Chapter 17
A business trip begins with packing a suitcase.
An’an wrung out a cloth and carefully wiped down the old suitcase that had nearly been the death of Vodka.
“We’ll be gone for a week,” An’an said, counting on her fingers. “Besides a change of clothes, I definitely have to bring the boning knife. How many whetstones should I take?”
She surveyed the whetstones that filled half her suitcase, finding it difficult to part with any of them.
“How about we’re fair to all of them and take none,” Hiromitsu Morofushi sincerely advised.
He had previously doubted the authenticity of the “suitcase beats up Vodka” story, until he had personally lifted An’an’s suitcase while cleaning the apartment.
It was so heavy that if she had said there was a corpse inside, Hiromitsu would have believed her.
How on earth did she get through station security? The undercover Public Security officer was completely baffled.
Fan An: Because this is Beika Town.
Even if I were really dragging a suitcase full of corpses, there’s a dedicated lane for criminals. The security in Beika Town is terrifyingly authoritative.
Hiromitsu raised an objection. “But isn’t this a business trip? Are you sure you can get through security in other cities?”
“I can,” Fan An said, having heard from her well-traveled distant second uncle, Mr. Fan Ren. “The security in Yokohama, Ikebukuro, and Hakata is just as authoritative as in Beika Town.”
(T/N: References to the settings of “Bungo Stray Dogs,” “Durarara!!,” and “Hakata Tonkotsu Ramens,” all known for high levels of crime.)
Hiromitsu often felt that, having been dead for four years, he was completely out of touch with the world.
“Alright,” the cat-eyed young man said, as if giving up. “So, is the business trip to Yokohama, Ikebukuro, or Hakata?”
“None of the above,” An’an said, having finally decided to bring all the whetstones. All stones are created equal. “We’re going to Nagano Prefecture.”
She closed the suitcase and waited for Hiromitsu’s sarcastic remark.
“Hm?” An’an was puzzled. “Hello? Hiro, did you not get the joke?”
That can’t be right. Should I say it again?
The dark-haired girl leaned in, circling Hiromitsu, like a mischievous cat deliberately knocking a teacup off a table, waiting to see the owner’s reaction.
How could there be no reaction? Should I set the teacup back up and push it over again?
Hiromitsu snapped back to reality, but he still seemed absent-minded.
“What’s wrong?” the girl asked, not understanding. “Is there a problem with Nagano Prefecture?”
No matter how you looked at it, Nagano’s reputation was better than Beika’s. Why did Hiromitsu look like the sky was falling?
Did he have some kind of psychological trauma associated with Nagano? Or was he allergic to the air there? Pollen allergy? Dust allergy?
Or perhaps his first love, his “white moonlight,” had broken up with him in Nagano, and it had become his place of sorrow ever since? A place where, upon setting foot, he would be overcome with emotion, burst into tears, and let out a long sigh to wipe away his tears?
Hiromitsu had only looked away for a moment, and An’an’s wild imagination had already soared beyond the limits of what he could accept.
“It’s not what you think,” Hiromitsu said, stopping An’an’s train of thought. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“Nagano Prefecture… is my hometown.”
“I haven’t been back in a long time,” he said with a bitter smile. “I’m a little nervous about returning.”
After entering the police academy, Hiromitsu had rarely returned home. During his years undercover in the Black Organization, he had deliberately stayed away.
How long had it been since he had seen Nagano Prefecture, or his older brother who worked at the Nagano Prefectural Police Headquarters?
Brother Taka’aki probably already knows about my death.
Hiromitsu let out a soft breath. His gaze fell on the girl stretching languidly on top of the suitcase, and his expression gradually softened.
An’an had given him a second life. Past regrets were no longer regrets. Everything had a new possibility.
“I wonder how different Nagano is from my memory now,” the cat-eyed young man’s tone became lighter. “I hope I can be a decent tour guide.”
“And,” he said, his expression serious, “An’an, take the boning knife and half a suitcase of whetstones out of the suitcase right now.”
“Pouting won’t work,” the Nagano native said, his heart like stone. “Security will absolutely chew you out.”
Fan An, a born-and-bred native of Yokohama and current resident of Beika Town, decided to hate Nagano Prefecture for three minutes.
…
Ichida-gaki is a specialty of Nagano Prefecture.
The orange-red persimmons, like little lanterns, are bright and beautiful, with thin skin and juicy flesh, sweet and delicious, perfect for making dried persimmons.
After arriving in Nagano by the crew’s bus, checking into a hotel, and successfully eating the specialty dried persimmons, Fan An took back her previous words.
Nagano Prefecture was a very warm and hospitable city. She like.
The moment An’an put down her luggage, she was called over by Director Kawamura.
“This is the work schedule for Nagano: your scenes are concentrated on the last day. The first few days, you’ll be observing and learning on set. Besides that, the most important thing is to learn how to use this.”
Director Kawamura gestured for his assistant to bring over a briefcase. He said mysteriously, “I pulled some strings to get this. Open it and take a look.”
An’an unfastened the latches of the briefcase, held the lid with both hands, and slowly lifted it.
A pitch-black handgun lay on the velvet cloth.
“A real one, not a prop gun,” Director Kawamura was clearly proud of his connections.
“Don’t be fooled by how common weapons are in Beika Town, as if everyone can just pull out a gun anytime, anywhere. That’s just a stereotype outsiders have. It’s not true.”
The truly low-barrier weapon in Beika Town was fishing line.
The Killer: It was fishing line. I added fishing line.jpg
“Beika Town isn’t like Yokohama with its constant gang wars, or Ikebukuro with its color gangs fighting to the death, and it’s certainly not like Hakata with its rampant assassin industry. How could real guns be that easy to get?” Director Kawamura complained.
Rumors! All rumors! Just excuses from other cities jealous of Beika’s crime rate!
Fan An: Don’t you think the fact that Beika Town has still managed to firmly hold the top spot as the most unlivable city in the country for thirty years under these circumstances is the most terrifying thing?
Beika Town may be lacking in the number of organized criminals, but the vast number of freelance criminals more than makes up for it.
An’an fiddled with the gun on the velvet cloth with curiosity.
She knew how to use all kinds of knives, specializing in boning knives and kitchen knives, and had dabbled in other blades. When she was a child, she had even committed the grand feat of butchering a pig with a katana, nearly shattering the pure heart of a passing Sanada Genichiro who had witnessed it.
(T/N: A reference to a character from “The Prince of Tennis.”)
But An’an didn’t know how to use a gun. She was from the countryside and had never had the chance to see such a high-class item.
“The crew has hired a teacher, but I understand that it’s difficult to master it in a week,” Director Kawamura sighed.
“But I believe that the audience can tell who is a real expert and who is a half-baked fake. How can the final villain not even know how to fire a gun? I will not allow such a flaw in my drama!” he slapped his thigh, passionately speechifying, spittle flying.
Director Kawamura had a near-fanatical pursuit of perfection for his script. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have insisted on inviting Fan An to play the mastermind just because of her reputation as “Suspect An.”
“The moment I saw you, I knew you were a talented person.”
Director Kawamura looked affectionately at Fan An’s black hair, black eyes, and black criminal suspect file.
“Don’t let down the name your honorable father and mother gave you! You can do it!”
Director Kawamura was fired up.
He had brought Fan An a new job when public opinion was at its worst, practically becoming her benefactor. An’an could not ignore Director Kawamura’s earnest expectations.
“Mastering it in one week is certainly difficult, but it’s a different story if it’s two weeks.”
The dark-haired girl proposed her genius “morning and evening 1+1” plan. “I can just not sleep.”
“No, you can’t,” Hiromitsu Morofushi firmly refused. “People can’t not sleep.”
An’an: “Objection! Mr. Amuro next door only sleeps ninety minutes a day and still has a full head of hair, a radiant complexion, and a youthful glow.”
Hiromitsu: “Overruled! His dark circles have already merged with his skin tone. You just can’t see them.”
Him: I’m sorry, Zero. To prevent a wayward girl from going astray, I’ll do whatever it takes.
“When you come back from the set every day, I’ll practice with you for two hours. After practice, you’ll go back to the hotel and sleep obediently, okay?” Hiromitsu said gently.
“Pinky promise?”
A one-on-one small class with her Crime Mentor. An’an’s attempt to add more class hours was rejected. She pouted, hooked her pinky with the young man’s, and shook it gently.
“Pinky promise.”
Pinky to pinky, hooked together, a shake turning into a promise.
The long-dormant ability in An’an’s consciousness glowed faintly—the promise of teaching with Mentor Scotch had actually unlocked a new function for [My Respected Crime Mentor].
“So that’s it. My ability is a study app. I get stronger by studying,” An’an said, hitting her fist into her palm, enlightened.
Let me see what’s in the update package!
An’an was full of anticipation. Her own flesh-and-blood ability, as expected, did not disappoint its master. The update content was explosive.
[My Respected Crime Mentor] Epic Update: From now on, you can change your Crime Mentor’s skin!
All skins in the gallery are free to change! No need for a 648-yen purchase, no cumulative top-ups, zero microtransactions, zero spending! Supports custom appearances! The ultimate freeloader’s package!
Such an advanced function, and it was free. She had to try it out.
“Hiro, what kind of skin do you want to change into?” the girl asked enthusiastically. “Copyrighted or uncopyrighted?”
Hiromitsu glanced at the options she presented: from Snow White to Sailor Moon, from Shimura Danzo to Otsutsuki Kaguya, from Superman to Batman—no restrictions on race, disregarding all ethics, a full range of skins was available.
An’an herself strongly recommended a Mary Sue look with rainbow-colored hair and rainbow-colored skin. She enthusiastically promoted it: “It’s such a perfect match for you, the suspected Gary Stu with blood from 108 different countries. A match made in heaven.”
Hiromitsu: That’s great. If I had entered the police academy with that look back then, the blond, dark-skinned Furuya Rei would have been just another face in the crowd.
And Hiromitsu Morofushi would have become an immortal school legend, with a ten-thousand-story-high thread about him on the school forum.
After meeting An’an, Scotch Whisky finally understood how normal Vermouth’s aesthetic was. When she disguised herself, she never did anything flashy, none of this nonsense.
“Customization section. You can change facial features, bone structure, hair color, skin color, eye color, height, weight, DNA, iris, fingerprints, voice, blood type…”
Hiromitsu looked through them one by one, feeling speechless.
Disguise? No, this was reconstruction.
Even the most top-tier master of disguise couldn’t achieve this level. It was a divine miracle, not something achievable by human hands.
This was the realm of ability-users. Like bringing the dead back to life, it was a part of An’an’s power.
“Amazing,” he praised softly.
Hiromitsu looked at the stranger in the mirror.
He tentatively pinched his cheek. The soft flesh he pinched transmitted a real sensation of pain, and a red mark appeared on his cheek.
“I almost can’t recognize myself.” The voice that came out of his mouth was also different from his original tone.
“You’re a completely different person,” An’an said, standing beside Hiromitsu, staring at his reflection in the mirror with a look of novelty.
“But I can still recognize you,” her eyes curved. “Hiro will always look the same to me.”
The ability would not deceive its master.
A seamless disguise. Hiromitsu suspected that if he brushed past Gin now, Gin wouldn’t even spare him a glance. If he put a parking ticket on Gin’s classic car, Gin would have to swallow his anger and pay the fine.
An’an pointed out with rigor, “There’s a flaw—Silver-Haired Model Bro claims he can smell a rat. We have to be on guard. Why don’t you change your body scent too? I highly recommend this psychedelic body scent that matches the rainbow Mary Sue look… Mmph!”
The girl struggled under the palm of the undercover Public Security officer. I was giving such a sincere suggestion, yet Hiro is covering my mouth! Ungrateful man!
An’an was genuinely angry now. Even if Hiromitsu took her to a hidden gem of an old restaurant that only Nagano locals knew for a late-night snack, took her to see the night view, took a walk to aid digestion, and said many sweet, soft words, she would not forgive him easily.
As the two walked through the Nagano night, they came to a small, abandoned park.
The dark-haired girl looked at the pitch-black park, which didn’t even have streetlights. She was incredulous. “Because I won’t forgive you, have you developed the intention to murder me and dump my body?”
As expected of a Crime Mentor recognized by the ability. A casual find is a first-class crime scene. This child is terrifying!
Having spent some time with An’an, Hiromitsu thought he should probably print out a “facepalm.jpg” and carry it with him, to pull out and stick on his face at necessary moments—like right now.
“This park has been abandoned for a long time. No one comes here at night. It’s perfect for you to practice shooting.”
Hiromitsu picked up a stone from the ground and drew a target on the wall.
“Let’s begin,” he said teasingly. “The two-week sharpshooter.”
Miss An’s genius “morning and evening 1+1” sharpshooter training plan officially began.
The abandoned park was deserted. Not even stray cats or homeless people frequented the area. As Hiromitsu had said, it was an excellent place to practice shooting, undisturbed.
The days of practice passed one by one. It was another night, and the abandoned park was still quiet and desolate.
Hiromitsu, who was correcting the girl’s shooting posture, suddenly paused.
He turned his head quickly, looking into the pitch-black darkness of the desolate woods where you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.
He didn’t know if it was his imagination, but Hiromitsu felt that someone was spying on them from the darkness.