Chapter 22 p2
Waiting endlessly can make time feel especially long. Morofushi Taka’aki, perhaps trying to dispel his own nervousness, began to explain his reasoning for the case.
“The culprit in this case is not Miss Fan An. She has no motive. Not only does she have no personal grudge against the victim, the third male lead, but if she hadn’t altered the trajectory at the critical moment, the nature of the entire case would have been vastly different.”
Morofushi Taka’aki: “Imagine, if Miss Fan An hadn’t noticed that the bullet had been swapped for a live round, or if she hadn’t been able to alter the trajectory at the last moment, it would have been a foregone conclusion that she had killed the third male lead. She would undoubtedly have been arrested as the real culprit.”
“Swapping the bullet would have done her no good at all.”
“Clearly, this was a frame-up, killing three birds with one stone.”
Morofushi Taka’aki said with certainty, “The real culprit holds a grudge against Miss Fan An, the third male lead, and even Director Kawamura. Director Kawamura, does such a person exist?”
“Yes!” Director Kawamura blurted out. “Yes! That person—the actor who was fired from the role of the third male lead!”
That scheming blond!
“I remember now,” Director Kawamura’s face turned pale. “He paid off the media to spread rumors that the third male lead was a dangerous role, that the crazy director was making the mastermind shoot the actor for the sake of the show’s effect. If- if that bullet had really hit the third male lead…”
The rumors would have become reality! Everything would have been over!
Director Kawamura’s career would have been cut short. And the rookie actress he had discovered and had high hopes for, Fan An, even if she were cleared of charges and didn’t go to jail, she would have no future in this industry.
“Waaaaah!” Director Kawamura burst into tears on the set. He hugged Fan An’s leg and wailed, “No one else believed in you, but you were the one who proved them wrong! I told you my judgment was right! You’ll definitely achieve great things!”
“I also believe I can achieve great things,” Fan An said emotionally. “Everyone else sees me as a suspect, but I also happen to be a suspect. What a touching, mutual journey. I will not let you down!”
Morofushi Taka’aki: No, you’re talking about two completely different things.
This benefactor and his prodigy had already entered a world that others could not understand. The police officers carefully skirted around them and put handcuffs on the prop master.
The blond had bribed the prop master. The prop master had taken the gun while adjusting the set before filming and had secretly swapped the bullets.
He had worn gloves, so only Fan An’s fingerprint was on the gun.
The blank cartridge found among the prop master’s belongings was the evidence. According to his confession, he had planned to secretly dispose of the blank when the third male lead was shot and the crew was in chaos, but unfortunately, Fan An had not given him the chance.
The grief-stricken prop master was taken away by the Nagano police. The case was closed for now. The police would go to Tokyo to arrest the blond.
Fan An signed and fingerprinted the report, her movements so swift that the officer in charge had a look of “how are you so skilled at this?” on his face.
Her: You praise me too much. Let me stay in Nagano for another week, and I can fill up the entire report book.
Don’t underestimate my bond with the Metropolitan Police Department.
“Inspector Morofushi,” Fan An waved at Morofushi Taka’aki, who had deliberately fallen to the back of the police team. “The witness. Do you still want to see him?”
Morofushi Taka’aki blocked his colleague’s questioning gaze. “I can go alone. I’ll be back at headquarters later.”
The wailing police cars carried a large group of people away. The film crew, whose shooting had been interrupted, was busy cleaning up. The crowd gradually dispersed, leaving a circle of empty space around Morofushi Taka’aki.
Soft footsteps stopped behind him.
“This is my distant cousin,” the dark-haired girl introduced. “This is Inspector Morofushi.”
She only said those two sentences, clapped her hands, and walked towards Director Kawamura without a backward glance.
Hiromitsu Morofushi decided to call An’an the most irresponsible matchmaker he had ever met in his life.
She wasn’t even willing to make a few pleasantries, not caring in the slightest about the consequences of leaving two “strangers” alone together. She just left him and walked away, so carefree.
An’an was definitely the kind of malicious extrovert who would treat an introvert as a toy. Very bad, extremely bad.
“Hello,” Hiromitsu Morofushi tried his best to appear calm. He held out his hand. “I’m An’an’s distant cousin. Thank you for taking care of her.”
The person before him was a complete stranger.
A strange face, a strange voice, a strange build, speaking strange and polite words.
Morofushi Taka’aki reached out his hand. The two hands clasped together.
He had taken off his white gloves. As their palms touched, the fine beads of sweat collided, a heat that felt like it could melt their skin.
Melting skin, revealing flesh, the same blood flowing through their veins.
When they separated, they both felt as if a layer of skin had been torn off.
After a brief silence, Morofushi Taka’aki began to talk about the case.
Standing here were Inspector Morofushi of the Nagano police and the late-arriving witness in this case. Their conversation should only be about this case.
But as he spoke, Morofushi Taka’aki couldn’t help but mention Inspector Yamamura Misao from the neighboring Gunma Prefecture. “…He’s been promoted to inspector. I’m really happy for him. Inspector Yamamura and my younger brother were childhood playmates, but they haven’t been in contact for a long time. He hoped that if I had the chance, I could pass on a message for him. He said, ‘Please tell him that little Misao from the Yamamura family really wants to see him!'”
The fingers of Hiromitsu’s hand, hanging by his side, twitched. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep his expression from changing.
“Did you promise to pass on the message for him?” Hiromitsu asked in a low voice. “Or did you refuse?”
Their conversation had already strayed from the original case, but no one objected, tacitly ignoring this fact.
“Neither,” Morofushi Taka’aki replied. “We found the small cabin where they used to play as children on the border between Nagano and Gunma. There, we found… we found a message left by my brother before he died. It said: ‘I became a police officer too, Misao!'”
A difficult silence spread between them. After a long time, Hiromitsu spoke, his voice very soft. He said, “That’s good too.”
That’s good too. This was his destined fate anyway.
The setting sun shone on the land of Nagano. The sky was still bright, but both Morofushi Taka’aki and Hiromitsu knew that it would soon be dark.
Their brief encounter was about to end. Morofushi Taka’aki finally said the words he had been suppressing in his heart.
“It’s probably my imagination,” he said. “But I think you look a little like my younger brother. We haven’t seen each other in a long time.”
For a brother, this was a rather clumsy attempt at probing. Hiromitsu wanted to laugh a little. He curved his lips, but couldn’t manage a smile.
“We’ll meet again one day,” Hiromitsu said. “Definitely.”
But not now.
The two separated at the corner.
Morofushi Taka’aki stood in the sunlight. A wall separated them. Hiromitsu stood in the shadows.
After taking two steps, Morofushi Taka’aki couldn’t help but turn his head. The sunlight blurred his vision. He thought he saw his brother’s back.
Hiromitsu walked forward, kept walking, and didn’t look back.
…
Scotch Whisky stopped.
He stood alone under a streetlight, his bass case on his back.
The sun had long set. The street was pitch black. The only source of light illuminated his figure.
For someone in the darkness, being illuminated was, on the contrary, dangerous.
But in the eyes of others, deliberately placing oneself in the light was a sign of being sensible.
“I’m glad to see you came to the meeting alone.”
In the darkness, a man with cornrows walked out, a wanton smile on his lips. “I’m Pinga.”
Pinga looked with satisfaction at the strange face before him.
It wasn’t entirely strange, after all. He had been tailing him for some time, but the tailing hadn’t gone smoothly.
The ghost of Scotch, a man as mysterious as his codename. He always appeared with the dark-haired girl, as if he couldn’t leave her side.
A person who valued relationships was, on the contrary, easy to recruit. Just like how Sherry worked for the organization in exchange for Miyano Akemi’s safety, the organization was very skilled at recruiting talent by threatening their loved ones.
Besides, Pinga had not only prepared threats, but also enticements.
“Have you considered it? Want to join the organization and work for me?” Pinga gestured with his thumb, then made a vicious slashing motion across his throat. “I’ll give you the chance to take out Gin.”
Pinga was not lacking in looks, temperament, or ability. The fact that he could take over as Rum’s right-hand man after Curacao was proof enough that his level was at least five times that of Vodka.
Logically speaking, he was an opponent to be taken very seriously.
Hiromitsu didn’t speak, only recalling An’an’s pure-hate black-moonlight body-double literature in his mind.
Detective An, a true prophet!
Her thinking was too advanced. Playing with a mere Pinga was more than enough. Hiromitsu only needed to reveal a little of the pure-hate black-moonlight body-double literature outline written by An’an, and Pinga showed a look of deep conviction.
The ghost of Scotch, driven by a mixture of love and hate for Scotch Whisky, had angrily learned his marksmanship. After Scotch’s death, he had become his shadow, seeking revenge on Gin—heavens, what kind of twisted, deep-closet behavior was this?!
Pinga: Isn’t that exactly like me?
A kindred spirit!
“I understand,” Pinga agreed at once. “I understand completely. I get you.”
Hiromitsu had once had a headache because An’an insisted on calling Gin “Silver-Haired Model Bro” and refused to change. Now, he was enlightened. What an excellent girl, to be able to come up with such a fitting name as “Twisted Deep-Closet Bro” for Pinga. Her literary skills were unfathomable.
More evidence that all ability-users are literary giants.jpg
Gaining Pinga’s favor was very easy. Just the fact that Hiromitsu had shot Gin was enough to max out Pinga’s favorability. He looked at Hiromitsu as if he were his own brother.
Add to that An’an’s genius pure-hate black-moonlight body-double literature, and little Pinga was easily handled—that’s right, Pinga was into that. Hiromitsu privately thought that if Pinga wanted to defeat Gin, the first thing he should do was uninstall his Jinjiang novels app.
(T/N: Jinjiang is a popular Chinese web novel site known for its romance and fanfiction.)
“Or you could recommend my reading list to him,” An’an said.
…
In the quiet park, the moonlight shone on the shimmering lake. The young man with the bass case and the dark-haired, dark-eyed girl stood together, the night wind blowing gently.
“Pinga has agreed to vouch for me and recommend me to join the organization,” Hiromitsu reported to An’an. “Everything went very smoothly, just as planned.”
He would join the organization with a new identity, completely separate from the past Scotch Whisky. No one would know his true identity, not even his past comrades.
An undercover agent was a profession that used any means necessary, endured loneliness, and sought only final victory.
If maintaining a completely stranger-like relationship with Bourbon was more beneficial to both of their undercover missions, Hiromitsu would not easily reveal himself to his friend.
The same applied to his brother. Not revealing himself was the safer, more rational choice.
Rationality… Hiromitsu slowly exhaled, the cool night air tinging his breath.
The most difficult thing for a human being to do is to be rational.
It is emotion that governs humanity.
An’an fell into a warm embrace.
Hiromitsu hugged her tightly, the warm air from his words brushing against her bangs.
“Thank you,” he repeated. “Thank you.”
Thank you for giving me a second chance. Thank you for letting me see the sun again.
Thank you for choosing me, for meeting me, for bringing an unprecedented miracle.
The moonlight shone on the lakeside, the hazy moonlight gently enveloping the wind and the fallen leaves.
An’an raised her hands and gently hugged Hiromitsu back.
The young man shielded her from the night wind. His embrace was as warm as spring.