Chapter Sixty-Seven: Wagering the Fate of the Nation

At the exact moment when Fang Shican’s voice echoed through the room, Miku Ito’s gaze snapped onto him. Since the moment they had met, this was the first time her face revealed an expression as sharp as a blade.

Though the instant she fixed her eyes on him, the fine hairs on his back stood on end, as if he were prey under a predator’s scrutiny, Fang Shican nevertheless felt a terror far less intense than what he experienced when he first encountered Miku Ito along the tree-lined path. Perhaps, he mused, it was because the girl’s unguarded expression made her seem just a little more human.

“The cause of my father's death?” Miku Ito’s mind conjured up the image of the man. Ito Hiroshi, then Chief Inspector, had stopped coming home ever since he and Miku had, in some unspoken way, realized what Miku had done during her elementary school years. The words he uttered, “I hope that you, no matter what, never hurt others,” had become a commandment branded into Miku’s heart, only broken after she became extraordinary and began forging the world of her ideals.

Ito Hiroshi died ten years ago; it was reported as a line-of-duty death, and Miku never investigated further. She had always sensed that, after glimpsing facets of her inner nature, Ito Hiroshi had become somewhat despondent. She had always vaguely felt that perhaps dying on duty was a choice he made himself, and her own connection to his death was inextricable.

But why, here and now, would this man called Fang Shican ask such a question—

“Miss Ito… do you want to know the true cause of your father's death?”

“What was my father's cause of death?” Miku’s gaze swept between Hiroshi Ito’s former colleague, Sazan Kishibe, and the Cabinet Secretary for Security, Fang Shican. There was no arrogance in her eyes, only a pressure far more intense.

Under that gaze, both Sazan Kishibe and Fang Shican bowed their heads slightly.

“Here is the report on Mr. Ito Hiroshi’s death. It has been sealed for ten years.” Fang Shican bowed, offering the document in his hands to Miku Ito.

As Miku Ito opened the file, Sazan Kishibe’s voice, heavy with guilt, resounded in the room. From his lips, a story deliberately hidden was drawn forth from distant history.

“I remember—it was in the summer, ten years ago, less than three days before Mr. Hiroshi’s death.”

…

“I remember—it was in the summer, ten years ago, less than three days before Mr. Hiroshi’s death.”

Over a hundred kilometers from central Tokyo, inside the Marunocho Police Station, Sazan Kishibe’s voice, laden with remorse, echoed through the prime minister’s office. Though distorted by electronic transmission, the slight imperfection in the sound did not matter.

The once-empty, vast office was now crowded with all sorts of instruments, resembling a laboratory. Yet what was studied here was neither physics nor biology, but a massive screen mounted on the wall, divided into dozens of segments, each showing real-time imagery of the room where Miku Ito sat in the police station.

Each segment clearly came from a high-definition camera, though it was hard to fathom how so many hidden cameras were installed in that room.

Dozens of researchers in white coats sat solemnly at the instruments, endlessly recording and feeding back data through their computers. “How is the subject’s attitude?” “Based on the psychological model from past data, her mental state is approximately at ‘fifty-seven percent.’” “Is there a risk of her becoming violent?” “Probability is twenty-seven percent. Not a concern for now.”

They exchanged information, recording the latest readings from pre-placed sensors: Miku Ito’s body temperature, breathing rate, blink frequency, subtle movements… building an emergency psychological model to display the current danger level of her mental state.

All these researchers were elite experts, temporarily drawn from the nation’s top universities and institutes, specializing in psychology, computing, biology, and many with interdisciplinary experience. Each could secure a tenured professorship at a top fifty university in Japan or the US; they were the cream of the field. Yet nearly all had been summoned here, solely to assess Miku Ito’s psychological state in real time, to prevent any potential danger.

The prime minister sat behind a redwood desk, his gaze piercing through the instruments to the screen, watching the live feed. Within the Marunocho Police Station, the story continued, Sazan Kishibe’s voice streaming through the speaker.

…

“At that time, I usually worked alongside Hiroshi, carrying out assignments together. Though I was a few years older, I had no remarkable achievements, nor Hiroshi’s pursuit of justice. I generally played a supporting role, and my rank was one below his.

“Though my rank was lower, I had no complaints. With Hiroshi’s competence, being a police inspector was nothing extraordinary. He was close to promotion, but around twelve or thirteen years ago, he suddenly seemed absent-minded, distracted, resulting in some mistakes that cost him the promotion. Later, he devoted himself even more to work; I suppose he simply went through a rough patch. Well, that’s beside the point…

“About that assignment—ten years ago, in summer, Hiroshi and I went to Yokohama to handle a serial murder case stretching from Tokyo to the provinces. Hiroshi performed as brilliantly as ever, thoroughly investigating and apprehending the suspect.

“After handing the suspect over to colleagues, we didn’t return to Tokyo. The case had gone unexpectedly smoothly, so we decided to celebrate and found an izakaya in Yokohama, drinking heavily into the night before heading back to our inn.

“…The inn was on the border between Yokosuka City and Yokohama, a place usually frequented only by vehicles on the national highway. At night, it was desolate.

“We walked back together that night, but along the way, we heard screams.

“Both Hiroshi and I, being police officers, sobered up immediately at the sound. We rushed toward the source and quickly saw what was happening—

“There were several high school girls, trembling and huddled together, being harassed by a group of US Navy soldiers. The soldiers, boisterous and drunker than we were, surrounded and pulled at the girls, aiming to separate them.

“I saw clearly—with their strength, these Americans could easily tear the girls apart. That they allowed them to cling to each other was merely to prolong their amusement.

“From their conversation, it seemed the girls were local Yokohama students, visiting the neighboring city during vacation, only to encounter this ordeal on their way home.

“Seeing this, Hiroshi and I were furious. I wanted to call for backup, for local police to resolve the dispute. But Hiroshi, seeing the girls about to be dragged away, believed there was no time. Before I could stop him, he charged forward, confronting the sailors and arguing with them.

“…The Americans were surprised at the sudden appearance of a man. But instead of retreating, Hiroshi’s intervention provoked their defiance. They tried to push him aside, but Hiroshi stood firm, shielding the girls and reasoning with them. Finally, the sailors grew irritated; one pulled out a pistol to warn Hiroshi, who, undaunted, drew his own sidearm and police badge, pressing them before the Americans… But at that moment, one of the soldiers cursed and aimed his gun at Hiroshi, firing several shots—‘bang, bang, bang, bang!’

“…And then I watched Hiroshi fall.”

A prolonged silence descended.

Only the ragged breaths of Sazan Kishibe could be heard, and the soft rustling of pages as the girl quietly leafed through the report.

Eventually, the girl’s voice sounded.

“And after?” Even now, her tone remained strangely calm.

But Sazan Kishibe’s voice, overcome by emotion, became fragmented.

“Afterwards…the Americans, seeing Hiroshi fall…seemed to regain some sobriety…they left the scene…those girls escaped.

“I called for an ambulance, for other officers… but Hiroshi couldn’t be saved…

“Please forgive me…I was too cowardly…could only stand there…watching Hiroshi fall…unable to join him in confronting those sailors…

“…So after Hiroshi’s death, I tried to gather evidence…I wanted to at least have those soldiers punished by law…but the US base immediately blocked the matter…our superiors demanded it be resolved quietly…so in the end…Hiroshi never received justice…not even his cause of death was made public…

“I was powerless…in the end I could do nothing, both cowardly and weak…I lost all ambition and passion for work, came here…just wanting to let the guilt consume my remaining days, until today, when I saw you again…”

Sazan Kishibe’s voice trembled violently, his body rose from the chair, and he knelt deeply before Miku Ito.

“Little Miku…no, Miss Ito…please punish me…whatever you wish, I deserve it…”

The man’s body knelt before Miku Ito, his arched back convulsing.

Yet Miku Ito seemed not to notice him, still indifferently turning the pages of her report.

Page after page, item after item.

In the prime minister’s office, the psychological model grew increasingly difficult to analyze.

“This behavior matches less than twenty percent with predicted outcomes…”

“We need to rebuild the model!”

“Should we try a different measurement system?”

Researchers frowned or looked surprised, the office filled with the hum of machinery.

Meanwhile, in the police station, the girl finally spoke again.

“Why were those soldiers never apprehended?”

Miku Ito placed the report at the edge of the table, fixing her gaze on Fang Shican, still ignoring the sobbing Sazan Kishibe at her feet.

“It was a decision made by the previous prime minister and police commissioner. That administration sought to foster relations with the United States, so the police viewed this incident as an ‘unstable factor’ threatening US-Japanese relations.

“Moreover, among the soldiers who assaulted the girls, there was a young officer—then a captain—who hailed from a renowned American political family—the Forsen family.

“His name is John Forsen, now a colonel, and also the commander of the Seventh Fleet stationed at Yokosuka Port.”

Fang Shican answered gently.

Meanwhile, as Fang Shican spoke, the office that resembled a laboratory was cleared of researchers, leaving only the prime minister.

He stared at the screen, listening intently to Fang Shican, his fingers tapping the desk with rhythmic precision, his expression one of high-stakes determination.

On the screen, after hearing Fang Shican’s words, Sazan Kishibe’s sobbing ceased, and his body quietly shifted aside.

The girl raised her head, gazing thoughtfully at him.

“I see…

“…But why are you telling me all this?”

Fang Shican did not answer. It was not his place to respond.

He simply raised his hand, gesturing politely.

And behind him, on the white screen, the scene from the prime minister’s office nearly a hundred kilometers away appeared, with the prime minister’s solemn and resolute visage at the center.

“The United States has occupied our nation, corrupt and lawless, for over eighty years. Whether in Yokosuka or Okinawa, such incidents are countless. This is not only Miss Ito’s personal vendetta, but the hatred of our people.

“…Therefore, Miss Miku Ito, are you willing to become the pioneer of Japan’s new era, to drive out the Americans, and join us in raising Japan among the nations of the world?”

Finally, the third update is finished—four thousand words for this chapter, over ten thousand for the first day, meeting my initial expectations.

The delay was mainly because I was considering the next steps—and pondering how to win at the summit. In the end, I managed to take first place with a three-star enchantress. Rare, indeed.

(End of chapter)