Chapter 70
Then he shouldn’t be showing it to people so casually!
A threat. A naked, blatant threat. All the tricks of a bad man playing with people’s hearts.
“Don’t show them,” An’an said, pinching Furuya’s waist with her other hand. “Otherwise, we’ll be on the headlines together tomorrow.”
Furuya didn’t know if he should remind her that, compared to the explainable tooth mark on his palm, their intertwined hands were more like the iron-clad evidence that would be published on the front page.
“Weren’t you eager to learn from me?” the blond Public Security agent asked, picking up the metal police-issue handcuffs. “Shall we start now?”
“How do you cuff them?” the girl asked, putting her wrists together. “Like this?”
The cold handcuffs touched her skin. An’an subconsciously flinched, but Furuya held her fingertips and gathered them back into his palm.
“In that case, the suspect’s hands were cuffed. The police draped a piece of clothing over her wrists to cover them, and two police officers stood on either side of her.”
“She could only make small movements under the cover of the clothing, using the natural sway of her body while walking to conceal it, and talking to the police so they wouldn’t notice the clicking sound of the lock loosening—finally, in the bustling city, she would shake off her restraints, like a drop of water merging into the sea, leaving behind a provocative backward glance.”
Furuya recounted the story, as if he were witnessing it in person.
“Did she escape?” An’an asked, mesmerized.
“Of course… not,” Furuya’s lips curved. “I caught her and brought her back. Just like you.”
Even if she had escaped midway, she had ultimately fallen into his palm.
His purple-gray eyes were slightly lowered, the metallic luster of the handcuffs reflected in the undercover Public Security officer’s pupils.
But how was this not a reverse hunt, making him uncontrollably approach, pursue, and weave a net?
“Don’t struggle with brute force. Be careful not to hurt yourself,” Furuya explained. “It’s best to use a tool, like a paperclip or a hairpin.”
He reached into his pocket, searched for a moment, and took out a hairpin.
An’an recognized it at a glance. It was the hairpin she had left next door.
Why was he carrying it with him?!
An’an comforted herself: It’s just a hairpin. Other people probably won’t see anything suspicious.
The rest of the crew: That’s definitely a girl’s hairpin!
That cute crying cat head. Who could be fooled?
The blond Public Security officer easily picked the lock. He keenly sensed the atmosphere of the people around him, who didn’t dare to make a sound. Furuya spoke in a light tone, “Why are you all staring at my hairpin? Do you need a link?”
“No, no! We were just a little surprised. Mr. Amuro’s hairpin is very cute.”
“So cute that it doesn’t quite match your style… can I say that?”
Although he looked like a sunny, cheerful, super-handsome guy, he always felt that he wasn’t as easygoing as he seemed. He would definitely be terrifying if he were offended.
“Not suitable?” An’an turned her head to look at the actor who had said the hairpin didn’t match Furuya’s style.
She frowned. “Where is it not suitable?”
The dark-haired girl’s eyes clearly reflected five large words: You tasteless thing.
This was the same hairpin she had specially bought to match the cat waiter. So cute that you wouldn’t even notice if someone died next to you. A bunch of tasteless people!
An’an would not allow her wallpaper to be questioned. She had repeatedly wanted to change her wallpaper after the breakup but couldn’t bring herself to do it, which showed the authority of the cat waiter.
To question her taste is to question her aesthetic. This was a challenge to her personality.
The hairpin in Furuya’s fingertips was snatched away by the girl with puffed-up cheeks. She tugged on his collar and made him bend down.
The crying cat head hairpin was pinned to the blond young man’s bangs. An’an held his face with both hands and looked at him from left to right.
“It’s very cute,” she said. “Who on earth is questioning it?”
Is it you, you, or you, you, you? (points at them one by one.jpg)
The blond young man with the cat hairpin obediently let the girl do as she pleased. She was just short of printing “Those who dare to criticize my aesthetic shall be executed by dismemberment” and sticking it on her face.
The rest of the crew: Are we also a part of this play?
“They’re a couple, right? It’s so obvious.”
“I saw Teacher An’an trying to avoid suspicion before, deliberately avoiding him in various ways.”
“So is this an admission of guilt now?”
“We don’t know, and we don’t dare to ask. We’re already a part of the play.”
“Family, I was born to keep a secret. Please don’t silence me.”
An’an silently let go of Furuya’s cheeks.
She covered her face and thought for a while, her eyes peeking through her fingers at Furuya, as if she were contemplating an ancient puzzle.
Because the girl was staring at him, Furuya wasn’t sure if he could move. He could only tentatively smile at her.
Click.
An’an put down her phone, opened her photo album, selected the newly taken photo, and clicked to set it as her lock screen wallpaper.
The lock screen and the desktop, a complete set.
“No questions,” she said, stuffing her phone back into her pocket with a large movement. “That was my second personality just now.”
Furuya: “…Pfft.”
He laughed so hard he buried his face in his arm, his back trembling, barely able to say a complete sentence. “Okay, thank you, Teacher An’an’s second personality, for your favor… pfft!”
An’an was an actress with a sense of belief. She could keep a straight face. She would not lose her composure and laugh.
An’an hadn’t even forgotten that she was learning. Despite the impact of the cute cat head hairpin, she still remembered the lock-picking skills Furuya had demonstrated.
Professional, no need to say more.
“Is it like this?” she cuffed herself again, produced a hairpin from her wrist with a flip, and lowered her head to fiddle with it for a few seconds.
Clatter. The handcuffs fell from An’an’s wrist and hit the ground.
“Easier than learning to shoot,” the born suspect Miss An commented sharply.
The dark-haired girl casually pinned the hairpin to her bangs. This was the hairpin she had brought herself today, an evil little cat head with a arrogant expression.
The gazes of the crew jumped back and forth between the evil cat head and the crying cat head.
You two are really something else. You’re not even pretending anymore.
The paparazzi would regret for the rest of their lives not having sneaked onto the set today to take photos.
The main actors had come to the set empty-handed and had returned full of gossip.
Because the screenwriter was going to make major revisions to the script, the official start of filming was postponed. All the actors except for Teacher An’an continued to refine their marksmanship and knife skills.
As for Teacher An’an, as long as she didn’t get herself into the station before filming started, the director had no complaints.
“I’m very open-minded. I support office romance,” Director Ochi said. “It would be even better if you could give me some material.”
He had always had a heart for filming a romantic art film and winning awards. Please, don’t be stingy with your inspiration!
“There is no office, and certainly no romance,” An’an’s first personality said coldly. “There is only the killing intent I endure under the shackles of professional ethics.”
She had now learned how to pick handcuffs. Suspect An no longer had any weaknesses. It was time to commit a crime to test her learning results.
…
“Don’t think I don’t know what those people are thinking.”
In the back seat of the white Mazda, An’an said very unhappily, “I just bought a pair of hairpins. A normal pair of hairpins that came in a set of two. They’re not a couple’s item at all. But everyone misunderstood.”
Both cat heads were hers. She had just accidentally left one at her ex-boyfriend’s house.
“It’s your fault for not returning it to me in time,” the girl said, poking Furuya’s shoulder resentfully. “By the way, why did you have the hairpin in your pocket? Do you usually use it?”
Furuya stared at the road ahead and answered casually, “Mhm, I wear it sometimes when I’m working at Poirot.”
There was a sudden silence from behind him. He looked up at the rearview mirror.
A pair of abnormally terrifying, jet-black pupils were reflected in the mirror.
The undercover Public Security officer’s DNA was almost triggered.
‘So cute. You show it to other people?’
‘This is the first time I’ve seen you wear it today.’
‘It’s my cat.’
Not good. Furuya quickly completed the details he had omitted. “Occasionally, when I’m cleaning up the shop alone after Poirot has closed.”
He said occasionally, but it was actually only once.
The owner of Café Poirot had held another one-day limited cat waiter event. Before getting off work, Furuya had seen himself in the mirror wearing the cat apron, had suddenly thought of this hairpin, and had put it on to see the effect.
“I think An’an will really like it,” the blond young man had said to himself.
He was always very good at using his advantages.
“Then I’ll give it back to you now?” Furuya said, holding the steering wheel with one hand and making a gesture to take off the hairpin with the other.
“…I don’t want it anymore,” An’an said, looking away. “It’s a gift.”
Furuya: “Isn’t it a pair of hairpins? It’s not good to be missing one.”
An’an: “You’re so annoying. Can’t I just like the beauty of imperfection?”
The evil cat head was pinned mischievously on the dark-haired girl’s head. The crying cat head on the blond Public Security officer’s head looked as if it had been bullied terribly.
The girl’s cheeks were puffed up. Furuya’s eyes were smiling, a stark contrast to the two cats.
Of course she could like the beauty of imperfection.
And of course, other people could completely misunderstand.
…
“Teacher An’an, are you saying that with your lock screen and desktop wallpapers both being Mr. Amuro, and the two of you openly wearing couple’s hairpins on set, and dragging everyone into your play—you two are not dating?”
The Assistant: “Look me in the eyes and say it again! Look in my eyes!”
An’an: (averts gaze.jpg)
We dated. Now we’re broken up. So it’s like we didn’t date.
The assistant had a “the sky is falling” expression. “Then what about the room arrangements?”
The filming location this time was a cross-city distance from Beika. The crew had booked a nearby hotel for the actors and the special consultant. The assistant was here to distribute the room keys.
“Did you only book one room for us?” An’an was shocked. “Has the crew’s budget run out before the movie has even started filming?”
“No, no, of course not,” the assistant quickly explained. “Of course I booked two rooms for you.”
“It’s just that this room…” he averted his gaze.
At this moment, the assistant’s guilty expression was exactly the same as An’an’s. She knew very well what it was—one hundred percent, pure guilt.
The assistant’s voice was as small as a mosquito’s buzzing. “It’s a connecting room.”
There was a door between the two rooms that could be opened.
The assistant prostrated himself on the ground. “I’m sorry! I took matters into my own hands! Because there have often been actors who were secretly dating who told me to book connecting rooms, I thought you two were too shy to tell me…”
“But the door can be locked!” the assistant said, trying to remedy the situation. “If you lock it from one side, it won’t open! It’s not a problem!”
“Um, it’s a little difficult to change rooms on short notice. It’s almost cherry blossom viewing season,” he said, rubbing his hands together like a fly.
“That’s right, that’s right! The view from these two rooms is of a large cherry blossom forest! The scenery is very beautiful and very romantic—uh, did I say something wrong again?”
The dark-haired girl didn’t say a word. She dragged her suitcase and walked into the hotel, her back a picture of desolation.
“How could it be?” Furuya took the two room keys from the assistant’s hand and said sincerely, “Thank you for your auspicious words.”