Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

Honjō Tsuneo and Tatsuma Hisa fled frantically through the driving rain. Bent double and driven by the wind, they ran headlong through the night streets. At that moment, Tatsuma Hisa—who had been running alongside him—suddenly pivoted and veered into a side street. Just as he was about to turn next, Honjō saw a large man suddenly loom from the darkness ahead and give chase after Tatsuma as though leaping at his heels.

“Dangerous! Will he catch him?”

Startled, he involuntarily cried out in his heart while freezing in place. Having been invited by Tatsuma to a gambling den they’d visited for the first time—which had unfortunately been raided—the two had narrowly escaped with their lives to reach this point.

For some reason, tonight of all nights, every single one-yen taxi had passengers—not once did they encounter an empty cab.

There was no helping it now—just as he resigned himself to trudging back to Koyama regardless of how late night deepened or how thoroughly drenched he became, mercifully an empty taxi happened by. The instant his eyes caught the hazy lamplight illuminating the 'Vacant' sign, Honjō—overcome with deliverer's euphoria—forgot himself and thrust his signaling arm skyward, scarcely waiting for the cab to stop before "To Koyama—no, Nishikoyama!" No sooner had he barked than his right hand seized the steering wheel and he vaulted inside.

“Ah!” He instantly tripped over something and lurched forward. In that motion, he planted both palms and knees onto something squishy soft yet elastic—almost like rubber. What is this? As he groped around cautiously, an uncanny sensation crept over him. Cold yet smooth—exactly like human skin. Unfortunately, the car’s interior light was off, leaving darkness thick enough that even the occasional streetlamp glow streaming through glass windows couldn’t penetrate beneath the seats.

“Could you turn on the light, please?” The driver didn’t answer. The wind and rain had stolen all sound; it seemed nothing could be heard. “Tch.” Honjō clicked his tongue in frustration while searching his pockets and struck a match. At the same time, he threw away the match and fell back onto the seat with a thud.

A doll? No—a person. A young woman. And what's more, it was dead. Such was his shock that his entire body froze as if turned to ice; not even a scream could escape his throat. It was merely a jolted thought. The next instant, his vision swam, and everything went blank. His body stiffened unnaturally, rendering even the slightest movement impossible, yet his knees alone trembled violently, sapping what little strength remained to rise. The metallic stench of blood struck his nostrils sharply.

Soon, as he began to calm down slightly, driven by a fearful curiosity, he struck another match, crouched low, and looked closely this time. She was probably around twelve or thirteen—a well-dressed girl. Though her face remained unclear as it lay turned downward, her wavy bob hair tumbled disheveled around her nape with an indescribable beauty. The blood flowing from the shoulder of the peach-colored dress ran down her slender wax-white arm, tracing a crimson line as it dripped onto the white rubber mat and pooled in the depression. When I thought to try lifting her and gently touched her body, a slippery red substance clung thickly to my palm. Not just palms—upon closer inspection, blood clung to trouser knees and shirt cuffs. Covered in blood.

Honjō thought. If people saw this, what would they think? At my feet lay a dead woman; beside her crouched a blood-soaked, drenched man—agitated as he was. Under these circumstances, I naturally cut the figure of a prime suspect. Absurd! Completely absurd! Getting mixed up in this mess—that'd spell real trouble. He was suddenly seized by hollow terror and thought to flee. He reached for the door intending to jump from the moving car, but reconsidered and stopped.

He sank down as though his legs had given out, let out a long heavy sigh, and found himself whispering inwardly. This has nothing to do with me! It’s just that I happened to share this one-yen taxi—nothing more than boarding unluckily right after a crime. That’s all there is to it. So what if they suspect me? Where’s the need to run away?

But more importantly— Racing through the midnight streets while sharing a taxi with this corpse-like beauty. Such a rare turn of events didn't come along often. To abandon this windfall so carelessly and even consider fleeing—what a waste! What foolish thinking—his abnormal curiosity now slowly reared its head. Once that shift occurred, he no longer felt fear—rather, he resolved to exploit this perfect opportunity to fully sate his daily appetite for the macabre.

At that moment, the corpse appeared to twitch slightly. Then, it let out a faint, sigh-like sound.

“Oh? Did she come back to life?” Honjō hurriedly brought his hand to her lips. She was clearly still breathing. When he gripped the wrist—the pulse so faint at first it was almost imperceptible—gradually grew distinct beneath his fingertips. The warmth seemed to be returning too. "She hadn’t died after all!" Thank goodness! If she’s revived properly now—this could get even more interesting.

Taking advantage of the driver’s ignorance, he resolved to take this girl to his apartment. Moreover, nursing her also seemed to be part of the duty of the one who found her. He thought as he faced the girl. How should I go about carrying her out without the driver noticing? If I messed up and got caught, that’d spell trouble—the driver would undoubtedly report it to the police. This was insane—there was no way I could pull off such an idiotic plan! I just barely managed to escape, didn’t I?—

But there was no way to manage this undetected. Hauling a full-grown person posed no simple feat—even one as slight-framed as her. He kept agonizing over it.

When the car passed near the pleasure district, he caught sight of the lit windows of a geisha office and suddenly hit upon a brilliant idea. So instead of riding all the way to Koyama Apartments, he had the driver stop midway, “Go to that geisha office over there—break this into change.”

With that, he handed a five-yen note to the driver,

“Afraid I’ve no small change on me...” he added pointedly, as if muttering to himself. After confirming that the driver had taken the bill and run out into the rain, Honjō lifted the girl, limp as a dead snake. Small but deceptively heavy, carrying her tucked under his arm proved quite strenuous. Impatient to hurry, he hoisted her onto his shoulder and walked. His shoes were sucked into the mud and slipped as he struggled onward, finally managing to reach the apartment stairs. He carried her to his room, laid her down on the bed against the wall for the time being, and for the first time saw the girl’s face under the electric light.

What loveliness! She looked just like a sleeping Western doll—her slender face and the smooth skin from chin to neck a pure, unclouded whiteness rare among Easterners. Her eyes, veiled by lashes that hinted at long slits—how beautiful they must be when opened—drew an involuntary low sigh of admiration from Honjō as he stood transfixed. Poor thing—her dress had been glued to her skin from chest to shoulder by coagulated blood. Someone must have stabbed her with a sharp dagger or the like—*thud*—what a vile act, to wound such an angelic girl.—Given this hemorrhage, she must’ve sustained a grave injury, though he couldn’t pinpoint the exact wound site. It seemed to be near her left shoulder, so he gently draped his own handkerchief over the area.

The girl was breathing faintly but showed no signs of regaining consciousness. He was starting to get a little worried. "I guess I need to call a doctor," he thought. Fortunately, he remembered that his close friend—who had just graduated from medical school that year—had moved into the neighborhood.

“That’s right—I’ll ask that guy.” Once he realized this, he hurried outside. After stepping out, he remembered the earlier one-yen taxi—but it was nowhere to be seen now. He dashed into the rain-drenched night, clothes clinging to his skin as he ran through the downpour. Shaking awake his soundly sleeping friend: “You’ve got a critical case here.” “Can’t you come now?” “Critical?” The friend’s head emerged from the futon like a turtle from its shell, eyes still shut against the light. “Who?” he mumbled through sleep-thick lips.

“Doesn’t matter who,” “I’ll explain later.” “Male patient? Female? When I think about being hauled outta bed at this hour—makes me wanna quit doctoring altogether.” The friend rose reluctantly, thoroughly irked at being roused from deep sleep.

“I’ll explain the details later. Just come quick and check her. While we’re wasting time like this—it might get too late, and she could already be dead.” “You’re awfully worked up—never would’ve guessed. So you’ve got a woman stashed away, eh?”

“She’s not my woman.” “Dragging another man’s woman into your place at night—scandalous behavior.” “Cut it out. This isn’t some stupid joke. It’s a human life. This isn’t a joke!”

The rain had let up, but the north wind was chilly. Honjō took the lead and walked with great strides, almost as if bounding.

He raced up the apartment stairs and burst into his room—only to freeze in shock. The gravely wounded girl who should have been lying in bed had vanished like smoke. Yet proof this wasn’t some nightmare remained: bloodstains dotted the sheets like scattered crimson blossoms. But his shock deepened. Every cupboard and bookcase had been ransacked, every last drawer yanked open. Documents lay strewn about, while black ink oozed garishly from a toppled bottle, staining the floorboards. After Honjō had left, someone must have slipped in—trashed the place—snatched the girl away. But this devastation defied reason. No inch of floor lay untouched. Seeing him rooted there rigidly, his friend curled a sneer and spoke:

“You’ve made a hell of a mess here.—So where’ve you stashed that dying woman?”

He snapped and answered bluntly. “Damn it! As you can see, she ran off!” “What the hell happened here? Did a thief break in? Must’ve smelled money—” “What money?” he snapped, though today was payday. Normally I’d have left it in the desk drawer, but luckily I’d taken it with me when I went out. “But you—getting robbed? Means you’re rolling in cash!”

Honjō responded with a bitter smile and didn’t answer. “Take a proper look around and check carefully.” “You’ve definitely had something stolen!” “I’ll swing by the police box on my way back and have a word with them.” “You should file a report just to cover yourself.”

He hurriedly stopped that. “It’s fine. There’s nothing here worth stealing, so just drop it. It’s a hassle—but man, with everything being tossed into chaos like this, cleaning up’s gonna be a real pain, huh.” “If you think this is moving out—no. By the way—guess that means my business here is done, huh. Well then, I’ll be going.” With a big yawn, after seeing his friend off, Honjō once again stuck his head into the cupboard to check. He even peered under the bed. If, by some chance, she had naturally regained consciousness and found herself in this unexpected place, she would undoubtedly try to escape—but given her critical condition, she likely couldn’t walk, so he thought she might be hiding somewhere in this room.

——

“So then… after all, had she been taken away?” He was disappointed. And so, he grew irrationally irritated and resentful, even toward the five-yen bill he’d given the driver—but what kind of thief would bother abducting a half-dead girl? This wasn’t an ordinary burglar—they must’ve been planning something. Maybe they’d been watching my movements from the very start tonight and were trying to exploit my weakness to extort money or valuables. But even so, something felt off. If their goal was extortion, why take the girl and leave? I couldn’t figure out the reason.

But who on earth was that blood-soaked girl? Her attire had been splendid; her features carried an indomitable grace—her noble birth evident at a glance. There must undoubtedly have been some profound circumstances behind this. The secrets lurking in crime’s underbelly—if he were to investigate them, how fascinating that would surely have been. He sat on the edge of the bed and grew weary from continuous thinking; plopping down just like that without bothering to change the bloodstained sheets. But when he tried to sleep, his mind grew strangely alert and he found himself unable to drift off.

2

Even so, he must have fallen asleep at some point, for when the apartment manager roused him, the near-noon sun was already creeping up to the foot of the bed, its glare so intense he could barely open his eyes. Of course it was bright; he’d forgotten to even lower the blinds last night before falling asleep. While handing over the brown envelope he’d been holding, the manager gave him a piercing, strange look.

“They say it’s urgent.” He said brusquely and exited the room, then turned back once more to steal a glance at him. Those eyes held undisguised contempt. Honjō thought he detected a sneer playing about the man’s lips too, leaving him unsettled. But when he flipped over the envelope, his face blanched in shock. “Damn it!” The involuntary cry echoed in his mind. It was a summons from the Metropolitan Police Department. Beads of greasy sweat instantly sprouted across his nostrils. Tatsuma must have been arrested—or had they caught whoever took the girl during their escape? Either way, things had taken a bizarre turn. His fingers trembled as he broke the seal. Yet the letter proved an unofficial summons—moreover, one from the famed Inspector Miyaoka himself, an unexpected relief. He’d heard rumors this particular officer possessed unusual warmth for a policeman. Better still, they shared a hometown connection—these thoughts kindled a faint hope within him. “Need to report immediately,” he resolved. “Looking suspicious by dawdling would be disastrous.” He leapt up, energized by this rationale. Having seen Miyaoka’s face beyond newspaper photos lent an odd familiarity—this wouldn’t feel like meeting a stranger, even if the inspector didn’t know him.

Honjō, thinking it necessary to make as favorable an impression as possible, applied a heavy coat of pomade to slick back his hair, meticulously shaved his beard, and took particular care with his grooming. The suit he had worn until last night lay crumpled in the bed’s corner—when spread out, its trouser creases had vanished entirely, mud and bloodstains blotting the fabric here and there into a wrinkled disgrace. Even sending it to the cleaners in this state gave him pause. He bundled the bloodied sheets into a trunk’s depths and crammed it into the cupboard’s recesses. Then he donned his freshly pressed brown going-out suit and left with forced composure, straining to steady his nerves—yet the hammering in his chest refused to quiet.

He got off the train at Sakuradamon, but never before had the Metropolitan Police Department appeared as stern and terrifying as it did today. While looking down and about to set his shoe on the stone steps, he suddenly spotted someone rushing down the stairs in urgent haste. That was unmistakably Inspector Miyaoka's face. Honjō started and came to an abrupt halt. He removed his hat, bowed as if suppressing his suddenly pounding heartbeat, and spoke courteously.

“I apologize for my tardiness—I am Honjō Tsuneo who has received your summons,” he said, his face flushing bright red.

Inspector Miyaoka spoke in a hearty, crisp tone, “Ah, good work there! I’ve been waiting, but—an urgent matter came up—well, never mind that. Come along with me.” Given the inspector’s unexpectedly casual tone, Honjō felt inwardly relieved, thinking that with things proceeding like this, it probably wasn’t anything serious. Inspector Miyaoka walked alongside Honjō and cheerfully addressed him. “You—were you sleepy? Having been roused so early—” he said, his clear eyes bearing a meaningful smile as he fixed Honjō with an intense stare. He shrank back in abashed deference without a moment’s resistance.

“Truthfully, I’ve been meaning to apologize to you—and there’s another matter I’d like to discuss—” he began, glancing around as if expecting someone, then abruptly halted a passing one-yen taxi. “I’ve just remembered urgent business, so I’ll make a quick stop at my house.” “We can’t stand around talking here.” “Please come with me.”

he said, glancing back at Honjō. Of course, there was no refusing, so he reluctantly took a seat beside Inspector Miyaoka. Riding alongside a police officer wasn’t particularly pleasant. He didn’t know what kind of interrogation awaited him, but since he didn’t understand the content, his mind couldn’t settle. Honjō moved to the window and sat stiffly. Listening to the conversation with the driver while secretly probing the man’s intentions, he had no chance to notice where they were driving before the car stopped in front of a small Western-style house. Inspector Miyaoka got out first, dashed up the wooden stairs, and opened the front door. Honjō also followed, looking down dejectedly, and entered the house trailing after the inspector’s trousers.

Was this a reception room? Though well-lit by daylight, it was an utterly stark space devoid of any window coverings, furnished only with a crude table and two or three chairs. On one of the chairs, a black cat with velvety fur lay curled up asleep. Awakened by their footsteps, it lifted its head—but upon seeing the unfamiliar visitor’s face, startled and fled. When he formally sat down facing him, Honjō suddenly felt anxious again. Wondering what he would say next, he waited with bated breath, his excited face flushing.

Inspector Miyaoka began in his usual light, cheerful tone. “I must apologize—truly, for putting you through such an ordeal.” “You’ve landed in this outrageous mess thanks to me.” “I’d planned to let you sleep peacefully all day today, but—” “Truth is, another case has suddenly come up—I need to head over there now—and well, apologies are better delivered sooner rather than later. Keeps things pleasant between us.” “You must’ve been quite exhausted last night?”

Honjō started and lowered his eyes. He felt a clammy cold sweat oozing across his back. Inspector Miyaoka glanced at him sidelong, then called out with a laugh toward the door of the adjoining room. “Tomī, come here—I’ll introduce you to Mr. Honjō—” Simultaneous with his voice, the door opened, and a woman holding a black cat glided in. He hurriedly stood up from the chair, and the moment their eyes met, he was so startled he thought his breath might stop. Because it was the very girl he had assumed had been abducted the previous night. No—that wasn’t all—because he had never seen a face so captivating in all his born days. Her neatly trimmed slender eyebrows and intellectually beautiful face stood out sharply against the backdrop of jet-black permanent-waved hair. The black velvet dress enveloping her supple body seemed too heavy for her slender frame, threatening to slip from her sloping shoulders at any moment—and this very precariousness struck his eyes as intensely alluring. He carefully examined her neck and shoulders—particularly the left side—but nowhere were there any wound-like marks. She was in high spirits, radiant as if she were a completely different person. Last night she had seemed a girl of twelve or thirteen, but though her frame was petite, she now appeared a proper young lady, looking three or four years older.

Honjō was taken aback and momentarily couldn't speak. Seeing him standing there dazed and rigidly upright, Inspector Miyaoka laughed and said: "Do take a seat." "You—let me introduce my sister." "Miyaoka Jūsan." "We caused you considerable trouble last night." "You—that man you escaped with from the inn—do you know who he is?"

“Yes. “That is my close friend, a man by the name of Tatsuma Hisa. “He is the eldest son of the renowned businessman Mr. Tatsuma Masanosuke and, having dropped out of Kyoto University, is currently employed at his father’s Tatsuma Bank,” I answered somewhat proudly.

“Ah, so you truly know nothing at all.” “Associating with a guy like that—you’re playing with fire.” “He’s undoubtedly the son of Tatsuma Bank’s president, but—that guy—you—I figured you probably didn’t know a thing—he’s the leader of the ×× Society.” “He goes by an alias among his associates, so his real name isn’t widely known. Truth is, I’ve received confidential orders from the Superintendent for this gang crackdown—but capturing him won’t be easy.” “Last night, I devised a trick to capture him. My sister Tomī and I rode a one-yen taxi and tailed you two the entire time as you fled the gambling den.” “But that bastard noticed midway and got wind of it and bolted.” “Since I was certain you were one of them—it couldn’t be helped.” “I thought I’d check you out, so I tried a house search first.” “I was the driver at that time.” “If there’s a woman lying gravely injured in a car, anyone would resort to the same measures as you.” “After all, they’re our sworn enemies,” he said with a dry chuckle,

“After all that effort—it still ended in failure.” With that, he slid the five-yen note that had been placed on the table before Honjō. “Driver—no, rather, what was given to me—I’ll be returning this.” he said.

He involuntarily flushed red. He felt even more ashamed precisely because it was in front of Jūsan. But he still felt as though bewitched by a fox, utterly unable to make sense of anything. The fact that Tatsuma Hisa was the leader of the ×× Society was news to him. Now that it was mentioned, his thoughts had indeed changed considerably recently. There was a time when he had been notorious as a womanizing delinquent—countless women had fallen prey to Tatsuma’s venomous fangs, and he was always causing trouble over women—but recently, such rumors had become scarce, and he had been relieved—what a careless oversight it had been. He had heard that Tatsuma had left his parents’ home and was living in an apartment for the convenience of his dealings with women, but in reality, that might not have been the only reason. If he thought about it, countless suspicious points would come to light, though.

“So—Tatsuma uses an alias and operates as the leader of the ×× Society?” Inspector Miyaoka answered gravely in a voice filled with latent strength.

“That’s correct. “That man is an enemy of women and our enemy,” he said while looking at Jūsan. “Tomī was nearly seduced by him too.” Jūsan cast a fleeting sidelong glance at Inspector Miyaoka. That was a beautifully clear sky blue—hmm? Sky-blue eyes—perhaps she’s of mixed heritage, he thought. As he thought this and looked her over again—the shape of her nose, those beautiful lips, that cream-colored skin—each feature seemed somehow different. And above all, despite her petite frame, Western clothing suited her perfectly—she had to be Western. The more he looked, the more her attire appeared stylish and refined.

Her sky-blue eyes once again revealed various expressions; her gaze—pleading, troubled, seemingly at a loss—constantly shifted and mercilessly agitated his mind. Each and every one of her movements pressed upon his chest with a mysterious force. Honjō had never before encountered a woman with such terrifying allure in his life. One could say Jūsan had imprinted upon his soul a deep impression he could never erase in his lifetime.

The perceptive Inspector Miyaoka had likely seen through his heart, for he began speaking about her without being asked. “Tomī and I have different mothers. “Tomī’s mother was Spanish. “She has already passed away. “Born into a complicated family, she’s endured various hardships since childhood—a pitiable woman. “But I can’t let her live like this forever—she’ll find a good match soon enough.—”

He started to say but suddenly changed tack, “However, Tomī is extremely devoted to her brother, you know.” “She helps me quite a bit with my work.” “Since women have a sixth sense, they can be quite useful, you know.” “I’d like you to assist me alongside my sister,” he said in a formal tone before suddenly laughing mockingly,

“In exchange—as a special consideration—I’ll overlook last night’s matter.” “Ahahahahaha!” Honjō momentarily stiffened, feeling as though he’d been outrageously mocked, leaving him thoroughly discomfited. Yet with his own vulnerabilities laid bare, he found himself unable to voice any protest—managing only a strained smile that twisted his lips without reaching his eyes.

Until that moment, Jūsan had not said a word, stroking the black cat on her lap; now, for the first time, she spoke.

“How rude. We’re the ones who should be asking you to overlook this! We acted like thieves and ransacked your entire room. Mr. Honjō—you’re angry, aren’t you?” she said. He thought she had a nice voice and was so captivated by its soft quality that only her final words registered. So,

“No,” was all he could say.

“But that’s unavoidable in the line of duty,” Inspector Miyaoka said as if making excuses, suddenly straightening his posture,

“Jokes aside—this is serious business, so listen carefully.” “The truth is, the reason I summoned you is this: Tatsuma Hisa has already sensed the danger closing in around him, and there are signs he’s about to vanish.” “We can’t afford to wait any longer.” “So last night was a failure, but tonight we’ll pull it off properly—the truth is, you—”

suddenly lowered his voice and,

“It’s a bit dangerous, but we’re planning to raid his apartment. The reason being to seize evidentiary documents—and regarding that, we’d like you to act as our guide. Storming in head-on with my subordinates would be simple enough, but I prefer not to take that approach. The reason being that his father, Tatsuma Masanosuke, is a man of integrity and a national benefactor—so we aim to handle everything discreetly, keeping matters as quiet as possible to avoid public exposure.”

From the moment Honjō heard that Tatsuma had attempted to seduce Jūsan, he had lost all goodwill toward him; yet even so, he couldn't bring himself to willingly accept this role as guide. That said, outright refusal was out of the question—after all, Tatsuma was the villain here, so what choice did he have?—or so he reasoned in his heart. Not only was he the leader of the ×× Society, but he'd even tried to sink his fangs into this innocent, beautiful Jūsan—Not good, that Tatsuma fellow. A despicable man. But where on earth—under what circumstances—had he come to know her? Though he called it "seduction," it was unclear to what extent that was true. This concern occupied his mind more than the crucial matter at hand. So Honjō, intending to casually probe the matter, said:

“Tatsuma—you know him too, don’t you?” “I know.” “Only his face, you know,” she answered immediately. “Miss Jūsan… do you know him as well?”

“I know him well. “Tomī became acquainted at the dance hall—” “Oh, Brother. “You don’t have to go saying such unnecessary things.”

Her cheeks reddening, "I’ve already forgotten what Mr. Tatsuma even looks like." she said with coquettish eyes while looking at Honjō’s face. "What a heartless fellow."

Inspector Miyaoka stood up, glanced at the clock, and suddenly began to hurry,

“That’s all I have to say—well then, I’ll be stepping out for a bit.” “Mr. Honjō, I regret to inform you I’ll need to detain you temporarily.” “Until tonight’s mission is accomplished—just stay in this room and keep Tomī company. I’ll return shortly.—”

Before he even finished speaking, he hurried out the door.

3 Having left saying he’d return immediately, Inspector Miyaoka did not come back for quite some time.

In the meantime， Honjō and Jūsan had grown thoroughly close. The talk was largely about Black Cat Mimi. “I received it from the Police Superintendent for self-defense.” “When I meet a scary person， I’ll set this cat on them.” she said. Mimi was remarkably well-trained. When Jūsan dashed out， Mimi chased after her； when she stood poised and tapped her chest to beckon， Mimi suddenly leapt up， clung to her collar， and nuzzled her head against a snow-white neck in affection.

As evening approached, both of them grew increasingly lively. Watching them play so merrily, he could only think it was large and small cats tangled in a frenzy. In the dimly lit room, shadows like dancing silhouettes flickered across the walls, and Jūsan—clad entirely in black as she nimbly darted about—resembled nothing so much as a black cat. Honjō stared in fascination, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

Night fell.

What had become of Inspector Miyaoka? He still hadn’t shown himself, leaving the two of them behind. “I’m sure he’ll come pick us up by car soon.”

With that, Tomī showed no particular sign of anxiety.

As it neared eleven o'clock, just as she had said, a car stopped at the entrance.

From the driver’s seat window, Inspector Miyaoka leaned out just his head and beckoned. She tucked Mimi under her arm and leaped toward the car window. “You were late—weren’t you? Brother,” she uttered in a sweet voice, “Since we failed last night—tonight I’m taking Mimi along,” she said while patting the black cat’s head, “As long as we have Mimi—there’s no doubt we’ll succeed.” Tomī embraced Mimi’s torso with both hands and lifted her high, “Do your best! Mimi!” she said nuzzling her—her eyes tense and gleaming sharply.

Honjō stepped forward before Inspector Miyakoa and bowed politely in silence. “Ah—sorry I’m late.—” he said, turning toward Jūsan and furrowing his brows. “Just as I was about to head out—unfortunately—there was an arrest…” he added apologetically. “Let me drive.”

She jumped into the driver’s seat, shooed Inspector Miyaoka into the back, and took hold of the steering wheel herself. “Miss Jūsan, that’s impressive!” Honjō remarked admiringly. Inspector Miyaoka gave a wry smile, “Raising her among men turned her into a tomboy—it’s been nothing but trouble.” “We never managed to give her a proper feminine upbringing.—”

While discussing such matters, they arrived at Marunouchi Apartments. There was no janitor at the office who recognized Honjō's face. When asked to hand over the master key, he made a strange expression, "Mr. Tatsuma should be in his room. Until just now, he was drinking beer with a friend in the dining room," he said, but without particular suspicion promptly lent out the master key. Honjō followed Inspector Miyaoka's orders and moved the car to the deserted back gate before getting inside to wait.

After a short while, Tomī came dashing out, suddenly grabbed Honjō’s hand, pressed her supple body against him as if to rub against it, and brought her lips close to his ear. “The crucial documents are stored in the bank vault—we’re all heading to the bank now.” A lukewarm breath tickled his ear. Honjō pulled his hat low over his eyes and sat in the passenger seat, feeling rather pleased as if he too were playing a role in a detective novel.

Soon, the sound of footsteps approached from behind, the door opened, and there was a thud as someone dropped onto the seat. They all remained silent.

Her face clutching the steering wheel was ashen and drawn tight. Until they reached Tatsuma Bank, not a soul uttered a word. When the car halted, Honjō finally turned quietly to glance behind. Tatsuma Hisa sat blindfolded, gagged with a muzzle-like restraint, his hands bound behind him. Never had the dashing man appeared more wretched than in this moment.

Sandwiched between Inspector Miyaoka and Jūsan holding a pistol, Tatsuma entered the bank through the employee entrance. Honjō had been ordered to stand guard and stood in a dark alleyway. Clutching the black cat entrusted to him tightly against his chest, he stroked its soft fur and caught a trace of her lingering scent somewhere. Before he knew it, he hugged Mimi and pressed his cheek against hers.

At that moment, numerous footsteps suddenly echoed through the silent street. Instinctively, he whirled around and hid in the dark shadows to peer out at the situation. A cluster of black human figures came darting closer—likely police officers. Leading those rushing forward was none other than Inspector Miyaoka’s face—unexpectedly, as he should have been inside the bank. Honjō, startled, was about to peer through the streetlamp’s glow for a better look when the inspector turned to his subordinates,

“Continue!” he barked in a single stern command. The voice’s edge—so unlike Inspector Miyaoka’s usual tone—made Honjō’s eyes snap wide with shock. A perfect copy... yet not him at all. This had to be an imposter—but how could two men share the same face? For a heartbeat I wondered if my vision betrayed me, but that uncanny resemblance coiled dread in my gut. Then lightning-fast came another thought: Tatsuma’s in trouble—the ×× Society must’ve sent these fake cops to break him out! No chance against these numbers... Gotta save Tomī somehow— Even as panic chewed through him, the mass of black shadows crashed through the back entrance like a mudslide.

“It’s pitch black!” a man bellowed.

“The switches—the wires—they’ve been cut!”

“Don’t let her escape!—The woman!—” he bellowed. When he heard that, Honjō’s mind was already in turmoil. Just as he was about to recklessly charge in without thinking, he collided with Jūsan’s body as she burst out from inside. Startled by the impact, Mimi scratched his arm and fled, and he ran after her down the street at full tilt. It looked exactly like two black cats tangled together darting away. Almost simultaneously, a terrifying struggle erupted in the pitch-black bank corridor. Curses and shouts, a chaotic tangle of footsteps.

“Ah! I’ve been had!”

A thud—the sound of someone collapsing—followed by a horrific scream struck Honjō with terror. Escape! The moment he pivoted on his heel, a thudding blow struck his back.

“Run! Hurry—” A familiar voice brimming with latent strength—it was undoubtedly Inspector Miyaoka—but for some reason, a single policeman suddenly rushed out, clung to the inspector’s torso from behind, and sounded his whistle.

Honjō ran frantically.

×　　　　×　　　　×

When he came to, he lay collapsed on the floor beside the bed, utterly exhausted as if beaten down. Out of habit, he picked up the newspaper that had been slid under the door into the room and spread it out to look. Startled, Honjō leapt up and, while rubbing his eyes, looked again. “Tatsuma Bank Attacked by Black Cat Tomī”

Seeing the article written in three-column bold, he was utterly flabbergasted. He read voraciously, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Fortunately his name appeared nowhere,but there were photos of Inspector Miyaoka,Tatsuma Hisa,and an injured police officer.The internationally notorious female thief Black Cat Tomī and her paramour had stolen a large sum of money from Tatsuma Bank’s vault and fled.Moreover it was reported that some suspicion had been raised regarding their guide being none other than the bank president’s own son.Honjō shuddered involuntarily.But with so many strange things he couldn’t make sense of any of it.For one thing it was strange that Tatsuma Hisa—who ought to be leader of XX Society—hadn’t been captured.Even if Jūsan were female thief known as Black Cat Tomī what about Inspector Miyaoka?He should try meeting Tatsuma.That’s right—he should meet him and ask.

However, he couldn’t bring himself to go to the apartment, so he decided to head to Tatsuma Bank instead. If he said he’d come to visit after seeing the newspaper, no one would suspect a thing. In the bank’s reception room, visitors had gathered around Tatsuma Hisa and were listening to him recount the details of the incident. He braced both legs, crossed his arms, and with a thoroughly excited expression, was retailing the story he’d supposedly heard from the detectives. But when he saw Honjō’s face, he suddenly grabbed his hand,

“This mess started with that incident,” he whispered. Honjō hastily assumed this was connected to the XX Society, “Why’d you—of all people—become the XX Society’s leader? I didn’t know a thing!” Tatsuma glared.

“What’re you sayin’?” Honjō floundered, “But—you’re the one who called it ‘that incident’—” “The gambling den incident.” “They exploited that weak spot.” “Oh, right. Is that all?” “They had the nerve to use that as leverage to threaten me.” “They first came to the apartment, see.” As he listened, he broke into a cold sweat. The pounding of his heart roared in his ears. “Mr. Tatsuma—is it as reported in the newspaper?” “What kind of woman is this Black Cat Tomī?”

Tatsuma wrinkled the tip of his nose and snorted with a derisive laugh.

“She’s a fine woman,” he snorted derisively. “When I told her I didn’t have cash on me, that woman shoved a pistol in my face and said ‘It’s in the bank vault.’ Got some nerve, I’ll give her that. She forced me into a car and took me to the bank—but then Inspector Miyaoka showed up hot on her trail and saved my ass.” “Did you know Tomī?”

“The hell should I know? She’s a thief, ain’t she? Much as I like curiosities, that kinda dame’s more than I can stomach. Her fancy man was bowin’ and scrapin’, takin’ orders from the skirt. That bastard disguised himself dead ringer for Inspector Miyaoka in the photos. Ended up with two inspectors runnin’ round—couldn’t tell which was genuine article. That’s why they botched the collar,” Tatsuma snorted. When he realized how neatly they’d played him for a fool—used him as their errand boy—it burned his gut something fierce. Yet somehow Honjō couldn’t muster real hatred for them.