Still at the Metropolitan Police Department.
"What?! What do you mean the yokai turned to ash and disappeared?!"
"I told you to capture it alive!"
Mizutani slammed the table and shot to his feet, eyes bulging as if the sky were falling.
God knew how it felt to mobilize so much manpower, suffer so many casualties—only to end up with nothing.
The higher-ups had ordered him to capture the yokai alive. For that purpose, they'd handed over a large portion of authority to him.
He knew full well they were looking for someone to take the blame if things went wrong—but he didn't care. As long as he succeeded, one step would take him straight to the peak of his career.
Senior Superintendent.
Chief Superintendent.
All within reach.
And yet—
"I–I'm truly very sorry! We honestly don't know what happened. We had already restrained it—"
The young officer in charge bent at a perfect ninety degrees, fine beads of sweat seeping from his forehead, his voice trembling.
"But for some reason, the moment we captured it, it let out a scream."
"Then its entire body was like it had been hit by a missile—reduced to ash under extreme heat."
"These ashes are different from ordinary ash. We were unable to collect them. They appear to be some form of energy residue. We have reason to suspect this was caused by a new type of weapon."
"We've already sent you the relevant footage. If you have time, you can—"
"Can what?! Is telling me this useful right now?!"
Mizutani slammed the table again.
He bit down hard on his fingernail, his brow twisted into a knot, his voice thick with resentment.
"New type—always a new type. Damn it… could it be the A—"
He recalled what Yamamura had said earlier and felt a chill run through him.
Rationally, it was very possible. Their technology was far ahead.
But why kill the yokai?
They knew perfectly well how valuable such a being would be to them too.
Unless—
Unless America already had mature, large-scale technology of this kind.
This yokai might have been something they created.
A field test—to send a warning.
But afraid that the island nation might gain something from it, they destroyed it at the critical moment?
Damn it. Why?!
Mizutani clenched his fist, teeth grinding audibly.
He felt completely played.
The higher-ups wouldn't listen, got made an example of, and the ones below had to pay the price.
And now?
His position was gone. His pension too.
A major dereliction of duty.
Never before had he felt such bleak despair.
"Uh… well, if there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."
The officer bowed deeply once more, his posture even more humble.
He inhaled, lifted his gaze slightly, and carefully glanced at Mizutani's furious, unwilling expression. His Adam's apple bobbed as he offered a pointed reminder:
"As for the weapon speculation, please don't jump to conclusions."
"I'm only informing you as part of standard procedure."
"If certain people were to overhear… your situation might—"
He didn't finish the sentence, but Mizutani understood perfectly.
Sudden disappearance.
Sudden death.
Damn it. So what if they're daddy America? Is this how they bully people?!
He took a deep breath.
"I know. Get the hell out of here, damn it!"
Anger made him curse again, his voice cracking.
The officer didn't mind. He secretly exhaled in relief, steadied himself, and quickly left the office.
Mizutani stared at the empty doorway, his eyes unfocused, before slumping back into his chair.
It was over.
...
...
Interrogation Room
"There was actually a survivor at the scene? That's a miracle."
Inspector General Akiyama tapped the table lightly with his fingers, his sharp gaze fixed on the woman in the interrogation room whose arm was wrapped in plaster. His eyes narrowed slightly.
He flipped through the file in front of him, his fingers sliding over the pages as he reviewed them carefully.
"Kojima Ryoko, twenty-four years old, born on Kyushu…"
"You were caught up in the incident after being attacked by a local gang on your way to work, correct?"
He turned his head and asked the uniformed woman beside him.
She had smooth brown curls and features that leaned Western.
She was the officer set to replace Mizutani—tasked with investigating this incident and negotiating with the United States.
Her name was Kujo Chiho, half-American by blood.
Kujo nodded slightly, her eyes calm, her Japanese fluent.
"Yes, Inspector General Akiyama."
"At present, we can't determine how much she saw regarding the yokai. It appears she suffered memory loss due to shock."
"But I believe she'll recall it eventually."
"As for the local gang—should we proceed with a cleanup? After all, it's possible the yokai was drawn here because of them."
That was indeed possible.
Akiyama rubbed his chin, sinking into thought.
As Inspector General, he already had little tolerance for criminal activity.
Turning a blind eye was one thing—after all, it boosted performance metrics—but now…
"Mm."
He nodded lightly, his tone flat, as if a gang of dozens meant no more to him than a speck of dust.
"Clean them out. Let the other gangs behave themselves for a while."
"Until we know where the yokai came from, public opinion must be strictly controlled. Attribute this unrest to internal gang conflict."
"And the ashes from the yokai—none were collected at all?"
"What did the U.S. side say? I recall, Kujo, your mother—"
"Sorry. There's no word from my mother's side either."
Kujo shook her head gently, a trace of helplessness flashing through her eyes.
Her mother was an intelligence operative who had been embedded in America for twenty years.
Twenty years wasn't short. Her network should've been complete.
Yet even so, she found no information whatsoever about yokai.
Kujo couldn't help but suspect it might be another country's doing—perhaps—
"Cough."
Akiyama cleared his throat, cutting her off. That wasn't something to say out loud.
The island nation's situation was difficult enough already.
He looked at Kujo Chiho, his tone turning more serious.
"None, huh? I understand. Then continue the investigation."
"I believe this yokai wasn't the first—and definitely won't be the last."
"The higher-ups are taking this operation very seriously. They've specifically formed a new department."
"All police systems in Fukuoka are at your disposal. After all…"
Kujo understood what that "after all" implied.
If possible, she too wanted eternal youth—as a reward for loyalty.
She exhaled deeply, snapped her heels together, and raised her hand in a crisp salute.
"Hai!"
...
...
Frieren's World
Yuhran suddenly stopped walking.
He shivered, as if something were watching him, and quickly scanned his surroundings—but saw nothing.
The Shadow Giant was gone. Most of the priests had survived.
The priest hurried over, ready to thank Yuhran, relief from surviving the ordeal written all over his face.
But when he learned that the holy artifact had disappeared, his smile froze.
"It's with me." Yuhran raised the artifact, making no attempt to hide it.
After he explained the whole sequence of events, the priest—though reluctant—barely accepted the reality. He let out a soft breath.
"I see… If the holy artifact chose you, then perhaps it's because there's something shining within you."
"Praise the Goddess. I hope you'll make good use of it."
As he spoke, he took out pen and paper from his robes, his fingers trembling slightly as he prepared to write down some headquarters information he knew for Yuhran.
Seeing this, Yuhran tugged at the corner of his mouth, feeling a little helpless.
A shining point? Did he really have one?
Ah well. Who knew how artifacts thought. He accepted the goodwill.
Next—
He touched the gold coins in his pocket. Cold to the touch.
He wondered if there were any magic items for sale here.
He'd been coveting the magic tools of Frieren's world for a long time.
The Thousand-Mile Eye.
The Nightmare Jar.
Every single one of them could overturn modern technology.
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