"The culprit was a man, abnormally tall—about two meters—with a vicious face and a hulking, muscular frame, like an ancient wandering samurai. He cut his way in from the front gate, and his combat prowess was extremely high. I did not wish to throw my life away for nothing, so I hid myself, and thus failed to protect Lady Takaichi in time. This is my dereliction of duty. Once Lady Takaichi is resurrected, I will beg her forgiveness in person."
The maid lowered her head slightly, speaking words that were half true and half false.
The Metropolitan Police Department Commissioner's brow furrowed even tighter.
"A wandering samurai? So then, these wounds on Lady Takaichi's body…"
He pointed at the corpse on the floor—the bizarre burns, the pooled bruising, the contorted expression.
The maid's answer could not account for the existence of these wounds.
"That, I do not know. When the assailant broke into the master bedroom, I was unable to protect my mistress in time. After he left, I entered to check, and Lady Takaichi was already in this state. Those wounds… truly do not look like the work of a mere blade."
The maid put on an appropriately puzzled expression.
The utterly useless answer left the Commissioner intensely irritated. He shot the maid a cold glance and, his face an ashen gray, strode out of the bedroom.
Back in the courtyard, several of the trusted subordinates he had brought along had already completed their preliminary survey of the grounds and were gathered together, discussing in low voices. Seeing the Commissioner emerge, they immediately went to meet him.
"Sir, the situation is very strange. Every one of the deceased bears an obvious sword wound—a single fatal blow. But not a single corpse shows any trace of effective resistance. It's as though they were harvested one-sidedly."
"Sir, the surveillance system's main servers and critical wiring were physically destroyed. There's no way to obtain any usable leads."
"Sir, we questioned the living occupants of the residence, and their testimonies are more or less identical: an abnormally tall and hulking man, with a face as vicious as a demon's, wielding a long blade, cut his way in like an Asura. Everyone standing in his path was killed, but the assailant seemed to have his own target—he did not kill those who hid."
...
As the Commissioner listened to his subordinates' reports, a clear picture of the culprit gradually took shape in his mind.
What he could now be certain of was that it was absolutely not a normal human—in all likelihood, some kind of malevolent demon.
The Commissioner had no intention of dwelling on it any further. He immediately took out his phone and dialed his superior—one of this nation's so-called gods.
"Sekiguchi, what is the situation at the Takaichi household?"
The call connected, and an elderly male voice devoid of any discernible emotion answered.
The Commissioner straightened his spine and reported the scene, the casualties, the bizarre wounds, and the testimonies of the servants and the maid.
"So there was such a thing…"
After hearing out the Commissioner's account, the voice on the other end of the line—that deliberately maintained composure—showed a faint crack.
The Commissioner could keenly detect that momentary flash of fury and the deeper unease beneath it—the instinctive reaction of a man of power confronting something beyond his control.
But the silence lasted only a few short seconds.
When the voice sounded again, it had returned to its habitual calm and unquestionable authority.
"Continue the investigation, but do not allow word of Takaichi's death to leak. Tomorrow afternoon, we will bring Takaichi back from the underworld."
Hearing this, an expression of awe appeared on the Commissioner's face as well.
Resurrection from the dead—had it been placed in the medieval era, it would already have counted as a divine miracle.
An emergency meeting at the very summit of the pyramid of power was convened in an extremely short span of time.
The powerholders who styled themselves gods, upon receiving news of Takaichi's death, immediately relocated to the deep beneath the earth's surface.
Not the place where they had last summoned Indou Ranko for a meeting, but somewhere deeper, more concealed, and safer.
Figures filed one after another into the spacious conference room.
Men and women, most of them appearing to be over fifty years old.
They were the true masters of this nation—the peaks of the nobility, the financial cliques, the hidden bureaucratic system, and a handful of family representatives who wielded unconventional powers. They called themselves gods, not out of childish delusion, but because they genuinely commanded power, resources beyond common reason, and an absolute, generationally inherited dominion over this land and every living thing upon it.
Konoe, Kujō, Tokugawa, Takatsukasa, Nijō, Asō, Matsuura, Shimazu, Shōda… they bore surnames they deemed noble, most of them belonging to great families that had been highly active since the war years.
There were no greetings, no superfluous pleasantries. Each person found their place and sat down.
For a moment, the atmosphere in the conference room grew as heavy as lead.
The last to enter was Tokugawa. The old man's face was solemn as he took the head seat, his gaze slowly sweeping across every face present.
"Sekiguchi has already made a preliminary report."
Tokugawa spoke, his voice low, yet clearly audible in the utterly silent room.
"The visual materials from the scene—all of you should have reviewed them before coming."
The assembled nodded in silence. It was not only Commissioner Sekiguchi's report; the informants they had planted within the residence of this newcomer, Takaichi, had made the very same report—Amamiya Rin's intervention had been extremely timely.
Before Swordmaster Tomie entered the Takaichi residence and began her slaughter, he had made a round through the estate. Though it was to prevent Swordmaster Tomie from harming humans, it had also prevented the informants of other families from reporting intelligence to their masters in time.
In the end, Mara Tomie had brainwashed and altered the memories of everyone, making them switch masters, so there was even less chance of the true intelligence leaking out.
Tokugawa removed his glasses and slowly wiped them with a felt cloth, speaking mildly. "Tonight—no, it should be yesterday—last night at eleven o'clock, an assailant whose strength and speed far exceeded that of an ordinary person, using a melee weapon, breached the Takaichi residence's security head-on, causing nearly thirty deaths. Each corpse bore only a single sword wound, a single fatal blow. There is no trace at the scene of the assailant having been wounded. Takaichi too died a violent death, and appears to have been subjected to torture before dying."
The moment his words fell, everyone's eyes turned toward the elders of the Asō and Yoshida families—Takaichi was precisely the political continuation of these two houses.
"Was the culprit human?"
Asō was the first to speak, a hint of skepticism seeping into his words.
Using a melee weapon to cut through the Takaichi residence without a scratch—could a human truly accomplish that?
"Did Takaichi inadvertently trigger some taboo?"
Yoshida spoke up as well.
Yet neither of the two showed any anger, nor any concern for Takaichi herself.
Rather than any of that, what worried them more was whether some uncontrollable supernatural phenomenon had emerged, and whether it might implicate them through the ties of blood.
Do not think this was needless worry. Among the currently archived [Ju-on / The Grudge] files, similar phenomena had appeared many times—a single person provoked the Grudge, and the ultimate result was the death of the entire family.
"The barrier of the Takaichi residence was not broken."
Takatsukasa shook his head.
The Takatsukasa family had managed shrines for generations and had also inherited the power of exorcism. Though they could not compare to monsters like Indou Ranko and Higa Kotoko, their lineage was at least stable, and they could carry out certain warding arrangements through implements and rituals imbued with faith.
"Then it's a mutated human?"
When Matsuura offered this speculation, everyone's expressions grew even gloomier.
The culprit being human was, in some respects, hardly any better than the culprit being a pure specter.
If it were a human harboring some deep, bitter hatred, then judging from the cruel torture Takaichi had suffered, the ferocity of that hatred could well be imagined.
And this, to people like them—who had long stood in the shadows extracting profit, with mountains of bleached bones beneath their feet—was truly nothing to be surprised at.
The problem was: would this person who hated Takaichi Ryōko not likewise hate them, the ones behind the scenes? Who could guarantee that this was not some sacrificial victim they had stripped of everything—or that victim's descendant—launching a revenge after acquiring unconventional power?
A being that could single-handedly annihilate the Takaichi residence was equally capable of threatening the safety of any one of them.
"I have already contacted the Soul Reviver," Tokugawa said, putting his glasses back on. "Tomorrow afternoon, a soul-revival ritual will be held for Takaichi. The task of hunting down the culprit will be left to her… After all, no one understands better than she does what befell her, isn't that so? Let us hope she does not disappoint us."
The assembled exchanged glances. Without a word, they swiftly reached a consensus through each other's eyes.
Until the culprit was confirmed captured or destroyed, until the source and nature of the threat were thoroughly understood, they would go on living here in this turtle shell a hundred meters underground, and would not return to the surface.
That's right—these men and women who styled themselves gods, who held the lifeblood of this nation in their grasp, perhaps feared death more than anyone else.
They possessed far too much—boundless wealth, supreme authority, enduring family lines, endless luxury and honor to be enjoyed.
Their boundless greed had never ceased to swell, and along with it, the fear of losing all this, the fear that death would ultimately bring an end to everything, had also sunk deep into their bones.
To fight against this ultimate fear, on the one hand they frantically sought out every method of immortality, whether credible or absurd; on the other, they spared no expense, employing the highest engineering technology to build this absolute sanctuary buried deep underground, capable of withstanding a strategic-level strike.
Stored here were supplies enough to sustain the core members and their essential service personnel for a year, with independent energy, water, and air-circulation systems.
Whenever they sensed a threat that could not be smoothed over with conventional power, they would, like the most cowardly moles, retreat into this sturdy den until they were certain the storm outside had passed.
Tens of kilometers away, in the Setagaya area, before the floor-to-ceiling window of a high-rise apartment.
Amamiya Rin had already changed back into everyday clothes and was reviewing his notebook. Taking out a pen, he jotted down today's experiences.
Unlike his composure, the [Tomie Network] was in a boisterous uproar. Tonight's operation had clearly filled these Tomies—who feared nothing so much as a world at peace—with extraordinary excitement.
(This should've been done ages ago!)
(I've long found that ugly old hag unpleasant. That was cleanly done, Rin.)
(Heh heh heh heh, once we dominate those lofty politicians, we'll never be short of money.)
(That limited-edition jewelry piece I've had my eye on, and a villa too…)
(With enough funds, some of my ideas can be realized too!)
(I need funds! Excavating the ruins over here takes manpower—surely you don't expect me to foot the bill?)
"Having the maid transfer money right now would be too easy to expose. Tomorrow I'll go to the Metropolitan Police Department to collect the bonus—let's use that money first."
As Amamiya Rin spoke calmly, he recorded his thoughts and plans for the future in his notebook.
(Once we've dominated those politicians, should we expand the scale of the Police History Compilation Office?)
(Such a crucial department, and only three people? That's far too precarious.)
Sensing Amamiya Rin's thoughts, one Tomie couldn't help but chime in.
Last time, when Amamiya Rin had arrived at the Police History Compilation Office and seen the thousands upon thousands of files, she had already wanted to complain.
Three people responsible for so many supernatural incidents—wouldn't that truly work someone to death?
(Don't think it's so simple. There's naturally a reason the Police History Compilation Office is kept so small.)
Amamiya Rin shook his head slightly, rejecting the Tomie's suggestion.
Though he had never heard Indou Ranko and the others mention or complain about it, based on his long understanding of the various circumstances of this twisted world, he could roughly guess what was going on.
The existence and revival of many urban legends and ghost stories draws one of its sources of power from cognition and belief. The more people who know of it, and the more they believe it exists, the stronger it may become, and the harder it is to be thoroughly resolved. The people of the Compilation Office, including Indou Ranko, were themselves knowers. They not only knew of the ghost stories' existence but, unlike ordinary adults who treat such tales as jokes, genuinely believed in them.
It could be said that true knowers like Indou Ranko and the others were among the accomplices in the repeated revival of urban legends.
Should the Police History Compilation Office be expanded in scale, whether the newly added knowers could destroy those urban legends in time was uncertain, but it would surely make the urban legends far more difficult to resolve.
(So… even if we dominate those rulers, we still won't have any helpers? At most we'll just have an ample fund for operations?)
A certain Tomie voiced her displeasure.
They had thought they might finally lighten the burden a little—after all, this fellow Amamiya Rin was a practitioner of the creed that with greater power comes greater responsibility. Yet in the end, they could still rely only on a handful of people to deal with those supernatural phenomena and curses.
(No. Although we can't borrow their power directly, they're not entirely useless either—they can only provide funds. At the very least, with the government's assistance, steering public opinion becomes far easier.)
Amamiya Rin set down the ballpoint pen in his hand, a flash of sharp light passing through his eyes.
The three elements required to create a new ghost story.
First: an obsessive will and extreme emotion—under normal circumstances, with his cultivation in Dhyana and his mastery of Buddhist dharma, it would be utterly impossible for him to give rise to such extreme thoughts. But now that he had mastered Hypnosis, it was different; this element could be satisfied through Hypnosis.
Second: the collective subconscious—to make the majority of people believe in the ghost story's existence, one cannot rely solely on those elementary schoolers. In this regard, the guidance of public opinion was indispensable.
Third: sacrificing the self, using a transmuted body or a soul transcending the flesh to carry the ghost story's cognition and the power of belief—the phantom of the twilight hour. If he could obtain the life-force of those two women, letting the soul exist apart from the flesh, carrying the ghost story's power while stabilizing his state of mind through his Buddhist mastery, this point too could be satisfied.
As it stood, these three seemingly harsh conditions had all unexpectedly presented the possibility of being fulfilled. Everything, it seemed, needed only to await a suitable opportunity—a moment that could string all the elements together—and he could create a ghost story of his own.
(Your ghost story… Light?)
____
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