"BANG!!"
Spencer slammed the window shut almost reflexively and yanked the heavy curtains closed, completely blocking out the streetlamp, the utility pole, and the terrifying shadows on the street.
His breathing was labored, his chest heaving as he struggled to control his emotional instability. At this moment, only one coherent thought remained in his mind:
Demolish it.
Have someone demolish that utility pole first thing tomorrow morning!
He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until he hit the floor.
It's all a coincidence. Don't scare yourself! Spencer forced himself to calm down. But the image of the double inverted cross kept replaying in his memory, burning into his retinas. What was this foreshadowing? Spencer wasn't sure. His eyes flashed with a bewildered dread, his expression shifting rapidly with suspicion.
A single coincidence might just be a coincidence. But too many coincidences layered on top of each other… that was a pattern.
After the intense emotional turmoil passed, Spencer felt utterly exhausted. He stopped looking towards the covered window. He had made up his mind to have the pole demolished tomorrow. And he was going to melt down that damned silver cross while he was at it!
He pulled himself up, slumped onto the sofa, and lit a cigarette with trembling hands.
After a few deep drags, Spencer finally calmed down a bit and began to sort out his thoughts logically. Today's strange events were indeed too coincidental.
So, is a literal demon coming to my door? Spencer chuckled dryly at his own thought. God... If there really were demons walking the earth, the vast majority of politicians in this world would already be in Hell. Because almost no one in my line of work could resist the temptation of selling their soul for lifelong wealth and glory.
So... it wasn't a demon or some kind of fantastical creature.
Then it could only be something orchestrated by humans.
Humans...
His brows furrowed, slightly puzzled. If it was human intervention, what he had heard and seen from the office to the embassy was logistically possible. Street thugs could be hired to whisper outside doors. But the cross... perhaps it was a projection mechanism deployed by Japanese intelligence? Or a high-tech optical illusion?
I see... Spencer's face turned cold. A nameless anger suddenly rose in his heart, entirely replacing his fear.
Very well. Perhaps I have been keeping too low of a profile, so some local faction thinks I am easy to bully. Using such parlor tricks to terrorize a British Diplomat.
He had to admit, he was indeed frightened just now. Therefore, whoever the other party was, they would have to pay a steep price for humiliating him.
Hmm?
His palm brushed against the letter he had dropped on the table.
Highly suspicious, Spencer immediately picked it up and examined it closely under the lamp, scrutinizing the paper's texture and weight to see if it could provide any clues. The paper was fine; it was ordinary, untraceable photocopy paper.
But the contents of the letter…
He puffed on his cigarette, his eyes clouded with thought.
The letter requested British sponsorship for specific industries: Local real estate, Outlets, Network technology, Data software, Operational logistics, and National research institutes (like the White Room)…
A strange suspicion crept into Spencer's mind. He grabbed a pen from the table and circled the first English letter of each requested industry sector.
L-O-N-D-O-N.
London.
The capital of Great Britain. The ultimate symbol of the Empire.
Lost in thought, Spencer tried to interpret the rest of the text, this time analyzing the Japanese characters and Romaji phrasing used in the margins. By taking the phonetic initials of the Japanese syntax, he decoded another hidden sentence:
"Make her great again."
She? Spencer stood up, his eyes gleaming. He began pacing back and forth across the rug unconsciously. Make her great again. Combined with "London" hidden in the English text, the final translated message should be…
"Make London Great Again."
Interesting. Spencer was deeply moved. Extremely moved. What old-blooded aristocrat didn't yearn for the former global supremacy of the British Empire? That was Great Britain's most glorious era.
Taking a deep drag on his cigarette, Spencer's eyes became even clearer. He loved this method of deciphering. Whether the offer was true or false, he understood the hidden purpose. The author was appealing to his deepest loyalties.
So, how to proceed?
He rearranged the final paragraph of the text back into a numerical cipher based on stroke counts.
English Translation: A tribute to Mr. Spencer. Coordinates: Daikanyama No. 72. A barely suppressed smile deepened at the corner of his mouth. The person behind the scenes really knew how to run in circles. However, the other party's extreme caution was justified.
Who wrote this? Prime Minister Atsuomi Ayanokoji? No, it shouldn't be. That ruthless old dog lacks this kind of romantic, cryptographic elegance. After writing down the deciphered meeting location and confirming that there was no further hidden information, Spencer held his lighter to the corner of the letter and watched it burn to ashes.
It was a very interesting method of communication. Spencer no longer minded the embarrassment of being tricked by the shadows tonight. Based solely on that phrase—Make London Great Again—he was quite willing to befriend this mysterious mastermind.
If it can truly benefit Great Britain… my unknown friend, you will be a forever-honored guest of the Empire.
Tokyo: MPD Safehouse
"I said, are you sure you want to pull off something this big right now?"
Kakeru Ryuen fully understood Kiyotaka Ayanokoji's meaning. Because of the sheer audacity of the plan, Ryuen's mind was slightly slow to process it.
"You've only just been brought into the Metropolitan Police Department's orbit by me," Ryuen argued. "You're a mortal, and you're still under strict observation by the Black Crows. And you're already planning to trigger a massive political incident?"
If the plan went well, it would indeed secure Ayanokoji's place as a strategic asset in the MPD. But if it flopped…
Ryuen realized Ayanokoji had a terrifyingly strong gambling streak hidden beneath that emotionless mask. This was incredibly risky. Was it really necessary? If they proceeded step by step, with Ayanokoji's brain and Ryuen's cursed body working together, they could definitely climb the ranks of the MPD safely.
Standing in the detached safehouse apartment arranged for them by the police, Ryuen didn't directly refuse. Instead, he asked, "Are you confident the British will take the bait?"
"Very likely," Ayanokoji replied flatly.
"...Okay, let's do it!" Ryuen grinned fiercely. Incidentally, Ryuen also had a strong gambling streak. "What should we do first?"
"Contact your old superior."
Old superior? Ryuen blinked. Who?
"Minister Daigo Fujiwara..." Ayanokoji answered.
Tokyo: Metropolitan Police Department Headquarters
At the same time, high-ranking officials of the MPD were wrapping up their final strategic meeting. Even though it was late at night, no one in the room felt sleepy. The supernatural cultivation methods bestowed by Lord Mizunotsuki were not just for show; their physical stamina and mental clarity had evolved.
"What did the Lord say about the British threat?" Superintendent General Hakuba asked.
"The Lord is not interested in this kind of secular political squabble," Deputy Commissioner Moroboshi reported respectfully. "Queen Kisaki relayed the message that we should handle the extermination ourselves to prove our worth."
"Understood. How is the surveillance situation on Diplomat Spencer?"
"Nothing unusual has been found so far. He just burned a letter in his apartment."
Interesting... Hakuba found it hard to imagine that a foreign spy colluding with the Japanese Prime Minister would be so at ease. There must be some kind of hidden connection or dead-drop method they were using.
If it were a Supernatural threat, the MPD, with the assistance of the Black Crows, would naturally be unstoppable. But if it were a purely secular, high-level espionage technique…
Thinking of this, Hakuba suddenly looked at his high-ranking subordinates in the secret room with some disdain.
Maybe they were smart administrators and ruthless tactical commanders. But they could never handle high-IQ, encoded espionage crimes. They lacked the deductive genius required to unravel a master spy's web.
That's why the reputation of those freelance "High School Detectives" is growing day by day.
Before, when the police were just normal public servants, slacking off and relying on teenage detectives was acceptable. But now? They couldn't afford to be embarrassed. Above them was Lord Mizunotsuki, watching their every move intently. Could a bunch of incompetent good-for-nothings possibly continue to receive the Lord's divine rewards?
Hakuba was afraid of losing the Gods' favor.
However, the "wise, blank" glints in his subordinates' eyes were truly giving him a headache. There was no other way.
"Call in the private detectives as civilian consultants," Hakuba ordered with a sigh. "Let them track Spencer's secular movements."
"And if Spencer behaves suspiciously?" Moroboshi asked.
"If he behaves himself, that's fine. But if there are any unusual movements threatening our Lord's dominion…" Hakuba's tone was calm, but his voice was utterly devoid of human warmth. "You know what to do."
It was just the death of a diplomat.
The MPD wouldn't be the ones bowing and apologizing to Great Britain on international television. At most, it would be a few fat-headed politicians displaying Japan's unique, performative apology skills.
No doubt about it. Japan had historically bowed and apologized for "accidents" more than once… and they would gladly do it again to appease the Gods.
.....
[AUTHOR NOTE: New fanfic Bleach: Echoes of the Soul is released today. Can you guys add it to your library if you like it and support and help in getting it to top spot in weekly collection list. You can find this fic in my profile or through search.]