow increasingly frenzied. Iwao exchanged a sly grin with Fumie, but upon catching some sound, suddenly narrowed his eyes and raised one knee. The large buzzer mounted on the gambling den’s lintel began groaning ominously. The lights flickered violently, blinking on and off.

Taking Fumie's hand as she nimbly leapt over the corner of the hearth, Iwao dashed toward the wall opposite the serving shelf and, even before fully opening the dirt-coated blind door disguised as part of the wall, began thudding down the stairs into the dark maw of the basement.

The bottom of the stairs opened into a dark passageway just high enough for someone to stand and walk, with dim three-candlepower lights spaced far apart along its length. This dark passageway turned at a right angle about twenty ken ahead and led out to the flank of Ochanomizu’s embankment. When the two ran to that bend in the passage, they found an old woman of about fifty years—her hair done up in a small round chignon—leaning against the wall as if asleep. The Metropolitan Police Department was now mobilizing all its functions in a fervent investigation—yet here lay Tome, the late Matsutani Tsuruko’s talkative housekeeper, sprawled out in this place with utter indolence.

No—she wasn't sleeping. She had been murdered. Strangled by an old rope around her neck, she hung like a dried monkey specimen from the blacksmith's ceiling, teeth bared, glaring resentfully up at the ceiling.

26. The Lyrical Interlude of Manako

27. And: The Matter of the Two Superintendents

In the Investigation Division Chief’s office—slightly too spacious for comfort—the electric lights burned wastefully bright, their glare flickering off the white walls to create a chillingly desolate scene. The Metropolitan Police Department remained turned upside down with commotion, but here alone lay a profound stillness—a peculiar tranquility that had settled over the place. Manako’s melancholic voice—one that seemed to caress the hearts of those who heard it—continued faintly. It had a peculiar cadence that seemed to lull people into sleep.

One could only describe it as utterly bizarre behavior. Here was Manako—the very man who should have been consumed by his duties as Investigation Division Chief—calmly reciting Turgenev’s prose poems amid the chaos swirling around him, as if it were no concern of his at all. That he’d finally snapped from overwork wasn’t just this author’s suspicion—anyone might think it. By any measure, his actions defied all reason. Across from him sat Hana—the beautiful seamstress from below Ariake-so’s cliff—listening with feigned reverence. She showed no trace of interest. No—if anything, she seemed vexed, plucking at the frayed threads of her *tamamayu* silk kimono while fidgeting incessantly.

Previously, after Manako had delivered an excruciatingly convoluted account in the superintendent’s office and returned to this chief’s office to sit austerely alone at his desk as if awaiting something, Hanako—who had been hounded by Shimatoku, Matsuzawa, Kouda, Indou, and others at the "Nakasu" establishment in Konpura-chō to disclose Yamaki Motoyoshi’s whereabouts, nearly stripped naked and subjected to torture before being rescued by a geisha named Izumi—rushed straight to Manako’s side.

Around 3 AM on the morning of Matsutani Tsuruko’s murder, Yamaki Motoyoshi had slipped out via the rooftops from "Suzumoto," driven off somewhere in the roadster Hatcheson arrived in, and returned around 5 AM—all observed by Indou Chuusuke through the gourd-shaped window of the washroom; that the nails on Yamaki’s right index, middle, and ring fingers were worn down and packed with a white substance resembling wall plaster; that his wristwatch glass was shattered; along with other details Indou had recounted at "Nakasu"—when Hanako finished relaying this, Manako propped his cheek on his desk and sat silently with closed eyes for some time. Then abruptly retrieving *Turgenev’s Prose Poems* from the bookshelf, he began reading "The Sparrow"—marking where the previous installment had ended.

As mentioned earlier, Manako had abruptly begun reciting after Hana finished speaking—but during the brief interval when he had gone to search for a book in the shelves, he had been up to something peculiar. Craning his neck into the bookshelf while hunting for a volume, he muttered fragmented words under his breath. Though the rest was too muffled to catch, only the term "Aufklärung" could be faintly discerned. "Aufklärung" means "investigation" in German. Beside the bookshelf, the intercom's mouthpiece lay open, and since this presumably connected to the switchboard, one might surmise Manako had coolly issued some command through it.

One might surmise that Manako had ordered a house search of Hana’s residence, but of course this was merely the author’s conjecture—the truth remained uncertain. After this indescribably ambiguous matter, Manako returned with a thin book in Western script and began reciting. Dear readers, you are surely familiar with “The Sparrow”—the story where when a hunting dog creeps up to a fledgling blown from its nest by the wind, the parent sparrow swoops down to shield its chick with its own body.

Manako’s actions were utterly incomprehensible. What could this man’s icy intellect—as if he’d been born solely for prosecution—possibly be contemplating now? ……The grotesque contrast between this emaciated, ghostly figure with ashen pallor and the blooming young woman brimming with health seated across from him would have been jarring enough on its own. Yet within this imposing room’s solemn atmosphere, the prose poem felt profoundly incongruous.

Amidst this major commotion, why Manako had begun reading Turgenev and the like was beyond the deductive powers of this mediocre author—but then, upon glancing over, Manako was once again doing something strange.

At the edge of the desk buried under towering stacks of documents lay something resembling a small angled mirror; while feigning to read his book, Manako’s sharp gaze remained intently fixed upon its surface. In the mirror, Hanako’s beautiful profile was clearly reflected. Manako appeared to have been closely observing Hanako’s expression reflected in the mirror without taking his eyes off it since earlier. Manako proceeded with extreme slowness. It was a voice so pure and clear—utterly unclouded—that one marveled how this specter of a man, who seemed to have wandered out from a graveyard, could produce such rhythmic tones. The beauty of its intonation surpassed what even the greatest actors could achieve, possessing a mysterious power to lure hearts into a dreamlike state.

“...The dog approached quietly.” Then suddenly, from a nearby tree, a black-breasted parent sparrow came plummeting down like a stone before the dog’s snout. Wings thrashing wildly, it strained out a pitiful cry as it lunged twice at the bared-fanged beast. "...The parent tried to shield its chick with its own body.” “But its cries grew increasingly frantic and hoarse until at last it collapsed to the ground... Before this valiant little bird—before this violent eruption of love—I found myself straightening my collar in solemn awe.” “...Love is stronger than death.” “It alone sustains life and drives it onward.”

This noble tale of the parent sparrow appeared well comprehended by Hana; though initially seeming perplexed and fidgeting, she gradually lifted her face and grew absorbed in listening. Within the mirror's reflection, Hana's countenance swam with artless astonishment and profound admiration, her eyes gleaming as if moved. When considering the surrounding circumstances, it first became clear that Manako had recounted the parent sparrow's sacrifice with grave intent, seeking to discern within Hana's expressions her reaction to it. Having reached this point, even the author could vaguely surmise Manako's design. This skeptical man had trusted not a single word from Hana. The suspicion arose that her claims—of witnessing the Ariake-so tragedy from her second-floor window, the spiky-haired man affair, that testimony about someone with a glittering object wrapped around their wrist, and now this account of Yamaki Motoyoshi's strange behavior—were all groundless fabrications devised by this romantic girl to shield someone; it seemed he had employed such elaborate means to verify this.

What reaction Manako had been seeking was ultimately unknowable, but as before, the mirror only reflected Hanako's face: spellbound, lips slightly parted, her expression utterly guileless. Not a shadow of anxiety nor a hue of fear showed even a trace.

Manako quietly placed the book on his lap, “Well? A beautiful story, isn’t it?” he said. Hana replied in a dreamy voice, “What a tragic story. So what happened to the sparrow? Was it eaten by the dog? Please read what happens next.” Manako pursed his lips, “That’s where it ends.” Hana’s eyes widened, “How dull. Why does it end like that?” “Why does it end here, you ask? I suppose the author wanted to leave the rest to our imagination.”

With that, he slowly lifted his face and gazed at Hanako, “Which do you want?” “Do you want to let the dog eat the sparrow? Or save it?” “If it were me, I’d want to save it of course—but dogs don’t feel sympathy.” “It’ll devour it without fail.” “There’s no helping it.” “...Just like how even if you pitied the culprit, you wouldn’t let them escape—it’s the same thing.”

Manako Akira cleared his throat oddly,

“That’s right, that’s right. I would never let them escape... You’re beautiful and have an excellent disposition. To be frank—I like you. But if you’re the culprit, I won’t let you escape... As you say—a hunting dog has no capacity for sympathy. To a dog, a sparrow—no matter how pitiful it acts—is ultimately nothing but prey... Do you dislike stories like this? Having to face a man like me probably isn’t very pleasant.”

Hana, rather, shook her head with childlike innocence,

“Trying to scare me won’t work. I’ve seen your kind side. This morning in Hibiya, when I was caught under that human avalanche and nearly crushed to death, you pushed aside the people piled on top of me as if driven by madness. That’s something you couldn’t do without a kind heart. Moreover, even the way you treated me after that was so polite it felt excessive—I couldn’t help but find it strangely unsettling.”

Manako gave an indescribably wry smile, “In what way was it strange?” “Why are you being so kind to me? I can’t help but find it utterly perplexing… Tell me, why is that?”

Manako did not answer. Once again, he cleared his throat oddly and, as usual, turned to stone with his eyes gloomily downcast.

A buzzer sounded faintly somewhere in the room. Depending on how one listened, it resembled the faint chirping of insects somewhere—such a faint sound. Manako rose with a gloomy expression, muttered “Excuse me,” and left the room with slow footsteps—but returned after about five minutes and sat down facing Hana once more. “How about it? Shall I read you another one?” With that, he picked up the book. “This next story might be a bit more interesting than ‘Sparrow.’ Listen carefully.”

Slowly turning the pages, Manako began reading aloud once more.

“This one is titled ‘Curse.’” “Then I’ll read… The ghost of a woman who’d been cursed to death by a certain girl staggered into the girl’s room one night and spoke thus…” Manako was spouting utter nonsense.

Turgenev’s original text wasn’t like that. (In Byron’s “Manfred,” when reading the part where the spirit of a woman who had died for him delivers an eerie curse…)

And so it began like this. Manako then carried on in this manner.

“You cursed me. Those cursed in this world cannot be reborn until they’ve had their revenge. Not only did you curse me—you threw me from the window and killed me. ‘So I must take vengeance twice over,’ she said, then grabbed her head with both hands, tore it from her shoulders, and flung it onto the girl’s lap. ‘Hey—what’s wrong? Feeling sick?’”

Hanako showed a violent reaction. Her face took on a terrifying expression as if she were about to faint, and she stood up from the chair with a shrill voice, “No! No! I don’t want to hear that story! Please—I’m begging you—stop it already!” She sank back into the chair and covered her face with both hands.

As she shouted this, she sank down into the chair and covered her face with both hands.

Manako approached Hanako with a coolly composed expression as though nothing had happened, rested his hand on her shoulder, and moved as if to lift her up.

“My apologies. “I didn’t mean to scare you. “…This concludes the reading. “Go home and get some sleep already. “You seem rather tired.”

Hana, as though possessed by an ague, trembled violently while giving a faint nod, then was led out of the chief’s office by Manako, staggering unsteadily. Manako returned to his desk, rummaged through his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, placed it on the desk, and crossed his arms to stare at it endlessly. The front of the paper bore crude brushstrokes depicting Ox-Head and Horse-Head alongside two spirits holding hands with the "Five Monks." In the previous chapter, this was none other than the curse diagram of Matsutani Tsuruko—covered in moxibustion scars as Fumie had described.

There was a knock on the door, and one of the usual Four Musketeers entered. Assuming a rigid at-ease posture before the door, he declared: “As a result of our interrogation, we’ve uncovered some rather unsettling inconsistencies.” Manako did not respond, but closed his eyes and assumed a listening posture. The investigator maintained an impassive expression as he continued: “Earlier, having received Your Excellency’s investigative order, we submitted our report stating that the Superintendent-General conducted an appreciation inspection between Tameike Intersection and Sakurada Gate from 3:50 AM to 4:50 AM this dawn. However, it has now been confirmed that during this identical period—from 3:50 AM to 4:50 AM—the Superintendent-General simultaneously conducted inspections from Fukagawa Ward’s Second Year-End Vigilance Post at Kiyosumi Park Corner through Mukojima Oshiage Town, Sarue Park, and Suzaki Benten Town.” He paused infinitesimally before concluding: “This would indicate two Superintendents-General conducting inspections concurrently—one in Akasaka Ward and another in Fukagawa Ward.”

With that, he took out a single sheet of paper from his pocket, "The exact times at which Your Excellency passed through each checkpoint have been recorded in this report."

He placed the piece of paper on the desk, bowed politely, and left.

Twenty-Seven: On Road Construction

And: On the Labyrinth of Underground Waterways

Now, Hibiya Park remained in the depths of night, continuing from the previous scene. The arc lamps along the pond’s edge blazed with icy brilliance, and the bronze crane sprayed glittering plumes of mystical white water into the night sky, visible even in the dark. On the high bank overlooking it, Sunset Newspaper reporter Furuichi Kaju and Annam Intelligence Director Song Xiu Chen stood just as they had in the previous instance. The only difference from before was that Furuichi Kaju sat slumped on the bench like a gutless fool, his mouth hanging open as he stared vacantly at the crane fountain.

When Kaju heard from Xiu Chen that morning about how the fountain’s crane had sonorously recited the “Annamese National Anthem,” he was struck as if by lightning and slumped onto the bench—remaining frozen there for over thirty minutes. What exactly had so profoundly shocked His Majesty remained unclear, but Xiu Chen found himself unable to offer even a casual remark given how utterly bizarre his demeanor appeared. To demonstrate utmost deference by emulating his liege’s posture, he too sat gaping at the crane with his mouth half-open. Time crawled forward in this fashion. The nearby clocktower struck eight.

Kaju suddenly stirred, “Ah”

He let out a yawn-like sound. This was no mere yawn-induced commotion. At this moment, Kaju’s mind was in the very midst of a Sturm und Drang era. Was it ecstasy? Terror? Or perhaps religious rapture? An indescribable intoxication—already numbing his clouded brain into paralysis—left him dreaming within a dream. Having become completely unrestrained, he sat there with his mouth hanging agape. As the night wind swept swiftly into his gaping mouth, he finally regained his senses. Upon sober reflection, he could not help but realize that an earth-shattering scoop now lay coiled right before his eyes.

Even going so far as to create replicas of the Emperor—while the Metropolitan Police Department frantically investigated—the very target of their search, this noble subject they pursued, was right there beneath their noses.

The Emperor of Annam was beneath the crane fountain!

In all his twenty-nine years of life—half a lifetime by any measure—he had never experienced a shock as violent as this day and night delivered. That he hadn't spun into a dizzying collapse seemed miraculous itself—truth outdoing fiction's wildest flights, as they say—yet though he felt cast into some fairy-tale realm where reality dissolved, the Emperor's presence beneath the crane fountain before him stood undeniable, a fact beyond dispute. When Xiu Chen's words struck him, inspiration lightning-bolted through his brain's depths, every secret laid bare under pitiless light—their full contours exposed, all connections glaringly revealed.

The mysterious occurrence of the bronze crane—which should never have uttered a cry—singing, and Ankame’s motive for coming to disrupt the “Singing Crane Fountain” gathering—all of it had become perfectly clear now.

As has often been stated, the notion that the fountain’s crane would sing originated from a cynical proposal by Hibiya Park Superintendent Sakuzuki—Sunset Newspaper President Kouda Setsuzou’s partner, as our esteemed readers know—and was fundamentally baseless from inception. Kouda Setsuzou—no minor player in such deceptions himself—heard Sakuzuki’s scheme and deemed it brilliant fodder for exploitation. Thus began their partnership with “Crane’s Egg” soap during its promotional zenith. They allied with soap manufacturers, conscripted scholars and doctors to endorse the hoax, ran daily sensationalist articles proclaiming the crane would crane its neck and sing at precisely 9:12 AM on New Year’s Day, and amassed a throng of three thousand around the pond. Having planned to disband this illicit assembly before the appointed hour while pocketing admission fees upfront, they instead witnessed divine mockery—the crane burst into clarion song as if to humiliate these very rogues.

Though it seemed an impossibility in this real world, once the trick was revealed, it became the simplest of matters. It was not the crane that sang; it was the Emperor beneath the fountain who did. Why he chose to calmly sing the "Annamese National Anthem" rather than cry for help remains unclear. However, given that the Emperor inherently possessed not only a poetic disposition but also the profound discernment of one who appreciated humor, one could only conclude that even in such adversity, he had performed this extraordinary act to demonstrate a monarch's commanding presence.

The above was the conclusion pieced together by Kaju's crude mind, but the author harbored a different speculation. According to Manako's account, the Emperor had been rendered unconscious with chloroform and transported away; yet upon sober reflection, it seemed far more plausible that His Majesty had still been wandering through anesthesia's haze at that juncture—perhaps even envisioning some national ceremony in his stupor. Such trivialities aside, having traced events this far, one could now roughly apprehend why Ankame's faction had come to disrupt the 'Singing Crane' gathering.

It seemed Ankame's faction had confined the Emperor beneath the fountain for some calculated purpose, but just then Kouda and Sakuzuki conducted their mock assembly, drawing crowds that swarmed like mist around the water feature. Fearing an uncontrollable situation should His Majesty somehow call for aid, they apparently meant to dismantle the gathering under pretext of the crane fountain not singing by the appointed hour—stirring up chaos to disperse the crowd—but at the crucial moment when the crane indeed cried out, they suffered a stunning rout and fled with tails between their legs.

After all, being even a lowly newspaper reporter, he hadn't just lost his nerve for nothing—within his foggy mind, he had managed to piece together roughly this much. Be that as it may, who on earth had hidden the Emperor in a place like this—and for what purpose? Kaju tilted his head repeatedly as he turned the matter over in his mind, but he simply couldn't quite piece it together. He had long known two things: that Japan's twin emerging conglomerates—Hayashi Kinnao's Hayashi Group and Koguchi Tsubasa's Nikko Group—were waging a fierce battle over bauxite mining rights at Ley Mountain in Annam, and that a new contract was being negotiated between the Emperor and Hayashi. If the Nodoyama gang under Nikko's umbrella had caused a commotion in Hibiya, then one could only conclude that Nikko was indeed behind the Emperor's abduction. It could be considered work done to obstruct Hayashi's contract and diminish their influence—but then what became of the large diamond? Somehow, these pieces just didn't fit together.

Moreover, even if they were to imprison the Emperor, what necessity could there have been in choosing a place like this? Hiding His Majesty beneath the elegant crane fountain was undeniably poetic, possessing a sort of whimsical charm—he couldn't say he didn't sympathize with this unconventional idea. Yet even so, it seemed slightly too absurd in execution and rather ill-suited to its purpose. That the space beneath the fountain made an inferior confinement location could already be definitively concluded by the mere fact that the Emperor's singing had leaked through the crane's mouth. While His Majesty remained safe while vocalizing, anyone could easily imagine his location being immediately exposed had he screamed instead. There had been no need to choose such an insecure spot—whether a basement or storage room, countless safer hiding places should have been available.

Kaju let out a sigh and,

"I can't make heads or tails of it. What possible reason would they have to imprison the Emperor in such a bizarre location?" "If that's how it is, then I can only assume His Majesty entered there voluntarily—but even accounting for his eccentricities, he wouldn't do something so utterly pointless."

While muttering this with his head tilted back in contemplation, he suddenly slapped his knee. "Hmm, I'm starting to piece this together... Let me think—wouldn't it have gone like this? The Emperor was kidnapped and brought near here, but under some circumstance broke free and fled into the park. With nowhere to hide—and being who he is—he must've used some extraordinary method to take refuge beneath the crane. But those kidnappers lacked His Majesty's cunning and couldn't follow him under there. While they floundered trying to lure him out, dawn broke and that damned 'Singing Crane Fountain' event started up, making everything ten times worse. If they'd bungled things, his location would've been exposed—so they must've caused that commotion to scatter the crowd... This theory's still got too many holes to call it solid, but I can't say it's completely off the mark either. Assuming minor errors that'll get ironed out later—if His Majesty really did slip under that fountain himself, what trick did he use? Probably something only a civil engineer would spot... God knows I've cursed my useless Hokkaido University degree every day, but three years washes away any shame—never thought that knowledge would come in handy here... Alright then—time to inspect that fountain up close."

Muttering to himself, he began to rise while stealing glances at Xiu Chen sitting rigidly on a bench some distance away, then clicked his tongue softly, “Tch, that useless bastard’s in the way.” “That said, letting him return alone to the hotel first would cause problems... Right—I’ll make that guy wait somewhere else...” Kaju approached Xiu Chen and grabbed him by the shoulder,

“Hey, Xiu Chen. “There’s a favor I need to ask you.” “It’s a bit of a hassle, but…” The imperial entourage had been deeply troubled since earlier, observing His Majesty the Emperor’s condition—how he sighed repeatedly, muttered to himself, and displayed an exceedingly disturbed demeanor. They wondered if it might be intoxication, but no—it wasn’t that. Recently, with anti-Emperor factions active in Annam and His Majesty’s distress so profound they feared he might have descended into madness—had that been the case, they stood ready to immediately escort him to physicians—but observing the Emperor now, he showed no such signs of agitation. With sighs of relief, they stood upright and saluted.

“We await Your Majesty’s command.” “Whatever that command may be, we shall stake our very lives to fulfill it.” Kaju said in a haughty tone,

“Alright. The favor I mentioned isn’t anything out of the ordinary… Xiu Chen—you’ve seen an automobile before, haven’t you?” “Preposterous. How could it be that we would not know of automobiles?”

“Ah, I see. Then, do you know that at the very front of an automobile, there’s a hole for pouring water to cool the engine, and its cap has all sorts of elaborate contrivances crafted without elegance?” “We are aware. ...For example, there are those adorned with statues of Mercury, eagles with wings spread, and at times merely covered with something akin to a kappa’s dish.”

Kaju clapped his hands and, “That’s it. It’s a bit of a troublesome task, but you’re to go to Matsuzakaya’s front entrance in Ginza now and count exactly how many cars with kappa’s dishes pass between ten o’clock and ten forty, then return here by eleven.” He produced his wristwatch and glanced at it. “This concerns a matter of grave importance to the Empire of Annam—the true intent isn’t something I can disclose to you.” “It’s nearly ten minutes to ten. Don’t dawdle and miss the timing. Now hurry up and go!”

Xiu Chen stood at rigid attention and, “I shall now proceed to the front of Ginza Matsuzakaya and count how many automobiles bearing kappa’s dishes pass between ten o’clock and ten forty, then return to this location by eleven o’clock.” “With that, I shall commence.”

With that declaration, he bowed once, kicked the gravel of the Fatsia-lined path, and dashed off toward the main gate. Kaju watched this intently, then descended the embankment toward the pond and made his way along its edge to the fountain’s side—when suddenly two men emerged from the shadows beneath a pine tree, surrounding him from both sides as one of them barked: “Who the hell are you? ...Why are you loitering around a place like this?”

Dear readers, you must be aware. The plainclothes officers stationed here were those acting on the Superintendent General's conviction that this morning's impossible cry from the crane statue—which should never have vocalized—had been rigged by Kouda and his associates. With fervent determination to finally seize Kaju by the scruff of his neck without protest, they intended to dismantle the crane tomorrow morning to extract its hidden mechanism—hence their vigil to prevent Kouda from retrieving the device beforehand.

Kaju recognized it at a glance. Moreover, these two men were familiar faces he saw daily at the Metropolitan Police Department—their false beards worked for now, but if they dragged him away from here, their disguises would be stripped in an instant. Realizing he had no choice but to repel them with imperial authority as before, he suddenly arched his back and adopted a gravely solemn voice: “Judging by that arrogant tone, you must be police officers. If you’re making inquiries under official authority, I shall indeed answer. Do not be alarmed—...I am Emperor Munakata Ryutaro of Annam, currently residing at the Imperial Hotel. Now—what reason do you have for detaining me?”

Slowly stroking his ostentatious black beard styled after the First Emperor, he glared sharply at the two men—a silent warning that depending on how this proceeded, he might not forgive them. Since this morning, he had repeatedly employed this emperor persona so often that it had become second nature, exuding what one might call majestic dignity. This morning, the Tameike Police Station sergeant major who had arrested the Emperor as Tsuruko’s assailant at Ariake-so Apartments had been severely reprimanded by his superiors—a fact that evidently circulated among these men, for upon hearing “Emperor of Annam,” they immediately stiffened as if struck by awe,

"This is... Our most profound apologies." "We humbly beg forgiveness for failing to recognize Your Majesty..." Kaju leaned back so dramatically it threatened to overbalance him, "Am I forbidden from visiting this vicinity?" The plainclothes men maintained their posture of unbroken deference,

“No... Yes. “Actually...” “Then why haven’t you stationed a proper guard post? “If you’d at least mounted a lamp atop it, that would suffice… But since no such measures exist, you’ve no authority to obstruct my promenade.” “Moreover, I refuse to let others dictate my movements. I shall resume my original purpose—taking a brief constitutional about these grounds.” “Observe from there if you must.” Having dismissed them, he sauntered to the fountain with regal composure, studying it intently for over thirty minutes before crawling along the embankment’s slopes—probing every tree root and insignificant depression with his bare hands, no crevice too trivial to escape his inspection.

He searched thoroughly until fully satisfied but found neither gaps through which he could enter from the fountain's base nor any holes near the shore. Without so much as a farewell to the plainclothes officers, he left their side and tried dashing down the embankment to inspect the opposite bank—only to plunge headfirst into a deep hole at its base. That he hadn't broken his neck remained his sole consolation. Having struck his head violently, he remained dazed for some time before regaining awareness and looking around to find a six-foot vertical hole with a side tunnel large enough for someone to crawl through.

Kaju, believing he had succeeded, crawled further into the depths, but unexpectedly, the horizontal tunnel came to an end just five meters in. When he struck a match and examined it, the traces of recent digging were clearly visible, and moreover, a single shovel had evidently been left behind in great haste.

This proved Kaju's deduction wasn't entirely off-base. Ordinary roadwork or water mains would never leave such a hazardous hole in the middle of a path without roping it off and setting up red warning lamps. In short, this hole—exactly as Kaju had surmised—was confirmed to have been dug frantically by kidnappers trying to reach the Emperor's location. But once the Fountain Meeting began, crowds flooding the area made further work impossible—naturally prompting them to kick off that whole disturbance.

With this, it was definitively confirmed that the King was beneath the fountain. However, given how things stood, it didn't seem like the entrance was anywhere near here after all. It began to appear as though it lay in some preposterously remote location.

Kaju sat inside the hole, calmly crossing his arms as he pondered. He seemed determined not to move from this spot until some brilliant inspiration struck. Here his country-bred tenacity truly manifested itself - a stubbornness not to be underestimated. He had been sitting like that for twenty minutes when suddenly he slapped his knee again, "I've got it!... Looking at it this way, my head isn't completely worthless after all.... Ah, why didn't I realize something so simple sooner?... They taught us back in school how the Edo period's Kanda Josui main underground waterways run beneath this area like a maze." "...Meaning the Emperor must have traveled through those waterways from somewhere to reach beneath the fountain... If only we had an old map of the tunnels, we'd know instantly. But even so - where in blazes would the entrance be open at this hour..."

He tilted his head in thought, then—having conceived another idea—silently rose from the pit's bottom，struggled out of the hole with great effort，and crouched panting heavily at its edge， "...In other words，I just need to search for places where large-scale construction has recently begun nearby. If there’s construction involving basement excavation，they’d naturally cut through the underground waterway—the entrance must be open somewhere on site… Speaking of major projects around here—yes，right at Tamura-cho 1-chome’s corner，they’ve just started foundation work for a broadcasting station’s basement. …This checks out. No mistake this time… The labyrinth’s entrance must be there… Got it!"

With that, he stood up and rushed out of Hibiya Park without brushing the mud from his clothes, kicking up the hollows at his heels as he ran toward Tamura-cho 1-chome.

The nearby clock tower struck eleven. Only five hours remained until 4 AM tomorrow! Could this nameless, lowly tabloid reporter possibly outwit that brilliant Inspector Manako and safely rescue the Emperor?

Part Nine

28. The Sogetsu School Infiltration

And the Probability of Escape

Since beginning this novel, we had already reached the ninth installment.

Events layered upon layer of complexity; duty and human bonds tangled and clashed, weaving the intricate patterns of fate-driven lives. Some wept over tragic love, others drowned themselves in perilous chivalry, and still others sharpened the claws of malice to run rampant as they pleased.

The characters within the work paid no heed to the author's grand designs, flouted his anxious concerns, and acted with shapeshifting freedom according to their own whims. Taking advantage of the author's humility, they rolled their eyes dramatically, turned away to stick out their tongues, this time even strangling the innocent maid Tome—truly adopting an attitude of utter contempt. As the author, I found this utterly intolerable—yet these characters paid me no mind whatsoever, leaving me powerless to intervene.

Cutting through digressions: Sunset Newspaper reporter Furuichi Kaju, single-mindedly convinced that the Emperor of Annam lay beneath the pedestal of Hibiya Park’s “Crane Fountain,” rushed toward Tamura-cho 1-chome—kicking up the hollows at his heels—to scoop this unprecedented exclusive.

There was a certain exaggeration in that pose—as if to draw the author’s attention and have his subsequent actions documented—but this novel was not solely Furuichi Kaju’s stage.

Far from that—prior to this, the Metropolitan Police Department had once again given rise to another bizarre incident.

It was unfortunate, but we had to let Kaju keep running a while longer and return once more to the Metropolitan Police Department.

Wrenching back the clock an hour and a half revealed one of the Four Musketeers just then pushing through the door of the Investigation Division Chief's office, having delivered a staggering report. The content? That between 3:50 and 4:50 this very morning, two Superintendents-General had materialized simultaneously—one in Akasaka Ward, another in Fukagawa Ward—conducting morale inspections for year-end security operations. This wasn't some phantasmal tale from Hoffmann in the style of Callot—the notion of twin police chiefs haunting Tokyo's northern and southern districts defied belief. Yet if proven factual, "unexpected" would be understatement rather than hyperbole. For Manako, this report transcended mere fantasy—it pulsed with dreadful implication.

As could be inferred from Manako’s elegant face-to-face confrontation in the Superintendent-General’s office two installments prior, he had logically concluded that Matsutani Tsuruko’s murderer was none other than the Superintendent-General himself. After meticulously articulating the reasoning behind this deduction through elaborate phrasing, he returned to his office and awaited the Superintendent-General’s voluntary action with bated breath. To state this plainly would leave readers unacquainted with previous installments thoroughly perplexed; thus, it may not be entirely fruitless to concisely recount the circumstances that led to such an audacious conclusion.

Hana the seamstress, who lived below the cliff of Ariake-so and had been observing the crime scene, testified: "The perpetrator was a large man with a chestnut-burr head, wearing something shiny around his wrist." Afterward, through Manako’s thorough and meticulous on-site investigation, these details were expanded as follows: "The perpetrator has a chestnut-burr head. Height: Approximately 174 centimeters. Occupation: police officer; wears a gold-braided armband with three to five star insignia, holding the rank of inspector or higher. Armed with a sword. Scoliosis. Left leg with a slight limp; shoe size 12.00, Princeton type, manufactured by Edith Company, U.S.A."

This was roughly how it stood, but anyone well-acquainted with the Superintendent-General reading this would surely be astonished at how meticulously it captured his portrait. Moreover, given that the Superintendent-General’s cherished lion-headed pipe had been discovered in the sliding drawer of Tsuruko’s wardrobe—forming a perfectly consistent whole—no mediocre detective would have hesitated to reach the obvious conclusion.

Indeed, France had its own François Vidocq in the early 19th century—a man who rose from common thief to Superintendent-General. In Vidocq’s case, it was merely a matter of applying old tricks he’d learned to wield prosecutorial prowess, but this situation was no such simple matter. Few murderers had ascended so rapidly, and few criminals proved so intractable. What manner of police officer would possess the resolute courage to bring charges against this?

Even Manako, ordinarily as composed as cold ashes, showed uncharacteristic anguish when confronted with the lion-headed pipe—a response that followed naturally from the circumstances.

However, as had been frequently noted, given that Manako—whose cold tenacity and underhandedness in handling prosecutorial matters rivaled even Inspector Javert from Victor Hugo’s *Les Misérables*—would never refrain from combing through every last detail where any deficiency existed, he indeed exited Ariake-so Apartments with a sorrowful countenance and there initiated his ruthlessly meticulous course of action.

First, he went to the Ibuki tailor shop in Nihonbashi and had them produce the Superintendent-General’s measurements ledger, which he then meticulously copied down. As some of you may know, Ibuki of Nihonbashi was the sole supplier of official police uniforms within Tokyo Prefecture. To explain what results were obtained—they confirmed that the imprint left by a jacket on the crime scene’s kitchen wall had been made by the Superintendent-General’s uniform. After returning once more to the Metropolitan Police Department, he summoned the Four Musketeers and ordered three investigations: an inspection of the Tsukiji geisha house Suzumoto, where the six residents of Ariake-so had holed up with the six members of Karmas Chow earlier that morning; a background check on both the current Superintendent-General—formerly the Kyoto Prefectural Police Chief—and Matsutani Tsuruko; and an inquiry into the Superintendent-General’s activities between 3:50 AM and 4:50 AM on New Year’s Day.

As a result, they concluded there were no recent signs of entry or exit through Suzumoto's garden or back gate. This meant the perpetrator wasn't among Ariake-so's six residents. The background check revealed the Superintendent-General and Matsutani Tsuruko had shared an address in Kyoto's Yamashina-cho—proof of prior acquaintance. The third investigation—the deductive crescendo—established through interrogations that the Superintendent-General himself had driven a roadster through Tameike Crossing at 3:50 AM, returning near police headquarters via Akasaka Mitsuke by 4:40 AM. A three-minute route had taken him fifty minutes. Not a shred of doubt remained. Yet Manako pressed further, compelling Hanako through bizarre methods to examine the perpetrator's neck. Whether her verdict was negative or positive mattered little. His confident demeanor during the Superintendent-General's interrogation told them everything.

However, the Superintendent-General—who was supposed to come to the Investigation Division Chief’s office to meet Manako—never arrived. Instead, he was confronted with two unexpected reports: one being secondhand information from Indou Chuusuke at the Nakasu geisha house brought by Hanako—stating that Yamaki Motoyoshi had escaped over Suzumoto’s rooftops around 3:40 AM, departed somewhere in Hatchison’s roadster, then returned to Suzumoto around 5:00 AM—and the other being the earlier bizarre account of "two Superintendents-General."

This was something even the author had not anticipated in the slightest, leaving him somewhat dumbfounded—but when matters reached such a pass, one could not help feeling a degree of skepticism toward Manako’s so-called deductions. Considering all these points, there seemed to be something fundamentally lacking in Manako’s conclusion—it appeared to miss the essence entirely. Had there been even a single fingerprint of the Superintendent-General at the crime scene? There was nothing of that sort—only the chestnut-burr head and the Superintendent-General’s official uniform remained as evidence. Even those had been perceived under uncertain moonlight through the eyes of a romantic girl, making them rather difficult to trust fully. Lion-headed pipes could easily have duplicates, and whether it had been the Superintendent-General himself or merely his uniform that passed through the cordon that morning remained highly ambiguous. For someone as coldly logical and meticulous as Manako, his approach this time seemed somewhat poorly executed. One would not expect someone of Manako’s caliber to place excessive emphasis on a young girl’s testimony; however, from this author’s perspective, it could not be overlooked that this testimony had influenced his deductions far more profoundly than even Manako himself realized. As for what circumstances could have provoked this mental oversight—something that should have been impossible—the vulgar author’s view was that it stemmed from Manako having fallen in love with Hanako. The austere, wintry Manako—in love! Yet this was no joke—conclusive evidence existed. Since the incident on the second floor of the amateur’s house, dear readers were well aware of how Manako had been handling Hana—it was far too sentimental indeed! Anyone familiar with the usual Manako who witnessed this would have widened their eyes in disbelief—either Inspector Manako had taken hashish and gone mad, or he’d read too many novels and suddenly become childishly sentimental! Let alone if they had seen him twisting Turgenev’s prose poems—they would have been so astonished that their gaping mouths would remain agape! The usual Manako was by no means this tender-hearted of a man—he was absolutely not a feminist.

A gentleman he may be, but he's precisely the sort of gentleman who would unflinchingly wedge a pencil between someone's fingers if circumstances demanded it. That was prose poetry—if this wasn't the very symbol of love, then what was? On this point too, Hanako seemed to find it strange, and when she pressed him with the pointed question—"Why are you being so kind to me?"—Manako responded with an indescribably bitter smile. Not only that—the exquisite cadence of his recitation! It was as if luring one's heart into a dream... that is to say, the voice of a man in love. This turned into one hell of a mess.

Indeed, as one of the Four Musketeers left the chief inspector’s office, Manako remained frozen in his chair with arms crossed, his expression defying description. Anguish flooded his cheeks with vivid intensity, his eyelids hanging low as if in prayer. Evidently, one of the Musketeers had flipped a switch before departing, for from the loudspeaker gaping open on the wall, the wartime-like progression of investigations across all Tokyo City and County was being ceaselessly reported in a shrill voice akin to a deranged parrot’s. The Kanda Unit of the investigation headquarters had confirmed that Ariake-so residents Iwao Michiyasu and Kawabata Fumie were hiding in the Ochamatsu gambling den, and was now reporting that they were about to conduct a raid.

Manako suddenly snapped his eyes open. Even when opened, his thread-thin eyes didn't convey any impression of being wide-eyed. The resolute light streaming from those narrow slits made his awareness apparent. He placed his clasped hands on his knees and seemed to ponder something momentarily before rising abruptly from his chair. Taking up that raven-black Inverness coat, he slipped his arms into it and slowly exited the chief inspector's office. No trace remained of his earlier sentimental expression or gloomy eyes. If anything, his countenance had solidified into something immovable - not even a shadow of doubt lingered. ......Could it be Manako hadn't yet lost his confidence? The composed air of self-possession faintly visible about him likely meant he still harbored some definite purpose. What in the world was Manako planning to do now?

About fifteen minutes later, the car carrying Manako came to a stop before the gate of "Suzumoto" in Tsukiji Odawara-cho 1-chome. Stepping on the wet stones and entering the entrance, he found the landlady who had appeared prostrating herself as if struck by lightning. A man of Manako’s standing would never be subjected to such shoddy treatment. Having the landlady guide him upstairs, he first entered the eastern room where Yamaki and Janet were said to have stayed. It seemed Manako intended to first present evidence for the incident of Yamaki slipping out of Suzumoto—the very act Indou Chuusuke had blurted out about.

Yamaki’s room was a six-mat space with a bay window, beneath which sat a small built-in cupboard. The window had low anti-intrusion spikes, and beyond them stood the fire station’s watchtower and the large building of St. Luke’s Hospital across the river. Below the window, the kitchen wing extended at a right angle, its end abutted against the side of a pawnshop’s storehouse named Ishigami. Indeed, escape seemed effortlessly achievable. Manako tested this. He gripped both hands on the bay window’s upper frame, lifted his body and drew up his legs—his toes automatically cleared the anti-intrusion spikes and carried him outside. When he gently lowered his toes, there lay precisely the roof’s ridge.

Manako crawled along the roof ridge tiles, illuminating them with his flashlight as he advanced. There was nothing particularly noteworthy. In this manner, he reached the end of the roof ridge. Beyond a narrow four-shaku passage lay the storehouse wall. The storehouse wall bore large clout nails driven in customary fashion. By leaping onto these and hanging, the storehouse's baseboard began precisely where his toes barely reached. Though descending would be simple by catching the clout nails, those on the storehouse hung approximately one shaku lower than the kitchen wing's ridge - bridging this four-shaku gap to reach them demanded considerable skill. Manako exited Suzumoto, circled to the passage between pawnshop and eaves, propped a ladder against the storehouse wall, climbed to the clout nails' vicinity, and meticulously scanned the surrounding surface with his flashlight. Almost immediately, he discovered intriguing markings on the wall - pictographic evidence sufficient to reconstruct human activity. To clarify - three parallel scratches resembling claw marks. Though the hard storehouse wall prevented deep gouging, they remained clearly legible - scraped vertically downward about one shaku from a point two sun below the clout nail. Irrefutable proof. This conclusively showed that bumbling Yamaki had missed grasping the clout nail and plummeted downward. Leaving such claw marks on this hardened surface must have damaged his toenails severely. Indeed, at the scratches' terminus lay what appeared to be a bloodstain. Thus resolved was next morning's mystery at Tentoku fish market - Yamaki's three abraded fingers and the white wall debris lodged beneath his nails. Though Yamaki's reason for sneaking from Suzumoto remained unclear, this proved he hadn't made the three scratches in Ariake-so's entrance hall. An expert like Manako could surely distinguish between claw wounds and sharp-edged metal injuries. Hence his earlier indifference when Hana mentioned Yamaki's peculiar claws - he'd already known. Therefore, Yamaki's pocket watch glass fragments would likely be discovered nearby.

If that were found, Yamaki would at least not be the culprit who used a chloroform ampoule to kidnap the Emperor. As for this too, Manako would have already discerned whether they were fragments from a pocket watch’s glass cover or from an ampoule when he saw them beneath the back stairs. Descending the ladder and shining his light across the paving stones of the passage, he indeed found glass fragments scattered there. Not only that, but it also became clear that during the fall, he had sustained an injury near his left wrist. It could be faintly discerned from the bloodstain pattern of a left hand imprinted on the white wall. Of course, there were fingerprints as well. This could be left for someone to collect later.

Just when he thought this would suffice, Manako turned back toward Suzumoto and this time entered Indou’s room on the eastern side downstairs. This room was also a six-tatami space of similar construction, with a cramped garden across the hallway and a high imitation earthen wall at the far end. The hallway bent sharply to the left in a hook shape, its end forming a wash area. To the left was the stairwell entrance; by turning down the hallway once more, one could exit to the front entrance. The wash area had a gourd-shaped window fitted with bamboo latticework, and looking up through this window, one could indeed survey about two-thirds of the kitchen roof that Manako had just walked across. The remaining third near the storehouse was obscured by the protruding pawnshop building and could not be seen from this window. While Indou Chuusuke’s claim that he saw Yamaki slipping out along the roof from this window could not be immediately trusted based on this alone, the physical conditions required to witness such an act were at least sufficiently met. Manako slid open the veranda’s rain shutters and carefully stepped down into the garden. Due to recent frost damage, the garden soil had become extremely brittle, with the ground heaped up like molehills and gaps formed between these mounds and the harder underlying earth. Even relatively light objects would not fail to leave traces if placed upon this surface. Indeed, Manako’s footprints had sunk about two sun into the soil, as if he had stepped into ashes. He searched every corner of the area, but there was not a single footprint-like mark to be found. Since December 27th, there had been no rainfall in Tokyo, nor had any wind blown. When one of the Four Musketeers stated in his investigative report that there was absolutely no trace of anyone having escaped through the garden, he had been referring to these inherent physical conditions. The room adjacent to Indou’s had no guests that night, while in a room two doors down the hall were Murakumo Emiko and a saxophonist named Wilson. He also checked the garden area on that side, but there too found not a single trace resembling footprints. To get slightly ahead of the timeline: regarding the entrance situation—(this was learned through later interrogation)—a maid named Sadame had been on night watch duty, sitting in the six-mat reception room until the five o’clock inspection while idly chatting with her colleague Chiyo as they ate peanuts. They had planned to make their New Year’s visit to Suitengu Shrine together at six o’clock, so fretting over their freshly styled hair, neither of them had been in any position to lie down. When attempting to exit through the entrance to the outside, under any circumstances, one could not pass through without being noticed by these two. Manako turned back toward the second floor. The room next to Yamaki’s was Fumie and Ronald’s room.

The window was fitted with latticework, and since it opened directly onto the garden below, slipping out through this window would have been impossible. What remained were the rooms of Hatcheson and Iwao Michiyasu. Iwao’s room lay at the hallway’s end beyond a drum-shaped passageway, while Hatcheson’s occupied the far edge of the opposite wing facing it. Iwao’s six-tatami room with its three-tatami anteroom faced northwest—directly opposite Indou’s quarters. Through its wooden latticework window, across the Bizen Moat, the massive roof of Honganji Temple under construction loomed blackly near enough to touch. The one-and-a-half-ken window bore three half-shutters that could be pushed upward when needed. When he raised the shutters, the entrance roof lay directly below, its edge marked by a great black pine whose thick branches stretched over the tsuiji wall toward the front. Manako turned back toward the flustered proprietress standing behind him,

“Who assigned everyone’s rooms last night?” he asked. The reply came that Lord Iwao had done it. Manako began examining the closet beneath the window and the sill as usual, his eyelids drooping sleepily. He found something odd. Not that it was particularly remarkable. Rather, it was precisely the sort of thing one might expect in such a place. To put it plainly—a white plum arrangement in Hyouchikusai’s bamboo basket, styled in the nageire manner. Daffodils formed its base. There should have been nothing unusual about it, yet when Manako’s gaze settled on it, his eyes abruptly sharpened as he scrutinized it intently. Upon closer inspection, there was indeed something peculiar. At first glance resembling a Sōgetsu school nageire arrangement, this one had been placed facing backward. Even someone utterly ignorant of floral arts—no, especially someone skilled enough to create this—would never make such an absurd placement. It was rotated about a quarter turn backward from its proper position. Manako turned to the proprietress,

“Has anyone entered this room since then?”

he asked. The reply stated that under the directive prohibiting entry, the proprietress had not even peeked inside. It would be quicker to draw a diagram, though it could certainly be described verbally. The bamboo basket was placed at the junction of the center and rightmost wooden shutters. Manako began a peculiar experiment. He rotated the bamboo basket a quarter turn back to its original position—that is, repositioned it to a normally viewable angle—then stepped onto the floor cabinet and attempted to exit through the window onto the roof ridge. The moment he did so, the white plum branch protruding to the right caught on the crotch of Manako’s trousers, causing it to rotate backward by about a quarter turn in one smooth motion. That position was precisely the one Manako had been eyeing suspiciously earlier. Through this peculiar sequence of events, it could now be definitively concluded that someone had crawled out onto the roof through this window.

Manako, as was his custom, walked along the roof ridge toward the edge while shining his flashlight. There was no particular evidence on the ridge tiles. When he reached that edge, as mentioned earlier, a large pine tree grew right up against the ridge, its thick branch extending beyond the wall. Manako climbed from the roof onto the pine branch. Moving along the branch, he effortlessly emerged outside the wall. Beneath the branch was a concrete rainwater barrel, and his toes naturally reached its surface. With just a single leap, he descended to the ground. There, the roadster that Hatcheson had arrived in had been left that night.

Manako trudged across the ground in his socks and re-entered through the main entrance. He intended to investigate Hatcheson’s room—the last remaining one. As mentioned earlier, Hatcheson’s room was located at the end of the left wing. It stood diametrically opposite Iwao’s room across the entrance roof. While Hatcheson’s room shared a similar layout with Iwao’s, its window—being closer to the street—featured low anti-intrusion spikes instead of half-shutters, positioned to overlook Bizen Bridge across the thoroughfare. Examining these spikes revealed they matched Yamaki’s room’s security measures exactly. If Yamaki had escaped over such spikes, escaping from here should be equally feasible. Beneath them stretched the lower toilet’s roof extending toward the side street, its edge meeting the thoroughfare directly. Among the three examined routes, this final option proved most favorable. It had clearly been designed for effortless egress. Upon closer inspection, something peculiar emerged. Faint grayish-black marks from three fingers lingered on the paper-covered wall near the pillar beside the closet. A dark greasy substance had clung to fingertips, leaving these faint traces. The wall paper appeared freshly pasted late in the year—pristine everywhere except this spot. Bringing his face close revealed through finger placement that these were left-hand marks. The index, middle, and ring fingers of a left hand. Why such marks here? The answer became clear through replication. From the roof ridge: cross over anti-intrusion spikes and plant your right foot atop the floor cabinet. Hook your right hand on the window frame for support, shift your weight slightly airborne, then draw your left foot onto the cabinet.

To descend onto the tatami without making noise, your left hand would naturally extend toward the pillar there; grasping it with your left hand, you'd quietly lower your foot onto the mats. The three finger marks should have been imprinted when someone gripped that pillar. Manako crossed over the anti-intrusion spikes and emerged onto the roof. He returned almost immediately, having taken little time. His hands turned pitch black from clambering over the roof tiles—this because a tall public bathhouse chimney stood on Odawara-cho 2-chome's side street directly behind them, its soot falling onto the roof depending on wind patterns. This naturally explained the three finger marks too. Taking fingerprints would easily identify their owner. These marks weren't from someone quietly descending, but rather from a man returning via the roof who'd braced himself against the pillar with his left hand while removing his socks atop the floor cabinet. Faint soot-blackened circular marks remained on the cabinet's board—imprints from sock-clad heels, though only the left foot's traces were present. Indeed, when Manako stepped down onto the tatami, his socks left pitch-black impressions matching their shape across the mats. Compelled to remove his own socks, Manako closed the room's sliding doors completely before sitting cross-legged on the tatami. Once again he bowed his head and fell motionless.

For what purpose had three individuals slipped out from Suzumoto and returned before the 5:20 AM wind inspection this morning? This time precisely corresponded to the moment when Matsutani Tsuruko was murdered at Ariake-so Apartments and the Emperor was abducted through the service entrance. At this juncture, the investigation took another dramatic leap forward. Even for the composed and meticulous Manako, this astonishment must have been considerable. That a hue resembling anguish permeated his gloomy expression was indeed only natural. Manako had come here to verify Indou’s chatter, but unexpectedly found himself confronted with such bizarre facts.

Dear readers, you may perhaps point out Manako’s oversight in having entrusted such crucial verification—regardless of its nature—to one subordinate and left it at that. But was this truly Manako’s error? If this were indeed an error, it would be one tantamount to a natural disaster. In detective novels, a single detective sifts through every last ember in the hearth’s ashes to monopolize all glory. However, in real society, such things are not ordinarily done.

Manako did not neglect the on-site investigation of Suzumoto. In fact, he had shrewdly dispatched the most capable among the Four Musketeers there and had them conduct a thorough investigation. The Four Musketeers' investigation showed no difference from Manako's own findings. They could find no evidence in either the garden soil's composition or the entrance/exit conditions that anyone had slipped out. Moreover, through clever interrogation methods, the Four Musketeers gentlemen examined each of the six "Camus Show" members individually and obtained statements that their bedmates had absolutely not slipped away from their sides. There was not the slightest oversight in either the investigation or interrogations.

As for this second-floor passage—it did not factor into the probability assessments for possible escape routes. The reason was—consider this—there wasn’t a single Japanese-style house in all of densely packed Tokyo from which one couldn’t absolutely escape. That they had failed to account for Japanese houses’ inherently permeable structures within their probability calculations could not be deemed an oversight on the Four Musketeers’ part. Only someone of Manako’s unparalleled genius could have discerned those individuals’ movements through a quarter-turn rotation of the flower basket and the faint finger marks left on the paper-covered wall beside the pillar. Or rather—to phrase it thus—the god of chance favored Manako alone; no other prodigy, however brilliant, could hope to rival him.

Manako’s error hinged solely on this single point: that he had not initially employed his own unparalleled genius. However, once one arrived there, it became something akin to fate. The reason Manako did not place greater emphasis on verifying Suzumoto was because the film’s emulsion had already been exposed to an image identifying a certain individual as both the murder culprit and the emperor’s kidnapper at that time.

At the entrance of Suzumoto, the sound of a motorcycle stopping echoed, and soon a police inspector entered to announce that Tome’s corpse had been discovered in the underground passage of O-Chamatsu. Manako remained silent with his eyes closed, but in his usual languid tone,

“Retrieve these six performers currently appearing at Japan Theater immediately: Janet the gold-dust dancer, Ronald the accordionist, Wilson the saxophonist, Mary the tap dancer, Jacqueline the roller skater, and Miriam the torch singer...” “I shall return to headquarters within thirty minutes.”

Then, awkwardly holding the rolled-up socks in his right hand, he left the room, his bare feet padding softly across the tatami mats.

29. The Matter of 25 Sen per Night

And Also the Matter of the Champagne Bottle

Asakusa Shōten Yokochō—proceeding a bit further brought one to Nihon-zutsumi. Back-to-back with Bamichi lay a dimly lit side street colloquially known as Okan-dori. What they now called a "simple hotel"—costing fifteen sen per night came complete with a bath.

When the guest register was filled out, the clerk would place a bat on his damp palm and present it with a "Here you go"—those familiar wooden lodging houses stood row upon row. Upon entering, one found an uneven black earthen floor—compacted by countless tabi boots until it gleamed with a dark luster. A nauseating stench of phlegm and spit—something utterly indescribable—rose from the earthen floor. The three-shaku entrance step—so grime-coated its wood grain had vanished—immediately became stairs, and ascending these led to a thirty-tatami main room spread with bald mats, where lodgers wrapped in repurposed banner futons lay sprawled like tuna piled at a wharf.

Beyond this main room, separated by a single corridor, lay a three-tatami small room. Staying here was special class. The lodging fee was exorbitantly high - twenty-five sen per night. If you tried to use a futon that wasn't made from repurposed banners, they'd charge another five sen. In the innermost special-class room, atop a cracker-thin senbei futon - not sitting cross-legged but with tuxedoed knees properly bent - sat in desolate solitude one of Ariake-so's infamous six: Yamaki Motoyoshi, heir to the renowned Coral King. His hair stood disheveled, his face soot-stained and nearly bloodless. His features twisted with unease, forehead furrowed in anguish, bloodshot eyes darting restlessly toward the entrance at intervals. In Chapter Four, after that suspicious secret meeting with Kawabata Fumie at Toranomon's Banseiken, he'd vanished without trace; by Chapter Nine he'd reappeared amidst such desolate circumstances.

His hems and shoulders were caked in dust—where had he been crawling through?—with even a hooked tear fashioned into his jacket’s elbow. Good grief—the sight was downright suspicious. By no means could this be seen as the millionaire Coral King’s son. A musician who fell victim to the advent of talkies and met the misfortune of unemployment, or perhaps a bartender from Ginza’s back alleys reduced to such a state—that’s what he resembled. Truly a figure suited to the place. As the autumn wind settled heavily with desolation, suddenly there came the sense of footsteps halting outside the sliding door. Hearing this, Yamaki—contrary to his usual sluggish demeanor—suddenly leapt up from atop the futon, bounded to the window in a single stride, and frantically yanked open the glass pane. But beyond the window sealed shut by heavy anti-intruder spikes like a lid, even a thick iron bolt had been driven in, leaving no gap wide enough to squeeze a head through.

The figure outside the sliding door showed no courtesy, roughly shoving it open and barging into the room before seizing Yamaki—who had been restlessly fumbling with an iron rod—by the shoulder and hauling him back with brute force.

I may have written this in a grandiose manner, but this person was not actually a detective. In the previous incident, before the raid on the O-Chamatsu gambling den could commence, one of Ariake-so's residents—Kawabata Fumie, Iwao Michiyasu's secret lover and then an up-and-coming dancer—had safely evaded the dragnet by passing through an underground tunnel to Ochanomizu Embankment hand in hand with him. They appeared to have come straight from Ochanomizu Embankment to this place, with not even thirty minutes having passed since the raid. As before, wearing her flame-colored evening dress, she burst into this suspicious wooden lodging house room with the dazzling splendor of Nijinsky's Firebird.

After pulling him back and slapping Yamaki across the cheek with all her strength—her face pale and trembling violently— “Why are you hiding?” she shouted, but apparently overcome with emotion, buried her face in Yamaki’s chest and burst into sobs. Yamaki stood dumbfounded, mouth agape, but soon tears began spilling from between his narrow eyelids—their vision poor—as he desperately clung to Fumie, “Running away?…Don’t joke around.” “If I meant to run, would I’ve pulled that ad stunt?” “Why you so damn suspicious?”

He slumped over, sobbing brokenly, but once again cast furtive, fearful glances toward the sliding door and suddenly lowered his voice, “By the way—there wasn’t anyone following you, was there?” “If that happens, all our efforts up to now will go down the drain.” “...Don’t get the wrong idea.” “I’m not doing any of this to protect myself.” “The only reason I’m hiding in this miserable state is because I want to survive—to stay with you even a day longer.” “C’mon, understand me here!”

his voice trembling as he took Fumie’s hand and gripped it with desperate force,

“I was a coward—a hopeless pessimist who’d think about dying over the slightest blow to my pride. But since finding you as my anchor, I’ve come to hate the idea of death. No matter what hardships I face, I’ve come to want to survive through them with you. If I say such cringeworthy things, I think I’ll be laughed off—that’s why I’ve never actually said it out loud until now—but that’s how I truly felt. If you’re a jaded soul, then so am I—here we are in these final stages, our bodies rotting away from syphilis, only now truly tasting love’s bittersweetness. What a cruel twist of fate... yet I’m unbearably happy. For your sake, I wouldn’t hesitate to commit murder…”

The edge of his words caught hoarsely in his throat, transforming into choking sobs—guh, guh—. Fumie sat sideways on the tatami, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands, but when she could no longer hold back, she covered her face with both palms. Tears welled up between her beautiful fingers, streaming down in rivulets toward her elbows.

From the direction of the main room came a hoarse voice singing Izumo-bushi. One might call it poignant, but being out of tune made this melody sound utterly foolish.

After a while, Fumie wiped her tears and wore an indescribably lonely smile. “I went and cried.” With that, she stuck out her red tongue and crossed her legs in a slovenly manner, “Let’s drop this talk already." “No need to say it." “If we pull through safe, let’s take our honeymoon to Kusatsu or somewhere, yeah?”

Yamaki nodded meekly, “Ah, I’ll go anywhere.”

Fumie gazed at Yamaki’s face with feigned nonchalance,

“Yamaki, Tome-baa was strangled in the escape tunnel at ‘O-Chamatsu’.” Yamaki gasped, “Huh?”— “Th-that’s true?” “Only I, Iwao and you knew about that tunnel at Ariake-so—yet strange things happen.” “Got any ideas?” “J-joke… “J-joke… But… this’s turned bad.” “Who’d do such damn thing?” Fumie’s gaze sharpened slightly,

“You don’t need to play dumb.” “You killed Tsuruko too, didn’t you?…… I pretended to be asleep and saw everything you did this morning.” “You slipped out along the rooftops of Suzumoto—where on earth did you go?” Yamaki had been looking down, his jaw trembling, but then suddenly raised his face—his lips now ashen—and fumblingly tangled his tongue, “I’m a murderer… This is one hell of a mess.” “I suppose there’s no helping it if you think that way… But… I have absolutely no memory of it. I made a promise not to speak of this to anyone for one more day—that’s why I kept it hidden even from you. But now that things have come to this, I’ll tell everything.” “If you listen to what I say, you’ll understand whether it’s a lie or the truth.” “At least you alone…”

Fumie’s expression turned serious. "I don’t think you’re lying. Speak freely—even if you really did kill Tsuruko and Tome, I wouldn’t abandon you over something that trivial. You can relax too." Her tone shifted insistently. "But look—one more thing... Yamaki, you really didn’t kill them... That’s certain, right?" "Pathetic..." Yamaki’s voice cracked. "As if I could kill anyone. Can’t even off myself, let alone others."

Fumie let out a long sigh—"Ah..."—

“Yeah, I get it now. I was absolutely certain you’d done it and had been racking my brains trying to figure out how to save you no matter what. Actually…” and told him how she had discovered the Five Monk Curse symbol beneath the tatami in Hana’s room, “Suddenly remembering that, I thought—poor Hana—but I’d make her take the blame for Tsuruko’s death no matter what. I skillfully fabricated evidence and first tipped off Iwao at ‘O-Chamatsu’ as my opening move. No one besides me knew about slipping out of Suzumoto, so I added all sorts of embellishments to the story, determined to pin everything on Hana. If that express letter with your address had arrived at O-Chamatsu’s messenger just a little later, I would’ve gone straight to Manako’s place… I was already convinced I was done for. I won’t pretend to be tough. It was a lie—thank goodness… Now, you tell me your story. Depending on what you say, I’m prepared for anything.”

Yamaki leaned forward on his knees, “You know how I’ve been running around like mad since last spring—serving as Indou Chuusuke’s middleman to broker that huge diamond to Inui Nihei for a ten percent commission, all while trying to dodge any document forgery charges.” “...Just five days ago, we finished the inspection and settled on ten million yen.” “But then on the 20th, a telegram came from Annam.” “When they found out the King had taken the diamond, rumors spread about him securing independence funds, and Li Guangming’s opposition faction started raising hell.” “The French colonial authorities couldn’t ignore it either—they unexpectedly ordered their ambassador in Tokyo to verify the claims.” “The King agonized over it. He even talked about canceling the sale at one point, but realized that even if he did, those rumors meant they’d eventually find some excuse to force him to abdicate anyway.” “Abdication alone would’ve been bearable, but he’d end up exiled to Madagascar or some island like the 11th Restoration King—spending his days scraping by playing the violin or whatever until he died.” “As for that diamond—it’s been passed down through generations of the Annamese Imperial Family. King Munakata Ryutaro’s rightful property.” “Whether he sells it or appraises it, there’s nothing wrong with that.” “If he’d stayed obedient, they’d have torn off his limbs and left him penniless—wandering miserably till his last breath.” “Since dethronement was inevitable anyway, he resolved to sell it and flee to Turkey with the money.” “The original plan was sending proceeds to the Annam Independence Party’s Paris branch for their movement—but with those rumors spreading, the branch was probably already destroyed anyway. Any grand schemes were hopeless by then.” “On the 30th evening at the Imperial Hotel, he confided this decision to me—even someone as refined as the King looked utterly desolate then. I couldn’t help shedding tears myself.”

“So, did Tsuruko know about that?”

Yamaki shook his head, “No—unfortunately she didn’t know a thing.” “People thought the King was infatuated with Tsuruko, and he used that as an excuse to frequent Japan—but as you know, their relationship didn’t start because he took a liking to her.” “Iwao took it upon himself to arrange things, but then Tsuruko became utterly infatuated instead. Even the King, swayed by sentiment, ended up stuck in it until now—but as you’ve seen, once he’s drunk, there’s no telling what he’ll blurt out. He’s such a loose cannon that it seems he hardly mentioned anything about the diamond.”

Fumie had been listening to Yamaki’s story with a strange expression when suddenly she spoke in a voice like someone waking from a dream: “So that’s how it was.” Yamaki immediately caught her tone: “What do you mean ‘that’s how it was’?” Feigning nonchalance, Fumie replied: “Oh, I just meant it’s terribly sad,” evading the question. Her demeanor suggested unspoken implications. Unaware, Yamaki continued: “...So we reopened negotiations with Inui’s side. The handover’s finally set for ten tomorrow night—the 2nd—at Atami Hotel in Atami. The funds will be deposited across sixteen banks—New York’s National Bank, Paris’s Escort National, Rome’s Rome Bank, and others—with full payment via red-line checks. Clerk Matsushima will come from Inui’s side, while the King departs Tokyo at eight under the guise of taking the waters. Once the deal’s done, the King alone will leave Atami immediately for Kobe, board the P&O steamship Samari sailing noon on the 3rd for Penang, then take a passenger plane to Istanbul for exile...”

“Now, about the next day—though it was actually last night—at the year-end party at ‘Paris,’ when I got up to go to the toilet, the King was waiting for me by the palm plant. He said he had an urgent request and asked me to come to the back door of Tsuruko’s house by 3:50 AM.” “As the situation has grown extremely perilous, I require you to approach with utmost caution—ensuring you’re not seen by anyone.” “If you would but come to the back door, I shall come out to meet you at that hour.” “Please ensure there are absolutely no mistakes,” he said with an uncharacteristically intense, urgent expression. The excessive gravity of it all made me tremble violently, yet I also felt pity. Clasping the King’s hand to pledge my loyalty, he smirked wryly with an indescribably forlorn expression and said, “Due to *that matter*, the French ambassador will come to confront me at four o’clock in the morning on the 2nd.” “That’s all well and good, but… actually, assassins from Li Guangming’s faction who are trying to kill me arrived in Yokohama on the 27th aboard the President Hua.” “I just found this out moments ago, but given that situation, I can't afford to let my guard down either,” he said, casting a sidelong glance toward the rowdy revelry, adding “They might already be coming here any minute now”—when through the door behind Emiko came a rough-faced young man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight.

This guy wore a tuxedo, but it was clear to anyone he wasn’t accustomed to such attire in daily life. Despite his youth, he moved with unnervingly precise gestures and bore a piercingly intense gaze. He abruptly sat at a back table and began puffing cigarettes without ordering a drink—his composure nothing short of remarkable. Then the King jabbed me with his elbow and said, “Speak of the devil— “The man who just entered appears to be the very one. “He bears striking resemblance to the informant who came to me,” he continued, winking one eye at me. “You’ve likely no experience in such matters, but I’ve grown adept at handling assassins. “The only way to protect oneself from such vermin is to keep them tethered close. “Less a paradox than pure Machiavellian calculus—so long as you monitor them nearby, you maintain at least nominal safety. “……I shall take him with me now and keep him under watch until tomorrow evening…… Pray do not forget our prior arrangement.” With this he departed. I feigned drunkenness and returned to my table, then collapsed in the corridor—staging the performance of my life while lying there contemplating how events might unfold.

That something momentous was unfolding—I could feel it viscerally. Even so, what a pitiable king he was. Though he governed five million subjects, his existence resembled having no home across the three realms—his father exiled to an island, his younger brother poisoned, while he himself remained constantly exposed to ceaseless danger, never knowing when assassination might strike. I'm an incompetent, good-for-nothing man—but when I considered the trust the King had shown me until now, I resolved to do anything within my power to save him from peril. [...] Enough of this sentimental drivel. Now then, while being trampled underfoot by you and watching sideways, soon enough the King departed "Paris" together with the assassin.

When three o'clock rolled around and I was preparing to go meet the King, the Kaamasu Shoo crew declared they were heading to Suzumoto next—a damned nuisance, but given how things stood, I couldn't bail on them alone. I got dragged along to Suzumoto with the whole gang, but my partner Janet became insufferably clingy. Then you tactfully smoothed things over—just as I was thinking 'Thank Christ'—you came barging through the opposite entrance, whining and dragging your feet. The appointed time was closing in, and I was sweating bullets. Sorry 'bout this—after scheming ways to knock you out cold, luckily you passed out quick. Checked my watch—3:30 AM already—no time to dick around. I slipped out across Suzumoto's roof tiles, grabbed at a bent nail jutting from the storehouse wall to climb down, but completely botched it—plummeted straight down and smashed my lower back so bad I couldn't stand. No time for that shit—crawled like a roach toward Sakaibashi till I flagged down a roaming taxi to Sannou-shita. Got stopped three times at checkpoints but slid through easy enough. Jimmied open the door with my duplicate key, ripped out the bell wires, then circled 'round back via the service stairs. Pressed my ear to the kitchen door—heard the King and Tsuruko inside with some guy. Probably that assassin—sounded plastered, slurring nonsense in a squeaky voice. Checked my watch—3:45 AM. Waited two minutes till I heard someone rustling through the liquor cabinet in the dining room. Then came the click of the service door's lock—it jerked open about five sun wide. The King emerged halfway through the gap clutching a champagne bottle—shoved it into my hands and hissed "Keep this till tomorrow night" before slamming the door shut and retreating.

...What in the world was this champagne bottle about? Looking at it, I saw an unopened bottle—the cork tightly secured with wire and wrapped in tin foil. When I shook it, the champagne frothed vigorously. There was nothing strange about it at all. I turned the bottle vertically and horizontally against the light, but the mystery remained unsolved. Then I suddenly noticed—while ordinary champagne bottles have conical bases, this one had a diamond-faceted false bottom. Panicking, I felt the bottle’s base—it was flat……A cold sensation pierced me from toes to crown……No need for elaborate explanation. In place of the false bottom, that fifty million yen had been welded securely to the bottle’s base. My heart hammered like rapid temple bells; my vision swam. In that instant, I couldn’t devise any course of action. Thinking to hide it in my room, I descended the service stairs and was about to ascend via the front staircase when footsteps echoed from the entrance. Deeming this dangerous, I hid beside the boiler room until they passed, then fled Ariake-so at full tilt.

...Thanks to the champagne bottle, I passed through the return security checkpoints with ease. After getting out of the taxi before St. Luke’s Hospital, I clung to the pawnshop’s storehouse and returned to my room. You lay sound asleep when I checked. Having made this journey wearing only one sock, the soles of my feet ached unbearably. The sock was caked in mud too... This was no joke—if they traced me through this mud, it’d be disastrous. I thoroughly wiped down the built-in shelves and tatami with my handkerchief, then went to the washroom to rinse the sock and hang it over the electric stove... With things somewhat settled, I began pondering how to dispose of this champagne bottle. No matter what, having such a thing lying around here looked suspicious. If I didn’t put it somewhere natural, even some trivial slip could get me suspected. The most natural spot? First thought was our liquor shelf—but planting it there now would seem odd... Then it struck me—the refrigerator. This had to be it. Carrying the bottle downstairs to the counter area, I found Osa and Ochiyo chatting by the register. “I’ll drink this tomorrow morning to wake up—put it in the electric fridge,” I requested. Osa casually stood and headed toward the kitchen. Hearing the refrigerator door click firmly shut, my tension suddenly drained away—I nearly collapsed right there on the spot. Crawling back up to my second-floor room, I lay on my back staring upward... Everything until now seemed to blur into a hazy dream, unreal as a lie. Then Janet came to rouse me awake, and you returned to Ronald’s room. Soon a night storm blew in, binding all twelve of us into a prayer bead chain... That’s everything. “I’ve laid it all out clean—if anything doesn’t add up for you, ask away. I’ll explain till you’re satisfied.”

Fumie was listening to Yamaki’s story with her chin propped on her palm when she narrowed her eyes sharply and glared up,

"I get it," Fumie said, propping her chin in her palm. "I don't think you're lying. But listen, Yamaki—if someone saw you sneaking out of Suzumoto at that hour, your whole story crumbles. The more you try explaining yourself, the deeper the hole you'll dig. This isn't some innocent little incident we're dealing with." Yamaki's eyes regained their timid cast as he ventured, "But the King will vouch for me. If His Majesty—"

Without letting him finish, “What if His Majesty were killed?” Yamaki’s face contorted into a tearful grimace, brows knotted tight—but moments later suddenly bloomed with radiant joy,

“Hey, Fumie! We’re saved. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Frantic, he lunged forward as if swimming through air, “Ah, miracles upon miracles—this might save us... You see, while running down Munezukizaka slope, I happened to glance up at Hana’s second-floor window. There she was, leaning her elbows on the windowsill like this, staring straight up at Ariake-so.” “The moonlight struck her face, making her already too-pale complexion appear ghastly white as it floated up in the darkness—she wore a terrifying expression like that of a woman consumed by vengeance.” “She looked ready to leap into the air any moment—hair disheveled like a vengeful spirit—and I shuddered.……Anyway, if I left Ariake-so just before four and the incident happened around ten past, there’s a chance Hana witnessed the whole thing.” “In my recollection, the moon had just shifted west and was shining directly onto the entrance window—so from Hana’s position, she must have seen everything.” “…Then... that should clear me, but...”

Fumie abruptly opened her mouth, “You’re certain Hanako had her face out the window? You saw her clearly?” “That’s why she had that vengeful look—”

“Was the light on in Hanako’s room?” “No, it was pitch dark.” Fumie glared upward at her forehead with upturned eyes, seeming to ponder something deeply—but then twisted her lips into a smirk and laughed, “Hanako definitely saw. ...No, it’s not just that she saw—she knew from the start that something was going to happen at Tsuruko’s place this morning.” “Wh-what... What do you mean by that?” “There’s no reason or nonsense to it. “…Just think—has Hanako’s room light ever been turned off before? She always keeps a five-candlepower lamp burning through the night—says she can’t sleep when it’s dark.…As for me, whenever I come racing back late from Sannō-shita, seeing that bright window always makes me breathe easier. “…Yet why did she turn it off only last night? Even if it were New Year’s Eve, what reason could she have to make such a face while staring up at Tsuruko’s place at four in the morning?… It’s not like we’re in the middle of summer—there’s no way she’d be standing out in this freezing cold getting blown by the wind. What a reckless little minx! You’ll catch a cold. “…When I tested you with a little trap this morning at Toranomon, you nearly had a fit—but now I see why. It all makes sense now.”

Yamaki began rocking his knees,

“So this means it was definitely the King who did it, huh? If it weren’t him, that stubborn brat wouldn’t keep her mouth shut for nothing. Especially after you laid that trap—she should’ve cracked right then! This proves it better than anything!” “Who’s to say?” “‘Who’s to say’...? Don’t you get it? The cops made that big scene precisely because the King killed her! Just look how they buried it in the evening edition—five measly lines in six-point type! And if it wasn’t him, they wouldn’t just leave us twisting in the wind like this!”

Fumie glared up sharply at Yamaki’s face with upturned eyes, “That’s right—they aren’t just leaving us alone. They’re desperately searching for us. So Iwao and I fled into ‘Ochamatsu’ in a frantic state! As for ‘Paris,’ they’ve already got people staked out front and back, I hear. Plus, there’s this rumor going around that the King was kidnapped from Hibiya Park. Somehow things have suddenly changed—it’s turned into something dangerous.” Yamaki suddenly changed color, restlessly raised his knees, and in a frightened voice,

“Then we can’t afford to dawdle around here any longer. If we get caught in a raid now, that’ll be the end of us.” As he panicked, Fumie took his hand and pulled him down, “Why are you panicking now as if it’s some sudden crisis? If you didn’t have something shady lurking behind you, there’d be nothing to fear at all.” Yamaki’s face twisted as if he might burst into tears at any moment, then he lowered his voice,

“There’s something I’m afraid of. “……Actually, I have it here.”

Fumie gasped sharply and gulped her breath,

“Is that true? ...Oh, what a fool...” Yamaki anxiously darted his eyes toward the doorway while,

“I never meant to bring it here, but things took an unexpected turn…” He caught his breath, “...So after leaving Ariake-so, I went straight to Suzumoto’s area—but then I went myself, started having second thoughts about last night’s champagne bottle too, headed up to Kuretake Inn in Akashicho, had the maid take the bottle, and lay around until about four o’clock. But when I went to the toilet and casually glanced at the four-and-a-half-tatami room across the garden—I caught a glimpse of Emiko and Baroncelli.” “From what I can tell, Emiko’s definitely the one who led that assassin to ‘Paris’—but now that she’s come to corner me like this, her aim’s clear as day.” “I rushed back to my room, cradling the bottle sideways, and was about to exit through Kuretake’s gate when I spotted Hutchinson leaning casually against the opposite side of the wall, keeping watch.” “I didn’t think they’d move this fast.” “In desperation, I dashed into the side garden, smashed the bottle to take just the bottom, climbed over the wooden fence into the alley by the Catholic church, hailed a taxi near Kaikokubashi Bridge, and that’s how I ended up fleeing here.”

Suddenly, the sliding door between them clattered open, and from the supposedly vacant three-tatami room next door, Kouda Setsuzou slid into view. No—it wasn’t just Kouda Setsuzou. Along with Kouda Setsuzou came his usual partner Sakuzuki Mamoru, Indou Chuusuke, Matsuzawa Heikichi of the Tokyo Precious Stones Club, and one other man—dressed in a black serge suit and clutching a folding briefcase, bearing the appearance of a process server. The five men filed in one after another, silently surrounding Yamaki and Fumie in the center before sitting down without a word. The three-tatami room instantly became packed to the gills.

Thirty: The Matter of a Single Carnation

And: The Matter of a Carefree Hummed Tune

Now, Furuichi Kaju of the Sunset Newspaper—having heard an inconsequential anecdote from Sou Shuuchin, intelligence chief to the Annam Emperor, about how that morning's fountain crane had sung the Annamese national anthem—abruptly gained insight into this tangled case's truth. Though the entire Metropolitan Police Department labored in disarray—desperate to rescue the Annam Emperor from assassins' hands and return him to his hotel by 4:00 AM tomorrow when the French Ambassador en route to the capital would pay respects—Kaju had pierced through it all: the very Emperor they sought lay beneath their noses, under Hibiya Park's Fountain Crane pedestal. Ah—the darkness beneath the lamp! he thought with his characteristically vulgar sentimentality. Summoning every ounce of ingenuity to investigate from all angles yet finding no entry through the pedestal itself, he could only conclude some passageway must lead beneath. Kaju had groaned on the bench for nearly an hour when unforeseen inspiration struck—before he knew it, he sprang upright.

While burning the midnight oil in Hokkaido University’s Civil Engineering Department, Kaju recalled having reluctantly pored over old maps like the *Kyoho Sen'yō Ruishū* and Ōkubo Mondo’s *Tensho Nikki* to keep up with Dr. Asami’s lectures on “Edo-period Waterworks,” researching the layout of the great underground waterways. According to that memory, beneath the area from Shibatamura-chō to Hibiya Plain, the great underground waterways of the Kanda and Tamagawa Aqueducts should crisscross in countless patterns, much like the labyrinth of Crete.

Musashino was originally a wild plain of swampy wetlands where, if one dug a well, what gushed forth was either polluted water or seawater subject to the whims of the tides, leaving it severely lacking in clean water. When Tokugawa Ieyasu established a seat of governance in this land, he channeled water from Akasaka Reservoir and the streams beneath Kandayama into the city to barely meet its needs; however, as these waters remained perpetually turbid and prone to drying up, in Tenshō 18 (1590), he ordered Ōkubo Fujigorō to survey potential reservoirs. Upon discovering that Inokashira Pond’s water was suitable for drinking, he had the Kanda Aqueduct constructed. Then during the Kanei era (1624–1644), under the third shogun Iemitsu, Tamagawa Kiyoemon was commissioned to create the Tamagawa Aqueduct drawing from Tama River. Later in the Genroku era (1688–1704), following Kawamura Zuiken’s designs, the Senkawa Aqueduct—sourced from Shakujii Village’s Sanpō Pond—was laid, burying large conduits beneath the streets and installing reservoir wells throughout for citizens’ drinking water. As for branch aqueducts, there were three: Mita, Aoyama, and Kameari.

To describe the pathways of these great underground waterways from the two aqueducts: the Kanda Aqueduct originated from Inokashira Pond in Mitaka Village, Kitatama District; merged with waters from Zenpukuji Pond in Kami-Igusa; reached beneath Mejirodai; flowed along the base of Kohinata-dai through Korakuen; crossed the Kanda River via a large conduit near Suidobashi; supplied water to Kanda, Nihonbashi, and Kyobashi; passed underground beneath Hibiya Gate; and finally reached the moat near Sukiya Gate. The Tamagawa Aqueduct diverged water from Tama River at Nishitama Nohamura, entered the city through Yotsuya Ōkido, passed through Toranomon and Tamura-chō to reach Hibiya, temporarily joined the great underground waterways of the Kanda Aqueduct, then branched off from Yamashita-mon Bridge to detour westward and finally reach the moat near Babasakimon Bridge.

These were the main lines of the aqueducts, but from these great underground waterways, countless branch conduits crisscrossed in every direction, forming a vast underground network beneath the Kōjimachi area that rivaled the complexity of Paris's famed covered channels. Once inside these great underground waterways, one could reach Kohinata-daimachi via Kyōbashi and Nihonbashi without ever surfacing above ground, while the other path led beneath Yotsuya Ōkido through Toranomon. Examining Kurita Ichimu’s *Tenmei Zasshū*, it described how Shinsuke, son of the farmer Ichibei from Araikata Village in Adachi District—that is, the infamous Inaba Kozō Shinsuke—had utilized these great underground waterways to move freely and carry out his activities. On the night of September 16, Tenmei 5 (1785), he entered the great underground waterways of the then-abandoned Aoyama Aqueduct near Azabu Roppongi as was his custom, strolled leisurely underground from Iikura to Shiba Shinbori, and suddenly appeared before the gardens of Kuroda Bungo-no-kami's secondary residence—only to be discovered by guards, captured, and ultimately have his head displayed at Asakusa on October 22 of the same year.

Consulting *Tokyo Municipal Waterworks Compendium* published in Meiji 44 (1911), one finds documentation that only the old waterways of the Senkawa Aqueduct—acquired by Iwasaki Hisaya’s Senkawa Waterworks Company in Meiji 40 (1907)—were ever excavated. Yet the labyrinth of other great underground waterways still crawls like a spider’s web beneath greater Tokyo, meandering for over ten *ri*. The reality of these great underground waterways has faded from our memory along with the antique maps from the *Water Conduit Specifications*, leaving few aware that such uncanny subterranean passages still crisscross beneath asphalt-paved roads. Looking at the *Water Conduit Specifications*, the great underground waterways were a type of subterranean conduit measuring six *shaku* in height and four *shaku* five *sun* in width, their interiors lined with Ōya stone, with four-*ken*-square reservoir wells installed every two *chō*. Now moss clings to the surrounding stone walls, half-weathered and grown severely brittle, yet one can still wander freely through their interiors. This secret underground passage must be none other than the most enthralling component among all the urban mechanisms forming the Demon Capital "Tokyo".

Having rehashed Kaju's own findings and unwittingly indulged in a quasi-academic digression, he decided to stop here for now—so then, from where exactly had the Emperor entered this underground waterway? This underground passage runs fifteen shaku below ground, so it shouldn’t be possible for anyone to enter easily. If a large-scale construction project had begun in this area, the great underground waterways would have been severed there, exposing the entrance to the secret passage... when suddenly it occurred to him.

Now, large-scale underground construction for a broadcasting station was underway in Tamura-chō 1-chōme. Since it was a massive two-story underground structure, he reasoned that the great underground waterways must have been severed there—and somewhere at that construction site, he was certain an entrance to those secret passages now stood gaping wide open! In other words—through this single unbroken chain of reasoning—Kaju had arrived at his conclusion: His Majesty must have entered through there due to some necessity. For Kaju—whose mental gears usually ground slowly—this marked a truly splendid achievement.

Having confirmed this, Kaju dashed out of Hibiya Park and raced all the way to the broadcasting station construction site—but contrary to expectations of him barging right in, he instead sped past the 1-chōme intersection toward Minami-Sakuma-chō. When he slid open the front door of the small-gated house behind the elementary school, he marched straight up to the second floor without waiting for an invitation, brushed past the dumbfounded maid, and began frantically rummaging through the large bookcase against the wall.

This house belonged to Dr. Asami Atsutaro, formerly a Hokkaido University professor and now a consultant for the Tokyo Municipal Civil Engineering Bureau—so it appeared Kaju had come here seeking old maps of the great underground waterways. In near-frenzy, he clawed through musty bookcases until yanking out a Japanese-bound volume labeled *Tensho Nikki*, ripping off the map from its end to stuff in his pocket, snatching the hand flashlight atop the shelf, then bolted wordlessly from the house. Hailing a taxi out front, he rode to Ginza’s Matsuzakaya storefront, approached Shuuchin—who stood dazedly at the street corner tallying cars with kappa-dish radiators—barked an order to come to the Tamura-chō 1-chōme broadcast site in thirty minutes, then returned via taxi to Tamura-chō’s intersection.

When he entered the boarded enclosure, around the twenty-foot-deep construction site, three concrete mixers sat dampened by the night wind while several trolleys lay overturned on rusted rails. Bags of rebar and mortar were piled high here and there, creating an undeniably imposing sight. Using his hand flashlight’s beam, Kaju circled the pit’s edge to approach the night watchman’s hut. Holding his breath, he peered inside—but as expected on New Year’s Day, even the watchman didn’t sleep there, leaving it utterly silent and devoid of human presence. Returning to the pit’s rim, he scanned the area; spotting a plank walkway on the opposite side, he circled around it and began cautiously descending into the depths. The foundation work with crushed stone had just been completed, exposing cross-sections of earth around the massive hole that formed a chilling stratigraphic map of the ground. At the Uchisaiwaicho-side cross-section, a large canvas hung conspicuously alone. His heart pounded as he rushed toward it and flipped up the covering—ah! Just as he thought! There was not a shred of error in Kaju’s deduction.

Behind that canvas yawned the entrance to an ancient secret passageway—as dusky as Shinjuku’s underground tunnels—gaping wide like a stifled yawn. Kaju stared spellbound at the passage’s maw with the awe of Columbus beholding Guanahani Island, but when his gaze drifted downward, he spotted something peculiar atop the leveled crushed stone. There it lay—a single crimson carnation blooming demurely in the shadows as though sprouted from the very ground. Nothing clashed more violently with this drab construction site than an expensive early-blooming foreign flower. Its incongruous allure seized Kaju’s attention with uncanny force.

When Kaju picked up the carnation and examined it, he realized its stem had been cut short—clearly meant to be inserted into a buttonhole on clothing. Ah, this single flower not only added poetic charm to the construction site—it told of something far more significant. ...The King had entered the secret passage from here.

Dear readers, you may likely recall. In the first installment, at the scene in the Paris bar, Emperor Munakata Ryutaro of Annam had elegantly placed a crimson carnation in the lapel of his London-tailored tuxedo. This was the flower from that night.

Kaju was gazing at the flower with shining eyes when, in a voice trembling with irrepressible joy, he muttered: "Ah, indeed! My assumption wasn't wrong." With this, it had become clear and certain that Your Majesty was located beneath the Crane Fountain. "...Alright. I'll use this old map to reach the base and capture His Majesty to obtain his statement."

While muttering this to himself, he slowly made his way into the secret passage. When he shone his hand flashlight around, the walls of the cut-stone-lined secret passage were densely covered with unnameable gecko-like insects. As they all began squirming sluggishly in unison, the entire wall appeared to undulate. From the ceiling hung stalactite-like formations resembling icicles, their tips dripping water with a plink plonk. The musty, damp air hung stagnant and murky, thickly striking against his face.

The secret passage stood just high enough to walk upright without scraping one's head against the ceiling, but the crude stone pavement lay uneven underfoot, its gentle slope alternately rising and falling. A dull subterranean rumble like distant thunder overhead likely came from train tracks above. Kaju deduced he must now be walking beneath Tamura-chō Avenue. After ten minutes of steady progress, the tunnel abruptly terminated. He feverishly unfolded the old map only to find no such waterway marked. Clicking his tongue in frustration, he retraced his steps—now noticing side passages branching left and right that stretched into darkness unseen during his initial approach. Choosing the right fork after momentary hesitation, he pressed forward through endless stone corridors. Though he strained to hear river waves that might signal proximity to the moat, restarting his route brought no clarity. Attempting to return to the three-way junction proved equally futile—the labyrinthine network defying all spatial logic as he wandered deeper into its maw.

When he looked around, Kaju found himself standing at an underground crossroads of sorts, with paths branching out in four directions. On the verge of tears, he examined the map but couldn't discern which path corresponded to which route marked on it. Thinking he might catch the rumble of a train, he pressed his ear against the wall—only to hear something like a hum. It carried the carefree lilt of a cheerful drunkard humming a nonsensical tune. Listening intently, it resembled both the wriggling of earthworms and the scuttling of geckos. Resolved to reach the source of this sound, he dashed into the left-hand path—only to find its end splitting into three branches that snaked onward into the dark depths.

Kaju finally wandered into the labyrinth of the great underground passageway. When he glanced at his wristwatch, it was exactly midnight! Only four hours remained until 4:00 AM.

Part 10

31. Shin-Yoshiwara Night Scene

And: The Matter of Foxes and Horseback Riding

The New Year returns on its first crest-displaying day.

The present-day Kiken Castle, where large and small fences stood, neon lights blazed brilliantly against vermilion-latticework facades, modern-style kadomatsu branches rustled in the wind, and even the rhythms of dara-daiko drums took on a somehow jazzy flair.

Come spring, scarlet cherry trees lining Gojikken-dori bloomed with alluring blossoms; from its starting point toward Nakanocho stretched five or six hikite tea houses—their hemp curtains exuding refinement, paper lanterns inscribed in faint ink— (Hasekaha) Fushimiya was written in flowing script.

A second-floor eight-tatami room facing the road. At this very moment, there are two individuals silently sipping from their cups around a rosewood table. One was Indou Chuusuke—adoptive son of the infamous usurer Inui Nihei and a resident of the notorious Ariake-so Apartments—who had previously barged uninvited into the adjacent crimson passion-filled room where Yamaki Motoyoshi and Kawabata Fumie clung together in embrace, accompanied during that Asakusa简易Hotel incident by a bailiff-like man carrying a briefcase, alongside Kouda Setsuzou (president of the unscrupulous Sunset Newspaper), his accomplice Sakuzuki (Hibiya Park superintendent), and Matsuzawa of Tokyo Precious Stone Club (clerk to Tokubei of Shima).

The other was John Hutchinson—correspondent for "Hovath"—who in the sixth installment at the Tsukiji Akashi-chō scene had pinned Baroncelli, the Franco-Japanese manager of "Carnet de Chasse," against the railing of Akatsuki Bridge at dusk, threatened him with terrifying accusations about having sold the Emperor to the Tsurumi-gumi or abducted him, left an odd parting remark before exiting the narrative frame, and thereafter vanished without a trace. Indou’s face showed sweat beading over his greasepaint makeup, his shoulders heaving great sighs as if he’d exhausted every ounce of his strength running about. His carefully drawn eyebrows had smeared into figure-eight shapes at the outer corners, transforming his face into something as absurd as a mask from a Greek tragedy.

Hutchinson’s face had transformed over this single day into something unrecognizably jagged—thunder-god shadows encircling his sunken eyes intensifying the judicial severity that always lurked beneath his features. To put it bluntly, he looked as if he had just murdered someone—presenting an utterly gruesome appearance that chilled those who saw him to the bone. From both directions came the lively booming of drums that seemed to surge from the earth itself, yet this room alone remained shrouded in gloom, its occupants silently vying for dominance as they stole furtive glances at each other.

Just as this grave silent drama seemed poised to continue eternally, Indou abruptly opened his mouth with a strained laugh and— “...There’s a saying: ‘A sail meets wind,’ but even the serpent would cower on its own path. When things get this chaotic, this house becomes the one and only hiding place. ...I thought I was being clever rushing into what I believed was a brilliant spot, only to find you here already, sir. It really makes you realize there’s always someone above—I’ve come to deeply appreciate that fact. ...When I look into it, seems you’ve got some hand in this case too, sir.”

With this, he parted his thin lips, their lipstick faded.

Hutchinson placed his cup on the table and, with an equally calculating expression,

“As for involvement, you’re in the same position. After all, the fact that you’re one of Ariake-so’s residents speaks loudest here. Since you wouldn’t want to be led into some wretched predicament, the safest path now is not to stray—let sleeping gods lie and wait quietly for calm waters.” “Ah, most reasonable,” Indou said, still studying Hutchinson’s face like a detective examining evidence.

“By the way, what a mess this turned into. They say it’s the biggest police operation since the Metropolitan Police was founded—and here’s me scurrying around like a rat in all this chaos. Like I told you earlier, when Kouda and I were cornering Yamaki at that flophouse on Umamichi Street, we heard ‘RAID!’ and bolted outside… only to find them swarming everywhere.” “A police truck had parked at the entrance to Shōten Alley, combing through both sides of flophouses like sieving through a net.” “We panicked—rushed back inside thinking we could slip out the back alleys to Yoshino Bridge. Allies and enemies all jumbled together, kicking back gutter planks as we dashed toward Ogawamachi.” “I somehow made it to Sumida Park alone—but they’d already strung police lines around every corner.” “Doubled back to Saruwaka-chō—no good either.” “Third block’s corner crawling with police uniforms.” “No way forward or back—turned toward the streetcar road just as a Minami-Senju train came. Jumped on to Namidabashi, grabbed a taxi through Imado—barely made it here.” “For a moment there… didn’t know how this’d end.” “Hanging around with a marked man like Kouda—get arrested together and it’d spiral clean outta control…”

he trailed off evasively, as if making excuses. Hutchinson smirked and, “Well, Kouda might’ve shared the same impression as you, sir.” “Putting that aside—what exactly were the circumstances around cornering Yamaki?” “Give me the full details.” “Use that talent of yours for keeping conversations lively—let’s hear it.”

he said coaxingly. His words were light-spirited, but his face had taken on an unpleasant hue—a desperate look that insisted he would not be silenced. According to Chief Inspector Manako’s previous verification at Suzumoto, it had been confirmed that during the period from 3:50 AM to 5:00 AM this morning—the timeframe in which Matsutani Tsuruko was believed to have been murdered by someone at the Ariake-so Apartments—both Iwao and Hutchinson had also slipped out of Suzumoto via the rooftops. Given Hutchinson’s tense expression as he hid in the hikite tea house, one might suspect he held some grave connection to this case—but setting that aside, when Hutchinson made such an invitation, Indou bit immediately, thrusting out his chin and lowering his voice with exaggerated gravity.

"To tell you the truth, Mr. Hutchinson—sir—until just now I was convinced Yamaki had killed Tsuruko and stolen the King's diamond." He tapped his forehead with a frivolous gesture. "But when I heard Yamaki's unprompted rambling in the next room, I realized it was completely off the mark."

“This has grown rather complicated.” “Then?” Indou recounted how he had witnessed Yamaki slipping out of Suzumoto and returning via the rooftops, along with how he had sold this information to Shima Toku’s gang and pocketed ten thousand yen.

“But we couldn’t find Yamaki’s whereabouts—the crucial piece.” “Just as everyone was growing frantic, a report came in from one of Shima Toku’s underlings that Fumie had entered a flophouse on Umamichi Street.” “When another report suggested Yamaki was likely there too, we stormed in with a court officer and sneaked into the three-tatami darkness next door to eavesdrop—there was that bastard Yamaki getting grilled by Fumie, spilling his guts through tears.” “...So at Paris’ year-end party, when the King asked Yamaki to sneak to Tsuruko’s back door around 3:30 tomorrow morning, he got entrusted with that champagne bottle hiding diamonds in its false bottom. But while loitering around Kuretake in Tsukiji with it, someone cornered him. Driven to desperation, he smashed the bottle to retrieve just the diamonds and fled thoughtlessly into a flophouse—that’s the whole story,”

“Now that I hear this and reconsider—Yamaki can’t drive a car at all,” said Hutchinson, his calculating expression unwavering. “The fact he isn’t lying becomes perfectly clear just from that alone. Every detail aligns.” Indou scratched his stubbled chin. “Huh... Strange business, ain’t it? I know Yamaki can’t handle an automobile either.” His eyes narrowed like a street cat cornering prey. “But if that roadster moved without him... means someone else slipped outta Suzumoto same time as him.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Outta six of us? Only three can drive that heap—me, Mr.Iwao... and you.”

Hutchinson seemed lost in thought, his cheek propped against the car, but suddenly burst into a guttural laugh as if struck by an idea, “By the way, Mr. Indou—regarding Yamaki’s dire predicament—if I may be so bold, allow this Hutchinson to attempt an analysis of its conclusion.” “...In my estimation, I believe it must have unfolded roughly along these lines.” “Well then—the five of them sit down around Yamaki and Fumie like a tightening noose.” “With physical evidence already on their persons, matters progressed swiftly.” “They thrust forward that forged notarized document bearing the patriarch’s seal, guided them through each step toward forcible seizure—only to discover... lo and behold, not diamonds but utterly dissimilar glass beads.” “...Well now, Mr. Indou—isn’t that precisely how it transpired?”

Indou gasped in shock and was left speechless for a moment, but soon began gesturing awkwardly as if swimming through air,

“H-how do you know about this?”

Hutchinson nonchalantly, “There’s simply no way around it. Now that I’ve heard your account—you mentioned the diamond was welded to the bottom of a champagne bottle? Just think—you don’t weld one of the world’s purest diamonds to some glass bottle. It’d get damaged! Unless someone’s gone mad, nobody would do such an idiotic thing.”

He gazed at Indou’s face with a look that said it was utterly ridiculous,

“You gentlemen probably aren’t aware, but that wasn’t welding or anything of the sort. It’s fundamentally designed as that type of bottle with a false top. In Hue, Annam, there’s a brewery called Bonizōru Brothers that markets a champagne labeled ‘Emperor.’ They fashioned its rosette-shaped cut-glass upper base after an imperial family’s secret treasure. While the champagne itself leaves much to be desired, this very feature has become their claim to fame—in Annam, there isn’t a soul unaware of it. Should you desire, I could procure you a dozen crates or two. But someone scrambling about clutching such a glass bottle’s base—why, this is sheer lunacy writ large. What an utterly fantastical affair indeed. As one would expect from His Majesty’s refined cunning—this entire scheme has organically coalesced into a work of satirical fiction without conscious effort. Ah, I must say… Heh, heh, heh…”

he burst into ceaseless laughter. After laughing uproariously,

“The saying ‘To deceive the enemy, first deceive your allies’ isn’t just some naniwa-bushi platitude.” “Since everyone had already caught on to Yamaki acting as the diamond sale intermediary, making it appear he’d handed it over bought time for the real one to evade pursuit.” “The more that guileless Yamaki Motoyoshi believed it genuine and flamboyantly hid himself, the more effective the ruse became.” “The Emperor’s brilliance lies precisely in choosing Yamaki for this role.” “Had this been entrusted to someone with your... let’s say flexible morals, things wouldn’t have gone half as smoothly.” “You’d never stuff glass baubles in your pocket and scamper about like a headless chicken without checking their worth.” “...And so this diamond-Yamaki entanglement reaches its grand denouement.” “Not a single loose thread remains.” “Clear as champagne in crystal—this matter’s settled. But your roadster’s midnight joyride demands scrutiny... Frankly speaking, Mr. Indou, your room commands what military men call tactical superiority—proximity to both the back gate and latrine.” “Endure the stench crawling through the waste chute, shimmy along the clapboard to the house’s edge, scale the fence from there—voilà! Exit Suzumoto sans muddying the garden.”

He said this with an unperturbed face. Indou looked startled and lowered his eyes, but soon adopted a defiant expression. "Hmph—no, I considered such possibilities might arise, so I meticulously prepared my alibi." "If things came to light anyway, I figured they'd dig into that part too. So I roused Mary from their side and kept drinking with her until the roadster returned." "...What do you think? Would this work as an alibi?" "If that's insufficient, I've other arrangements prepared..."

Hutchinson spoke in a tone one might use to humor a child,

"Oh, is that so? Certainly, certainly—if that were true, it would make for a splendid alibi. ...Then that would mean either yours truly here, Hutchinson, or Mr. Iwao moved the roadster. This has become quite a perilous affair." Indou coquettishly raised one knee, twisting the corners of his lips into something cruelly resembling a smile. "Mr. Hutchinson's putting on quite the act too. ...Come now, confess—you were the one who tore off in that roadster, weren't you? I know other things too."

Hutchinson retorted in a dismissive tone, “Ohoho, do you have some sort of clue like that?” “Now that’s something I can’t just let slide.”

Indou mockingly stroked his thin chin, “According to Yamaki’s account, you cornered him at ‘Kuretake’ with Emiko and Baroncelli, keeping watch at the gate with an innocent face—but as I said earlier, since Emiko was the one who guided the assassins to ‘Paris,’ if you’ve been working with that crowd, we can’t let you claim you played no part at all in this incident, Mr. Hatch.”

Upon hearing this, Hutchinson jerked upright as if propelled, trembling as though struck by ague, but soon began speaking in a fragmented voice, “Th-that… about Emiko and Baroncelli colluding at Kuretake—is that… true?” “Is that certain?”

Indou, with a triumphant expression, gazed intently at Hutchinson’s disarray while,

“Yes, there was no mistake in what was observed there.” Hutchinson slumped heavily as if struck by lightning, lowering his head until he stared at the floor. His shoulders heaved like waves, fists trembling uncontrollably on his knees. The scene grew grotesquely surreal. Indou’s expression turned arctic. “You seem quite grief-stricken. If I’ve offended you somehow, my apologies.” “But whether you meant to kill Tsuruko or not—makes no difference to me.” “What I can’t stand is being deceived—this jealous streak of mine... When I went back to Ariake-so this morning to change clothes, it hit me—those Ariake-so folks have such miserly souls.” “If you wanted work done, you should’ve just asked for help instead of skulking around alone—that’s how you bungle things.” “Serves you right, you fool!”

Hutchinson raised his bloodless face, restlessly shifting his bloodshot eyes about as he laughed in an indescribably terrifying manner, "It all makes sense now. "...A seduction trap, was it? "...He'd been head over heels from the start—if they'd sprung that on him, even Baron wouldn't have stood a chance... Didn't know that back then... Panicked and ran... Ah, must've been torture." What a wretched thing I've done. "And to think..."

He muttered such things under his breath, hung his head again and groaned as if wrestling with endless thoughts, then abruptly raised his face after a moment. “Mr. Indou… I must thank you for sharing such valuable information.” “I offer my thanks.” “That aside—while we’re speaking of gratitude—there’s one more thing I’d like to ask.” “Now that I hear you went to Ariake-so to change clothes—what time exactly was that?”

"What did you think this was about? Is that all you're asking?...Since I left 'Paris' right as Mr. Iwao was arriving, it must've been around nine-thirty."

“So you got in just fine, huh?” Indou looked puzzled, “Meaning?” “There were a lot of police officers there, weren’t there?” “No, I didn’t see a single person there.” “…When I tried to enter the entrance, Ouma-baa came out and said with a laugh, ‘This morning Tsuruko-san got drunk and jumped out the window—what a bizarre thing to do.’” “Thinking, ‘What’s she making such a fuss about?’ but when I said that must’ve been quite an ordeal, she just goes, ‘Oh no—the police came and took Tsuruko-san’s body away before six this morning, so everything’s been settled already,’ spouting nonsense like that.” “When I asked, ‘So can I go into the room?’ she just said, ‘It’s not like there’s any permission needed or not.’” “…While thinking, ‘The King’s authority was truly formidable,’ I immediately headed to my own room…”

Hutchinson’s eyes glinted with an eerie intensity, “Curious… Then Mr. Iwao is lying.”

“Huh?!”

Hutchinson’s face tensed sharply, “Have you forgotten already? “…Even though he hastily bid us farewell saying he was returning to Ariake-so, when I saw Mr. Iwao’s state upon entering ‘Paris’—still wearing last night’s tuxedo—I asked if he hadn’t actually gone back to his residence, to which he replied that a large number of police officers had been stationed at Ariake-so’s gate and absolutely refused to let me inside. However, according to what I’ve just heard, both the autopsy and investigation were properly concluded before six o’clock, and all the police officers had already withdrawn before we were released from Akasaka Station—meaning there wasn’t a single guard left at Ariake-so’s gate.”

He stared sharply at Indou’s face,

“For what possible reason would someone tell such a pointless lie? This is a strange story... Yet if that’s true, there’s another bizarre matter. Didn’t you notice it, sir—the red clay thickly caked on Mr. Iwao’s shoe heels? For someone as meticulous about his appearance as Mr. Iwao usually is—utterly uncharacteristic—which is precisely why it caught my attention. But consider this: these days, you couldn’t find such red clay anywhere in central Tokyo even if you tried... In short, I can only conclude Mr. Iwao lied about returning to Ariake-so and spent that hour and a half before appearing at ‘Paris’ racing around some rural backroad. This grows increasingly suspicious. On one hand, we have His Majesty being abducted from Hibiya Park around nine this morning; on the other, someone was running about at that very time with shoes caked in red clay.”

Indou interjected with a face that mocked others, “With all due respect, why must you assume he’s already been killed?” “That’s because the government prepared a decoy of the King at the Imperial Hotel.” “As you may well know, the window of the King’s room at the Imperial Hotel faces the second-floor windows of ‘Nippon Chōhei.’” “From that window, one can glimpse inside the King’s room through lace curtains when viewed from afar.” “I observed meticulously—with a telescope.” “Yet what my eyes saw was someone who resembled the King but remained a complete stranger. …Should the King have been killed, even this honor-obsessed government would’ve been left powerless.” “Placing a decoy now would make no difference.” “…Do you grasp it?” “As long as this King-who-is-not-the-King remains at the hotel, it proves the true King still lives somewhere.”

Having said that, he gulped down the chilled sake and hastily pulled his coat closer. “At this point, such explanations are irrelevant. To tell you the truth, I had intended to wait here for what I presumed was the King’s kidnapper, pin them down at the critical moment, and rescue His Majesty—but it seems my calculations were off, and the perpetrator is elsewhere. …In that case, I can’t afford to lounge around here aimlessly. I must now embark on a desperate race against time. Well, you just take your time.”

With that, he hurriedly stood up. He was skillfully explaining things away, but depending on one's perspective, it was possible he was trying to flee from Indou's persistent interrogation. Indou seemed to sense this too, immediately shooting back in a razor-sharp voice— "Well now, what a fine panic you're in." he said.

Hutchinson, who had started to leave, sharply turned around, “Still as sluggish as ever, I see… Don’t pester me so persistently… Someone like you wouldn’t understand, but the mental faculties I’ve mustered here are actually quite superior.” “If you’re so desperate to see that evidence, I’ll show it to you.” “I’ll call the decoy right now, so just come along to the phone room downstairs.”

With that, he led the way downstairs, called the Imperial Hotel's front desk, and imitated that signature gloomy insinuating tone: "This is Chief Inspector Manako from the Metropolitan Police Department's First Investigation Division. I have urgent matters to report to His Majesty—connect me to his room immediately."

When the courteous voice withdrew, a calm, austere voice resonated in their ears instead.

“Hello, this is Munakata. Who might you be?” Hutchinson involuntarily gasped and exchanged glances with Indou. “Hello, this is Munakata...” "Oh! Your Highness!" “Ah, Mr. Hutchinson… What brings you to call at this hour? Is there something unusual…?” It was unmistakably Emperor Munakata’s voice. The King’s supremely composed voice resonated through their bewildered ears, as if tickling them with its calm.

32. On the Tooth-Hardening Ceremony

A Tale Both Common and Unexpected

Emperor Munakata Ryutaro of Annam awoke upon his own bed.

I felt as though I had wandered through some dark, oppressive place for an interminably long time—yet when I looked around, there I lay in my own bed at the Imperial Hotel as always, surrounded by tranquil stillness. I remembered up until this dawn when I left the assassin behind in Tsuruko’s dining room and slipped out through the back door, but I couldn’t accurately recall anything after that. In the midst of a feverish malignant sleep, whenever I hazily opened my eyes, there was nothing but oppressive darkness around me. Throughout my entire life, I had never encountered such terrifying darkness. It was a darkness with such terrible pressure that I felt my flesh might be crushed at any moment. I couldn’t clearly measure where my hands were or where my face was. My body had dissolved into the darkness, leaving only my soul lying here. When I crawled desperately through this terrifying chaos trying to escape, my palms caught on something moss-like and slimy like reptile skin, sending shivers down my spine that made every hair stand on end. That indescribably unpleasant sensation still vividly resurged in my memory, but since inspecting my palms revealed no dirt, I could only conclude it must have been a dream.

The bedside clock showed it had stopped at eight o'clock. It couldn't really be eight. No footsteps echoed in the streets nor trains rumbled through the night air, yet the oppressive silence carried an unmistakable late-night stillness. Midnight or dawn, yesterday or today - he couldn't discern where in time's flow he stood. He felt severed from chronology itself, abandoned like driftwood cast beyond time's current. He tried to sit up but his body refused cooperation - as if its spinal column had dissolved. When he finally managed to raise himself, his gaze fell absently upon his chest where a paper scrap clung above his heart with a clip. Suspicion narrowing his eyes, he plucked it free and read the hasty pencil scrawl across its surface.

To: Chief Inspector Manako, First Investigation Division, Metropolitan Police Department I am currently in grave peril. If I have not returned by 3:00 AM on the 2nd, please commence the investigation immediately. The entrance is the Shibatamura-chō Broadcasting Station Construction Site. At the second corner, turn right; at the sixth intersection, turn left; at the fourth intersection, turn right. January 2nd, 1:10 AM, Furuichi Kaju He read it over and over but couldn't grasp its meaning. Before long, thinking grew too bothersome, so he tore it into tiny pieces and threw them into the wastebasket.

Because his head was throbbing painfully, he thought to cool his forehead a little and headed into the dressing room. He examined his face in the mirror; apart from having lost the fake beard from last night’s disguise somewhere along the way, there was nothing particularly different about it. He washed his face with cold water and gargled, and his head became a bit clearer. He sat down in an armchair and lit a cigar. Still, what on earth had happened to Tsuruko? She had been lying on the bed, terribly pale... But he couldn’t clearly distinguish whether that had been a dream or reality. He grew tired of thinking and clicked his tongue, then picked up the newspaper on the table and began flipping through it absentmindedly. To his surprise, there was an article like this.

His Majesty the King of Annam’s New Year’s Celebration During His Majesty’s Stay in Tokyo, Imperial Activities Since December 22nd, His Imperial Majesty Emperor Munakata Ryutaro of the Annam Empire, currently residing at the Imperial Hotel, celebrated his august birthday in Tokyo. His Imperial Majesty, long known for his affinity for Japan, deigned to express particular appreciation for the traditional New Year’s dishes prepared in accordance with the ancient tooth-hardening ceremony—ozoni soup, herring roe, and dried sardines—and graciously received New Year’s greetings from the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs and others in splendid spirits. Furthermore, this morning, when Annam’s high official Mr. So Shu Chin arrived in the capital, His Imperial Majesty was apparently greatly pleased, personally going to the reception room to greet him and deigning to engage in various conversations until evening.

That was the Sunset Newspaper, a four-page evening paper delivered on the evening of January 1st. According to this article, it would seem to be late at night on New Year’s Day—but no matter how deeply I searched my memory, I had no recollection of eating zoni soup or receiving New Year’s greetings from the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs.

Taken aback, he carefully read through it again, but it was absolutely not a case of misreading. Following the article, remarks from the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs noted that while His Highness appeared to have contracted a minor chill, he remained as vigorous as ever and demonstrated profound understanding of Japan's New Year customs—thus putting his grand seal of approval on this peculiar meeting. So it would seem that while I lay dead drunk in stuporous sleep, someone had donned royal airs to nibble dried sardines and spout unnecessary pleasantries.

Is this some kind of joke, or another unfathomable scheme by that Li Guangming faction? If it's a joke, it's in poor taste - if a conspiracy, utterly nonsensical. What could they possibly gain by having someone eat herring roe and exchange greetings in my place? The more I thought about it, the less sense any of it made.

When the Emperor pressed the call bell, the usual bell captain entered with his customary courtesy. “Is there a man called So Shu Chin here?”

"He is currently staying here, sir."

“Kindly tell him to come here immediately.” After the bell captain withdrew, a towering figure with curly hair and chestnut eyes—his face resembling a captain from a Nagasaki woodblock print—entered with an unsteady gait. Standing rigidly before the Emperor, he offered an awkward salute. “Ah, has Your Majesty awoken?” “Had we known matters would reach this state, we ought to have declared our sincere struggles in attending to Your Highness.” “Despite my every effort, Your Highness squirmed beyond measure and even chanted various ditties—it proved utterly beyond my humble capabilities to manage.”

The Emperor, more sternly than usual, furrowed his brows and stared at the man’s face, but as he listened to this nonsensical drivel uttered carelessly, a surge of anger rose within him,

“Who the hell are you?!” he bellowed. Shu Chen blinked rapidly, but when he saw the Emperor’s face glaring at him with terrifying eyes, his own expression suddenly turned as if he were about to burst into tears. “Ah, how pitiful! There can be no other conclusion but that Your Highness remains under the influence of alcohol. Upon your return to our homeland, you graciously promised us medals, and even hinted at bestowing ministerial positions upon us—yet how could Your Highness, in your renowned wisdom, have already forgotten such pledges? Thus, we…”

The Emperor tightened his expression and declared in a solemn voice, “Shut up! Who the hell are you?” He roared again. Shu Chen, startled, leapt back three steps in one bound and stammered in a choked, panicked voice, “Director of Intelligence attached to His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Annam—So Shu Chen.”

“Is that low-ranking official staying at the same hotel as me? By whose permission did you dare take such liberties?” “...N-no!” So Shu Chen suddenly burst into tears. “This is yet another most unexpected reprimand from Your Highness. Your Highness must surely recall how this humble one repeatedly declined on multiple occasions. All I have done is ultimately nothing more than obeying Your Highness’s command.”

“You seem thoroughly soused, yet you dare present yourself before me in this state—what remarkable nerve you possess.” “Dismissal alone won’t suffice—steel yourself for graver consequences. [...] I can only surmise this newspaper drivel stems from your careless prattling.” “Hey—when exactly did I eat these damned sardines?”

“That’s absurd, Your Majesty! This reprimand comes as a most unexpected blow—in all sincerity, I find myself in a state as if dreaming within a dream. When the newspaper reporter visited earlier, I humbly inquired how we should address the matter of the dried sardines, whereupon Your Highness commanded, ‘Just write that I ate them.’ Moreover, our intoxication resulted from obeying Your Highness’s order to ‘proceed without restraint’—in the end, it was nothing but loyalty to our duties.”

The Emperor strode toward So Shu Chen, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, dragged him roughly toward the door, and kicked him out into the corridor with all his strength. Unable to stomach his fury and about to return to the parlor, he found a girl of about twenty bursting through the door gap like a beautiful whirlwind. Plainclothes officers came clattering after her, but when met with the Emperor's displeased glare, they fidgeted and retreated to the far end of the corridor.

The girl crouched behind the sofa like a storm-frightened bird, trembling—but when she saw the Emperor shut the door and approach, she sprang up from the floor with desperate clinging eyes, seized his hand, and began kissing it wildly. “Your Majesty… Your Majesty… Please don’t be cross with me.” “Coming at this ungodly hour—something dreadful has happened.” “You mustn’t let this make you despise me.” “...If you did, I couldn’t bear to live.”

With that, she pressed her face against his chest. She seemed like a girl he had seen somewhere before, but he couldn’t quite recall. Today appeared to be a day when nothing but truly unusual events kept occurring. The Emperor gently pushed the girl away, whereupon she sank into the sofa, burst into tears, and then lifted her beautiful face washed with tears, “Your Majesty, the police seem to have decided that I’m the one who killed that person.” “The detectives have been tailing me nonstop since evening, and they quietly searched my room.” “...I had hidden something terrible under the tatami mats, but they finally took it away.”

Her eyes took on a maddened look again,

“But you see… there’s a reason they might think that of me. ……I’ll confess everything—I was jealous of her.” “Ever since the day I saw Your Majesty’s photograph at her place, I became like that.……I always wished she would just die.” “But I didn’t kill her!” “I beg you, please believe that much at least.” “Even if I’m mistaken for a murderer and executed as punishment for cursing her—that’s my own doing, and I can’t blame anyone—but if even Your Majesty thinks I’m a killer… then I couldn’t die in peace.” “Please—from your own lips—just say once that it wasn’t me who killed her.” “And then…”

With that, she closed her eyes dreamily,

“Finally, just once… please kiss me.” The Emperor stood dumbfounded, staring at Hanako’s face, but as the situation grew increasingly absurd and unbearable, he remained standing beside her and spoke in a detached tone:

“I have endured listening until now, but none of this makes any sense to me.” “No matter how long I endure this, it serves no purpose—cease at once.” “I don’t know someone like you, and whatever troubles you bear hold no relation to me.”

Upon hearing this, Hanako sprang up from the sofa and fixed the Emperor with a terrifying expression—the kind that precedes a full-blown tantrum—but suddenly let out a shrill wail, covered her face with her sleeve, and bolted from the room like a wounded beast. The Emperor was resting his cheek on his hand at the desk with a complex expression that seemed to mix bewilderment and anger when, disturbing the late-night air, the desk telephone’s bell began ringing piercingly. The Emperor pressed the receiver to his ear and responded cheerfully, “Ah, Mr. Hutchinson!” but gradually took on a terrified expression and began speaking rapidly in Annamese about something. At that moment, the door suddenly opened, and Shu Chin entered with three detectives in tow. Standing rigidly at the threshold and pointing at the Emperor, he solemnly declared.

“Gentlemen, that man is an imposter emperor!”

Chapter 33: The State of Contemplating Resignation

The State of an Unexpectedly Mundane Progression

The scene shifted abruptly—here at the Minister of Home Affairs' official residence in Nagatacho, five individuals surrounded the large conference table: the Ministers of Home Affairs and Foreign Affairs, their respective vice-ministers, and the Director of the European-Asian Bureau. All showed signs of utter exhaustion—some with heads in hands slumped over desks; others having completely unbuttoned their waistcoats and gasping for breath. Then again, some threw themselves back in their chairs sprawling spread-eagle; others hugged their knees and rocked back and forth; each sat in some indescribable posture of their own devising. It was a scene straight out of Daumier’s "The End of the Banquet"—utterly dissipated—but in truth, the reality was far from such a state.

When they looked up at the conference room clock, it was exactly twenty minutes past 1:00 AM. The train carrying the French ambassador had already reached the vicinity of Shizuoka, yet with the whereabouts of the kidnapped Emperor still completely unknown, the authorities' anguished deliberations were intensifying with unstoppable momentum—truly beyond comprehension... The clock's pendulum precisely marked each minute and second, its sound roaring in everyone's ears. Even if they wept or screamed, only two and a half hours of life remained. If they failed to discover the Emperor before the French ambassador arrived, catastrophe would follow. Whether people suspected another covert political scheme or that the government itself had orchestrated this baseless affair—not only would this plunge the government into dire straits—but given how diplomatic relations with France had grown increasingly strained following their withdrawal from the League of Nations, the international storms stirred by this incident could escalate beyond all anticipation.

Another complication was that Emperor Munakata—a pro-Japanese figure—had already become a serious diplomatic issue in France due to his frequent visits to Japan. Moreover, with credible circles now earnestly believing that Japan, capitalizing on its withdrawal from the League [of Nations], had begun covertly supporting the Annam Empire’s restoration of suzerainty, it became impossible to predict what violent storms this incident might unleash. Moreover, should the assassins prevail and—as per the informant’s call—the mutilated corpse be dumped in a prominent location within Tokyo proper, no number of ministerial heads would suffice.

If the Emperor had already been assassinated, clear consequences should have materialized immediately under such circumstances; yet with no reports indicating such an outcome, it seemed His Majesty’s life remained preserved for now. This fragile hope alone sustained them at this critical juncture—though even this assurance felt perilously transient. At any moment, that horrific report might arrive. The government’s survival now hung by the slenderest thread. From the ministers down to the bureau chiefs, all had grown exhausted by the relentless tension, collapsing into postures of resigned recklessness—an inevitable consequence of their predicament.

Now, though it may seem repetitive, time flew like an arrow as the moments passed relentlessly onward, until the grand clock's chime clanged out its merciless sound to announce half-past one. The Foreign Minister, who until now had been sunk deep in his chair with bellows-like breaths, sprang up as if recoiling from the seat, violently tore off his necktie, and slammed it onto the table.

“Damn it, I can’t breathe.” “How much longer must we wait for this to be resolved? …Hey, Minister of Home Affairs—since when has Japan’s police been this utterly incompetent?” “What’s happened to the Superintendent-General?” “Has he already gone to bed early or something?” “What about the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau?” “He rushed out two hours ago and hasn’t even come back to report that the festering matter has been lanced!” “What the hell happened?” “How is the investigation progressing?” “Look here.” “It will be two o’clock before long.” “Even if we weep or scream, the train draws nearer to Tokyo with each passing moment.” “Gentlemen, what do you intend to do about this fact?”

As if about to erupt into an apoplexy at any moment, his face turned purple with rage—yet the group remained petrified, not a word or sound in response. The Minister of Foreign Affairs grew increasingly explosive, “Are you dead? Are you asleep? Or have you resolved to slit your bellies? If you’re not asleep, then say something—anything!” Just as he was raging like an Asura deity, the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau came rushing in, gasping for breath. In this frigid air, he was sweating profusely and even looked pale—a sign that yet another unexpected incident had erupted, one could perceive.

When they saw the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau, the entire group sprang up from their chairs like spring-loaded mice, "What's happened? What's happened?"

“Director, is it good news?” they clamored in unison. The scene descended into chaos.

The Director of the Police Affairs Bureau slumped into a chair, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and looking as though he were at death’s door. “If it were good news… but once again, it seems…” He clutched his head as if wishing to vanish on the spot. The Minister of Home Affairs grew agitated. “What’s happened now? Out with it quickly—save your sentimentalities for later.”

The two vice-ministers also closed in from beside him,

“What’s happened?” “What’s started now? Out with it!”

The Director of the Police Affairs Bureau timidly raised his face, “Well, it’s truly... most unexpected... Just now, Prosecutor Naruo from the Prosecutor’s Office called—Chief Inspector Manako of the First Investigation Division has requested an arrest warrant for the Superintendent-General. Upon hearing the circumstances, they determined it constitutes an urgent emergency and immediately issued the warrant.” “I intend to report to the Minister of Justice next, but given that this is an extremely grave matter, they say I cannot disclose its contents at this time.” The group sat frozen, wordlessly exchanging glances, until finally the Minister of Home Affairs spoke in a trembling voice:

“Manako is arresting the Superintendent-General! Wh-what on earth is the reason for that?” The Director of the Police Affairs Bureau appeared thoroughly perplexed, “So you see... I simply can’t make heads or tails of it...” “We can’t just leave it at that. Let’s summon Manako and hear his explanation.”

The Director of the Police Affairs Bureau made an indescribably bitter smile, “We haven’t been neglecting it.” “We called Manako immediately, but he dismissed us with that brusque manner of his—‘Now’s not the time to discuss this’—and wouldn’t budge no matter how we threatened or cajoled him.” “It’s been a real struggle.” “You know how obstinate that man is—once he clams up, no amount of authority can make him talk.” “Given how meticulous he is, he wouldn’t take such an outrageous step without absolute certainty… which makes this situation all the more precarious…” “I’ve never been this confounded before… I’m utterly at a loss…”

The Director of Eurasian Affairs Bureau twisted his thin mustache nervously, “You won’t know unless you try it. Where on earth is he now? Anyway, let’s summon him.” he declared in a weighty tone. The Director of the Police Affairs Bureau once again clutched his head,

"Actually, I have not yet reported this, but another incident has occurred—" With this, the assembly descended into chaos once more. The Director of the Police Affairs Bureau surveyed the assembly with a gaze tinged with pity while, "This morning, Tome—the live-in maid from Tsuruko’s household—was found strangled in the underground passage of a gambling den called Ochamatsu in Surugadai." "...Manako has gone there to conduct the investigation now..."

The Minister of Home Affairs pressed forward impatiently: “Who’s the perpetrator? Any leads?” The Director of Police Affairs Bureau stopped him with a calming hand gesture: “Please wait—even pressed so urgently... This Tome intimately knew the victim’s daily life, so we’d combed every corner searching for her whereabouts. But this outcome severed that lead entirely—it threw our strategy into disarray. Fortunately, we arrested Murakumo Emiko from Ariake-so under pursuit—forcing her to talk should yield unexpected leads.” “Today at Ochamatsu gambling den—the one I mentioned—they held a roulette-based welcome event where Iwao Michiyasu and Kawabata Fumie were present. Iwao fled immediately upon sensing danger, but based on the attendant’s confession, Kawabata Fumie should head to Yamaki Motoyoshi’s hideout near Umamichi’s cheap inns. We’ve already deployed forces—both should be arrested shortly.” “Though we’ve reached critical hours, pursuing these three relentlessly will unravel this thread—the emperor’s abductors likely connect through this path. But...”

With that, he stroked his forehead,

“However—another troublesome matter had come up…” The Minister of Foreign Affairs groaned deeply, “More? What on earth now?” before slumping over his desk. The Director of Police Affairs Bureau murmured, “…This pains me to report…the substitute emperor we painstakingly created fled from Yūkei Hotel…Though conducting exhaustive searches…his whereabouts remain unknown…We ought to have reported sooner…but found it too mortifying to broach…hence…the delay…”

The Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs abruptly flared up, “I knew it would come to this.” “When you proposed creating a substitute emperor, you’ll recall I opposed it vehemently.” “I told you honesty would bring ultimate victory because I foresaw exactly this.” “Look at this mess—it’s become utterly unsalvageable!” “If people learn we mobilized our entire apparatus for such shoddy patchwork, the government’s honor will be obliterated!” “And even without that—if it gets out that not one soul at Foreign Affairs knew the Emperor’s face? The disgrace would be unbearable!... After all your grand promises about ‘never letting them escape,’ how do you explain this?” “You—Mr.Otsuki—this is an unprecedented blunder!” “Of all people to uncover our secrets—a tabloid reporter! And you let him waltz out of that hotel!” “This is catastrophic.” “They’re probably typesetting an extra edition as we speak.” “Mr.Otsuki—how exactly do you propose to clean up this disaster?”

The Minister of Home Affairs also flushed crimson, “Director of the Police Affairs Bureau, you’ve really outdone yourself.” “Now that’s going too far.” “This is beyond careless—there’s a limit to negligence!” The Director of the Police Affairs Bureau lowered his eyes shamefacedly while, “Well—no matter what Your Excellency says, I have no words to offer in return—but we have promptly made arrangements at the Sunset Newspaper Company and Kouda Setsuzou’s mistress’s residence, and have adequately guarded against that individual’s threat...”

The Vice-Minister of Home Affairs clicked his tongue in a manner that suggested he was at his wit’s end, “Don’t spout such nonsense.” “Even if you seize the newspaper company, printing presses exist everywhere.” “Do you think they’d lack the means to put out an extra edition? What nonsense—” "What to do? What should we do?" they pressed in from all directions like a troupe of female gidayū narrators encircling their mark, reducing even the Director of the Police Affairs Bureau to a pitiful figure—when, as if to punctuate the commotion, the desk telephone's bell pierced the air with its shrill cry.

The Director of the Police Affairs Bureau lunged for the telephone receiver, nodding vigorously, then covered the mouthpiece with his palm and turned back to face the assembly, his features brimming with joy. “Rest assured—the substitute impostor has returned to the hotel.” Having delivered this report, he pressed the receiver to his ear and resumed animated conversation until his expression gradually darkened. “Understood,” he finally said. Then in a voice thin as a mosquito’s whine: “Put Annam’s intelligence chief on the line.” Almost immediately, a shrill voice—like nails dragged across unvarnished wood—erupted from the receiver with hurricane force. The Director bowed deferentially to this disembodied authority before muffling the mouthpiece again and turning to his colleagues,

"I must say, with matters piling up like this, I find myself at a loss for words." "Another disaster has struck... That fool finally showed his tail and they've seen through him being a counterfeit king... Fortunately, the intelligence chief doesn't seem to have noticed we created a substitute, but he's apparently furious and had the bastard trussed up like cargo." "He should've stopped there, but that idiot kept ranting about disrespect and discourtesy until Shūchen grew livid and stormed in looking ready to kill at any moment." "What should we do?"

The Minister of Home Affairs thumped the table and,

“Very well, let them do as they please. Without concern, tell them to keep at it until they’re smashed to pieces, I say.”

he let out a dry, mocking laugh. The Vice-Minister of Home Affairs interjected, “However, we cannot simply leave things at that. If he were to blurt out something like being forced into being a substitute in desperation, that would spell trouble. How about taking him into custody and throwing him somewhere?”

The Director of the Police Affairs Bureau nodded,

“Indeed, that’s good. To ensure he doesn’t escape again, let’s lock him up securely somewhere.”

Having said this, he immediately called the hotel to summon the responsible official and relayed the order, then settled into his chair with a relieved expression. The Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs pursed his lips again upon seeing this, “Mr. Otsuki, it’s problematic for you to sit there with such a nonchalant look.” “Immediately go to the hotel and find some way to placate that professor, I beg of you.”

The Minister of Foreign Affairs was deep in thought, "Do you truly believe mere placation will resolve this? Should the embassy learn His Majesty has been missing since dawn, it would spiral beyond control. This is most vexing indeed."

The assembly exchanged glances with one another, could do nothing but lament their predicament over and over.

Manako returned after opening the door to the Metropolitan Police Department Investigation Division Chief's Office. Following him entered one of the Four Musketeers—a pale-faced man who resembled that scientist's apprentice.

Manako walked to the chair with his customary unhurried gait and plopped down like a bundle of crumpled rags. To the observer, he betrayed a subtle yet unmistakable vitality that contrasted with his usual ash-gray demeanor. Given his funereal bearing—like a revenant escaped from a graveyard—even this flicker of animation remained scarcely noticeable. As always, he kept his eyes drowsily lowered and slumped his head in disheveled apathy, yet his small pupils darted between narrow eyelids with the agile swiftness of live fish. An ordinary person might have missed it, but those familiar with Manako could discern from this that he now basked in triumphant satisfaction.

Manako lethargically reached out and flipped the switch on the loudspeaker beside the bookshelf, and a grating voice began reciting the report. (The six individuals who had stayed at Ariake-so this morning along with the actors from Kaamasu Shoo, as well as Murakumo Emiko and others taken into custody from Ochamatsu, were being held in the main detention cell. Kawabata Fumie and Yamaki Motoyoshi remained at large despite ongoing pursuit. Indou Chuusuke had just been arrested at Shin-Yoshiwara's Hasegawa Fushimiya. Iwao Michiyasu and John Hutchinson were currently being tracked through Koto district. The Angame Gang's ten members had left traces between Tsukiji and Yurakucho, their movements under active investigation. End of report)

“What about Kaamasu Shoo’s manager—any leads on Louis Baronseli’s whereabouts?” (No report yet.) Manako switched off the device, motioned for a Musketeer to approach with a gesture, then spoke in his characteristic frostbound tone: “Explain this—why was Tome killed in such a place?” The Musketeer answered with countenance as impassive as Manako’s own shadow: “Shall I present the preliminary findings?” “...Per my investigation, Tome was murdered at a separate location before being transported to Ochamatsu’s underground passage.” “Time of death estimated between five and six PM today—during the intermission between Kaamasu Shoo’s matinee and evening performances.” “The crime occurred at Nippon-za’s basement theater construction site.” “Murder weapon: concrete block slab.” “Perpetrator: police officer.” “Rank: inspector or above.”

“Explain the circumstances of the killing.” “At five minutes past five in the afternoon when the matinee of 'Kaamasu Shoo' ended, Tome left Nippon-za with Kouda Setsuzou’s mistress Sakuzuki Etsuko and arrived at Sukiyabashi Bridge’s approach. Etsuko then remembered having forgotten to retrieve a package deposited at the cloakroom. Instructing Tome to wait there, she returned alone to Nippon-za to collect it. Approximately ten minutes later when returning to their meeting spot and finding Tome absent, Etsuko assumed she had gone on an errand. After waiting fifteen minutes at the bridge approach with no sign of Tome’s return, Etsuko concluded she must have gone home alone and departed.” “Meanwhile during this ten-minute window, the perpetrator lured Tome into the underground construction site, attempted strangulation from behind with an old rope which failed due to resistance, then struck her right cheek with a concrete block slab measuring one shaku square and two sun thick to cause death. The corpse was dragged through the dressing room entrance near the guard post, transported by automobile to Ochanomizu Embankment, unloaded opposite Nagai Hospital, then dragged along the embankment into a hidden passageway where it was abandoned.” “The rationale for identifying the perpetrator as a police officer lies in two factors: three evenly spaced scratches matching those on Ariake-so’s walls were replicated across Tome’s throat-to-chest area, and minute gold braid fragments from an armband remained lodged beneath her right fingernails.” “Should this morning’s investigation confirm Matsutani Tsuruko’s murderer as a police officer, we logically conclude Tome’s killer shares this identity through associative evidence.” “Comparative analysis showed both Ariake-so’s wall scratches and Tome’s chest wounds measured 2.1cm intervals with identical wound channel characteristics.” “The crime scene’s identification as Nippon-za’s underground theater construction site was determined through autopsy findings showing subcutaneous hemorrhaging patterned after Nippon Tile Block Company’s N.T.B. CO. trademark imprint.” “During initial examination we noted only a dark reddish abrasion above the right eye, but autopsy revealed severe skull base fracturing indicative of blunt force trauma from a broad-surfaced object. Following Nippon Tile Block Company’s guidance, we discovered at the construction site a stone slab bearing bloodstains matching the contusion’s exact contours.” “The old rope used initially was identified as one stretched between completed and unfinished concrete block areas—mortar analysis confirmed partial usage.” “The rationale for concluding the crime concluded before six o’clock lies in the lighting technician descending to repair electrical faults at exactly six without observing any corpse-like presence.”

Manako maintained an impassive expression. "I see. That generally aligns with my understanding." "But your claim that they strangled the neck first before striking the face with a slab is mistaken." "That rope wasn't used for strangulation—it was looped around the neck to transport the corpse." "Do you truly think a killer would have time to create such elaborate knots during a strangulation?" "Furthermore, examining the ligature marks—they extend diagonally upward from below the jaw to beneath the ears before disappearing—this too confirms the rope served not for strangling but for dragging the corpse from the scene... Still, why resort to such peculiar methods?" "If simply carrying it would have sufficed, why go through the trouble of looping a rope around the neck to drag it?"

“If that were indeed the case, I believe they resorted to such measures for the urgent purpose of removing the corpse.”

Manako nodded, “That’s plausible.” “In most cases, dragging proves swifter than carrying.” “But here, there existed a more compelling necessity.” “As you’re aware, Tsuruko’s killer exhibits severe kyphosis—a laterally deviated spine—and lameness.” “This being established, further elaboration becomes redundant.” “A cripple with such deformities would naturally resort to neck-rope dragging over corpse-bearing.” “Physiological compulsion dictated his methodology.” “This congruence alone confirms identity with Tsuruko’s murderer.”

Manako said this while taking out what appeared to be a written note in an envelope from his pocket and placing it on the desk,

“I’m returning your resignation letter.” “The reason being there exists no justification for your resignation.” “When investigating Suzumoto, you failed to uncover evidence that Yamaki escaped via the rooftops.” “This forms the stated basis for your resignation.” “While one might characterize this as circuitous reasoning, such deviation does not warrant resignation.” “The matter lies beyond conceivable parameters—it constitutes neither oversight nor blunder.” “As previously stated, any individual could exit such permeable structures without leaving traces. Your inability to detect this does not indicate negligence.” “In my case, testimony from Hana via Indou Chuusuke enabled eventual discovery of said evidence. Without it, even I might have failed.” “[...] Moreover, had Yamaki been Tsuruko’s killer, such conduct might prove indefensible. However, alleyway evidence confirming Yamaki’s innocence renders his Suzumoto escape materially inconsequential.” “However questionable his actions, they breach no laws nor constitute criminal acts.” “Yamaki’s motivations will emerge through subsequent inquiry—his disposition shall be determined accordingly.”

The Musketeer, whether he possessed emotions or not, continued without so much as a blink, his demeanor as cold as ever. “With all due respect, I find myself unable to accept your magnanimous offer as it stands. Even were we to receive lenient measures regarding Yamaki’s deviation, I must nevertheless acknowledge having overlooked evidence suggesting Iwao and Hutchinson slipped out of ‘Suzumoto.’ Having reached this juncture, this transcends mere oversight. I find myself no longer entitled to serve as your assistant—not even for a single additional day.”

Manako slowly raised his face and stared directly at the Musketeer’s face, “On the shelf of the built-in cabinet in Hutchinson’s room, there exists a circular soot mark left by a sock-clad heel and three-fingered impressions from a left hand that had involuntarily braced against a pillar to support bodily weight.” “In Iwao’s room, there was the phenomenon of a white plum branch placed atop the built-in cabinet becoming caught on some garment edge, causing its basket to rotate sideways by approximately a quarter-turn from its proper position.” “To summarize—Hutchinson’s room contains evidence only of external entry, with none indicating departure.” “As for Iwao’s room, it shows evidence solely of exit, without traces of return.” Since bathhouse soot had fallen abundantly on the roof beneath Iwao’s window, it would prove difficult for anyone to traverse that roof and reenter the room without leaving evidence. “Yet during the inspection, Iwao was unquestionably present in his room.” “Therefore, we can conclude Iwao did not slip out of Suzumoto.” “Next, regarding Hutchinson—when examining the fingerprints on the pillar, one discerns that over half the middle fingertip is missing, likely from injury.” “As you know, this means these are not Hutchinson’s fingerprints.” “If these prints don’t belong to Hutchinson, it follows he never escaped Suzumoto.”

“Then, how are we to understand these two peculiar circumstances left in their respective rooms?” “It’s perfectly obvious. Someone entered Hutchinson’s room through the window via the rooftops and exited through Iwao’s room’s window before the inspection. ...I’ve largely discerned what sort of person that was. The reason being that this man wasn’t challenged by either Hutchinson or Iwao when entering or leaving. Moreover, one can imagine he held calm discussions with Iwao and Hutchinson... He doesn’t rank as particularly suspicious. In my estimation, he was likely one of the Kaamasu Shoo members. Therefore, at a certain time, there were seven Kaamasu Shoo personnel present at Suzumoto.”

Manako stood up from his chair and went to the telephone, “How many members of ‘Kaamasu Shoo’ who went to ‘Suzumoto’ this morning with the six from Ariake-so are currently detained?”

“There are seven in total, sir.”

“State your names.” (“Gold-dust dancer” Janet, “accordionist” Ronald, “saxophonist” Wilson, “tap dancer” Mary, “roller skater” Jackson, “torch singer” Miriam, and “acrobatic dancer” Henry)

As Manako returned to his chair,

“My deduction appears not to have been mistaken. The seventh person who entered through Hutchinson’s window and exited through Iwao’s was that man named Henry.” The Four Musketeers gazed at Manako’s face with solemn expressions,

“I understand perfectly now.” “That being said, there remains one more inquiry I must make.” “Knowing your distaste for presumption, I’ve restrained myself until now—but the hour nears two o’clock, leaving barely two hours until four.” “...What disposition shall be made of His Majesty?”

Manako maintained a composed expression. “The Emperor—the Emperor should have returned to the hotel by now. I had made it sufficiently clear to Matsutani Tsuruko’s killer—that is, the Emperor’s abductor—that there was no escape left. If they wish to lessen their punishment, they’ve no choice but to obey my implicit orders.” “Of course, this doesn’t erase crimes already committed. Even if they return the Emperor, once I’ve seized them by the scruff—” “—be it the Superintendent General or God Himself—I won’t loosen my grip.”

As he was speaking, an unarmed policeman entered and announced that Hana had come to see him. Upon hearing this, an extraordinary transformation occurred across Manako’s expression. What might have been a smile—or perhaps a luminous quality—seemed to suffuse his entire countenance.

As the policeman exited, Hana entered in a state of disheveled allure reminiscent of a kabuki madwoman and suddenly rushed to Manako's side,

“Mr. Manako! Mr. Manako! There’s a fake king at the Imperial Hotel.” “The man there now is a completely different person.” Manako took Hana by the arm and settled her into a chair,

“How did you know that man was an impostor?” Hana replied in an unexpectedly steady tone, “Well... that’s something only I can know.” “I can’t tell you the reason.”

Manako showed no sign of surprise whatsoever. Leaving Hana's side, he headed toward the telephone while—

“Then that must be the real king.”

He muttered. However, this did not reach Hana's ears. Manako pressed the telephone receiver to his lips and ordered in a low voice to be connected to the hotel. Then he asked the person who answered about the King's current status. He requested whether he might visit now and instructed them to ascertain His Majesty's availability. The reply came unexpectedly. It was reported that the King had been thrown into Hibiya Station's detention cell by order of the Police Affairs Bureau Director.

With an indescribably sardonic smile, Manako gave a brief greeting to Hana and left the chief inspector’s office.

When Manako went to see the detention cell at Hibiya Station, an unexpected incident had occurred there. Someone had broken the iron-barred window of the detention cell and kidnapped the King.

The watch room’s clock struck 2:00 AM with a groggy sound. By 4:00 AM, only two hours remained. How would this end?

Part 11

34. On the Barred Window

And: On the Midnight Monologue

Now, when Chief Inspector Manako pulled open the door of the detention cell where Furuichi Kaju had been thrown in, he found it completely empty. There was no need to lift the tatami mats—the space was so cramped that the presence or absence of occupants became immediately apparent. Hibiya Station stood as a wooden-framed concrete structure, a ramshackle building of no particular note, but anything bearing the designation "detention cell" couldn't permit easy escape from any point. When he looked around to determine their escape route, there it was—the cell window with its bars bent wildly out of shape.

Though called a window, it was no fancy thing with glass panes installed. A square opening with five iron bars set into place. Some readers may recognize it—that cursed barred window through which winter's bitter winds, summer's scorching sun, and swarms of mosquitoes passed unimpeded. Three of its vaulted bars had bent and warped, creating a gap that appeared just wide enough for a person to slip through. By common sense—or rather, even without invoking common sense—it stood to reason that the detainee had escaped through here.

However, according to detention cell regulations, such windows were typically installed approximately seven feet above the floor; thus, even if one were to stretch, they could not reach it. Moreover, even rusted iron bars were still iron bars—they were certainly no candy sticks. Unless someone used a stepping stool and applied considerable force, under normal circumstances, this window wouldn’t simply give way.

When he pulled open the cell door and noticed that the target figure was not where it should have been, even Manako stood frozen.

Even for an expert like Manako, this must have been an utterly unexpected event; he stood frozen at the cell entrance with a look of utter shock, but gradually his expression grew increasingly ferocious, glaring up at the window with eyes nearly splitting at the corners, his teeth clenched tightly between—

“Damn it!” With a guttural roar that resembled both a groan and a snarl, he charged into the cell—the sleeves of his antiquated Inverness coat flapping like panicked wings as he threw himself at the window with such violent intensity that he might have tried to gnaw through the iron bars. The shadow of these frenzied movements spread through the room like some great spectral bird gone mad in its confines. For Manako, whose usual bearing resembled cold ashes in its stillness, this outburst strayed far beyond normal conduct, taking on an unnervingly savage quality.

After repeating these bizarre movements tirelessly, he suddenly whirled around and began dashing out of the cell like a whirlwind, shouting fragmented, barely intelligible words. If such crude work couldn’t have been done from the inside, then naturally this must have been executed from the outside—so Manako was likely now going to verify that fact. Sure enough, after about two minutes had passed, Manako’s figure appeared outside the detention cell.

There was a somewhat spacious vacant lot, and a concrete wall surrounded its perimeter. This area was not one that people normally ventured into, and since the vacant lot’s ground had been left crumbling as if shattered by frost, a meticulous examination of the earth would reveal every detail of what had transpired there as plainly as if held in the palm of one’s hand.

Now, when Manako shone his flashlight on the ground beneath the window, there was not a single boot print—let alone any signs of a ladder having been propped up. Manako remained sunk in gloomy thought for some time, but after ordering a police officer to bring a ladder, he climbed up and began meticulously examining the cell window.

There was nothing particularly strange about it. It became clear that someone had come along the roof to above this detention cell, fastened a hook-equipped rope around the iron bars, and forcibly bent them. At the base of the iron bars, marks from where a hook had caught were clearly left.

That much was clear, but upon closer inspection, there were no traces of anyone having escaped from there. The gap between the iron bars was just barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through—if one had merely grabbed a rope lowered from the roof, escape would have been simple—yet not the faintest evidence of such an attempt remained.

On the window frame, years of dust and grime had accumulated to a considerable thickness, but upon inspection, it showed a firmly settled, undisturbed state. If someone were to forcibly squeeze through this narrow gap, they would naturally leave some sort of evidence in this dust—yet absolutely no such traces could be found. This subtle witness silently testified that absolutely no one had escaped from there. This became a rather strange matter.

If the detainee hadn’t exited through the detention cell’s window, there remained only one possible exit. In other words, he must have left through the detention cell’s entrance in a completely ordinary manner.

But wait a moment. To put it that way would be simple, but this was neither a smoking lounge nor some free rest area. A strictly guarded detention cell. Wanting to leave didn't mean one could simply waltz out as they pleased. The police as an institution generally didn't permit such liberties. In fact, the Hibiya Police Station authorities had only learned of this fact through Manako's discovery and were expressing profound dissatisfaction about it.

Now, the one who had escaped was no mere detainee.

Save for one individual—Manako and that sole exception—the prosecution authorities firmly believed the man they had recently thrown in here was Furuichi Kaju of the Sunset Newspaper, who had long impersonated His Majesty and caused endless trouble for the authorities. Yet this was utterly mistaken—from 1:40 to around 2:00 AM, the one confined within this cell had been no vulgar character like Furuichi Kaju. For it was none other than Emperor Munakata Ryutaro of Annam himself—the very man now being sought with unprecedented, war-like commotion by the Metropolitan Police Department, combing through every blade of grass across five neighboring prefectures.

Even that was already fantastical enough, yet the longed-for king who had come uninvited had slipped away once more within a mere twenty minutes. He slipped right past the strict vigilance and unwavering watch of the guards, boldly exiting through the detention cell entrance.

Shall we call it heartlessness or irony? If the Ministers of the Interior and Exterior and the entire prosecution authorities—now frenziedly pursuing His Majesty's whereabouts—were to learn this fact, they would surely have choked back tears at heaven's exquisitely cruel design. Even Manako must have been somewhat stunned by this brazen display of feigned ignorance. There he hung midway up the ladder, staring vacantly at the moon. Though he appeared dazed at first glance, the pained groans that occasionally escaped him betrayed the tempest of thoughts raging within—a thousand conflicting calculations swirling chaotically through his mind.

The Hibiya Police Station authorities had formed the hypothesis that detainee Furuichi Kaju exploited lapses in surveillance to repeatedly leap at the window's iron bars, bent those already growing unsteady, slipped through the gap, and fled across the rooftops.

However, this assumption was mistaken. Manako himself had attempted numerous times and fully acknowledged that such a feat was utterly impossible; moreover, no one had exited through that window. And yet—what possible need could there have been for His Majesty to escape from there? His Majesty had been mistaken for Furuichi Kaju and thrown into that cell, but if that were the case, he need only have persistently argued his case by stating the reasons he was the true king—there had been no need whatsoever to resort to breaking out of the detention cell.

According to accounts, when about to be arrested at the hotel due to Shūchin's accusation, he had reportedly resisted quite violently; yet upon being brought into this cell, the detainee suddenly calmed down. "No—this is precisely what I could not have asked for." With that, he nonchalantly stretched out on the tatami mats—it was said. One could reason His Majesty had wisely sought to make use of this fortunate coincidence. For shielding himself from the assassins' relentless pursuit, no place could have been more fitting than there. Were it otherwise—given that resolute king's temperament—he would never have quietly endured such ill treatment without protest. He would have undoubtedly fought tooth and nail. That he refrained suggested His Majesty found these circumstances broadly agreeable, and thus entertained not the slightest notion of jailbreaking. Moreover, that unconventional monarch had no conceivable reason to resort to such crude measures.

Pursuing this line of reasoning to its conclusion, one could only conclude His Majesty had been removed from there against his will—in other words, skillfully abducted by unknown parties. What manner of individual could execute such brazen audacity? After all, spiriting away a detainee from this heavily guarded facility defied all conventional logic—no ordinary person could achieve this through mere cunning. The police institution inherently maintained fail-safe mechanisms against such breaches; only someone intimately familiar with law enforcement protocols and peculiarities could orchestrate this operation. Yet these shadowy figures had accomplished this formidable feat with lightning efficiency within twenty minutes—operatives of consummate skill without doubt.

With this, everything seemed to have fallen into place. The detention of Furuichi Kaju here constituted what was classified information—a fact unknown to anyone beyond government parties including the Ministers of Interior and Foreign Affairs and a few police officials directly involved in this operation—while those privy to the truth that the individual detained as Furuichi Kaju was actually His Majesty in person were presumed to consist solely of a particular figure within the prosecution authorities and Manako alone.

Now, Manako—suspended mid-ladder in that peculiar posture described earlier, seemingly gazing vacantly at the sky—suddenly splayed his arms free and declared in a desolate tone:

“Damn it—his gang had infiltrated this police force.” "...Had I known that sooner..." He muttered in fragments while glaring up at the detention cell window with smoldering eyes. Directly above Manako’s head, the cell window gaped open like a toothless maw. The iron bars embedded in its frame—twisted into Xs and Os as if testifying to their crude manipulation—stood pitifully exposed under the wan moonlight, their deformities starkly illuminated.

And yet—if they had taken His Majesty from the detention cell's entrance—what possible need was there to go out of their way to bend the window's iron bars?

However, upon proper consideration, this was neither particularly strange nor profound. It was simply a ruse to create the illusion that His Majesty had been removed from this location. They couldn't risk anyone realizing he'd been taken through the detention cell's entrance. Their aim was to mislead investigators into believing someone had broken through this window to abduct him. Above all, they needed to prevent anyone from suspecting this was an inside job by police personnel. That being the case, they must have staged this tampering after already spiriting His Majesty away. For regardless of circumstances, performing such conspicuous modifications while His Majesty remained present would have been impossible. Put bluntly, this method treated observers with utter contempt.

Then who exactly were they trying to mislead? There could be no other target. They wanted to blind the eyes of Manako—the one who would inevitably conduct this verification. Since that morning, even someone of Chief Inspector Manako's stature had been excluded from securing the Ariake-so crime scene, barred from entering the site of the crime, and subjected to extraordinary humiliations and obstructions—yet here again in this place, someone persisted in employing insidious means to obstruct Manako's investigation.

Even Manako Akira—the man known as "Withered Tree, Cold Severity"—could no longer endure such extravagant hospitality. With a look of deepest resentment, grinding his teeth until they creaked, he glared at the window with such intensity it might bore holes through the glass before suddenly erupting with a torrent of vehement words: "You fool—if you think such methods could defeat this Manako, that's a monumental miscalculation." "...Now then, Superintendent General—this morning's stepladder and slippers meant to pass off Tsuruko's death as suicide showed some skill, but really now...this crude attempt? You're brilliant, but regrettably prone to excess." "Had you not left this clumsy tampering, I might never have suspected your handiwork." "...This is precisely like scattering your own calling cards as you go." "At least that's how these eyes perceive it...And yet—to think such shoddy work could blind my vision—aren't you overplaying the fool just slightly?" "Does any human being possess the right to treat others with such contempt? Hmm?" "Superintendent General." "...Given this repeated provocation, even I can no longer show forbearance."

With that, he thrust his clenched fist toward the empty air as if the person he was addressing were right there. “I will show no more mercy. “You seem to be underestimating Manako a bit too much. “I had been waiting until now for you to come to me voluntarily. “Even I, who am called cold-blooded and inhuman, can comprehend this much poetic sentiment. “…If you persist in exploiting my humility to maintain this obstinate attitude, I shall absolutely show no mercy. “…Well now, Superintendent General, you turned out to be quite the philistine after all, didn’t you? “It seems you fail to grasp the jest of tucking your tail between your legs and fleeing when defeated.”

In this manner, Manako had been continuing his lengthy soliloquy with what could be called an audacious vehemence, but presently—as if suddenly regaining his senses—he looked around his surroundings, abruptly reverted to his usual cold and bleak countenance, quietly descended the ladder, and strode into the interior of Hibiya Police Station's building.

When the guard was interrogated, it became clear how His Majesty's abduction had been carried out. The young officer—fresh from police training—had been off-duty that day, holding a modest family celebration when escalating chaos emptied the station. Consequently, he was abruptly called in that evening to help five colleagues maintain security. Around 1:40 AM, when the detainee was brought in, they confined him to the detention cell through standard procedures. After hanging the key ring on the guard post wall and catching their breath, a flood of unintelligible phone calls began—as if triggered by this very act—while lower-class citizens started bringing in endless petty disputes. Forced to abandon their post and overwhelmed by paperwork, they completely forgot about the detainee in the holding cell.

Around what seemed to be 2:10 AM, I saw an unfamiliar tall policeman with anchor-shaped shoulders heading toward the detention cells, but at that very moment, I was grappling with three drunks and thus couldn't recall his facial features. “That too might have been my own hallucination,” he said. “I’m afraid I cannot clearly state anything regarding that matter,” came the evasive reply.

To delve deeper would lead nowhere but endlessness; thus they left matters at this juncture for now. Were this truth indeed factual，it aligned nearly perfectly with Manako’s deductions.

Exiting Hibiya Police Station, Manako entered Hibiya Park through Kasumi Gate.

Just then, a crescent moon like an eyebrow broke through the clouds and appeared. The pale light illuminated the park's path. Night deepened profoundly, the surroundings lay utterly silent, the only sound being that of wind through pine trees. Manako, with his emaciated shoulders jutting up abruptly, passed under the wisteria trellis and arrived at the pond’s edge. Beside the arbor stood a single arc lamp. Illuminating the deserted path to no avail, it blazed brilliantly. Manako stood motionless with his arms crossed, beginning to stare unblinkingly at the crane fountain. It was precisely the same position where Manako had stood that morning.

The imposing old pine tree stretched its arm over the water, and the crane fountain appeared to perch precisely upon its branch. The arc lamp's light reflected off droplets cascading from its beak, creating an oddly vivid impression as though wind perpetually stirred its feathers. Ah, poised to take flight at any moment, the bronze crane spread its grand wings and gazed skyward as if dreaming. It seemed the creator of this bronze statue had been someone who understood the pathos of existence. Tethered to its pedestal and condemned to spout water for all eternity—surely the creator had sought to express compassion for this unfortunate crane by at least granting it such a pose.

After a short while, Manako spoke, "In all the world, can such a thing as 'a crime without purpose' truly exist? If such a thing exists, then this morning's 'Singing Crane Fountain' incident is precisely that. At first glance, one might think Kouda or Sakuzuki had rigged something within the crane, but there's no way those fools would resort to such desperate measures that would get them caught immediately. That was likely some criminal scheme orchestrated by someone other than Kouda or Sakuzuki, but it's too outlandish—I simply can't discern its purpose. For my part, I want to declare that crimes without purpose cannot exist in this world—yet confronted with these facts, even I can't help being perplexed... This is undoubtedly criminal activity, but what does it mean that neither its purpose nor motive can be grasped? What damage did it inflict? What criminal effect did it achieve? I can't even begin to surmise. This too seems connected to the current case somehow, but I can't see the pattern... And then there's how Dr. Kaneshige kept tilting his head back then, wondering why this song—which should've been in Ichikotsu-chō ryo mode—was instead sung in hyōjō mode, and why the miyō note carried such mournful resonance. What on earth could that have signified......"

He muttered, but soon looked up at the sky with a resolute expression,

"But lamenting here like this won't accomplish anything," he muttered. "I still don't understand what remains unclear." "It's somewhat unexpected—but putting that aside for now—first I'll tie that bastard up and follow whatever new developments arise." Muttering to himself while glancing back repeatedly at the crane fountain with lingering reluctance，he walked away with leisurely strides toward the flower beds.

Thirty-Five: The Rhetoric of Subterraneans

And: Regarding Nambu Kai-no-kami

In the realm of fantasy, does science ultimately prove utterly powerless? This sorcerous "Tokyo"—its spectral world had grown too inscrutable. Even Manako’s exceptional discernment ultimately failed to penetrate the great secret of the crane fountain. He had truly come within a step of it, but in the end could not grasp it, departing with lingering regret.

This must be what they call the irony of fate. Just now, directly beneath where he had been standing underground, that amiable country bumpkin—Sunset Newspaper’s miscellaneous reporter Furuichi Kaju—was continuing his extraordinary activities in an unprecedented situation.

As stated in Chapter Nine, beneath the ground stretching from Shibatamura-cho to this Hibiya area, branch conduits of the Edo-period Kanda and Tamagawa Aqueducts' main underground waterways crisscrossed and ran vertically and horizontally.

In the mid-Meiji period when modern waterworks were installed, these underground waterways were abandoned, and now aside from a few civil engineers, no one even knows they exist; yet the discarded main conduits became subterranean secret passages stretching over a dozen ri like a spider's web spreading beneath Tokyo. Originally, the construction of these waterways had not followed any unified plan but expanded haphazardly as needed; thus the branch conduits were laid out in utter disorder, creating an immensely complex maze rivaling the Labyrinth of Crete in intricacy. Once one entered here, returning to the surface became utterly impossible.

In other words, Kaju was in the most uncanny location within the urban mechanisms that formed the demon capital "Tokyo." The landscape illuminated by the flashlight was a place like the bottom of an old square well with neither entrance nor exit—its area roughly four tatami mats in size. The surroundings were lined with cracked Ōya stone, and over moss growing thickly across every crevice, countless newts squirmed and writhed as they crawled about. The ceiling had various conduits of differing sizes running through it, and from their gaps, stalactites hung down like icicles, dripping steadily.

In that bizarre environment, Kaju sat cross-legged, bent toward the flashlight’s glow, pressed coarse manuscript paper against his knees, and scribbled furiously with his pencil. Even for a tabloid reporter, there was no need to draft articles in such a place—this seemed like madness taken too far—but judging by his face, this was clearly no mere whimsy. The normally unshakable Kaju now had cold sweat drenching his temples, his expression taut with urgency as he breathed with the labored heave of bellows. Closer inspection revealed he was fighting for air, his throat convulsing sporadically as if trying to wrench open an obstruction.

To clarify the circumstances of this scene, let us briefly backtrack and recount Kaju's subsequent actions. That evening at Hibiya Park's pondside, upon hearing from Shūchin that the crane fountain had sung Annam's national anthem that morning, Kaju—being fundamentally straightforward and thus unencumbered by convoluted reasoning—immediately intuited that the Emperor of Annam must currently reside beneath the crane fountain. Boldly relying on an old map as his guide, he plunged into this subterranean labyrinth containing unfathomable secrets. Wandering here and there in a manner reminiscent of Holberg's Nicholas Grimm's Underground Journey, he suddenly heard carefree humming drifting from nowhere in particular. It was that cheerful Cicada Song from Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld—a carefree melody like a cheerful drunkard humming to his heart’s content. Given how eerie the place already was, Kaju shuddered and shrank back at its utter strangeness. But when he strained his ears intently—ah—that was unmistakably the sprightly and witty voice of the King.

Kaju, as if he had momentarily forgotten all his previous anxiety and fatigue, raised his usual underdeveloped, tinny voice,

“Finally nailed you! …‘A Record of Conversations with the Emperor of Annam Confined in the Great Underground Waterway,’ eh?” “At last—after all my painstaking efforts…this Furuichi Kaju has scored the biggest scoop in newspaper history!” “You seem in high spirits—surely you won’t give me the cold shoulder now.” “C’mon—full speed ahead!”

Utterly elated, he recklessly approached the direction of the voice. After going back and forth along similar paths, retracing his steps several times as he pressed forward, he found the King sprawled carelessly in a supine position upon a mossy bedding in a slightly wider underground passage, continuing to hum leisurely. Even Kaju, confronted with this pitiful state of affairs, couldn’t help but flare up. He abruptly approached the figure’s side, grabbed him by the shoulders, and began shaking him roughly while— “Your Majesty! Your Majesty! However you look at it, this is far too flippant!” “Have you no regard for others’ feelings? Lying around in a place like this!” “The surface world’s been turned upside down since your kidnapping!” “Get a grip! Just because I got tangled up with you and visited that worthless mistress, the disasters I’ve faced have been unbearable!” “Open your eyes! At least sit up properly.” “Stop causing trouble for others! There’s no dealing with you.” “I’ve never seen anyone as high-maintenance!” “I’ll carry you out of this hole if I must—but you’ll grant me an interview!” “Don’t you owe me that much? And why were you lying here anyway?”

Chattering nonstop in this manner while shaking the King recklessly, but he remained limp, offering no response at all. Even Kaju was at his wit’s end, glaring resentfully at the pathetic King’s face—mouth agape in deep slumber—when suddenly, an eerie voice echoed from nowhere. Though the repeated use of “strange” might seem excessive, no matter how you looked at it, that was indeed a strange voice. It was as if resonating from some indescribably faint state—like earthworms singing in the depths of the earth, like a faint breeze passing through high treetops—coming from nowhere. Not only that, but the voice whispered such unexpected words.

“Your Majesty, the one talking to yourself there would be Your Majesty, wouldn’t it?” “Can you hear my voice?” “...I’m Furuichi Kaju from the Sunset Newspaper, who went bar-hopping with you last night.” “...Ah, have you realized?” “I am Furuichi of the Sunset Newspaper.” “...After all, since you suddenly disappeared, you can’t imagine how much trouble I went through to track down your whereabouts.” “After racking my brains thoroughly, I finally managed to track down your whereabouts by taking a hint from the 'Singing Crane Fountain.'... You see, I'm currently in the basement of Hibiya Public Hall, but due to certain circumstances, I can't enter that area myself. However, I can get you out from there.” “...Your Majesty, where you are right now is extremely dangerous.” “If you keep dawdling there, your life will be in danger.” “Come on, quickly, quickly!”

Things had taken an utterly unexpected turn. It had perfectly replicated even Kaju's intonation. Some unknown individual was using Kaju's voice to try to lure the King toward them. Kaju started running again, but even as a mere reporter, just from hearing this much, he had already pieced together the entire sequence of events. The King had not been confined to this underground passage. It seemed that due to certain circumstances, he had entered of his own volition. As for the villains, they knew where the King was but did not know the way to get in here. So by saying such things, they were trying to lure him to their side and capture him. The reason they had frantically begun digging Hibiya Park's embankment toward the pond now became perfectly clear. Thus, through that shovel bearing the Nozawa Group's brand left behind in the hole, the owner of the voice naturally proved to be one of their accomplices.

For Kaju, this was truly an unexpected blessing. Scoop after scoop left him overwhelmed with handling them all. Just how far would this case develop? When he recalled everything since last night when he'd left Paris with Your Majesty, the incident had piled twist upon twist like a serialized pulp novel. Moreover, it now seemed about to have yet another climactic chapter added to it. Not only that—there was even a chance he might extract the truth of the case from this guy's own mouth. As someone who called himself a tabloid reporter, how could he let such a rare chance slip by? Alright—he'd use Your Majesty's voice for a little Q&A with this bastard. If he bungled it and got killed, then so be it. They were infringing on his exclusive rights anyway; they couldn't complain if he borrowed royal tones here. "I'll do it," Kaju resolved through gritted teeth. The sheer audacity of his backbone here proved why he'd practiced those poetry recitations all along.

However, given how ill-advised it was for the King to remain here—since he might start humming at any moment and become a hindrance in an emergency—he decided to have Shūchin take the King back to the hotel one step ahead. When he checked his wristwatch, it was exactly 1:15 AM; Shūchin must have been waiting impatiently at the broadcasting station’s construction site for some time now. Considering contingencies, he wrote a note addressed to Manako stating he was in this underground passage, fastened it with a clip to the King’s chest, and with a grunt hoisted him onto his back before starting toward the exit.

This time was no trouble. Without much hesitation, he reached the entrance of the broadcasting station’s construction site. Peering through the darkness as he looked up at the walkway above, he saw Shūchen pacing restlessly by the minecart trolley, looking utterly idle. He rolled the King onto a split stone and, pinching his nose,

“Hey, Shūchen.” “I’m completely plastered and can’t move.” “Come on, hurry up and carry me back to the hotel.” “What are you wandering around for?” “Hurry up already, you idiot!”

Watching the startled Shūchen come running down the walkway, he returned to his former position. Now I have no regrets. Poised and ready to spring his trap, he heard the same voice drift in from nowhere once more.

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty, what are you dawdling for?” “Don’t you understand what I’m saying?” “You’re in danger staying there!” “Hurry, come over here!”

Kaju flared his nostrils and did his best to imitate the King’s voice while,

“Oh, I was sleeping.” “…That voice belongs to Furuichi Kaju, doesn’t it?” “What exactly do you mean by ‘dangerous’?” “First, let me hear you explain that part.” “Well, it may be filthy here, but in my estimation, I don’t see any particular danger.” “Ah, I’m at my wit’s end with your patience.” “This is no time to be droning on about such things.” “I’ll explain everything—just come over here!”

“If you’re telling me to come, I’ll go, but how exactly am I supposed to get there?” “There’s a thin iron pipe running above your head, isn’t there? Follow that pipe steadily and come this way.” When he looked up at the ceiling, he saw three iron pipes of various sizes running slightly high above. He realized the strange voice was resonating from one of them. That pipe was functioning as a speaking tube.

Kaju started walking little by little along that pipe. Sure enough, as he walked, the voice gradually grew nearer and clearer. Even so, this distinctive voice—menacing, rusty, with a mocking tone—was certainly one he felt he'd heard somewhere before. It wasn't even that long ago. Just two or three days ago, in some place, he had heard that voice and it had left a vivid impression on him—Ah, if only he could identify its owner! That thought raced through Kaju’s mind like wildfire. But try as he might, he could not recall whose voice it had been.

As he advanced while glaring at the ceiling and shuffling his feet, he suddenly lost all tactile sensation beneath his soles. His body seemed to float midair for an instant before plummeting like a stone and being slammed onto something unbearably hard.

His back had taken a terrible blow, leaving him unable to rise for some time. When he finally managed to lift his body and grope about the area, it became clear he was likely at the bottom of a deep pit. His probing hands kept encountering something damp and moss-like. Frantically clawing through the vegetation, his fingertips at last brushed against the portable lamp. Lighting it revealed he was indeed in a place resembling the bottom of an ancient well - wide and impossibly deep. He'd been too fixated on glaring at the ceiling while walking, carelessly tumbling into this place. The rim of the vertical shaft loomed over ten feet above. Stretching on tiptoe or leaping up - neither would close that distance. Even for someone as thick-skulled as Kaju, this realization made him shudder involuntarily.

Until now, I had taken it lightly, thinking that if things got dangerous I could just escape, but in this situation, far from escaping, if I made a wrong move my life could be in danger. I could feel the blood drain from my head down to my heels. This had become a serious predicament. What kind of place had I fallen into? First, I needed to verify that. With trembling hands, I pulled out the underground waterways map from my pocket and traced the path I had taken. I finally understood. The map had a well symbol, and next to it was written in vermilion, "Nambu Residence Water Storage Well." I had fallen into the well at Nambu Kai-no-kami’s residence. Since Nambu Kai-no-kami's residence should have been located approximately where the present-day Hibiya Public Hall now stands, I could at least understand that I was currently underground near that area. The villain who had tried to lure out Your Majesty had not been lying when he said he was in the basement of Hibiya Public Hall.

However, even having realized this, there was no change whatsoever in Kaju’s predicament. No—on the contrary, the direness of his predicament was becoming increasingly clear. When he looked at the map, he realized that from the position he had notified Manako of, he had come here through a complex maze of twists and turns. Even if Manako saw Kaju’s letter and came to rescue him, he would never be able to navigate this maze and reach here. Even if they could manage it, they would never be able to explore all these countless side paths in just two or three days. It was nearly hopeless.

Then should I boldly confess everything to the voice’s owner and have them rescue me? No—if they learned I was Kaju, they’d kill me rather than let me live. Better to cling to that sliver of hope and wait for Manako’s rescue.

In a near-frenzied state, frantically turning over one thought after another, he heard the voice echo down once more. “Your Majesty, where on earth are you? “You can’t afford to dawdle around there.” “Please come quickly.”

Damn it—what was I supposed to do? Was there no way to cleverly hide my presence here while subtly alerting Manako? No matter how much I racked my brain—no brilliant idea would suddenly emerge. Nothing left but my usual reckless approach—charge ahead blindly and see what happened.

“Well, this is quite the predicament. I’d love nothing more than to go, but it seems circumstances won’t allow it.”

“What’s wrong?” “I’ve fallen into a hole.” “Is that so?” “You can tell by my voice. It’s echoing from deep down, isn’t it?” “I see. Indeed it is. Is that a deep hole? Can you absolutely not climb out by yourself?” “Absolutely impossible.” The owner of the voice chuckled under his breath—“Heh, heh, heh—” “How convenient that was.” “You shouldn’t say such malicious things. That seems slightly too cruel.”

“Hey, Your Majesty. Listen carefully.” “Well now, while abducting you through Tamura-cho, we nearly got caught in an emergency security check. Since that would’ve been inconvenient, we hid you away in an unused side tunnel at the broadcast station construction site.” “However, you’ve somehow ended up beneath the Crane Fountain.” “This has me stumped.” “I entered through that tunnel and tried many times, but I just couldn’t reach you.” “I had no choice but to start digging through the park’s embankment toward the pond, but this too was interrupted and failed.” “In the end, I came here and used this old gas pipe as a makeshift speaking tube to call out to you haphazardly.”

“Oh! So you’re not Mr. Furuichi Kaju after all.” “You’re a bad person, aren’t you?”

“Yes, that’s right. I am a bad person. Please don’t be too shocked.” “I’m not shocked. But this is genuinely unexpected. So what did you plan to achieve by kidnapping me? No—more importantly, after luring me all the way here, what exactly were you intending to do next?”

“Because there’s something I must make you say.” “In other words—if I hinted you could escape this place—even you’d spill everything then, wouldn’t you?” “Stay there and starvation’s your only end.”

Ten minutes earlier, Kaju could have laughed off this sharp-witted loquacity. But now he couldn't even muster a chuckle. It was exactly as the voice had said. “So what precisely do you want me to tell you?” “To put it plainly—I’d like you to disclose where you’ve hidden those diamonds you brought.”

“Ah, you’ve finally shown your true colors.” “If we’re speaking of true intentions, I’ve already stated mine. Please tell me where you’ve hidden it. Then I’ll help you out of that hole.” “That’s rather suspicious. Actually, no matter what you do, you can’t reach my side, can you?” “There’s no need to worry. We’ve finally discovered that the old map of ‘Water Supply Conduit Specifications’ by Ōkubo Mondonoshō is in the agricultural university’s library. My associates should be acquiring it shortly, and once they do, I’ll be able to reach your side easily this time.”

“It’s rather hard to trust you. If they’re going to take both the diamonds and my life anyway, I might as well not say a thing at all.”

“The one trying to assassinate you isn’t me.” “It’s two people—a certain influential figure and Hutchinson.” “I have no use for your life.”

"I'll trust you for now. However, let me think about that matter a little longer... By the way, how do you know I brought the diamonds?" "Yes, from Matsutani Tsuruko's own mouth. ...In truth, Tsuruko was the watchdog we had placed on you."

“I see—I understand that well enough. But why on earth did you kill Tsuruko?” “Tsuruko genuinely began falling for you, you see, and stopped obeying our orders.” “With all that, it became extremely inconvenient.” “This morning, Tsuruko was supposed to take the diamonds from you and hand them over to us, but not only did she fail to carry that out—she turned uncooperative and began showing dangerous signs. So we killed her.”

“That was rather pitiable of you.” “I never told Tsuruko where the diamonds were hidden.” “We realized that later.” “That’s precisely why we want to hear it directly from you.” “That’s logical… But if you’re supposedly helping me, is it wise to blabber away like that?”

“It’s no concern at all. Once we obtain the diamonds, we’re prepared to leave Japan within one hour at any time. Please rest assured.”

“I’m beginning to understand. That makes perfect sense. Then how exactly do you plan to help me?” “Please state your conditions.” “You’re more aboveboard than I expected. I’m impressed... Then let’s have you do this: immediately call Chief Inspector Manako of the Metropolitan Police Department and have him told just these two words—‘Furuichi Kaju, Nambu Kai-no-kami.’ That will suffice.”

“Furuichi Kaju, Nambu Kai-no-kami… Yes, like this.” “Exactly. Will you swear to make the call before going to search for the diamonds?” “I swear. Now then—tell me where the diamonds are hidden.”

Now, where should he claim... At the very least, it had to be a place plausible enough to temporarily satisfy this meticulous villain... Kaju summoned his meager wisdom with desperate urgency and busily devised various schemes.

“What’s the matter? Your answer?” In desperation, he suddenly hit upon an odd idea. That place should convince even this guy.

That morning, when His Majesty, Tsuruko, and Kaju were having supper together, Kaju had stood up in Tsuruko's place to fetch ice from the kitchen. There, he had noticed a section of wall near the doorway that had been recently repaired and was still damp. He suddenly remembered that now. "Well, Your Majesty, shall we hear your response?" “I shall tell you. “To tell the truth, I was just now saying my farewells to the diamonds. You see, I thought it too dangerous, so I had them embedded within the kitchen wall at Tsuruko’s house. “There’s a repaired section of wall next to the door leading to the hallway, right? They’re inside that...”

The owner of the voice clicked his tongue with evident vexation, "Ah, I'd had that suspicion. We searched every other location thoroughly but overlooked precisely that spot. ...You've indeed won this round, Your Majesty. ...Now then—that's the truth, isn't it? If it's not there when we check, I'll return immediately and kill you. This is life-or-death work for us too." "Even if you leave me be, I'll die regardless."

“That’s not necessarily guaranteed—that’s why I’ve come to kill you. Well then… goodbye.” “I do pray this ‘goodbye’ remains just that.” The voice could no longer be heard after that. Kaju plopped down heavily cross-legged on the moss and glared around at the surrounding walls while,

"This has taken a bad turn." "So this is finally it—my end." "...I did my utmost trying to improve this mess, but who knows if I made things better or worse." "I don't know if that bastard will contact Manako like promised—if they don't find those diamonds, they'll come finish me." "...Just had to go meddling and tangle everything tighter." "No use racking my brain now." "Things'll play out how they play out." "My odds are shit anyway—best make peace with dying... Still makes me sick thinking how I'll rot here with this earth-shattering story untold." "And what's worse—collapsing in this hellhole without even knowing why." "When they find my corpse, I'll leave them one hell of an article instead of a will—lay out every damn detail." "That'd be a reporter's proper exit... Right." "Gotta do it before this flashlight dies..."

Muttering this, he pressed the manuscript paper against his knees, bent his body toward the lamplight, licked the pencil repeatedly, and began scribbling in a state of great panic. There was a certain gallant dignity to it all.

36. The Matter of Early Photography

The Matter of Ordinary yet Ominous Footsteps

Manako sat at his desk in the Investigation Division Chief’s office, his cheek propped on his hand as he hurriedly skimmed through interrogation records—six from Yamaki Motoyoshi, Indou Chuusuke, Kawabata Fumie, Murakumo Emiko, Kouda Setsuzou, and Sakuzuki Mori, and seven from the "Kaamasu Shoo." Yamaki’s testimony showed no discrepancies from the circumstances Hanako had reported after hearing from Indou. He stated that the reason he had slipped out of Suzumoto that night was to keep his promise with the King and retrieve the champagne bottle with the glass diamond set in its upper base.

Indou's testimony mainly consisted of eyewitness accounts about Yamaki sneaking out of "Suzumoto," concluding with his assertion that Baron Seli, Emiko, Hutchinson, and Iwao were suspicious—no, come to think of it, practically everyone else seemed suspicious too. "Of course I'm the only exception here," he kept blathering about such needless things. Fumie testified tearfully that she'd been on edge watching Yamaki take on such an uncharacteristically big job, and now things had indeed come to this wretched pass.

Kouda and Sakuzuki spoke in unison, first rather dispassionately describing how astonished they had been when the fountain's crane statue—which should never have sung—had cried out, then went on to recount the conversation between Yamaki and Fumie that they had eavesdropped on at a cheap lodging house in Asakusa. This largely corroborated the testimonies of Yamaki and Fumie.

Next were the seven interrogation records of the "Kaamasu Shoo". Within them, something rather unexpected had been described.

Upon reviewing the interrogation records, it became clear that among the six members of the "Kaamasu Shoo" who had raided Suzumoto alongside the six from Ariake-so earlier that dawn, only two had properly engaged their assigned opponents: Mary the tap dancer facing Indou, and Miriam the torch singer confronting Hutchinson. Janet—who should have been with Yamaki—was instead paired with Ronald, Fumie’s designated opponent, while Jacqueline—intended to face Iwao—had ended up alongside Wilson, Emiko’s assigned adversary.

In other words, Iwao—Emiko and Yamaki—Fumie—the four of them had altered their pairings in this manner by mutually avoiding their original opponents. Admittedly, they had already heard from Hanako about Yamaki and Fumie’s situation and understood their objective, but it was unexpected that there had been another such pairing variation outside of that. Manako picked up the pencil,

Iwao—Emiko As he wrote "Iwao—Emiko" on the paper, he lost all his previous briskness and suddenly took on a somber expression. What possible reason could Iwao and Emiko have had for avoiding their respective opponents? That was likely not due to affection. When considering the case of Yamaki and Fumie, some highly unsettling associations came to mind. According to Manako’s verification, Iwao shouldn’t have escaped through the window—but with this new fact emerging, he would have to check that aspect again. Even the ever-confident Manako appeared to falter slightly in the face of this new revelation.

According to Manako’s deduction, another member of the "Kaamasu Shoo" had entered through Hutchinson’s window and exited through Iwao’s room’s window, with this seventh person supposedly being a man named Henry—the acrobat dancer—but… Henry was promptly summoned.

Manako no longer maintained his usual composed and unflappable demeanor. That he had grown quite serious could be discerned even from the ferocious gaze that flashed forth like lightning from between his drooping eyelids.

Manako’s deduction had not been flawed. When interrogated, it became clear that the one who had entered through Hutchinson’s window was indeed this man. Resenting having been left out alone, he had come to his mistress Miriam’s place to vent his sarcasm. Unaware that this room was theirs, he had entered through what seemed an easy point of entry—which turned out to be Miriam and Hutchinson’s room. Though he resented it, being quite accustomed to such treatment meant he wasn’t particularly angry. Having been deftly coaxed by Miriam and Hutchinson and treated to a drink, he then exited through Hutchinson’s window and returned to his lodgings at the Napoli Hotel.

Manako was listening intently but suddenly raised his face.

“What time was it when you left 'Suzumoto'?” “It was exactly 4:30 a.m. As I was trying to exit through the window, I distinctly remember the clock downstairs striking 4:30.” “At that time, Hutchinson was certainly with you, correct?” “As I just mentioned…” “So, you only spoke with Miriam and Hutchinson?” “Yes, that’s correct.” “Didn’t you go to any other rooms?”

“I didn’t go there.” “There was no need to go.”

“Very well. You may withdraw.”

Another new fact came to light here. This proved an utterly unexpected blow even to Manako. If Henry hadn't gone to Iwao's room, then Iwao must indeed have slipped out of Suzumoto that morning. Manako's unshakable conviction that "a certain person" was the culprit behind this case might now be entirely overturned by this revelation.

In any case, it was necessary to investigate why Iwao had slipped out of Suzumoto. The reason Emiko had distanced herself from her opponent and teamed up with Iwao was undoubtedly to support his secretive actions. That Emiko had full understanding of Iwao’s behavior could be inferred from this; thus, if only they could make her talk, everything would become clear. Even so, with only a sliver of time remaining until the designated hour, there was no luxury of taking days to gradually extract confessions. Depending on the circumstances...

An indescribable ferocity flashed across Manako’s face. His eyes blazed like fire, his body leaning forward slightly as he took on the savage stance of a beast about to leap at its prey. It was as though an alarm clock had jolted Manako’s entire being awake, his visage now radiating a fierce resolve akin to entering wartime footing.

When Manako signaled to one of the musketeers, Murakumo Emiko was soon brought in.

Just as she had appeared for the eighth time at the entrance to the Ochamatsu gambling den, she entered in a disheveled state—kicking aside the untidily tangled hem of her silver-threaded crepe double-layered lined kimono with her geta clogs—before perching lightly on the edge of the chair Manako had indicated and putting on a sulky pretense of nonchalance. Her eyes, which ought to have been bright and lovely, had grown murky with a sallow tinge from debauchery; her skin, which should have retained its northern beauty, lay utterly ravaged by years of dissolute living. A personage fated to be dragged into such a place sooner or later. So to speak, it was eminently suited to the nature of the place.

Manako was rather amiably offering a cigarette while maintaining a casual tone,

“Well? Did they rough you up pretty badly?” Emiko snorted resentfully through her nose,

“No, it wasn’t that bad. Everyone was ever so kind.” “What did they ask you?” “Things like my name, my age… And I had to tell the truth about my age.”

“That’s irrelevant. ……Is that all?”

"And then... last night, with Iwao..." "What a pointless question to ask." "That was merely a jest, was it not?" "And how did you respond?" "How impertinent! However much authority you wield, you've no right to meddle in such affairs!" "No matter your official capacity, you lack jurisdiction over these private matters!"

“That’s not good. I’ll have a word with them later. Well, don’t get so worked up.” He grinned slyly, “What’s the real story?” “Who cares which it is? How tedious... The police are truly vulgar. I’ve had enough of this.” “You can’t say that so categorically. ...But putting that aside, when did you start frequenting ‘Ochamatsu’?” She assumed a vigilant expression,

“Well... Since last spring, I suppose.” “Do you find this entertaining?” “It’s not what you’d call a hobby.” “How should I explain it…?”

Manako rested his elbows on the desk, supporting his chin with his palm, and said in a leisurely tone,

“Hey, don’t you think your lifestyle has become rather too dissolute? There’s no justification for persisting in such decadent habits. You would do well to engage in some self-reflection.”

Emiko sat sideways in a sulky manner, exposing her upper arms as she ran her hand through the waves of her hair, “I’m reflecting.” “This is truly unacceptable, don’t you think? The law prohibits gambling - you all must know that. Do you think it’s acceptable to mock national discipline in such a manner?” Emiko began to giggle.

“How very proper of you.” “Heh heh, you don’t look the least bit contrite, do you?”

As he said this, he suddenly banged his fist violently on the desk, “It’s that damn attitude of yours that gets you mixed up in murder schemes! You sit there quiet and get cocky. Don’t you dare take this lightly!”

That lumbering Manako—how could he transform himself to this extent? He had completely launched into a tirade, his voice and intonation precisely matching the tone of a sinister old-time police officer. Whether it was a facade or his true nature remained unclear, but either way, there was a nastiness about him that made people’s skin crawl. Emiko raised her deathly pale face and glared resentfully at Manako,

"I don't see why I should be treated this way. What're you plannin' to do with me?" Manako straddled the chair, "You think there's any way outta this? You of all people oughta know what happens when they drag someone in here."

“But this ain’t right!” “Ain’t right? What ain’t right? “…You bastard—think gamblin’s your only sin? “…Nothin’ else comes to mind? “Keep feignin’ ignorance an’ see what happens!”

With that, he strode to the corner of the department office, took down a photo album from the bookshelf, and pulled out one photograph. The image clearly showed the Superintendent General watching a fire drill from a rooftop. In the lower right portion, the roof ridge dominated the frame, making it look like he was standing right on the ridge itself. Manako walked back to Emiko's side while hiding the photo behind his back with both hands, stared down at her from above, then suddenly thrust it right under her nose. Before Emiko could even focus on it, he yanked it back behind his back again,

“You didn’t know they’d even take photos of Iwao sneaking out of Suzumoto this morning, did you?” “Well? Scared shitless now?”

A violent transformation wracked Emiko’s entire body. She could only draw ragged breaths and began trembling so violently she couldn’t remain seated. She tried to clamp both hands over her kneecaps to still them, but her knees refused obedience. They shook all the more fiercely. Manako spoke in a venomous tone, “What’s this? Look at you! “Trembling like a leaf, aren’t you? Big talker pulling reckless stunts without the guts to back it up.” Emiko replied in a hoarse voice,

“What about Iwao? I had absolutely nothing...” “Shut up! Iwao slipped out of Suzumoto at 3:40. He returned at 5:00. When he came back, he’d thrown off his coat and hat somewhere—just wearing a shirt and trousers. He stuck his head through the window and said, ‘Hey, lay something over the floor cabinet! The soles of his socks are black with soot,’ didn’t he?” Suddenly pointing at the toes of Emiko’s tabi,

“Look here! As proof you helped Iwao cover his tracks – there’s bathhouse soot from the roof clinging to your tabi toes!” Emiko looked startled and utterly flustered as she stared at the toes of her tabi. Of course no soot stained them. Flushed crimson, she bowed her head – only for him to immediately seize her shoulders. “Well? Isn’t that right?” Her voice emerged like a mosquito’s whine. “I don’t know.” “So you didn’t know?” His grip tightened. “Then why the hell you trembling like this?”

Manako picked up the previous photo from the desk and handed it to Emiko, then jerked his chin. “Look closely—this isn’t Iwao’s photo, it’s the Superintendent General’s. …Why did this look like Iwao’s photo to you?” “How absurd is that?”

As he said this, he slid his chair closer to Emiko, “Hey—what’s the real connection between Iwao and the Superintendent General? …What twisted fate made Iwao become his double, patrolling Fukagawa’s back alleys to forge an alibi for him?”

Emiko lowered her face even deeper and gave no response. Manako violently stamped his foot with a thud, “Hey! Answer me!”

Startled, she reflexively raised her face.

“I don’t know.” “Still sticking to your script, are ya? Even if you’re gonna talk anyway, why not cook up a fancier story? ...Hey, regardless—Iwao definitely slipped out of Suzumoto this morning.”

“But…” “But… what’s wrong?”

She swallowed hard,

“But I didn’t know what he was going to do.” Manako glared. “Aren’t you stubborn? Do you think such a fantastical story will hold up here?”

“But I…” “Alright—so you won’t talk at all.” With a fearsome expression, he rose from his chair and slowly advanced toward Emiko, flexing a pencil between his fingers.

As the fateful hour drew ever nearer, frenetic activity continued throughout the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department—inside and out—as though a single spark might ignite flames at any moment, yet the third-floor Superintendent General’s office remained a world apart. The Superintendent General sat alone, sunk deep into a large sofa, deeply troubled by something. As if he had aged twenty years in mere moments, countless fine wrinkles gathered across his forehead and around his eyes, his disheveled hair plastered to his head with sweat, his face as wretched as a drowned corpse just pulled from the water.

He appeared to have just returned from somewhere, his hat resting on the desk. What sort of place had he crawled through? Spiderwebs clung to his shoulders and sleeves, his shoes whitened with caked dust. The Superintendent General leaned his head against the sofa back and spoke in a groaning voice.

"...Wardrobe... desk... underground storehouse... kitchen..." That's right. Of course—it was there. Why hadn't I noticed? Why hadn't I noticed something so obvious? ...I'd felt it somehow. And yet I'd overlooked that very spot. Why? "This is incomprehensible." He looked up at the clock. "I can still make it! No matter what happens, I'll see it through. No matter what! I won't be pushed down by that bastard... Will he win, or will I?"

He stood up with a ferocity that made him seem like a different person, grabbed his hat, and began moving toward the door. The clock read 2:55 AM. Then, as if this were a signal, ominous footsteps arose from the far end of the corridor and gradually drew nearer. Footsteps that dragged slightly yet carried murderous intent—distinctive in their unsettling resonance—approached slowly from the corridor.

At the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, there was not a single soul unfamiliar with these dreadful footsteps. Even those who had grown accustomed to this sound over ten years would find themselves struck by a strange terror for no apparent reason upon hearing it.

Manako came. With the arrest warrant for the Superintendent General in his pocket, Manako drew nearer step by step. The Superintendent General stood rigidly with his hat still in hand, but after a violent spasm that seemed to ripple from his toes to the top of his head, he dropped the hat from his hand, staggered toward the sofa, and with a face filled with a vicious expression—

“Damn it—he beat me to it.” He cried out in a guttural groan. The door opened without a sound, and Manako quietly entered. Peering through narrowed eyes with a ruthless gaze, he stared fixedly at the Superintendent General before slowly approaching his side and speaking in a flat, toneless voice: “Superintendent General, by the authority of my office, I am placing you under arrest.” he declared. The Superintendent General’s face rapidly turned pale, beads of sweat erupting across his forehead as he glared at Manako with an expression of utmost complexity—a turbulent mix of fury and despair—when suddenly,

“Damn you… you bastard…” With that shout, he shoved Manako aside with all his strength and rushed out of the room like a madman. The Superintendent General’s deranged footsteps racing down the corridor echoed off the four walls, forming an uncanny rhythm as they gradually faded into the distance. Manako gazed after him with something akin to pity, his voice dropping to a whisper, “In the end—it’s futile.” “You cannot escape my grasp.”

As he muttered this, he curled the edge of his lips slightly into a strange smile. Not even a demon's smile could be this cold. It appeared as though frozen upon his face.

The clock struck 3:00 AM. By the time of the unavoidable resolution, only one hour remained.

Ah, one hour!

Part 12

37: The Matter of Fish Ventriloquism

And Also the Matter of the English Cruiser

In the night sky, a Japanese night heron let out a screeching cry.

The late night of January 2nd, when even the night watchman's clapper seemed to freeze. A grove of paulownias stood thick with umbrella pines, spear cedars, and weeping maples—even at noon, Sanno Forest remained dimly lit. At around three o'clock in the morning, the place was eerily desolate.

A gently sloping path wound upward through the forest. Though a moon hung in the sky, its light could not penetrate the thickly clustered leaves to reach the underbrush below—resembling a logging trail through deep mountains, it stretched endlessly upward. Ahead, hidden among the trees, stood a concrete Western-style mansion. From two or three windows seeped the dim glow of lamps, while half its facade bathed in the pale light of a crescent moon, rising whitely with uncanny vividness like some phantom scene from a dream. This was the infamous Ariake-so Apartments, where precisely twenty-four hours earlier, murder had stained its halls.

In the middle of the path stood a large umbrella pine, its shadowy darkness beneath appearing particularly ominously black; from between branches stirred by a faint breeze slid out a single figure. It drifted ethereally closer toward Ariake-so.

Indiscernible as either illusion or smoke, the shadow wandered unsteadily around the building for a time before sliding through the main entrance into the structure. Dragging an unnaturally long tail behind it, the figure ascended the stairs toward the second floor. The stairway's summit led to Tsuruko's entrance—where the tragedy had unfolded. From there stretched a long corridor, its far end marked by a large glass door. Beyond lay a terrace bathed in moonlight.

The hazy shadow lingered before Tsuruko's door, then slipped inside after confirming the corridor's emptiness. From the window where Tsuruko had been thrown, faint skylight slanted across the wall to form a pale blue screen roughly twelve square meters wide. The shadow crouched in darkness as if recoiling from this light, then began emitting a low whistling sound with bowed head. When this peculiar melody ceased—likely a signal—three new silhouettes swelled into view within the rectangular screen.

The shadowy figure in the darkness used faint hand gestures to draw the three shadows closer to itself, then spoke in a voice so low it was nearly inaudible: “Well then, shall we take our positions now?” “As arranged, let’s take position behind that long bench in the dining room.” “From there, we should be able to observe all activity in the kitchen at a glance.”

The four shadows formed a vertical column and cautiously entered the dining room, huddling together behind the large bench facing the kitchen door. "The area outside the kitchen door should be secure, don't you think?" "Kusuda has been on surveillance there since this morning." "Good. Once they enter here, they'll be rats in a trap. No matter what happens, we won't let them escape... When I arrest that bastard and hand him over to you gentlemen, I'll have fulfilled my duty here. This will mark our farewell—but consider this the final stretch and bear with me a little longer."

“Chief Inspector!” “Don’t use that maudlin tone.” “What exactly are you trying to express?” “I’ve no interest in sentimental platitudes.” “First off, that form of address no longer suits someone like me... Ultimately, I’m incapable of enduring disgrace.” “Such narrow-minded temperament drives one to these idiotic extremes.” “You likely mean to suggest there’s no need for resignation over mere exclusion from petty administrative tasks.” “Yet regardless of your opinions, this course of action pleases me exceedingly.” “Why not simply let me have my way?”

“But… when I think we’ll never meet again like this… and that I couldn’t even give a proper farewell…”

“Enough!”

The hushed whispers came to an end, and the room regained its former profoundly solemn atmosphere.

There must have been a clock somewhere—through its tick-tock, the passage of time transformed into the rushing sound of a restless stream. Had five, or perhaps ten minutes passed in this manner? From the far end of the corridor came a faint creaking sound, like that of door hinges. After about a minute, faint footsteps arose from that direction—like someone treading on damp soil, like a cat padding along a roof ridge—gradually drawing nearer. Starting and stopping, pausing and resuming, they approached the entrance with careful stealthy steps before halting there.

The door creaked slowly open, thrusting forward an elongated shadow as an unsteady dark figure staggered into the entrance hall. Viewed from the dining room's darkness, the square moonlit patch on the wall shimmered faintly like an ancient mirror's surface—within it now materialized the wholly unexpected form of a particular individual. There in profile—bureaucratic uniform collar sloppily undone, back hunched circularly forward—appeared an unmistakably distinctive sideways figure. Exactly like Macbeth stealing into Duncan's bedchamber, there emerged upon the faintly blue screen a grotesque posture mingling anxiety and brutality—the indisputable silhouette of none other than the Superintendent General.

The shadow stretched and shrank in the moonlight as if flaunting its presence, then turned and entered the salon. Appearing thoroughly familiar with the layout, he locked the salon door before pressing himself against the wall and edging toward the door connecting the dining room to the kitchen. What was that scent? From that direction drifted a faint fragrance - an unseasonable spring aroma - wafting gently through the air.

The hazy shadow opened the door and quietly entered the kitchen. Almost instantly, a thin beam of light shot out from its hand and fixed upon a point on the wall near the back door. A recently repainted section of the wall—about five gō in size—was illuminated. The figure hunched his back as if attempting to feel out that section, but after placing the handheld flashlight on the floor, he took out a small chisel-like tool from his pocket and began scraping at it with a grating sound.

The four men behind the long bench arched their backs like stalking cats watching their prey; then one after another they crawled out from hiding and began edging closer toward their target. However, an unexpected obstacle lay along this path. A tall three-legged stand bearing a Shina-ranchu planter blocked the narrow passageway. When Manako's shoulder—at the vanguard—barely brushed the stand's leg, the fragile structure snapped, sending the glass bowl crashing to the floor in a deafening shower of shards.

"Damn it!" Manako's shout and the figure's whirl to slam the kitchen door shut occurred almost simultaneously. When the four rushed to the door, they clearly heard the lock click into place from inside.

Manako,

“Damn it!” With a shout, he darted sideways toward the bedroom and tried to open the door connecting the dressing room to the kitchen, but it too had already been securely locked. In the darkness, “To the entrance! To the entrance!” Manako’s frenzied voice echoed out. From the dining room came the reverberating shouts of the Three Musketeers, desperately trying to open the door with a master key while clamoring in unison. Everything had become so hopelessly tangled that nothing made sense anymore.

After about five minutes of this chaos, the door finally opened. Manako and the Three Musketeers rushed into the kitchen from both entrances almost simultaneously—but what in the world was going on? In this cramped kitchen, there was no trace of anyone to begin with. Not even a kitten was there. If one were to escape from here, there would be no way out other than through this back door leading to the service stairs. However, since a separate team had been stationed there all along, no matter what happened, there was simply no possibility of slipping away.

Manako rushed over and tested that door. This one was also firmly locked. He called out to the Musketeer who should be on guard while pounding on the door’s mirror panel. “Kusuda, Kusuda—you are there, aren’t you?”

A reply came from an utterly unexpected direction. While knocking on the salon door, that Musketeer was shouting. “Chief Inspector, Chief Inspector! I’m here.” “You ordered me to go to the entrance, so I rushed here—but now I’m trapped and can’t get out!”

In this darkness, an Italian-style farce had begun. However, this was no laughing matter for those involved—far from it. For Manako in particular, this was an unforeseen and devastating blow. When Manako had come there yesterday morning for the investigation and seen this repaired section of the kitchen wall, he had discerned that the emperor’s large diamond was hidden within it. He had been certain that as long as he had them stake out there, they would inevitably achieve victory in the final moment. There had been no need to panic and rush about. If they waited there, they would inevitably be able to lay hands on the culprit’s collar—or so it should have been.

Manako had summoned four of his most skilled Musketeers and deployed them without oversight there, while he himself had set about securing corroborative evidence one step ahead. From the afternoon until now, Manako’s efforts had been spent on nothing but driving the fish into this net. Sure enough, the fish had slowly entered the large trap net through the mouth of the bag net. All that remained was to close the mouth of the net. At that one-in-a-thousand critical moment, the fish slipped away and escaped. It was all for nothing. The fish, employing ventriloquism-like mimicry of Manako’s voice, drove the staked-out Musketeers into rushing toward the entrance hall, trapped the unfortunate officers there, and made a leisurely escape. To call it anticlimactic—it was indeed an anticlimactic outcome.

Even a man of Manako's caliber could not have remained unenraged under these circumstances. He grabbed the collar of the unfortunate musketeer who had entered the darkness and shook him violently while grinding his teeth, but then suddenly seemed to change—slumping heavily into a chair, he hung his head and remained motionless. These Four Musketeers genuinely loved Manako, and as men who had been guided by his hand and taught by him since their fledgling days, the thought that their own inexperience had botched this extraordinary grand finale left each of them swallowing bitter tears in gloom—leaving no room for half-hearted words of consolation—and there they remained in the darkness, huddled together like a sculpted frieze with heads bowed low.

After a short while, Manako slowly raised his face and, gazing through each of the statuesque figures one by one, spoke in a characteristically steady voice:

“Gentlemen, this is profoundly regrettable, but today’s spectacle ends here... Ah, even in failure, I never imagined we’d be routed so wretchedly... Remarkable.” “When defeated this decisively, one cannot protest.” “Now comes our turn to tuck tails and flee.” “Had it succeeded as planned—had we triumphed—I meant to indulge in modest revelry... I’d even brought cognac for the occasion... But no matter...” “Well then, gentlemen—we part ways here.” “At least... let us share a ceremonial water toast with this...”

Just as he had finished saying this, a sharp, short sound rang out from the far end of the deathly silent corridor. It was the creaking of hinges. As they involuntarily held their breath and strained their ears, the sound of the veranda’s glass door being softly closed reached them, and someone began stepping across the corridor’s carpet toward their direction. The footsteps—provocative, with an intensely distinctive rhythm—were exactly identical to the cadence they had just heard moments before. As they sank into hiding behind the chairs and stared fixedly at the entrance hall, there upon the silver screen—shrouded in a mysterious phosphorescent glow—suddenly emerged the figure of the Superintendent General himself: hunched-backed, with a chestnut-burr head.

A highly bizarre situation had unfolded. That alone was already hard enough to comprehend, but on top of that, even his movements were being repeated exactly as before—not a single stroke out of place.

The shadow stretched and shrank in the pale bluish moonlight before closing and locking the parlor door exactly as before. Creeping along the dining room wall and stealthily entering the kitchen, he illuminated the wall in the same manner as before, placed the handheld lamp on the floor, took out a chisel, and began demolishing the wall... It was as though a scene from an old-fashioned moving picture that had just concluded was being projected anew from the very beginning, giving those watching an indescribably bizarre impression. The group could only continue staring blankly, unable to believe the scene before their eyes was real. Manako too had his eyes gleaming intensely as if possessed, staring fixedly in that direction without blinking. But as proof this was neither dream nor illusion, the grating sound of wall destruction struck their ears with sinister reverberation. Demolished debris rustled faintly as it fell onto the floor. Strange things had unmistakably begun unfolding.

The sound persisted for a short while, but when it ceased soon after, a small hollow had formed on the wall. The figure picked up the handheld lamp from the floor in a somewhat flustered manner and shone it into the cavity; having discovered something inside—evidently satisfying—they examined it thoroughly before thrusting their right hand into the hollow to retrieve the object. At that instant, Manako leapt ferociously from behind the chair, sprang into the kitchen in one bound, and seized the wrist to wrench it upward with full force. Without a breath's pause, the Four Musketeers surged in simultaneously and tightly encircled him. This time they had succeeded flawlessly. The mysterious figure became trapped within this fierce cordon, shouting fragmented words too indistinct to comprehend.

One of the musketeers swiftly pressed the switch by the wall. Instantly, a maddeningly bright light flooded the small kitchen. Standing directly opposite Manako, slightly pale with arms crossed and standing rigidly, was none other than the genuine Superintendent General himself. His broad, melancholic forehead faintly damp with sweat, his handsome features drawn into an unseemly pallor, he stared fixedly at Manako’s face with an expression that blended anger and bewilderment.

Manako sat cross-legged in an arrogant manner, fixed his gaze—which could be called cruel—on the Superintendent General’s face, and confronted him with murderous intensity. To put it in terms of a simile—like two fierce tigers encountering one another on a battleground—this situation became a harrowing spectacle that permitted no easy prediction of how it would unfold.

The Superintendent General spoke in a voice that suggested a fit of temper: “Manako, put an end to this madness already.” “What on earth do you intend to do with me?” Manako did not so much as blink, “That is what I informed you of earlier.” he coldly rebuffed. “Hey, I was certain you’d gone mad.” “So—are you actually sane?” “I am sane.”

“It’s rather hard to believe… So, what possible grounds could you have for arresting me?”

“The murders of Matsutani Tsuruko and Ashitaka Tome; the kidnapping and confinement of Emperor Munakata Ryutaro of Annam; attempted robbery; and unlawful trespass.” The Superintendent General wore an expression suggesting he found this utterly preposterous, deliberately forcing a bitter smile as he asked: “What would have been the criminal motive?” “Twofold: to steal His Majesty’s grand diamond, and to collude with Li Guangming’s faction—the imperial opposition—in indirectly facilitating his assassination.” “You’ve concocted quite an elaborate fiction.” “Was this truly worth discarding my position over?”

“Because if you hadn’t done that, you would have had to throw away your position.” The Superintendent General roughly pulled a chair over and sat down, “This is a scandalous affair. Now that I'm seated here, I suppose I'll hear your full explanation. Let’s hear it then.” Manako glared challengingly, stared down his opponent for an instant, then resumed his usual cold tone.

“Even without your request, I cannot refrain from stating this.” “Since these are matters you’re intimately familiar with, there’s no need for circumlocution.” “I shall address this directly and succinctly.” “…You previously maintained a certain secret relationship with Matsutani Tsuruko.” “Iwao Michiyasu possesses irrefutable evidence of this.” “Given your own complex marital connections and pathological aversion to scandal, you had no choice but to yield to Iwao’s demands.” “…Initially, you harbored no intent to murder Tsuruko—your sole objective was stealing the great diamond for Iwao. But when circumstances spiraled beyond control, you contrived to frame His Majesty for the killing. Entering Tsuruko’s kitchen through the service stairs, you concealed yourself against the damp wall. When His Majesty fortuitously entered the dressing room, you exploited your authority to escort him out the rear entrance. At the stair’s base, you administered chloroform to render him unconscious before returning near police headquarters in your official roadster as before… Yet realizing this course risked greater exposure, you proposed treating the incident as a suicide under pretext of concealing imperial culpability.” “The plan was to subsequently repatriate His Majesty from obscurity once matters settled… Since authorities remained convinced of his guilt, they compliantly assisted your rushed crime scene staging.” “But regarding your designs—this Manako proved an inconvenient obstacle.” “Your exclusion of me from this morning’s scene preparation stemmed precisely from this awareness.”

“Quite extraordinary.” “A remarkable imagination.” “Ah—kindly listen a while longer.” “There remains more to this.” “...Now regarding Iwao—he never intended to settle for merely the great diamond.” “Aiming to obtain Li Guangming’s faction’s colossal reward, they attempted to coerce you into fulfilling that condition—delivering the Emperor into Japanese authorities’ hands. Having reached this stage, even you could not avoid regretting your deep involvement.” “You resolutely refused this demand.” “...Amidst this conflict, through an unforeseen error, I came to know that I had received orders from the bureau chief’s secretary to investigate the scene.” “In your panic, you rushed ahead to Ariake-so to confine my investigation to the entrance hall alone, sealing the parlor door.” “You calculated that even Manako would not dare break this.” “Yet this too proved fate’s design—en route to Ariake-so, I encountered Hayashi Kinnao and perceived that my exclusion from this morning’s scene preparation indicated some hidden scheme behind its arrangement.” “...As you yourself must acknowledge—given my inherently uncompromising nature—I naturally could not meekly submit to such injustice.” “Resolved to expose this truth even at the cost of my position, I drafted my resignation on the spot and kept it upon my person—proceeding to Ariake-so with unshakable resolve.” “...Before such resolve, a mere seal meant nothing.” “I immediately shattered it and forced entry.”

“You’ve acted rashly. This is hardly normal behavior.” “No matter how you look at it, this isn’t normal.” Manako paid no heed, “Now, upon conducting a detailed investigation of the scene, I found no grounds whatsoever to conclude that His Majesty the Emperor killed Tsuruko.” “No—each individual circumstance serves to prove that it was not His Majesty the Emperor who killed Tsuruko.” “…As I have already reported numerous times on the various conditions at the scene, I shall not reiterate them here. However, it has become unequivocally clear that the true culprit is the individual whom Hana witnessed that night—specifically, the person with a glittering object wrapped around the arm of their chestnut-burr-like head; who left molded imprints of an official uniform’s dimensions and sword belt on the damp kitchen wall; who left 12.00 Princeton-style shoe prints on the floor below; and who left three scratches from sleeve insignias and minute fragments of gold braid on the entrance hall wall.” “Given that it is abundantly clear His Majesty the Emperor did not kill Tsuruko, I considered what possible purpose there could be in deliberately framing him as the culprit.” “Needless to say, it became clear that someone had attempted to shift the blame for their own crime onto His Majesty the Emperor.” “…As for the method, it was an extremely simple matter.” “First, they falsely accused His Majesty the Emperor, then later reversed it—what’s known as a reciprocal accounting scheme.” “…Then, who would be the one to benefit from this legal substitution?” “It could only be the person who deliberately avoided numerous plainly visible circumstances and arranged the scene as a suicide. However, at that time, I was unaware that you were the original proposer of this scheme—thus I could not discern who that person might be.” “However, after some time, I discovered your cherished lion-headed pipe from among the undergarments in the drawer of Tsuruko’s wardrobe.” “If one were merely preparing the scene as a suicide, there would be absolutely no need to rummage through a drawer containing undergarments.” “By this, it became clear that that individual had ransacked this scene for a purpose entirely separate from preparation.” “Therefore, I proceeded to investigate the purpose behind what that individual had been so frantically searching for.” “This too did not prove particularly arduous.” “From the same wardrobe, His Majesty the Emperor’s vest was discovered, and it was ascertained that a rosette-shaped diamond had long been concealed within its inner pocket.” “Moreover, from the state in which the vest had been kept, it was ascertained that the diamond had not been placed there for several weeks prior.” “For since that drawer was not locked, there would be no reason to leave a vest concealing a diamond in such a place.”

“The diamond had been hidden elsewhere.” “Where could it be?… What I immediately noticed was this wall you’ve now destroyed.” “The diamond is concealed there.” “…Because when observing that wall, it becomes glaringly apparent it was painted by an amateur unversed in such work.” “In fact, when we later questioned the plasterer who serviced the premises, it emerged he’d been urgently summoned—bringing only his trowel for the wall repair—yet ultimately couldn’t manage to perform the repairs on New Year’s Eve night… That said, considering how that individual pursuing the diamond had been leaning against what amounted to a mere wall’s thickness yet remained utterly oblivious to its presence—one might say this was nothing less than divine providence.” “It was, after all, a supremely ironic turn of events.”

Having said this while wearing a rather ironic smile, "I may have become somewhat carried away and spoken at length, but this being essentially the situation—we had been sitting here since this afternoon, lying in wait for the owner of the lion-headed pipe to appear here. Out of respect for that person as well, we deemed this course of action most appropriate. And..."

The Superintendent General had been carefully listening to Manako’s lengthy explanation but raised his hand to cut him off,

“That is a truly remarkable intellect.” “Be that as it may, I can only commend you on that point. …Manako, your deduction is so flawlessly crafted that I find myself tempted—if possible—to defer to your judgment.” “It is with profound regret that I must oppose your brilliant conclusion, but during the time when the crime is believed to have occurred—from approximately 4:10 to 4:30—I was driving through the Mukojima to Oshiage area.”

Manako looked down at the Superintendent General with a piercing gaze,

"That was not you." "It was Iwao Michiyasu." "Iwao was wearing identical clothes and conducting patrols in your stead." The Superintendent General looked thoroughly wearied,

“Oh ho! And to what end?” “To create your alibi!” The Superintendent General fell silent, lost in thought, then looked up at Manako’s face with an expression of utter bewilderment, “Inspector Manako, you’ve clearly lost your mind. Now then, don’t you think that line of thinking is a bit far-fetched? If Iwao could so skillfully pull off acting as my substitute, then shouldn’t he have been able to handle the diamond smuggling himself without needing to involve someone like me? You assert that Iwao patrolled Mukojima and that I appeared at Ariake-so—but why can’t we consider the opposite?”

“The reason this paradox does not hold,” Manako countered, “is that there exists an irrefutable witness to your crime.” “A case of plausible resemblance, I suppose?” Ushiyama drawled with affected nonchalance. “On the contrary—it constitutes the singular truth of existence.”

The Superintendent General once again assumed an expression that looked ready to fly into a rage, “The witness you speak of must be that girl Hana living below the cliff of Ariake-so, but according to your account, she only stated that the culprit had a chestnut-burr head and something glittering wrapped around their arm.”

Manako swayed slightly and took a step forward.

“Would this Manako ever determine a criminal’s guilt through such negligent means? Earlier in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department courtyard, we had Hana perform a neck examination on the face of that individual who was thrust from the window following a pistol discharge.” “What did Hana say?” “She affirmed it was unquestionably that man. In other words—that was you.” “Then it appears this Hana girl possesses preternaturally acute vision. The courtyard lies far below the third-floor Superintendent’s office—how could she possibly identify me as last night’s perpetrator?”

“The height from Hana’s window below the cliff to Ariake-so’s entrance window matches precisely that from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department’s courtyard to your office window. The observational conditions were identical in both instances.” “Precisely—meaning neither scenario allowed accurate perception of physical details. When Tsuruko was thrown from Ariake-so’s entrance, the electric light created backlighting. By what illumination could Hana have seen the culprit’s face?” “Through combined light—the rear illumination and moonlight. At that critical moment, moonlight fell directly upon Ariake-so’s window.”

“However, when you conducted that identification test on me, there was no moonlight shining through the Superintendent’s office window.” “……And yet Hana concluded that was the culprit.” “And that has become the very substance of your logic deeming me the culprit.” “…Manako, what in the world has happened here?” “I’ve found this utterly baffling from the start.” “That a man of your standing would place such emphasis on the rambling testimony of some girl—I simply cannot accept it.” “You look like a completely different person now.” Manako was a man who had never once trusted such coincidences. Yet this time, he became utterly obsessed with the babbling words of some infant and kicked up this misguided uproar. “…What possible reason drove you to develop such blind faith in that girl? …Could it be that you, toward her——”

Manako’s eyes blazed. His cheek muscles twitched spasmodically as he thrust both fists threateningly toward the Superintendent, stamping his feet violently while letting out a deafening roar.

“Enough is enough! Wh-why, Superintendent General, why do you call her ‘that girl’? On what basis do you call her rambling? In the first place, you haven’t even seen that girl yourself, have you? In my observation, there was nothing even remotely rambling about her. On the contrary, that girl possesses a special kind of intelligence. At the very least, she possesses the ability to see things with a completely blank slate. ……What, Superintendent General—what about the moonlight? No one said they saw every wrinkle on your face. Nor is there any need for that. To identify you, one need only observe that prominent chestnut-burr head of yours and your uniquely obsequious stoop. Unfortunately, you have been burdened with such trivial characteristics. If anyone were to catch even a single glimpse of that bizarre posture of yours—as if you’re always carrying something on your back—and those long arms reaching past your knees—they’d never forget it for the rest of their lives. She could pick you out even from a thousand people. ……That girl clearly recognized your distinctive traits within visible range and identified you as the culprit. She has clarified the degree of prima facie evidence to an extent sufficient to make one believe it to be true. What exactly is your objection here? Where exactly is the reason that we should not place emphasis on that girl’s testimony? Are you trying to act tough here? Or are you trying to force me to get angry? Whatever the case may be, you have no right to insult that girl without reason.”

“Understand this.” “That girl… that girl…”

He became violently agitated, his eyes pulled taut to his forehead, trembling uncontrollably as he stood speechless from excessive agitation while glaring at the Superintendent General. It was precisely like a bolt from the blue. What could have provoked Manako—that very symbol of composure—to such a degree? The Superintendent General—of course—and the members of the Four Musketeers alike were utterly dumbfounded, left only to stare fixedly at Manako’s face. The Superintendent General had been intently looking up at Manako’s face, but now spoke in a rather soothing tone,

“Hey, Manako, what’s wrong?” At this, Manako—now seemingly losing all composure—hurriedly averted his eyes, “There’s nothing wrong.” He muttered in a voice barely louder than silence, his ghostly pale cheeks flushing crimson as he averted his gaze like a bashful maiden.

However, this lasted but an instant, and soon his expression returned to its former unyielding severity.

“In short, there’s no need to explain in such a tedious, roundabout way. Of the two Superintendents General, the one who appeared at Ariake-so was decidedly not Iwao. The reason is that apart from height, Iwao bears not the slightest similarity to the criminal’s characteristics. He doesn’t have a hunched back, nor does he possess a chestnut-burr head. He has well-groomed, beautiful hair… Well, Superintendent General—do you still have grounds for objection?”

Even when pushed to the very brink at this critical moment, the Superintendent General showed no sign of yielding,

“If it wasn’t Iwao, then it must have been someone else.” “I find this most regrettable, but no matter what you say, I was not at Ariake-so Apartments, I tell you.” “As I mentioned earlier, at that time I was driving around Okawabata... Manako—let me ask you—what report did you receive about a Superintendent General passing through Fukagawa around 4:00 AM that day?” “The report states that an individual closely resembling the Superintendent General was driving his private No. 78 Roadster through Koto toward Oshiage at considerable speed.”

“Why do you say ‘resembling’ or such?” “Because as an inspection tour by the Superintendent General to console year-end security personnel, your actions hardly made sense. As is customary, you would stop at major posts to offer words of consolation—yet such a thing never occurred even once. It was as if you were fleeing through the checkpoints—the security personnel say they didn’t even have a chance to salute. It can only be called suspicious.”

“I see. Be that as it may, kindly permit me one more question.” “At that time, are you saying I was wearing an official uniform?” “Indeed.” “This has taken a strange turn.” “Whether you find this convincing or not is another matter—in any case, I shall now describe the actual circumstances of that time in detail.” “In the first place, I wasn’t wearing an official uniform at all then.” “I had on a tuxedo.” “Not only that, but I was tucked deep inside the car’s canopy—not seated where my figure could be seen from outside.” “And yet they claim it was me in uniform behind the wheel.” “In short, the security officers never actually saw me.” “……Manako, the report you received was this ambiguous. ……To clarify matters, when I explain my movements that night, they unfolded as follows.” “I attended the British Embassy’s year-end party that evening and stayed until half past three.” “When the clock struck 3:30, I left the embassy with James Cleveland—a navy major returning to the British cruiser *Wales* anchored in Yokohama—intending to drive him there in my car.” “This man was a friend from my student days abroad—the very reason I’d gone to the embassy was to meet him after fifteen years.” “He was an ardent Japanophile who devoured novels by Nagai Kafu and Osanai Kaoru, having long cherished old Tokyo’s atmosphere.” “With the last launch at 5:10 AM and time to spare, he asked if I might show him Okawabata’s night views.” Having agreed, I let him take the wheel freely—from Hashiba to Masaki Inari, Oshiage to Honjo Koume, looping back around Myokendo in Yanagishima repeatedly until he’d savored Okawabata thoroughly—before sending him off via Keihin Highway to Yokohama’s pier. “In other words, what those officers witnessed wasn’t me at all—it was a naval officer’s uniform.” “That is the truth of it.”

“So, is that cruiser still anchored in Yokohama?” A dark shadow flickered across the Superintendent General’s brow. Nevertheless, the Superintendent General replied in a firm tone,

“The Wales departed for Hong Kong at 6:00 AM yesterday.” Hearing this, Manako flashed an indescribably cold, faint smile while—

“Superintendent General, shall we immediately send a wireless inquiry to the Wales?” “……No—there is no need for that.” “Given that you are here at Ariake-so now, any defense would prove futile.” “Even were we to accept your excuses—what purpose could you possibly have for sneaking into this place alone under cover of night?” “Why would you climb up to the balcony?” “Moreover, on this very night—undaunted by danger—you dared intrude twice.” “It would seem you have some gravely urgent official matter here.”

The Superintendent General looked as though he doubted his own ears,

“You’re saying I came here twice?” “...Exactly what times?” “Just twenty minutes ago, and then now.” “Well now, this grows ever more extraordinary.” “...Then—is the one here myself, or my ghost?” “My indivisibility appears rather unreliable.” “Superintendent General, I do not stand here to entertain your jests.” “I demand you answer my questions.” “...Why did you sneak into this place?”

The Superintendent General maintained a composed demeanor,

“What do you think I came here for?” Manako glared at the Superintendent General with a challenging look. “If you won’t state it yourself, I shall do so in your stead.” He pointed at the gaping hole in the wall. “You came to retrieve the emperor’s great diamond from that cavity.” The Superintendent General lowered his eyes as if lost in melancholy contemplation, then quietly raised his face. With an expression that seemed to strain against pity itself, he looked up at Manako’s countenance while—

“Manako, I understand perfectly well what caused this grave error of yours.” “A particular motive has completely stripped you of your reasoning power.” “That’s why you’ve misjudged even something this straightforward.” “For that, I find you most pitiable.” “...That someone of your caliber could make such a blunder!” “It seems scarcely credible.” “...Ah, but this isn’t your doing.” “Call it fate’s cruel jest... Manako, haven’t you realized yet?” “What emotion drove you to this disastrous failure?”

Manako did not answer. The Superintendent General let out a low sigh, “However, there’s no use dwelling on this any longer.” “Despite your presumptions, what’s concealed in that wall cavity isn’t anything as mundane as a diamond.” “I’ll show it to you.”

Having said this, he stood up, approached the wall, and inserted his hand into the hollow. What was pulled out from within was a large square envelope—ostentatiously sealed in five places with red sealing wax—that could be instantly recognized as an official document.

The Superintendent General, holding it in his hand, approached Manako and— “Manako, what I was searching for was precisely this.” “It wasn’t just Ariake-so and the hotels.” “I had searched every last place where His Majesty might have set foot... Now that this has come into my possession, I see no harm in disclosing it—this is a critical agreement exchanged in 1932 between the Japanese government and the Emperor of Annam personally, scheduled to take effect from January 1934.” “However, following Japan’s withdrawal from the League and other circumstances, significant changes arose internationally, rendering execution of this treaty impossible for our government.” “To put it plainly, were this treaty published, Japan would face grave peril—yet lacking proper annulment wording, our highest authorities had been deeply concerned.” “After extensive negotiations, mutual understanding was achieved between both parties. Today—specifically at the 10 AM meeting on January 2, 1934—we decided to nullify this treaty under certain conditions.” “Yet one day prior to this resolution, this incident occurred unexpectedly, making it impossible to predict when these documents might fall into unauthorized hands.” “As this concerns our nation’s most classified policy—a treaty so vital that even intelligence circles remain ignorant—should pro-French factions like Li Guangming’s group or anti-Japanese spies obtain it before nullification, catastrophic consequences would ensue.” “This explains why I received special orders from our highest authorities to conduct this secret investigation alone... Why I proposed framing this as a suicide case, why I excluded you specifically from Ariake-so’s crime scene preparation, why I barred site access—with this explanation alone, you must now comprehend.” “Though indirectly conveyed, I had already hinted at this matter to you.” “Yesterday afternoon during my conference with the bureau chief, I stated your exclusion stemmed from fearing your competence.” “At that time, I meant to imply discreetly that governmental secrets lay behind this case—secrets too sensitive for someone of your sharpness to handle—but you failed to perceive it.”

Manako had been staring at the Superintendent General’s face with a vacant expression, his gaze nearly boring a hole through it, but now he suddenly darted toward him like a fleeing rabbit, snatched up the envelope, and began tearing at the seal with twitching fingers. The Superintendent General’s face flushed crimson, “Fool, what are you doing!” Shouting, he lunged at Manako, violently struck his wrist, wrested the envelope away as if tearing it off, then shoved him with all his strength toward the wall.

Manako staggered unsteadily to the edge of the wall, his foot caught on the rim of a wooden box filled with wall plaster that had been placed on the floor, and he fell into it in a pitiful manner, landing on his backside.

By the way, inside the wooden box where Manako had fallen on his backside lay a small scrap of paper. Perforated with sewing-machine holes and clearly torn from a memo, this folded fragment rested upon the wall plaster like a white butterfly spreading its wings. No such paper had been present when Manako first investigated this box. Since he had strictly forbidden the Four Musketeers from entering the kitchen under any circumstances, this scrap could only have fallen from the pocket of one principal actor during those two recent altercations.

Comically buried in the wall plaster up to his hips, Manako picked up the scrap of paper and opened its fold. On that scrap of paper, written in conspicuously crude handwriting, was such an outlandish statement: "At last, we'll do it—Chomeiji Giwa, Superintendent General-sama" It resembled a letter written by a child with meningitis, but upon careful consideration, this text seemed to convey some profoundly ominous meaning. Translated verbatim, it suggested that yet another heinous incident was about to be incited near Chomeiji Temple in Mukojima.

Manako glanced at the exquisitely written note, casually crushed it in his palm, quietly rose from the wall plaster, and walked leisurely toward the doorway. Just as one might have thought he was leaving, he suddenly spun around sharply to face the Superintendent General once more and, with his usual coldly tenacious and sinister expression, said: “Superintendent General, the war isn’t over yet. The French ambassador arrives at Tokyo Station at 4:15 AM. You still have forty minutes. Will you prevail, or shall I? The outcome will prove most worthy of your undivided attention.”

Having said that and bowed lightly, he truly left this time. Leaving behind the dumbfounded Superintendent General and the Four Musketeers.

In accordance with the guidance of the well-written text, the author will now have Manako rush to Mukojima. As for what manner of incident might arise there—should one wish to know—I must entreat you to peruse the forthcoming chapter.

38. On the Rich Fragrance

On the Rich Fragrance and the Hanged Man of the Clock Tower

“Gazing at the moon over Matsuchiyama Hill and traversing Wind-Whitebeard Forest”—such phrases belonged to tales of old. Against the night sky towered the gas tank of Hashiba; along the banks of Ayase stood the stately chimneys of Kanebo. When one turned their head to gaze toward the distant mountains, the blazing neon lights scorched the clouds, resembling nothing so much as a conflagration across the river. Retaining elegance only in the name Ōkawabata, with neither moon nor snow adding any charm whatsoever, it was an utterly drab and desolate factory zone. Particularly after the earthquake disaster, the area had not been rebuilt properly, and from Mukojima to Hashiba and Koume, there were vacant lots everywhere like missing teeth.

This was one such place—where a former sake brewing company’s factory had vanished without a trace in the earthquake, leaving behind a crudely enclosed lot bounded by namako-patterned boards. Inside lay red-rusted iron wires and heaps of bricks piled so densely one could scarcely step foot there—a ghastly spectacle of ruin stretching uninterrupted to Chomeiji Temple’s boundaries. Far below the embankment, the night watchman’s clappers clacked-clacked as he sneezed once while passing through. Afterward, the night air thickened into silence; only the rhythmic slap of high tide against shore remained audible.

Just around this time, a car that had sped over from Kototoi Bridge came to an abrupt stop about a block short of the enclosed lot. Who could have alighted from within it? Needless to say, it was none other than that relentless enforcer himself—Manako Akira. After dismissing the taxi with a hand gesture, he made his way up the slightly inclined path along the embankment, slowly approaching the enclosed lot. Leaning against the trunk of a cherry tree in the row, he stood chillingly bathed in the moonlight.

The piercing cold moon cast its reflection on the river’s surface, the sound of the night boat’s oars as if frozen. One or two seabirds let out a ghastly shriek like death screams, their terrifying cries trailing long through the night sky. And then, a similar scream arose beyond the namako-patterned wall across one street. A-a-a-a... it trailed off, then immediately transformed into a sharp "Hii!" of choked sobs.

Manako had been staring piercingly in that direction, but upon detaching himself from the cherry tree trunk, he flew through the air and dashed toward it.

When he turned the corner of the namako-patterned wall along the road, there was a gap in the wall about six feet long. Craning his neck to look, there in the middle of the vacant lot littered with burnt lumber and cut stones, three black shadows were now locked in a violent struggle. Two men in formal wear were grappling a man in a tuxedo from both sides and wildly slashing at him. Each time the dagger was swung upward, its blade caught the moonlight and glittered with terrifying intensity.

The man being slashed appeared to have exhausted all strength to resist; covering his head with both hands, he staggered back and forth unsteadily with each strike, swaying like he was swimming through air. Groaning with labored breaths—"Ugh... ugh... ugh..."—he desperately supported himself while seizing an opening to frantically flee five or six steps toward the hollow. One attacker immediately dragged him back and slashed at his head, then roughly shoved him toward the other. The other attacker caught him and stabbed deep into his flank. He was being flung back and forth between them like a pendulum, slashed mercilessly without regard for where the blows landed.

The two men doing the slashing wore large tinted glasses that hid half their faces, making their features unrecognizable; however, their moonlit profiles were sharply pale, and both their clothing and demeanor could be described as nothing less than elegant. They were splendid upper-class gentlemen rarely seen in such neighborhoods—a scene redolent of the West, a kind of romanticized tableau that might have been lifted straight from a Gavault novel. If described in writing, it would be lengthy, but in terms of actual time, this entire sequence likely lasted no more than five seconds. Manako perceived the entire situation through a gap in the namako-patterned wall in an instant, then flipped his body and leapt into the vacant lot,

“Wait!”

Screaming, he leapt over the rust-red barbed wire that blocked the path like brambles on a country road, bounding again and again as he dashed toward the commotion like a fleeing rabbit.

However, when one thought about it, shouting something like "Wait!" in such a situation was utterly absurd no matter how considered. No matter how vehemently one might rebuke them, there was no reason they would wait. Even Manako likely hadn't intended to shout anything of the sort. In short, it seemed an unavoidable fury had given voice to these words. True enough, the two assailants had not waited at all. Seeing Manako charging toward them in full sprint—apparently having prearranged their plan for such contingencies—they swiftly exchanged signals and split into two groups heading east and south, skillfully fleeing while leaping over scattered cut stones. Though the ground was strewn with various obstacles—unexpected depressions and small hills—it proved impossible to run as he wished. Manako had been separated from the pair and fallen behind by twenty ken.

The vacant lot's far southern end was blocked by Chomeiji Temple's stone wall, while its eastern side met a road across a moderately wide drainage ditch. Of the two escape routes, the group heading toward Chomeiji Temple moved swiftly along the relatively flat path and were already nearing the wall, but those fleeing toward the ditch appeared hindered by various obstructions and could not escape as quickly. Manako chased desperately toward the latter group, his Inverness coat sleeves flapping like the wings of some great underworld raven in his bizarre pursuit.

As Manako’s legs gradually gained momentum and his speed increased, the mysterious figure conversely began to struggle more in his flight, the distance between them steadily narrowing—not just because of the poor ground conditions. It appeared he had injured his leg; as Manako closed in, it became unmistakably clear that he was running with a pronounced limp.

Thirty feet, eighteen feet, six feet... Beyond lay the bank of the wide ditch. The mysterious figure was finally cornered at the bank, finding himself at a complete impasse.

Manako “Damn!” With that shout, he made a ferocious leap like a jungle panther, extending his ape-like arms to pounce on the mysterious figure’s collar. The moment Manako’s right hand firmly grasped the man’s raven-black hair, the tuxedo-clad figure used his tall stature to effortlessly clear the twelve-foot-wide ditch in a single bound.

Suddenly, all resistance vanished from Manako's grasp, and with the momentum still clutching the hair, he landed with a heavy thud and tumbled down to the bottom of a sizeable depression. How had that head he'd so firmly grasped managed to slip through Manako's hands? In Manako's hand, the bundle of hair remained tightly clutched even now... Upon looking, it was not living hair. It was an elaborate wig, slicked back in an all-back style.

Gnashing his teeth, Manako crawled up from the depression. When he gazed across the ditch—ah, look!—a tuxedo-clad figure with shaven head fled stumbling through the pale moonlight. Not only that, but around that hollow lingered an unearthly fragrance drifting faintly through the air. To describe it, one might call it the very breath of roses from a spring garden. An exquisitely rich perfume struck Manako's nostrils with sudden intensity. This was none other than the scent that had wafted through the darkness of Tsuruko's dining room at Ariake-so during the Superintendent General's first appearance moments before.

The moonlight fell upon Manako's stunned face. That face was of such bizarre nature as should not exist in this world—if one were to compress it into a single phrase, it bore an expression of utmost complexity, as though wrath, despair, and melancholy had each blended in equal thirds.

Indeed, even with a hundredfold exaggeration, it would prove difficult to adequately describe Manako’s state of mind at this moment. The fruits of efforts akin to carving bone and Manako’s adamantine beliefs had now crumbled with a clattering sound under the weight of these two bewildering phenomena. It was unforeseen—here lay two chestnut-shaped heads. One was an elegant specimen meticulously concealed beneath an all-back hairstyle and adorned with a refined perfume—Guerlain’s Fleur de Rêve from Paris, France—bearing qualities entirely distinct from those of the abrupt Superintendent General’s own.

Clutching an absurd wig in one hand while staring vacantly at the sky like an empty husk—given circumstances of this nature, even someone as coldly logical and unfeeling as Manako could not have avoided finding himself thus. When considering Manako's state of mind at this moment, even this obtuse author could not help shedding a tear of sympathy. In the original plan, the author had never intended to subject Manako to such harsh treatment. At the very least, he had never meant to inflict such wretched failure upon him. Yet the characters within the novel, gathering and bolstering one another through their self-driven leaps, had ultimately forced Manako into this predicament.

Even so, how had Manako come to make such a terrible failure? When that Hoffman-esque incident occurred—where a figure clad in the Superintendent General’s uniform had appeared simultaneously in central and eastern Tokyo—they should have concluded that the one who manifested at Ariake-so yesterday morning was merely an imitation of the Superintendent General. At the very least, they should have either eliminated the chestnut-shaped head from their conceptual framework or conducted more thorough research into the inherent qualities of what constitutes a chestnut-shaped head. And yet, Manako had never once entertained doubt regarding this point. As for why someone of Manako’s caliber had failed to notice such a simple matter—as the Superintendent General had already declared—it was an act compelled by futile love.

Letting logic careen down the tracks of emotion is prone to lead one astray in most cases. And, as with countless other cases, this case was no exception.

The lips of Hanako—who had stated the criminal had a chestnut-shaped head—were utterly adorable，and her voice was exquisitely beautiful；thus Manako’s rigid mindset had unwittingly grown acutely sensitive，until he unknowingly came to harbor blind faith in her testimony，sinking chin-deep into its embrace where he now dared remain enraptured． There was no particular objection to the fact that Hanako had been beautiful enough to unsettle even a mind as stubborn as Manako’s，but there was issue to be taken with Manako having been drawn to it． Not only that，but the most troubling thing was that Manako himself remained utterly unaware of it． He did not even know what to call the murky emotions churning within his own chest． Therefore，he remained utterly unaware of his own peculiar approach—rather than pursuing the truth of the case，devoting all his efforts solely to reconciling the testimony spoken from those beautiful lips and contriving to let that girl take the credit．

Since the inception of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, there had never been a mind as brilliant as Manako’s. Not only did he excel in intellect, but his heart was filled with a spirit that thirsted to loathe injustice more fiercely than any other.

In the desolate midnight, Manako's figure—leaning motionless against his desk as a solitary shadow while devoting himself tirelessly to criminology—stood as the very symbol of an indomitable spirit ceaselessly battling injustice and corruption. Over those dozen-odd years, Manako had fought valiantly. Bureaucratic life contained an elusive corrosive element—courageous souls gradually compromised and decayed over time—yet amidst this rot, only Manako's unyielding spirit had ever fully resisted it, never once bending. Whenever he encountered corruption, he would expose it without mercy even if it meant targeting superiors, thereby fulfilling his fundamental duty as a prosecutor.

That Manako had failed. He had suffered a crushing defeat solely because his heart had been stirred by an emotion as tender and fragile as a single wildflower trembling in the wind. What had caused such a miserable failure—by now, Manako himself must have come to fully realize it. Manako sat down at the edge of the depression, then suddenly seemed to age as he heavily drooped his head. Frost settled on Manako’s shoulders. There was a poignantly sorrowful air about him that moved those who saw it to tears.

He remained like that for some time, then eventually fumbled through his inner pocket and took out a single photograph. Whose photograph do you suppose it was? It was that beautiful photograph of Hanako the seamstress. Hanako sat somewhat stiffly on an old-fashioned chair with tasseled drapery, a garden painting serving as her backdrop. She was indeed a rare beauty. Lips with a certain charm, eyes clearly opened and brimming with emotion. Each feature clearly displayed virginal purity and simplicity, allowing one to sense how she had modestly conducted herself to remain untainted by the world’s corruption.

Manako held it up to the moonlight and began gazing with eyes that seemed to drink in every detail. This was the very person who had caused Manako's failure. Yet within Manako's gaze lingered neither resentment's hue nor indignation's shadow. There was simply profound sorrow. As soon as he knitted his brows in a pained expression, tears streamed down Manako's cheeks. What could this fearsome middle-aged detective—who had exhausted both body and soul in prosecutorial duties, now emaciated like a skeleton—possibly be thinking now?

Manako carefully placed the photograph back into his inner pocket. He pressed it against his chest over his clothes and gazed with a dreamlike expression. These withered cheeks, still bearing the traces of tears, began to shine as vividly as those of an innocent boy. With that expression still on his face, he quietly stood up and returned to the place where the previous struggle had occurred, still holding the bundle of hair in his hand.

On a desolate wasteland of sparse grass and cut stones lay a single figure. The figure who had entered this novel carrying an exotic air—the Hovas correspondent and man of Japanese-French descent John Hutchinson—lay there. From his wound came a hiss of escaping breath, each groan producing a shrill, flute-like wheeze. His left eye, flared open, mirrored the profound night air as he lay fallen in an ephemeral manner.

The shirt was soaked through with blood, the clothes had become like coarse cloth, their edges fluttering fiercely in the wind. Ah, that face! The wound split open from below his right ear to the corner of his lips left his mouth grotesquely agape, with the entire row of teeth exposed white up to the molars. The right eyeball had been gouged out; the hollowed socket pooled abundantly with blood, and the overflow from it mingled with blood gushing from his mouth before trickling down his neck. His arms, hands, and chest were mercilessly hacked to pieces, their crisscrossing wounds creating a bizarre impression as though some mysterious pattern had been carved into them.

Manako stood rigidly with a despondent air, looking down at it, then hiked up the hem of his Inverness coat and plopped down cross-legged beside Hutchinson’s face, and in a heartfelt voice, “Hey, Hutchinson—Manako’s here.” he said.

In the moonlight, Hutchinson's white eye snapped toward him. In an instant, a flood of tears came gushing forth. "Hey, Hutchinson... You're not gonna make it like this."

Hutchinson gave a faint nod. Manako grasped Hutchinson’s hand and began pulling it toward his own chest, “Is there anything you want to leave behind? I’m about to disappear myself, so I can’t take on anything too involved—but if it’s something I can handle, I’ll do it.” When Manako said that, Hutchinson made a hiccup-like sound deep in his throat, “Ku... ya... shi...”

he let out a voice like a torn bellows. Manako grimaced in a bitter smile and, "It's just complaints."

Hutchinson raised his trembling fingertips and pointed in the direction where the two had fled, “A...i...tsu...wo...”

“That’s just complaining too.… If you’re done in completely, a man doesn’t voice complaints.”

Hutchinson nodded. Perhaps intending to force a bitter smile, he twitched the corners of his lips—only for his lower jaw to snap open with a crack, releasing a strange gurgling sound from within. As he tried to push up his lower jaw with his own hand, “M-more… h-here…” Manako raised one knee and, cradling Hutchinson with his left hand, brought his ear to the man’s mouth. Wheezing raspily in his throat as if having an asthma attack, Hutchinson gasped and began to whisper something.

For a long time, Hutchinson continued to whisper. Manako nodded as he listened. What sort of secret had been whispered into Manako's ear? Of course, there had been no way to catch it, but judging by how Manako's expression remained completely unchanged, this deathbed statement likely contained nothing particularly unexpected for him now.

Hutchinson's intermittent muttering gradually grew more distant. The light in his eyes dulled, his breaths growing ever fainter, until with one violent spasm-like shudder, his features rapidly transformed into the vacant, blank expression common to the dead.

“Hey, Hutchinson.” There was no reply.

Longevity Temple's bell bonged. Above the fire watchtower hung that crescent moon—the same slender sliver always seen at the curtain fall of a Shinpa tragedy.

At that moment, with loud clattering footsteps, a figure approached—none other than a police officer keeping watch through the night. As he passed by the usual gap in the wall and suddenly turned his head to take in this scene, he appeared startled and took a step or two back while staring wide-eyed, but immediately gripped the hilt of his sword,

“Who’s there?”

When he barked out a challenge in a booming voice, he ran toward Manako without hesitation. Manako remained utterly motionless.

The police officer who had run over, instantly assessing the situation, reached out and seized Manako by the collar. Around his wrist was already coiled an arrest rope.

Manako raised his face and looked up at the police officer’s features, “You’ve done well… To think such an incident would occur.” To city and county police officers, Manako was an object of reverence. Young academy cadets would grow thoroughly awestruck merely by witnessing his bearing. When the officer saw Manako’s face, he instantly lost all composure and hastily assumed a rigid posture of attention. “Chief Inspector Manako!” “I’ll draft the report myself—immediately contact headquarters by telephone. This demands notification before four o’clock without exception… Incidentally—the time?”

hurriedly checked the face of his pocket watch, “It is five minutes to four.” “Twenty minutes left, hmm. There’s still time. Lend me the flashlight.”

Taking out a flashlight and shining it on Manako’s hands while trembling with emotion,

“Chief Inspector—what an honor, sir— To have shown you such a flustered state without realizing you were the Chief Inspector... I’m Ando of Koume Police Station—”

Manako shot a piercing glare. “Shut up. You’re too loud.” Taking out a notebook from his pocket, he briskly jotted down about three lines of text and handed it to the police officer. “Once you’ve finished your report, return here again. …Now run!”

With a sharp gasp, he twisted around reflexively and bolted away like a shot.

Manako watched him leave, then spread his notebook across his knees and leisurely began writing something. While occasionally warming his fingertips with his breath, he continued carving meticulous characters under the flashlight’s beam. The moon grew ever more intensely clear, casting its cold, impartial light upon the gruesome corpse, the disgraced prosecutor, the stones, the weeds—upon all things equally. Your Excellency Superintendent General Ushiyama, On the occasion of our parting, though abrupt, allow me to offer a few words of farewell. Since I first took up prosecutorial duties—counting on my fingers reveals it has already been fourteen years—looking back, it all seems but a fleeting and indistinct dream.

That someone as inherently foolish as myself has been able to perform my duties without major transgression until today is entirely due to the gracious support and guidance bestowed upon me by my various superiors, for which I offer my profound gratitude. Your Excellency Superintendent General Ushiyama I shall now disappear. I have already dispatched my letter of resignation to your office and have verbally reiterated my intent, yet I have still not received your approval regarding the matter. Under normal circumstances, I should have initiated action following that; however, due to the reasons I shall now state—as I believe I must not defile this honorable position for even a moment longer—I hereby expel myself from the position of Chief Inspector, resolving to spend my remaining days buried in the dust of the city as a form of self-punishment. The reason is that I have discovered my disposition to be unsuitable for serving as a prosecutor. No—it is because I have come to realize that one possessing such a feeble character must absolutely be rejected as a prosecutor.

Your Excellency Superintendent General Ushiyama, In my view, prosecutorial duties constitute an automatic motion within the law; therefore, a prosecutor is but a kind of reflexive mechanism. In executing prosecutorial duties, one must not harbor any personal will or affection. Since first assuming this honorable post, I have consistently confronted matters with this conviction. In this recent case, having reached the conclusion that Your Excellency was the true perpetrator, I accordingly accused Your Excellency as such. As with all previous instances, in this matter too there existed not the slightest hesitation born of personal sentiment. Because I maintained faith in the validity of my conclusion, despite Your Excellency's reasoned defenses, I did not waver in my conviction until this final hour.

Your Excellency Superintendent General Ushiyama Your Excellency are not the perpetrator. I have now confirmed Your Excellency bears no connection whatsoever to this incident. This conclusion was reached through unforeseen yet irrefutable facts.

The Superintendent General himself, whom Manako Akira as Chief Inspector had accused of being this case's true culprit, was in fact innocent. For one bearing prosecution's grave responsibilities, this fact alone constituted a grave dereliction of duty—but what proved even more unforgivable was the motive that drove me to commit this error.

What motive led me to commit this grave error? As Your Excellency has already astutely discerned, it was that what is commonly called romantic feelings inflamed my heart and led me astray from the path of cold logic. The primary cause lay in my becoming infatuated with the charm of a certain young girl who served as a witness in this case, which drove me to fanatically believe her testimony. The second was that I made all reasoning depart from her testimony and distorted every fact to enhance its effect. Moreover, that I myself remained utterly unaware of committing such grave deviations is truly beyond all excuse.

Could one of such base character still endure serving as a prosecutor? How much less could one endure serving in the weighty position of Chief Inspector? Such tendencies are not only unjust but represent the most perilous disposition for prosecutorial duties. Manako Akira should be immediately expelled from that chair. Your Excellency Superintendent General Ushiyama, For the reasons I have stated above, I hereby bid you farewell effective immediately. If I may be permitted to express one final sentiment, it is that Manako is now extremely happy. Throughout my entire life, I have never been so filled with feelings of delight. To put it concisely, this is due to the unparalleled discovery that even this Manako—who has been regarded as cruel, cold-hearted, and demonic—was ultimately a human being after all.

I shall henceforth spend the rest of my life freely and unrestrained. Even should I end up covered in the grime of the streets in some squalid alley corner, I shall always be happy. It is because I believe that one pleasant memory will comfort and warm me until life's end.

Roughly an hour prior to this—or to contextualize the sequence, around the time Manako was stealthily infiltrating Ariake-so—two men who looked like drivers slipped through the curtained entrance of an all-night oden stall in the alley beside Matsuya, Ginza’s Owari-cho, and staggered out into the deserted midnight street.

Billowing smoke into the night sky, they staggered toward the car by the sidewalk, wearily climbed into the driver’s seat, pressed the accelerator, and sped off toward the fourth block. The assistant, mixing yawns with his words, had been rambling on about something to the driver when he suddenly seemed to notice— “Is it past four already?” As he said this, he stuck his head out the car window and looked up at Hattori Clock Tower, but upon seeing something, he gasped “Ah! Ah! Ah!” and pointed at the clock tower like a madman.

As if it were Ginza’s commemorative tower, something strange dangled from Hattori’s clocktower that stood elegantly aloft. A gentleman in a black-lacquered tuxedo hung from the lightning rod like a dead cat, swaying back and forth in the wind like a marionette. The clock tower’s illumination served as a backlight, casting an indescribably gruesome silhouette that filled the entire clock face.

“Ah! It’s murder!”

A terrifying scream pierced the nocturnal desolation and resounded piercingly through this Meinukushi intersection of Great Tokyo.

Conclusion

39. The Ginza Gallows Incident

And the Government Upheaval Incident

Even the metropolis, ceaseless in its four-o'clock bustle, had moments when it began to doze. A certain foreign writer had called this hour “the metropolis’s off-hours.” For about thirty minutes starting at three o’clock, the metropolis fell asleep. The flow of time halted its march; all phenomena came to an abrupt standstill.

At 3:00 AM, standing at the intersection of the fourth block and gazing toward Shinbashi, the streetlamps cast a faint glow as Ginza’s gorge sank into profound darkness, utterly devoid of sound. What had previously been obstructed by swarms of people and traffic now lay utterly still, not a single shadow stirring, leaving the vista astonishingly clear—the faintly glowing tram tracks tracing a desolate silhouette as they vanished into the distance, visible far into the remote dark. As for what fluttered upon the unnervingly vast expanse of pavement—it was nothing but assorted paper scraps blown in from alleyways here and there. These moved about with an uncanny, strangely alive vigor, as though they were living things.

Some rode wind gusts to glide sideways with a whoosh; others tumbled head over heels as they darted toward the roadway. They scrambled up street trees and dangled loosely from branches. Linking arms, they spun round and round in perfect rhythm. Entangling and separating, flying and leaping, they frolicked self-importantly across the deserted main street as if they owned every inch of it. This was none other than the spectacle of the metropolis's demons and goblins reveling wantonly in Tokyo's dead of night.

In such an hour, an unearthly scream shattered the desolate silence of midnight at Ginza’s Fourth Block intersection. When one listened closely, the piercing scream could be heard repeatedly shouting "Murder! Murder!" What on earth had occurred at Tokyo’s Menuki Intersection? Gazing toward the source of the voice revealed two men who appeared to be taxi drivers running toward the police box as if flying through the air, their work boots noisily clattering while they kept looking back at Hattori Clock Shop. All the while, they continued raising sharp, barely audible screams that scattered untimely noise across this desolate avenue.

At this moment, the police officer at the Fourth Block police box had been nodding off drowsily in sync with the metropolis's slumber, but roused from his dream by this unlawful clamor and feeling somewhat irate, he briskly stepped out to the entrance and confronted those unruly pedestrians:

“Hey!”

he roared. Despite the officer’s attempts to stop them, the two transportation workers kept screaming wildly as they staggered drunkenly to the police box entrance before collapsing there breathless. Beads of sweat dotted their foreheads, eyes stretched wide as they jabbered incoherently and pointed frantically at the clocktower piercing the night sky; like carp gasping for air on land, their mouths flapped laboriously—yet their words made no sense whatsoever.

When he finally managed to calm them down and ascertain the gist of their story, they claimed that someone had been murdered and was hanging from the clock tower of Hattori Clock Shop. "Don't talk nonsense."

Looking up, the elegant clocktower that could be called Ginza's commemorative tower bathed its white dial in Prunier-style soft indirect lighting, simply displaying the time of 3:15 AM. Not only was there no hanging - there was no sign of any disturbance whatsoever. This police officer was a young recruit fresh out of training school, still unversed in such practical matters. Convinced these two working-class men had come to mock him with their impudent prank, he snapped in anger, seized the nearest driver's wrist, and roughly dragged him into the police box.

“What’s this about a body? … Look—where’s there any such thing?” “…You bastards—you’re the same ones who came pulling this crap before!” “Well, well—you’ve come.” “Today of all days, this won’t end here.”

he blustered in this manner. Meanwhile, the two drivers showed no sign of paying any mind to such amateurish threats, “You’re joking. “It’s hangin’ over there on that side! …Quit standin’ around gawkin’ like some lost tourist and get your ass over here to see!” "This has turned into a goddamn mess!" They snapped back with such ferocity it seemed they might bite his head off. Indeed, there was no sign of this being a joke. Even the composed police officer perceived that something gravely serious had begun. Clutching his sword’s scabbard like an eagle’s talon, he dashed down the hushed avenue, his boots clattering loudly as he raced toward the scene.

Having dashed to Mitsukoshi's corner, he shielded his eyes and looked up—only to find an unforeseen spectacle unfolding upon the majestic clocktower that defied all expectation. Atop the clocktower's lightning rod hung a moon resembling Kao Soap's trademark emblem, vacantly suspended as if snagged there. From its base dangled a human body by a single rope over the faintly glowing dial, swaying slightly left and right as though stirred by some phantom wind in the air.

The body was clad in a jet-black evening tuxedo visible even in nocturnal darkness, wore luxurious lacquered shoes, and bore in its buttonhole a single flower of alluring hue. With the grace of one who had slipped away from a ballroom revelry, he dangled high in midair, executing light dance steps at wind's caprice.

Had that been all, this could have been called nothing more than bizarre—but upon closer inspection, it was far from some carefree affair. In other words, this refined and elegant tuxedo-clad gentleman had been executed by hanging upon the clock tower at Ginza's street corner. His eyes were blindfolded with a white handkerchief-like cloth, his hands and ankles securely bound in execution-style fashion, while pale indirect lighting backlit him to loom jet-black across the entire large clock face like a shadow puppet from hell. The toes hung precisely at VI, while the sideways-turned head reached II, so that the corpse itself became clock hands—it was thought to indicate that the execution had been carried out at 2:30.

Ah, but who among those who daily gazed up at this gentle-seeming clocktower could have foreseen it would one day become a cruel gallows? To conduct a hanging execution at Ginza's street corner clocktower—what horrific methodology. Yet from another angle, one might argue this tower's dignified bearing made it nothing less than the most fitting stage for such poetic execution. Adorned with a single blossom at his breast, swaying gently with exquisite poise, the figure possessed an air of carefree elegance that stirred a distinct poetic sensibility.

Who on earth could have conceived such a poetic idea? Moreover, as for this elegant gentleman—by what reason had he ended up dangling in midair at such a bizarre location? Setting aside unprofitable conjectures and returning to the scene on the ground, the police officer in question had been staring open-mouthed at this unexpected spectacle without looking away since earlier. Though he seemed unable to accept as fact the scene now before his eyes—his face twisted as if on the verge of tears as he repeatedly let out incoherent lamentations—once he gradually began to comprehend that this was neither dream nor illusion but indisputable reality, he abruptly snapped awake as if from anesthesia and resolved to take immediate appropriate measures. He raced back to the police box as if flying through the air, then lunged for the police telephone and let out a piercing shriek.

The elegant murder case upon the clock tower in Ginza Owari-cho traveled along a single telephone line and was relayed to the nerve center of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department in this manner.

At this very moment within the Home Minister’s Official Residence in Nagatacho, the same six dignitaries as before—the Home and Foreign Ministers with their respective vice-ministers, along with the Directors of the Eurasian and Police Security Bureaus—all at the peak of exhaustion, sat slumped gloomily into their chairs, their brows furrowed with anguish as they continued groaning. The fact that they sat there like samurai dolls in gold-braided full dress uniforms and tailcoats indicated not eccentricity but rather that they had lacked time to change after returning from the New Year’s imperial audience.

In any case, this was a grave crisis—an emperor governing five million subjects now faced assassination in Tokyo, and what's more, his corpse might be cast out upon the city's most conspicuous location. No matter what, they had to rescue the Emperor from his assassins' attack and safely return him to the Imperial Hotel by 4:20 AM when the French Ambassador's train would arrive at Tokyo Station—yet despite the Metropolitan Police Department's desperate large-scale search, even after three o'clock had passed, they still couldn't grasp even a trace of his whereabouts. When they looked up at the wall clock, it was precisely 3:10 AM—by now, the French Ambassador's train had already passed Sagami Bay and would be racing through Odawara; this was hardly the moment for changing clothes.

The clock's hands advanced jerkily and relentlessly second by second; an indescribably gloomy—almost tragic—mood dominated the air of the room; and an abnormal pressure constricted each dignitary's chest. Just as it seemed all those present might perish from sheer anxiety, the Home Minister slowly rose from his chair and spoke in a voice that seemed both resentful and lamenting,

“Well, gentlemen. Can we still cling to hope? At least give me some semblance of reassurance, even if it’s just empty comfort. This is suffocating.” With that, he turned toward the Police Security Bureau Director, who lay sprawled on the sofa blowing cigar smoke in reckless abandon, “Mr. Ōtsuki. No proper reports have come in since then—have all those Metropolitan Police officers perished? Or have they all fallen sound asleep? The fact that there’s still no word whatsoever—isn’t this the height of negligence? What on earth has happened? Take that cigar out of your mouth and try saying something—anything! First of all, I can’t stand having you lie around like that—you’re an eyesore!”

Once the Home Minister began his relentless barrage in this manner, it served as the catalyst for the entire group to lash out at the Police Security Bureau Director, each voicing their own arguments. If they didn’t at least do that, there would be nowhere for this frustration to go.

The Police Security Bureau Director had been handling the group’s reprimands single-handedly and responding to each in turn, but finally seeming to lose his self-control, he spoke in a visibly irritated voice: “Now, now, please wait.” “Even if you all come at me from every direction like this, there’s nothing to be done.” “The Metropolitan Police Department hasn’t perished or gone to sleep.” “We’re pouring our very souls into this.” “No matter how much you whip their backsides, they can only run as fast as humanly possible.” “That’s simply how the world’s mechanisms work—everything follows this logic, I tell you.”

he snapped defiantly. For the Bureau Director, who typically championed moderation, this petulant attitude struck an incongruous note. The assembled officials had been coiled like springs waiting to unleash their pent-up frustrations; they seized upon the Bureau Director's demeanor as fresh fuel, plunging the room into renewed bedlam. Just as even the Bureau Director seemed poised to suffer his Awa Castle moment of defeat, the desk telephone's bell suddenly sliced through the cacophony with a shrill, insistent trill.

The dispute was abruptly smothered as if buried beneath an avalanche of earth. Good news or ill? The assembly could only exchange timid glances among themselves; not a soul dared muster the resolve to lift the receiver. The desk telephone shrilled obstinately like a child throwing a tantrum.

However, he must have thought there was no end to this. The Bureau Director wiped the cold sweat trickling down his bullneck with a handkerchief and timidly began to respond. The group pressed in from all sides, staring at the Bureau Director’s face as if to bore holes through it with their gazes. By the fluctuating expressions that played across his face, they sought to swiftly discern whether the news was auspicious or dire. The Bureau Director had been showering the voice’s owner with impatient rebukes—first one remark, then another—but soon, still clutching the receiver, he abruptly sank into his chair, and from a vague state of bewilderment, he murmured in fragments like this, his voice as faint as a mosquito’s hum.

“The King’s corpse has been hung from the Hattori Clock Tower…… It’s swaying back and forth in the wind.”

Forty. The Corpse Inquest

And: Concerning the Crimson Lips Crest

The scene now shifted abruptly to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department’s morgue. It wasn't a particularly pleasant place. A cold, damp concrete enclosure—a desolate room of about fifty tatami mats—where a vaulted ceiling hung low overhead, from which a bare light bulb cast an unnervingly cruel glow. An eerie odor hung thickly in the room, and with every corner steeped in a dull gloom, the entire basement gave a sinister impression as though it were a grave itself.

In the center of the dirt floor stood an unpainted wooden platform, upon which lay an elegant gentleman clad in a black-lacquered tuxedo, faintly sprawled as though enjoying a tipsy nap. It was none other than the hanged man’s corpse that had until just moments ago been illuminated by the chilling light of the new moon atop the clock tower.

The corpse was surrounded by six or seven high-ranking officials in full dress uniforms and tailcoats, all frowning with arms crossed, peering at its face with expressions of utmost solemnity. In this utterly gloomy underground morgue, the sight of such resplendent figures standing arrayed struck observers as profoundly uncanny, lending an even more ghastly air to the macabre elegance of the place. This gentleman had likely been strangled in some separate location before being hung from the clock tower. During transport, the corpse appeared to have been roughly dragged over rubble, leaving the face entirely raw and the features destroyed beyond recognition.

Yet his clothes had been meticulously brushed until not a speck of dust remained, and his hair had been carefully combed into place. One could surmise that this elegant perpetrator—having paid full ceremonial respects to the corpse they had handled while wishing to showcase their refined taste—must have employed such courteous methods before hanging the body.

However, such things were of no consequence. The first thing that had to be questioned was the identity of this gentleman. As previously mentioned, while personal features had been utterly destroyed under such circumstances, it was not impossible to infer one's general identity from other parts. Whether one considered the corpse's long, supple fingers like willow branches or its plump, large ears, it became clearly evident that this individual had belonged to a highly elevated class during his lifetime. More decisive than anything else was the large diamond ring embedded on the right little finger. It was a ring extraordinary in both form and quality—the very ring that had astonished the eyes of all those granted an audience with the emperor.

Ah—when you think about it, this hanged man on the clock tower must indeed be the King. This conviction, leaving no room for doubt in anyone’s mind, bore down upon them with oppressive weight. The assembly sat in utter silence, not a soul uttering a sound. Not only were they unable to speak, but even organizing their scattered thoughts into coherent order proved exceedingly difficult. What was the fundamental meaning of this major incident they were now confronting? In a state of mind that couldn’t even comprehend that much, they let their meaningless gazes drift aimlessly over the corpse.

The emperor of a nation had been brutally murdered in the very heart of the Japanese Empire's capital, his corpse raised aloft like Jesus Christ suspended in midair. No turn of phrase could fully convey the meticulous particulars of this panic-stricken terror. The minds of all present churned with nothing but chaotic, ceaseless realizations that this had become a catastrophe beyond measure. As if dreading their gazes might collide, they kept their faces lowered in total silence—until at length, the Foreign Minister gingerly lifted his countenance and began in a tone that seemed to shrink from its own sound:

“However, gentlemen.” “But gentlemen—is this truly His Majesty?”

he muttered. Though it had been but a single word, its effect on the assembly was immense; upon hearing it, the entire group erupted as if in a cacophonous chorus,

“Is this the King?” “How can you tell it’s the King?” “If you claim this is the King, show us the evidence!” They cried out in unison. Even the Police Security Bureau Director, who had personally handled the phone call earlier, joined this chorus and screamed madly. Those voices struck the ceiling of the utterly gloomy morgue again and again, reverberating like waves and producing a terrifying echo. It was almost as though completely different voices were raining down from above.

When this sudden frenzy subsided all at once as if by prior agreement, an indescribable spiritual stagnation now assailed the hearts of the entire group. Everyone was utterly exhausted, with no energy left to speak. The only thing blazing like fire in their hearts was an intensely fierce wish—that someone would clearly prove this gentleman lying here was not the King. If it must be the King, then let it be the King. They wanted someone to clearly state—based on definitive evidence—whether it was a yes or a no.

Among all those present at the gathering, there was no one who could definitively declare this was not the King, nor anyone who could conclusively assert this was indeed the King. To be sure, both the Director of the Eurasian Affairs Bureau and the Director of the Police Security Bureau had had an audience with the false Emperor at the Imperial Hotel yesterday afternoon. However, as they had spent more time bowing than raising their heads during the encounter, neither was qualified to offer an opinion on the matter. Those qualified for this were, first and foremost, Intelligence Chief Sou Shuuchin, attached to the Annam Emperor. Next was Hayashi Kinchoku, head of the Hayashi Conglomerate, who had most frequently had audiences with the Emperor. As for those who should verify whether this was Furuichi Kaju or not: Sunset Newspaper's president Kouda Setsuzou. And that beautiful seamstress Hana who had fainted upon the false Emperor's lap. Such was the lineup.

Due to immediate connections, Sou Shuuchin was summoned first. As you are already aware, this was a man of extraordinary sensitivity who habitually flew into raptures without restraint. Thus, upon seeing this pitiable corpse laid out on the platform, he immediately became hysterical, rendering him utterly incapable of maintaining the composure required to search for distinguishing features—he alternated between weeping and wailing in a state of complete disarray. When they inquired into his reasoning for claiming this was the King, he asserted that this was none other than His Highness—whose visage he had become intimately familiar with through daily exposure to postage stamps and gold coin reverses—and that the very reason lay in how, confronted thusly, one could not help but feel an instinctive urge to bow one’s head.

Given that this state of affairs was utterly unreliable for placing trust in, Hayashi Kinchoku was summoned next. Unlike his predecessor’s hysteria, this gentleman instead sank into profound lamentation—for the emperor’s death meant immediate damage to vested interests in Annam—grumbling incessantly without even properly looking at the face before him. However, being both more advanced in age and composed compared to Shuuchin, this individual rendered a definitive verdict that this was indeed King Munakata for the following reasons.

"When I first had an audience with His Majesty at Hue Palace," Hayashi Kinchoku declared, "this mere merchant was graciously granted a handshake by His Highness himself." "Ah, what profound emotion that was! Precisely because of this," he continued, his voice swelling with corporate nostalgia, "my palm retains even now the vivid sensation of that moment. Gripping this hand—its fleshiness, its manner of clasping—it matches perfectly what I felt then. I can therefore state with full conviction that this gentleman is indeed His Majesty." While such peculiar powers of recollection could not be entirely dismissed, the abundance of self-assured assertions made his account difficult to accept at face value.

Just as the group was growing increasingly agitated, Kouda Setsuzou of the unscrupulous newspaper was brought in from the detention cell.

Having precariously tied his slipping trousers with a thin cord and shed his usual acerbic demeanor to wear what could be called the cringing countenance of an accused man, he gazed vacantly at the corpse. Unaware of Kaju's recent exploits, Kouda kept tilting his head in apparent bewilderment over why this gentleman—dressed in a fine tuxedo, sporting an unremarkable diamond ring on his finger, and lying sprawled with aristocratic grandeur—must necessarily be identified as Kaju. Soon,

“This ain’t Furuichi or anyone like him.” “First off, that guy’s a timid little mouse—even dead, there’s no way he’d be lying sprawled out all high-and-mighty like this.” “For one thing, even his height—he ain’t this goddamn lanky pole of a man.” “And his fingers—they ain’t built to fit some fancy ring like this.” “Everything about his build’s different.” “If Furuichi’s a pine, then this here’s a cypress—takes just one look to see they’re different people, I tell ya.” “If you find that suspicious, why don’t we flip it over and check the other side?”

This time, he spoke with nothing but bluster, making no coherent sense whatsoever. Evidently dazzled by an extraordinary diamond, this man had lost all reason and judgment. Everyone had a point. Setting aside their rambling digressions, each argument held its own logic—but under these circumstances, it proved utterly useless. Contrary to all expectations, the emperor theory now dominated—like poking a bush only to let loose the snake.

Just as they despaired with hearts shrouded in gloom—believing themselves driven to the very brink of catastrophe as those responsible for this dreadful international incident—there unexpectedly appeared a savior angel who stamped it with an emphatic seal of certainty: this was not the Emperor, but Furuichi Kaju. That was due to such circumstances.

Just as the entire group was on the verge of giving up in despair, Hana—the seamstress who lived below the Ariake-so cliff—entered the room with composed grace. That beautiful flower who had caused the incomparably cold Manako Akira to falter and struck a single vermilion mark upon his parched emotional state. Since being treated with such heartlessness by the real King—not Kaju—at the Imperial Hotel, how she must have tormented herself. In mere half a day, her face had grown utterly haggard, which in turn heightened its melancholic beauty. She turned that countenance toward the corpse laid out on the platform and stared intently. An instant later, she let out a shriek that could wake the dead, rushed toward it, clung desperately to its chest, and began weeping without restraint. In the intervals between her tears,

“Look at this. “This happened because you wouldn’t listen to me.” “That’s why I told you—you should’ve run away sooner.” “Anyone can see you weren’t even close to desperate…… I ought to slap you.” “Why didn’t you listen?” However, there was no use in elaborating further on this matter. Having reached this point in the account, we shall leave it here for now. And so Hana continued her ardent pleading, all while pressing her cheeks against his raw, inflamed ones and rubbing them back and forth.

Despite three grown men having gathered yet failing completely to discern anything, by what intuition had this young girl managed to see through it all and determine that this was not the King but Furuichi Kaju? Stunned by the sudden theatrical turn of events, the group could only stare in stunned silence at Hana’s frenzied display. Yet unlike the vague testimonies of the three men before her, there was something here—a palpable reality that pressed upon them with aching intensity.

Since Hana was calling this gentleman the King, it had to be Kaju—leaving everyone in a state akin to a blind turtle chancing upon a floating log. Had decorum allowed it, the Director of the Police Security Bureau might have pressed his palms together in supplication. Beaming with undisguised triumph, he approached Hana's side, rested a hand on her shoulder, and saturated his voice with unctuous charm as he—

“Now, young lady. “Well, there’s no use in just crying like this.” “Otherwise, you’ll simply cry yourself dry.” “That aside—how exactly do you know this is the King?” As he spoke in a placating tone, Hana—for some reason offended—suddenly snapped her head up,

"Why would there be any reason I wouldn't recognize him?" "Do you think I'm some woman who desperately clings to any man's chest?" "No—I didn't mean anything so disrespectful." "If that came across as rude, I apologize. But leaving that aside—could you explain in detail what evidence made you determine this is the King?" "Ah, so you're still doubting me after all?" "If that's true, then you're utterly clueless about women." "You have no understanding of a woman's heart at all." "A woman can recognize the man she loves even if shown just a single pinky finger." "Especially when he's laid out here complete from head to toe." "How could I possibly mistake him?"

The Director of the Police Security Bureau became flustered and made a strange face, but "Ah, I understand perfectly well. Now then, we on our side do not possess such feminine sensibilities, so naturally we struggle to grasp its nuances. Rather than such vague sentimental talk, could you show us some concrete evidence that we can accept? Please, I beg of you." Then, Hana finally assumed a calm expression,

“When I went to see Your Majesty yesterday, I suddenly wanted you to hold me, so I pretended to faint and flopped down.” “Then Your Majesty firmly embraced me and carried me all the way to the sofa.” “At that moment, I secretly left my mark on Your Majesty’s upper arm.” “If you insist that much, I’ll show it to you.”

As she said this, she fondly took the corpse’s left arm and slowly rolled up the sleeve of its clothing.

What do you suppose was there? Just slightly above the corpse's wrist, Hana's lipstick mark had bloomed like an early red rose—so vivid it seemed ready to release its fragrance at any moment. This corpse was not the Emperor's. That lovable country bumpkin, the Sunset Newspaper reporter—this marked the pitiful end of Furuichi Kaju. Not knowing his place and swept up in reckless ambition, all because he schemed to land an unprecedented scoop, he fell victim to the curses of malevolent spirits in the demonic city of Tokyo and met such a tragic end.

In the courtyard of a cesspool within the gloomy underground passageway, that dashing figure—who had relied on the faint light of a hand lantern to diligently write articles about this grand incident until the very end, fulfilling his duty as an investigative reporter—met his final moment. Presumably, Kaju had been brutally murdered at the bottom of that ancient well, and his corpse was then hung upon the clock tower by villains plotting some scheme—a substitute for the King. What a pitiful thing they had done. Furuichi Kaju, farewell. That manuscript too had likely been consigned from darkness to darkness, buried beyond reach of daylight.

If only that much could have seen the light of day, he might have closed his eyes in at least some peace. When they finally managed to push Hana—still wailing wildly in her frenzied state—out of the morgue, the five high-ranking officials unexpectedly rushed toward one another, clasped hands in mutual congratulation, and exchanged heartfelt felicitations. These officials, who ordinarily did nothing but clash with one another, would never again achieve such harmony of hearts—not before this moment, nor after.

Now that matters had taken such a favorable turn, a renewed glimmer of hope began sprouting in their hearts. The desire burned within them—to somehow locate the King and return him to the hotel by the appointed hour, thereby extricating themselves from these vexing complications. When they checked the clock, it read 3:40 AM. Forty minutes remained until the French ambassador's scheduled arrival at Tokyo Station. Perhaps it wasn't entirely beyond reach. Thereupon, they grew frantic once more and descended upon the Director of the Police Security Bureau, demanding repeatedly: "Can't we manage this? Isn't there some way?"

The Director of the Police Security Bureau, true to his reputation as an expert in such matters, had already abandoned hope of rescuing the Emperor and begun devising subsequent contingency measures one step ahead—but under these new circumstances, the situation was entirely different. This too suddenly surged with activity,

“Very well—let us make one final push.” “Their attempt to disguise Kaju’s corpse as His Majesty’s proves the real Emperor remains alive somewhere.” “With all eighty stations under our jurisdiction mobilized and every stone upturned, he cannot be far.” “Since His Majesty was taken from Hibiya Station between two and two-thirty AM, he must logically still reside within the old city limits.” “Immediately concentrate every municipal and prefectural officer within city bounds—we’ll make this our life-or-death gambit.”

Just as he was demonstrating this vigorous energy, Superintendent General Ushiyama quietly entered the morgue with his pale forehead held high, approached the Foreign Minister's side, and said in a courteous tone: "I have executed your orders as commanded."

he said. In other words, he had conveyed that the dangerous treaty document was secure. The Foreign Minister nodded with profound implication. He must have been overjoyed; his gaze suggested he wanted to draw the Superintendent General into an embrace if protocol allowed. When things go right, everything goes right.

At that moment, one of Manako's Three Musketeers came flying into the morgue, holding a single piece of paper in hand and raising a cheer. That was none other than the report that the unfortunate Manako had penned while seated at Hutchinson's corpse's bedside. It was written as follows.

The Emperor remains unharmed. Confined within the abandoned structure at Yurakucho 2-chome corner - former Nitto Life Insurance building. Present inside: Yasugame Kamejiro and nine additional gambling operatives. Machine guns prepared for deployment.

41. Account of Urban Combat

And: On the Closing Lines

Heading along the tram street from Hibiya Crossing toward Ginza, diagonally across from Mimatsu, there stood an old, dilapidated concrete building at that time. Across from it, Mimatsu’s grandiose structure would soon rise, while the cross street saw the completion of the Electric Association’s cream-colored elegant edifice—yet this uneven triangular plot alone remained abandoned, left to decay with its dilapidated building exposed, devoid of even wooden fencing. This vacant lot had once been turned into a baby golf course, but that too was soon abandoned, leaving it in an even worse state than before. The shabby golf course became overgrown with weeds, and by summer, the place had grown so wild that one could hear insects chirping even in broad daylight. The sight of sparsely sprouted sesame bamboo swaying in the wind at that corner held such ephemeral fragility that one might doubt this was indeed within the precincts of Tokyo’s Marunouchi.

The building was in terrible shape again. It had originally been the office building of Nitto Life Insurance, but after relocating to their new Marunouchi headquarters ten years prior, left exposed to rain and wind, it had rotted away while standing. Having been built long ago, its walls were smeared with rain and dust into a dull black filth, its windowpanes shattered to pieces, now serving as dwelling places for katydids and crickets. The eaves sagged, the corrugated siding had collapsed, and from beneath the ridge ran a large lightning-shaped crack up the wall, moss growing along its fissure. It stood like some crumbling Western-style manor. Peering through broken windowpanes into the interior, one would see chairs without legs and emergency boxes missing their lids lying face up or face down, scattered haphazardly in the faint sunlight filtering through. On recessed walls where light could not reach hung tattered remnants of peeled-off wallpaper, fluttering in the wind. A scene so terrifying it seemed malevolent spirits might materialize and wander about—though perhaps that was merely one's imagination.

Some of you may know it—that building which, when approached from Hibiya Park, proved so unsightly that all who saw it instinctively grimaced.

It was late at night on January 2nd, and as before, the moon hung persistently in the sky. A winter moon illuminating plum blossoms might evoke austere beauty, but when cast upon this derelict building, its effect grew unnervingly sinister. The structure floated ghostly pale in the moonlight, its windowless cavities resembling eyes and nostrils. The entire moonlit facade had transformed into a leering visage poised to erupt in raucous laughter. Frost perhaps coated the sesame bamboo leaves - each wind-fluttered glint flashed dagger-like. Through these bamboo shadows crept a cluster of dark figures along the abandoned golf course toward the building. Their number might have reached six or seven. Yet this proved merely the vanguard. As this group fanned into a horizontal line at the structure's base, another contingent followed soundlessly through grass - wave two. Then came wave three, wave four...

But no—it wasn’t just the front. Peering through the darkness revealed countless black shadows appearing and disappearing like apparitions along the station-side flank and rear as well. At times drawing near then separating, they formed orderly formations while steadily tightening their encircling ring. In essence, this abandoned building had been completely surrounded by a circular formation seething with murderous intent. What sort of massive police raid was about to unfold here? No—this would be no mere police raid. Urban warfare was about to erupt.

January 2, 1935, 3:50 AM. The heart of the capital, Greater Tokyo. Few would know that this ferocious urban combat had unfolded in Marunouchi Yurakucho. None among you, esteemed readers, could be aware of this. To be precise, this battle commenced at 3:52 AM and concluded at 4:12 AM. The ten outlaws fiercely resisted until the end with two light machine guns and Thompson guns, but were ultimately annihilated at 4:12 AM.

The reason this police operation was boldly termed urban combat was that the old municipal district had effectively entered a state of pure wartime footing because of it.

Simultaneous with the arrival of Manako’s report, the investigation headquarters immediately issued an emergency alert to each branch office and blocked all traffic within the perimeter centered on Ginza 4-chome. Ginza 4-chome, Shinbashi Station North Exit, Tameike, Yotsuya Mitsuke, Kudanshita, Ogawamachi, and Gofukubashi—connecting these points before returning again to Ginza 4-chome. Along this great circumference, thirty-two outposts were established. At every street corner, alleyway, and bridge approach along the perimeter, they deployed Shinsengumi units and armed officers without exception, not only prohibiting anyone from entering the restricted zone but also banning boat navigation between Tokiwa Bridge and Tsuchibashi on the Outer Moat River—in short, laying out a security net so tight not even water could seep through. After all, they were dealing with a violent group armed with machine guns where casualties were naturally anticipated. In the darkness near Sakuradamon Gate of Hibiya Park, six or seven Red Cross ambulances stood ready, while on the Otemachi-side cross street, four trucks loaded with officers in bulletproof vests were positioned as reinforcements—preparations made with such elaborate showiness it bordered on theater.

Esteemed readers, I ask that you attempt to retrace your memories of four years ago. You may recall that around 3:30 AM on January 2, 1935, when those of you staggering homeward from Shinbashi to Yamate, or attempting to travel by taxi through Ginza 4-chome toward Yotsuya and Ushigome, reached those locations, plainclothes officers or Shinsengumi members suddenly emerged from the darkness to halt traffic, forcing you into lengthy detours before finally returning home. Among you readers, some likely caught the frantic staccato bursts of sound coming from Yurakucho's direction during that time—perhaps mistaking them for early morning riveting work at construction sites—and may have regretted indulging in revelries too late into the night.

It wasn’t the riveting work.

Within the areas you, esteemed readers, could not enter, a tragic and gruesome urban combat was being waged at that time, unknown to anyone.

This urban combat took on an insidious character due to the circumstances described below. Not only was this combat of a nature that absolutely could not be disclosed, but due to regional exigencies, it became necessary to conclude it within the shortest possible time at any cost—thus inevitably taking on a downright brutal aspect. Not only would public knowledge of the Emperor of Annam's capture by armed outlaws prove profoundly regrettable, but the very existence of an armed group entrenched at Marunouchi's heart—adopting a confrontational stance against the Metropolitan Police Department—constituted too grave a social phenomenon to ever disclose. Therefore, this battle required both commencement and conclusion in absolute secrecy. It was precisely for this reason that the Metropolitan Police Department mobilized its full capabilities to contain the situation, ensuring this ferocious combat reached its conclusion without a single Tokyo citizen's awareness.

Before chronicling the progression of this urban combat, it would be logical to first narrate the underlying circumstances that rendered this combat uniquely tragic.

The twin pillars of emerging conglomerates in modern Japan. On one hand stood the Nikko Conglomerate under Kozuchi Tsubasa—beginning as a modest 800-kilowatt electric company deep in Kumamoto's mountains, now grown into an entity with twenty-seven subsidiaries and three hundred million yen in paid-up capital. On the other stood the Hayashi Conglomerate under Hayashi Kinchoku—built from a humble iodine company in a Boso Peninsula fishing village into a colossus centered on Hayashi Kogyo with twenty-two affiliates and declared capital of 220 million yen. These twin defense industry titans clashed spectacularly across Annam while vying to develop resources in French Indochina. But Hayashi moved fastest, securing Emperor Munakata's allegiance to preempt Kozuchi by seizing mining rights to premium bauxite deposits spanning 600,000 tsubo with annual yields of 50,000 kilos.

Since this mine was the property of the Annam Imperial Family, should the Emperor abdicate or pass away, the contract would naturally lose its validity. For Hayashi Kogyo, nothing caused greater anxiety than the personal safety of the Emperor. However, when an incident occurred where the Emperor had killed his beloved concubine Matsutani Tsuruko at Ariake-so the previous night—followed by a series of tumultuous developments—even the bold Hayashi was plunged into utter confusion.

According to rumors reaching his ears in fragments—that the rival Nikko Conglomerate was covertly maneuvering to wrest bauxite mining rights from Hayashi’s grasp by inciting the Emperor’s opposition faction, namely those advocating the imperial nephew’s ascension—Hayashi found himself unable to discard the suspicion that the Emperor’s kidnapping was actually the work of the Nikko-affiliated Tsurumi-gumi, despite Chief Inspector Manako’s exhaustively reasoned explanation.

Already yesterday morning around eight o'clock, at the "Singing Crane Fountain Meeting" venue in Hibiya Park, Hayashi had heard rumors that Yasugame Kamejiro—a member of the Tsurumi-gumi faction controlling territory in Bushu Koganei—had instigated a conspicuously staged commotion, exploiting the chaos to kidnap the Emperor. This only solidified his conviction that they aimed to harm the Emperor, thereby invalidating the Hayashi Conglomerate's prior rights and securing a new contract with the imperial nephew faction. Now that things had come to this, he found the Metropolitan Police Department's methods unbearably frustrating. If they were going to act like that, he would respond in kind—if necessary, he would even engage in a bloody battle with the Tsurumi-gumi to reclaim the Emperor. He held intense consultations with the oyabun of the Maeda-gumi under his command, sent urgent circulars to five neighboring prefectures, gathered six hundred hot-blooded affiliates within the Tokiwa Building near Tokiwa Bridge, stationed twenty trucks on standby, and made arrangements so they could mobilize without delay upon a single command.

Now, it takes one to know one—the Nozawa-gumi had inevitably become aware of these movements at some point, so there was no way this would end peacefully. The Tsurumi-gumi, for their part, hastily assembled nearly the same number of men at Kobiki-cho’s Kobiki Club, taking up positions brimming with lethal intent to confront them.

As some may know, the Nozawa-gumi and Tsurumi-gumi stood as the twin yokozuna of the Kanto Civil Engineering Club. The former group, headquartered in Nippori, was collectively called Dōkanyama; the latter, based in Yokohama, went by Nogeyama. Each commanded thousands of hot-blooded daredevils who had sworn written oaths to lay down their lives at their oyabun's command whenever required. These two implacable forces now confronted each other under storm-laden skies, with the emperor's kidnapping case at the center. Bloodshed had become inevitable.

Now, it was amidst this turmoil that Hayashi was summoned to the Metropolitan Police Department for the identity verification of the emperor’s remains. Upon hearing reports that a corpse resembling the Emperor had been hung from the clock tower of Hattori Clock Shop, he came flying over. Since the circumstances of this situation had already been explained earlier, there was no need to repeat them again. In the end, through Hana’s testimony, it became clear that it was not the Emperor but rather an utterly inconsequential individual named Furuichi Kaju—a reporter for the Sunset Newspaper. Just as they were breathing a sigh of relief, an unfortunate report from Manako arrived, revealing that the Emperor was being held captive by the Yasugame faction of the Nogeyama group in an abandoned building that had once housed Nippon Life Insurance—right under their noses.

Given that every second counted, the Shinsengumi members took the lead and immediately crowded noisily into the trucks. Just as the trucks were about to move at the investigations chief's command, the great oyabun of Dōkanyama—the Maeda-gumi leader—came speeding in by car as if flying through the air, declaring, "I shan't detain you long—kindly delay departure for five minutes." After stating there was something he urgently wished to request, he hurriedly proceeded to the Superintendent General's office and addressed both the Superintendent General and the Police Affairs Bureau Director,

“I must beg your pardon for this abrupt intrusion, but as every moment counts, I shall speak without preamble,” he began. “Our request is simply this—though we are unworthy of such an honor, we humbly entreat you to permit our participation in this suppression effort.” His silver-white hair gleamed in an immaculate pompadour. With eyes as piercing as Danjuro’s yet softened by a gentle light, he kept fists planted on his knees while continuing his measured appeal.

“As you are well aware, while those ruffians currently troubling the authorities are not of my own group, they are laborers from the same line of work—and from what I hear, they’re in desperate straits, even armed with machine guns.” “I do not know what reasons they have for causing this disturbance, but if one were to confront them, it stands to reason that there would inevitably be ten or twenty casualties.” “While it may be the duty of the authorities, when I consider how the valuable lives of upstanding personnel might be pointlessly lost in subduing those unruly scoundrels, I find myself utterly unable to remain still.” “If these were mere amateurs, I wouldn’t dare make such an impertinent request. But as I’ve just explained, given that our opponents are yakuza like ourselves, we simply cannot stand idly by.” “It is for this reason that I humbly make this request—if at all possible, I earnestly wish to be allowed to provide considerable assistance.” “After all, our lives are cheap things. If we are even the lowliest of Japanese, we must serve in such roles—this is our only chance to stand with purpose.” “Our only intent is to serve as human shields—if even that—for the ten or twenty valuable individuals who would otherwise be pointlessly lost; we harbor no other motives.” “I earnestly beseech you to graciously heed this entreaty.”

Having laid out the matter in detail, he earnestly entreated them. However, there was no conceivable reason such a proposal would be accepted as it stood. As the Metropolitan Police Department, they could not resort to using yakuza to make arrests, but neither could they completely disgrace him either. Therefore, there would be no objection to having his men form a perimeter as a precautionary measure. Though phrased in a somewhat meaningful manner, the boss of the Maeda-gumi accepted this and promptly exited the Superintendent General’s office. With this, the combat was finally set to begin.

Looked up, the moon already slanted westward as January frost blanketed the ground. Through Babasakimon Gate's broad, utterly deserted avenue roared a massive convoy of unlit trucks—their engines thundering—snaking toward Yurakucho like a celestial procession descending from heaven. Needless to say. This was none other than the vanguard of the Maeda-gumi that split Kanto's underworld and battled for dominance. All wore corduroy shorts with long socks. Following brawl protocol, none bore marked haori jackets. They folded white cotton into taut headbands and wore armbands displaying squad numbers on their arms. Most sported button-up shirts with belly bands, though some stood fully naked in the freezing air, bearing nothing but a single charm pouch strapped to their backs. Since they carried neither bamboo spears nor long daggers, any unknowing observer might have mistaken them for day laborers on an outing. Yet those aware of the circumstances would have shuddered involuntarily at their ferocity. In truth, these six hundred yakuza carried not a single weapon on their persons.

Upon learning the purpose of this clash from their oyabun's call with the Metropolitan Police Department—hearing that the enemy possessed ridiculous weapons like machine guns—they discarded their arms in unison as if by some unspoken pact. They even flung away daggers hidden in rice bowls and boarded the trucks with nothing but their five-foot frames. They would stake their bare flesh against two machine guns and Thompsons, resolved to prove the yakuza's indomitable spirit. Now, as this serpentine truck convoy reached Hibiya intersection—wheels moistening frost-crusted ruts beneath the predawn sky—an automobile came tearing like a whirlwind from Ginza 4-chome. It narrowly cut ahead of the lead truck before halting abruptly at the tracks' center, as though nestling against them. A figure tumbled out from within. Just as the lead truck began its sharp turn toward Yurakucho, he planted himself before it and spread his arms wide.

“Wait, wait! I am Sagami Torazou of Nogeyama. “I’ve got a request I’d stake my life on. “Hey, stop the car!” he shouted at the top of his voice. Standing motionless with arms folded in the center of the lead truck was the great oyabun of the Maeda-gumi who had earlier appeared in the Superintendent General’s office. Jostling beside him as if to protect him was Komagata Denji—Maeda’s adopted son who had appeared at the scene of Kouda Setsuzou’s mistress’s residence for the sixth time.

The two exchanged quick glances, communicating their intentions through this silent exchange, but then—for reasons unclear—the great oyabun of Maeda suddenly bellowed at the top of his voice,

“Stop!” “The boss of Nogeyama has come.” The brakes screeched as they engaged, and the truck halted.

Maeda Eigoro alighted from the truck and quietly approached Nogeyama; following close behind without a moment’s lapse was the aforementioned Komagata Denji. The boss of Nogeyama was a large man around sixty-one or sixty-two years old, with a ruddy face marked by faint ammonite-like patterns and a large crescent-shaped scar beneath his right eye. Standing at around five shaku six or seven sun—his robust frame reminiscent of an amateur sumo grand champion—he bent forward in a polite bow, “This concerns Dōkanzan’s matter.” “Though I’ve neglected proper greetings since our paths last diverged there, and though bursting out so abruptly might’ve warranted being trampled without complaint—you showed grace by stopping.” “I offer humble thanks.”

The boss of the Maeda-gumi likewise lowered his hands to his knees, "I am profoundly humbled by your gracious courtesy." "However bold our resolve might be, we would never commit such vulgarity as running down a man who spreads his arms wide to stop us." "I fully comprehend the intent behind your words, but phrasing it thus makes me appear wholly ignorant of honor—it leaves me most perplexed." "That aside—what precisely is the matter that brings you here?"

The two great oyabun faced each other across the tram tracks that shimmered with the pale moonlight's reflection. Both men carried an imposing dignity about them, their exchange of irrefutable questions and answers resembling nothing so much as two Generals Akechi crossing paths on the battlefield—a scene imbued with a kind of awe-inspiring solemnity. The boss of Nogeyama courteously returned the greeting, “Though I shall formally apologize for my discourtesy at another time, allow me to immediately comply with your inquiry and humbly present the nature of my request.”

Having said this, he fixed a sharp gaze on the other man’s face, his tone abruptly turning halting, “As you are aware, the man over there named Yasugame Kamejiro once exchanged the master-subordinate cup with me through shared fate.” “Though I made him return the cup after matters turned disagreeable, even with our bond severed, he remains one connected to my bloodline—and now he’s dragged out some preposterous scheme to stir up this idiotic commotion.” “Of course, I could raise no objection to your current honorable intent to suppress that fellow. However, should even a single death or injury occur among your associates as a result, I would find myself unable to face society hereafter.” “The request I humbly make is nothing other than this.” “You’ve likely already surmised as much, but in light of your usual kindness, I humbly ask that tonight’s matter be entrusted to me.” “Since merely stating this would hardly gain your consent, I shall lay bare the full details.” “I may sound tedious, but though I severed ties once, my former subordinate remains dear to me.” “If I make him understand the circumstances and scold him—and he still refuses to listen—then I wish at least to be allowed to kill him with my own hands.” “To speak frankly, you and I have long been at odds.” “To put it plainly, I do not wish to see him meet a wretched death at the hands of your own people.” “Thus, with my knees folded sevenfold and eightfold in supplication, I humbly entreat your mercy.” “I earnestly beg you to grant this request.” “...I shall remain indebted for life.”

In the round inner corners of his eyes glimmered something—was it dew or tears? In that mournful voice too, the man’s genuine emotions could be sensed, rendering it profoundly pitiful. The great oyabun of Maeda crossed his arms deeply, turned his face toward the moon, and listened in silence to this lengthy appeal; before long, he quietly released his arms. “Your Nogeyama subordinates are dear indeed.” “Very well. I shall entrust this matter to you.” “I shall consider this a lifelong debt.”

Swiftly turning toward the truck convoy, he raised one hand high and—

“Withdraw!”

he ordered. The great oyabun of Maeda and Komagata Denji boarded the truck and exchanged a light bow from the vehicle. The great convoy of trucks executed a 180-degree turn there, then withdrew toward Tokiwabashi—the direction from which they had come—calmly and orderly, without a single thread of disorder. Frost-covered sesame bamboo glinted dagger-like. In their shadow, black figures formed into groups of six or seven each, dividing into three or four squads that crept low to the ground as they closed in on the abandoned building from all directions. Through the circular formation, messengers darted back and forth. However, this too lasted but an instant; the shadows that had been squirming and crawling about soon sank into the weeds and fell still, silent. An indescribably tense atmosphere seized the vacant lot.

At this moment, a single black shadow appeared from the entrance of the vacant lot, approaching the abandoned house with an unhurried stride. He stood rooted about twenty paces from the entrance, looking up at the second-floor window of the abandoned house, then addressed that window in an utterly calm voice: “Hey, Yasugame. “Show yourself. It’s me.” he shouted.

After a moment, the second-floor window at the front was pushed open, and within the square of black darkness, a pale face floated faintly into view.

“Great Oyabun, it is you. You remain unchanged.” “Yasugame, it’s been a while.” “Good to see you’re still in good health.” “There’s something I need to discuss. Let me inside.” “Please come through.” “...I’ll guide you now.”

When the face in the window withdrew, before long the front door was opened a crack from within, and Torazou entered inside. Every window—who knows from where they came—bore formidable barricades of old tatami mats and sandbags, while two Hotchkiss machine guns mounted on the window frames flanking the entrance made their bluish-black barrels gleam with ferocious intensity. What must have originally been a hall spread out before them—a spacious room of about seventy tatami mats. Three lanterns sat on the floor, around which nine men squatted or sat cross-legged. Their clothing varied wildly—some wore suits, others workmen’s aprons. Their faces were just as motley, but their flushed dark features—lit from below like stage footlights—each bore an indescribably mournful cast.

When Yasugame entered the hall ahead of the Oyabun, the nine men all bowed their heads in unison. Not a single one dared look up at the Great Oyabun's face.

Sagami Torazou stood staring down at the group, then suddenly turned to face Yasugame and barked in a voice that seemed to burst forth, “I didn't come here actin' like your boss just 'cause I made you return the sake cup and we're strangers now.” “And I ain't plannin' to talk like your boss neither.” “But Yasugame—even between strangers, there ain't no reason I can't tell someone doin' wrong their way's wrong too.” “Specially when we were once bound by fate—you shouldn't get sore about me buttin' in like this.” “What kinda stubborn pride makes you kick up such a ruckus? From where I stand, this path's dead wrong.” “You know damn well all our past scraps—whether turf wars or testin' our mettle—never once crossed the authorities.” “...So what's this about?” “Hole up in central Tokyo of all places? Break out machine guns? That's goin' too damn far!” “And I hear you've been keepin' that Annam King locked up here. What madness drove you to that?” “Your damn stunt's got the whole government in an uproar.” “A man's pride depends on the situation.” “No man keeps his honor after stirrin' up this much trouble for society.” “...Hey, Yasugame.” “You're Japanese at least—oughta know what you owe the country.” “Don't you see these stupid moves hurt the Japanese Empire?” “You goddamn fool!”

Yasugame sank one knee into the floor's dust and hung his head dejectedly, but eventually raised his haggard, pale face. "Oyabun, I have no words to excuse myself." "Even I know how audacious this is—capturing a foreign king and committing such an outrageous act would cause immeasurable trouble for Japan. I am not unaware of this." "Even knowing that... for me to go through with such an act, there exists an unspeakably profound reason behind it." "I beg you to hear me out in full."

Suddenly pressing both hands into the dusty floor, he writhed violently as if overwhelmed by emotion, sobbing convulsively. Eventually wiping his tears clumsily with the backs of his hands, he kept both palms planted on the floor while looking up at Torazou with eyes that seemed to cling desperately, “Oyabun, as you know, I have an only son named Chotaro who turned six this year.” “This summer he came down with something like indigestion out of nowhere—couldn’t keep down even water or broth.” “Stuck in the Dog Days without a single grain of rice passing through him, he wasted away to skin and bones day by day. The doctors had long since thrown in the towel—said there was no saving him now.” “If it’d been typhus or cholera, maybe I could’ve accepted it—but my own flesh and blood...the son I cherish more than life itself...dying from something as stupid as not being able to eat? What kinda joke is that?” “The agony of watching helplessly—you can imagine what that was like.” “You’re a father yourself—surely you understand that desperation.” “Pressing hands that’d never prayed before—begging every god and buddha to take me instead—praying like a madman...only to grow more hopeless each day...Then around that time, this fallen noble called Mr.Iwao started coming ’round Ochamatsu’s gambling den.” “Heard he’d lived abroad for years—figured maybe he’d know something. Went begging to him even though he wasn’t no doctor...and thank Christ I did.” “Turns out he knew this great physician—Dr.Go—who’d saved some malnourished brat even after doctors gave ’em less than one in a hundred odds.” “They say he feeds nutrients through veins thinner than silk threads—revives the body from inside.” “Only man in Japan who can work such miracles.” “But he ain’t some back-alley quack—wouldn’t take the case even for a fortune. So I dragged Mr.Iwao there myself—forced our way through pleas—swore we’d make him operate.”

And so, even as all this unfolded, time marched on. “Even though it wasn’t his own child—my boy barely breathing with eyes rolled back—he abruptly scooped him up in a cradle hold, scolded me over and over as I flailed about in panic, and rushed as if flying through the air to carry him to Dr. Go’s place.” Choking on tears, his voice growing faint,

“Chotaro was saved because of that.” “The gratitude—the overwhelming debt—” “Oyabun... I can no longer put it into words.” “I beg you to understand.” “...That Mr. Iwao came rushing into my place yesterday morning around eight—said there were circumstances he couldn’t explain—and now I’ve ended up having to keep that so-called King of Annam detained by my own hands until five tomorrow morning no matter what.” “He asked if I could take on this task without asking any questions.” “There was no refusing.” “As long as I draw breath—even if all Japan stands against me—I swore as a man not to hand over His Majesty until the appointed hour.” “Carrying out such a clumsy endeavor and causing trouble for the authorities—this too is all to repay Mr. Iwao’s kindness.”

Torazou had been listening to Yasugame’s story with his head bowed deeply in silence, but at this moment, he suddenly raised his face, “So... that commotion in Hibiya Park this morning—that was your doing after all, you bastard?” “Yes, that is correct.” “Tonight’s extraction of the King from Hibiya Police Station’s detention cell—was that also your doing?” “Yes, that is correct.” “So His Majesty remains unharmed and is currently inside here?”

“Yes, we have placed His Majesty in the basement.”

Torazou crossed his arms and closed his eyes with a despondent expression, then suddenly opened them again, "I understand." “Given such circumstances, I won’t demand His Majesty’s return without consideration.” "But Yasugame." “Let me explain how things stand.” “The authorities’ sole concern is this—should this commotion strain relations with France, there’ll be no undoing the consequences.” “Depending on developments, Japan itself might be cornered beyond recovery.” “If we return His Majesty to his hotel before the French ambassador reaches Tokyo and conceal the whole affair, the government’s honor remains untarnished.” “That’s why this uproar persists.” “And it all traces back to your actions alone.” “……Now Yasugame." “Hard as it may be—won’t you relent this once?”

“Oyabun, please grant me your forgiveness." “Even if it’s your order, Oyabun, I cannot comply with that alone.” "I had long resolved that if I were to cause this commotion, you would inevitably come to mediate." "If I were to abandon my resolve over such a matter, I wouldn’t have started this commotion in the first place." "From myself to the nine men here—we all entered this knowing our lives were forfeit." "Once a man makes his vow, we’ll resist as long as our bullets last." “But being outnumbered as we are—this won’t endure long.” “Oyabun, one final request.” "If you mean to take His Majesty, I beg you do so only after seeing me dead." "I know this imposition well."

“I see.” “Then we’re doing it.” “Yes—please, do as you must.” “Yasugame... Our bond was too brief.”

Yasugame rose to his feet with resolve. By now, even the traces of tears had vanished from his face. His pale features radiated grim determination as he locked eyes with Torazou, then turned to one of the men kneeling on the floor. "Hey. See the Oyabun out," he said.

The battle ended in twenty minutes. The bullets fired from the abandoned building initially appeared as an unstoppable force, but gradually grew sporadic until they abruptly ceased altogether.

When they entered the abandoned building, a gruesome spectacle had unfolded there. Having fired every last one of their copious bullets, the three who remained alive in the end had stabbed each other to death. They searched every corner of the abandoned building, but the King was nowhere to be found. The King had not been there from the very beginning. In Yasugame’s hand was the following letter. It had been written in this manner with the crude characters of Kinkitsuryū calligraphy.

His Majesty was not here. A lie would not suffice. We caused this commotion to remove Mr. Iwao from Tokyo. Oyabun, forgive me.

There was no longer any need to write at length.

Let us recount the conclusion of this incident in an epilogue-like manner.

Despite having mobilized all its functions and continued desperate efforts since the early morning of January 1st, the Metropolitan Police Department ultimately failed to locate the Emperor by the designated time.

The train carrying the French ambassador arrived at Tokyo Station at 4:20 AM, and the ambassador immediately proceeded to the Imperial Hotel. As the ambassador entered the reception room guided by the manager, His Majesty slowly pushed open the door and emerged. In his usual nonchalant tone,

“Good morning. Have you come to advise my return to Annam, or is this about the diamond?” “In any case, there was no need for you to trouble yourself by coming here at such an early hour.”

With that, he took out the large diamond from his vest's hidden pocket and gently placed it on the desk. It was Yasugame who had returned the King to the hotel. Out of obligation to Iwao, he had used Kaju as a decoy by hanging him from the clock tower and had quietly returned the real King to the hotel.

Along Yurakucho Street, a lone drunkard walked with an unsteady gait, whistling as he went. Nowhere remained any traces of that fiercely fought battle. The moon watches it all from the sky. The New Year’s first delivery truck that left the Fish Market came clanging tin cans vigorously from the direction of Owari-cho. The first murmur of this metropolis was now beginning to stir.

At this very moment, in a corner of Ryogoku Station's first departing train, there sat a single figure with an old-fashioned Inverness collar turned up, eyes closed with an autumn-desolate expression. It was the figure of that unfortunate Manako, clutching that gentle flower’s photograph to his chest, now attempting to depart Tokyo. (The End)