Chapter 22 p1
“Inspector, the results of the fingerprint analysis are in.”
Morofushi Taka’aki, wearing white gloves, accepted the report.
The report stated clearly in black and white—there was only one person’s fingerprint on the gun.
“That would be me, Suspect An.”
The dark-haired girl actively raised her hand.
A result that was not at all surprising. Fan An had known all along that she would have the chance to say her classic line. This was her dramatic life.
Whichever city she arrived in, she would leave a police report. It was Suspect An’s unique way of checking in, both classy and environmentally friendly. Could ordinary tourists who carved “XX was here” everywhere do that?
An’an: (puffs out chest)
The Nagano police had never seen a suspect so eager to confess. One of them instinctively reached for his handcuffs, while looking at Morofushi Taka’aki. “Inspector, should we…”
The suspect had confessed to her crime. The easiest call-out of their careers. Could they go home now?
“That’s very strange,” Morofushi Taka’aki said, rubbing the fingerprint report. “How could there be only one person’s fingerprint on the gun?”
This gun was a prop on a film set. Besides the actor herself, at the very least, the prop master must have had a chance to handle it.
“Inspector, you may not know,” the prop master hurried forward to explain. “The suspect borrowed the gun on the first day in Nagano. Both the gun and the blank cartridges the crew purchased were in her possession, not under the care of the props department.”
Morofushi Taka’aki looked at the girl and asked, “Is this true?”
The prop master’s statement was factual. Fan An nodded and, while she was at it, proudly introduced her genius “morning and evening 1+1” sharpshooter training plan to Morofushi Taka’aki.
“Please, look at the results of my practice,” she said, gesturing for the third male lead to walk a few steps. She spoke with the pride of someone showing off a plump little piglet she had raised, ready to be slaughtered and eaten. “See? Alive and kicking.”
The third male lead clenched his fist and furiously pounded his trembling, noodle-like legs. Move, you dead legs! Move!
A smiling suspect and a victim trembling under her gaze. What a classic villainous duo. Except for Morofushi Taka’aki, every other police officer on the scene instinctively reached for their weapon.
Morofushi Taka’aki: “…”
This child… must have been arrested many times before… A faint sense of pity arose in his heart.
He wasn’t sure if it was pity for Suspect An, or for Inspector Megure in her jurisdiction.
A film set was never short on footage. Morofushi Taka’aki asked Director Kawamura for the recording of the incident and watched the entire process of the dark-haired girl firing the gun with concentration.
Holding the gun, raising her hand, shooting. The movements were as smooth as flowing water, with almost no trace of a beginner.
Behind the muzzle, her jet-black pupils narrowed into a fine point, a snake-like gaze.
Director Kawamura adored her crazed, cold-blooded, icy stare. Morofushi Taka’aki was not swayed by appearances. He slowed down the footage frame by frame.
The moment she pulled the trigger, what flowed in the girl’s eyes was not killing intent, but clear astonishment.
She had realized the bullet had been swapped at the moment of firing and had forcefully altered the trajectory at the last second, saving the third male lead’s life.
“Truly remarkable marksmanship,” Morofushi Taka’aki praised sincerely. “To think this is the result of only a week of practice. It makes even me feel a little ashamed.”
Obvious talent, but not just talent. Such skilled movements must have come from high-intensity practice, with someone constantly guiding, correcting, and patiently teaching her hand-in-hand.
Morofushi Taka’aki looked at the firearms instructor hired by the crew. He was a well-known coach from a shooting club. Was he the one who taught her?
No, it didn’t seem like it.
Fan An’s marksmanship gave Morofushi Taka’aki a strange sense of familiarity, as if the shadow of the past was standing quietly behind her, the movements of the two figures overlapping. Through the lens, it cast a glance at Morofushi Taka’aki.
A distant, time-worn, changed-beyond-recognition glance.
A bitter taste, like tobacco, flooded his tongue. Morofushi Taka’aki closed his eyes.
Don’t think about it anymore, he warned himself. No matter how many times you have this foolish dream, it’s just a dream. The miracle you hope for can’t possibly happen.
“Inspector Morofushi.” The dark-haired, dark-eyed girl had approached him at some point. She held her hands behind her back and looked up at Morofushi Taka’aki. “Is there a problem with my marksmanship? You’ve been watching for a long time.”
“No,” Morofushi Taka’aki denied, then paused for a moment. “My apologies. It’s for personal reasons.”
Let’s drop the subject. There’s no need to trouble an innocent person. Continuing to ask won’t lead to any results. The right thing to do is to solve the case quickly, go back to the station, write the report, and close the case. Then, during my personal time after work, I’ll go pay my respects…
As if a basin of ice water had been poured over his heart, Morofushi Taka’aki calmed down.
“You look a lot alike,” someone sighed softly.
“Inspector Morofushi looks a lot like the mentor who teaches me to shoot at night,” Fan An said. “He sometimes has that same expression of intense longing, yet forced restraint.”
“Are all rational people like that?” she asked. “I’m from the school of thought that believes people should be true to their own desires. I don’t really understand the reason for self-restraint.”
“So I egged him on, incited him, treated him with a firm attitude, and finally changed his mind… My mentor is now facing his wishes.”
“What do you think of my approach, Inspector?” Fan An asked humbly. “Was I too pushy?”
“If it was out of goodwill, then of course not,” Morofushi Taka’aki replied after thinking. “He probably just needed someone to give him a push.”
The girl nodded thoughtfully, then spoke. “Then what about you? Do you need me to give you a push too?”
Morofushi Taka’aki was taken aback.
“I don’t understand what you mean,” he said.
“But you stared at the footage for so long, yet you didn’t ask anything,” Fan An tilted her head. “As a police officer, isn’t it natural to question a suspect? If you have any questions, just ask them. What’s the harm in asking?”
“Or is it,” she said slowly, “that you don’t have the courage to get the answer?”
The fingers of Morofushi Taka’aki’s gloved hand trembled slightly, spasming uncontrollably.
He had wanted to ask.
The moment she fired the gun, the shadow that overlapped with the girl’s figure was so familiar that Morofushi Taka’aki had almost blurted out a name.
But it was too brief, so brief that it could only be considered an illusion. Saying it out loud would only invite laughter, and the answer he would get would only lead to more disappointment, eventually accumulating to a weight that a brother could not bear.
Miracles don’t happen.
How could a miracle happen during a routine police call? Without any warning, without any reason, and without costing a single thing.
The dark-haired girl stood patiently, waiting. The suspicious gazes of the Nagano police, the terrified eyes of the crew, the accusing stares of the onlookers fell on her like light dust, brushed away with a flick of her hand, silently falling to the ground.
This was a person who didn’t care about the opinions of others, only about her own goals.
For the person who brings a miracle, the day of the miracle is just an ordinary day.
The only special thing was that at this moment, Morofushi Taka’aki had met her.
“The mentor who teaches you to shoot at night… can I meet him?” Morofushi Taka’aki asked.
He added, as if deliberately looking for an excuse, “I have a rough idea of the real culprit in this case, but I’d still like to hear from a few more witnesses.”
Fan An nodded cheerfully and made a phone gesture by her ear. “He’ll be here soon.”
…