Tokyo: The Player Behind the Scenes.

Chapter 316, Section 63: The Glory of Great Britain

Boom!
Kurosaki almost crashed into the fire door, but failed to break it open.

After pushing a few more times, Kurosaki's face turned pale; he immediately realized that the door was locked from the inside.

"Help! Hey! We're the police!"

Kurosaki pounded on the door, repeatedly saying the word "help."

Boom!

Several gunshots rang out behind me.

Kurosaki turned his head and saw that the stairwell door had been smashed open by a police officer covered in blood, who lay on the ground, his life hanging in the balance. He had obviously been attacked in the stairwell.

There was no time to escape, and just as Kurosaki was about to make a desperate attempt, luck finally smiled upon them, and the door opened from the inside.

"come on in!"

Hiding inside were two doctors in white coats, their faces filled with panic.

They pulled the two of them inside, then slammed the door shut and locked it again.

Immediately afterwards, a loud banging came from behind the door.

But the door was quite sturdy, and without special abilities or equipment, it was virtually impossible to break it. Sure enough, after banging on it for a while without success, the thing behind the door gave up and went to other wards.

"Doctor, help! He's been shot! He's bleeding!" Kurosaki used all his skills, pointing to the bleeding wound of Heisei Ryu.

Upon seeing Ping Shenglong's complexion and the speed at which the blood was spreading, the two doctors immediately realized that the situation was critical.

But they only had some basic first aid dressings and gauze on hand.

"Right now, we can only stop the bleeding immediately. Sir, can you hear me? Can you speak? Does your spine hurt?" a doctor asked rapidly, while simultaneously cutting open the clothing around Ping Shenglong's wound.

Ping Shenglong's forehead was covered in a fine layer of cold sweat, but he was still relatively conscious. He slowly exhaled and said in a weak but clear voice, "Yes. I can hear you clearly. My spine doesn't hurt."

The doctor breathed a slight sigh of relief upon hearing this, as the fact that the patient could speak meant that the airway was still intact and that the spine had not been damaged.

He immediately packed the wound with a large amount of gauze, and then applied pressure to the bandage in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

"Quick! You, take off your coat, elevate his lower limbs, and try to keep the blood flowing back!" another doctor hurriedly instructed Kurosaki, gesturing as he did so.

Although Kurosaki only half understood what he was hearing, he understood about 70-80% of it from the actions. He quickly followed suit, rolling up his coat and placing it under Heisei Ryu's legs.

Heisei Ryu lay there calmly, his gaze unfocused as he stared at the fluorescent tubes on the ceiling, the light spots constantly distorting in his vision. He remembered the patient he had seen running out of the ward just before entering the room, and suddenly asked, "Kurosaki, who was that who ran out of the ward just now?"

"I don't know... wait, I remember. It was the ward we just left. The survivor inside should be that guy named Jack."

"Jack, did you see the back of the attacker's neck in the elevator? Was there any stitches?"

Having just contacted Leon by phone and requested immediate support, Kurosaki hung up the phone and immediately shook his head upon hearing this, forcing himself to calm down and recall: "How could there be time to look at that! But since he was able to sneak in under such tight security and launch an attack, he most likely didn't have any stitches."

This inference suggests that the methods used by the manipulators behind the scenes to infect and control others are more covert than they imagined.

It's possible that organ replacement can be completed without any external suture marks, but Shenglong thought of another possibility.
Heisei Ryu struggled to raise his uninjured arm and handed his phone to Kurosaki, his breathing slightly rapid: "Check that student named Jack's recent medical records. See if he's had surgery."

Kurosaki instantly understood what he meant. He took the phone and quickly reviewed the student's basic information from memory: "One month ago. Appendicitis surgery. At this hospital!"

A complex, knowing, bitter smile appeared on Ping Shenglong's pale face. His breath was weak: "Heh... Jack the Ripper reported to headquarters that the infection started earlier than we thought."

His voice grew softer and softer, his eyelids felt as heavy as a thousand pounds, and he slowly closed them, his vision gradually blurring and darkening.

It felt like I was back in that distant, oppressive afternoon.

"Why did Mother and Father commit suicide?"

"These are the rules of the game."

Why do people die in games?

"Shenglong, you will eventually understand, but you can only figure it out yourself. After you've thought it through, then decide whether you want to participate in the game."

Seeing that Heisei Ryu had closed his eyes, Kurosaki was terrified and quickly knelt down, slapping his cheeks and begging him not to die.

"Hey! Lao Ping, don't sleep! Don't fucking sleep now! If you die now, you'll only ever be an investigation team leader for the rest of your life! Are you willing to accept that?! Didn't you want to be a high-ranking official?! What happened to your ambition?! Think about it, think about it!"

Kurosaki suddenly stammered, realizing how little he knew about this guy's personal life. In his panic, he blurted out, "Damn it! I've known you for so long and I still don't know how many people are in your family! What?! You're all alone?! At least leave some descendants for the Taira family! Hang in there, reinforcements are on their way!"

Kurosaki wasn't talking nonsense; a large number of police officers were mobilized and deployed nearby, and within minutes, the hospital was completely surrounded—the efficiency was astonishing.

The outbreak initially caught the authorities off guard, causing considerable panic and casualties.

However, once the authorities reacted, even without the players needing to use extraordinary power, the well-equipped armed police force and the special forces working together to form a human-machine coordinated clearing team were able to advance layer by layer with extremely high efficiency.

They swiftly eliminated the patients who, while retaining their intelligence, were filled with destructive tendencies, and quickly regained control of most of the hospital, restoring order.

However, the student named Jack did not appear in the subsequent statistics, neither as a deceased person nor a survivor.

He vanished without a trace, as if he had evaporated into thin air, within the heavily guarded and monitored hospital.

The authorities mobilized all available resources, but by nightfall, they had still gained nothing.

Time just passed by.

The whole of London is in a state of panic. A small number of people have chosen to leave the capital, but many more have chosen to stay for the sake of their livelihood or for other reasons.

Supermarkets faced a massive panic buying, forcing the King and the Prime Minister to take turns giving speeches to reassure the public, saying that this was another dark moment, but like the last dark moment, it would surely be overcome through the people's will and resilience.

In conjunction with the joint US-UK forces to maintain order, they launched a heavy crackdown, treating everyone, whether they were looting or being held hostage for organs, as enemies and killing them on sight.

Many European countries, demonstrating true friendship in times of trouble, sincerely offered to provide Britain with free aid and troops, but all of these offers were politely declined for the time being.

Reina was certain that once these so-called aid troops landed, they would never be able to leave.

Our country finally had this opportunity, and with such severe losses, we earned this extraordinary ticket. How could we possibly share a piece of the pie with you bunch of people who just lie around doing nothing!

The European media has been making a lot of noise these past two days, but Britain now has America standing behind it, so those people can't go too far. No matter how envious they are, they can only try to find out the situation through unconventional means.

Everything is European; Britain has already left the EU.

If they keep nagging, next year they'll install engines on the British Isles and send them drifting into the Atlantic Ocean—a physical Brexit.

The players didn't stop, completely ignoring the petty squabbles between nations. As soon as the cooldown was over, they used crystals to activate every historical corner of London that might be related to a medical school, love, or a date, from century-old cafes to abandoned concert halls, but they still couldn't pinpoint the next key moment.

Until the countdown to the ceremony ended with only half an hour remaining.

Around 3 p.m., on the streets of London, a super motorcycle that was clearly not legally modified roared deafeningly as it weaved and drifted through the sparse traffic and checkpoints at terrifying speed, leaving only a blurry black afterimage and a trail of hot dust that lingered for a long time. Others couldn't even see its taillights.

"Cough cough! It's that guy again! This is the eighth fence he's broken down!"

"Whatever, what can you do? They're superhuman, they're legally speeding."

"That's amazing, there wasn't a single moment of hesitation at such a fast speed."

"Would you like to take a look at the ruins of our fence before you speak?"

Sizzle—crunch!
With a sudden stop, the motorcycle executed a near-perfect drift and came to a smooth stop in front of the closed doors of the British Museum.

"vomit--!"

As soon as the car came to a stop, Oshima jumped out impatiently, his face as pale as paper. He clutched his churning chest and almost vomited up all the spaghetti he had eaten not long ago.

He felt like his soul was about to be shaken out of his body: "Hayato, this car of yours is simply not fit for human use, ugh!" In contrast, Ludu, sitting at the back, seemed unusually comfortable, and was even in a state of extreme excitement throughout the entire process, shouting and yelling all the way, as if he were enjoying Hayato's flying car as a roller coaster.

"Chosen One, your mount is really great! I must have my own horse someday!" In her chuunibyou (middle school syndrome) mode, she talked a lot, her little mouth chattering away, not holding back her praise.

"I haven't even used my full strength yet." Hayato stroked his beloved motorcycle, looking quite pleased with himself.

Oshima straightened up with difficulty, wiped his mouth, and looked at the world-famous building in front of him: "This is the...best date spot you were talking about? The British Museum?"

Because of a major incident that had just occurred at the nearby UCL college, a large number of police officers were deployed around the museum, which was closed. The spacious square was unusually deserted, with only flashing police lights and patrolling police officers in the distance.

However, the police's regular cordon was naturally ineffective in stopping them. High-ranking officials had already issued orders to tacitly permit the players' actions and avoid conflict.

Oshima remained skeptical of Hayato's somewhat far-fetched deduction: "Why would you think that the Ripper would choose a place like this as a date location?"

Hayato's gaze flickered inexplicably, as if he were finding it difficult to speak: "Uh, well, I have a friend who..."

Oshima: "."

"He used to be... slovenly, not very presentable, and didn't have much money. Ugh, ptooey!" Hayato quickly coughed twice, forcibly steer the conversation back on track. "I mean, think about it, that Ripper! Poor, ugly, undignified, and with no social standing! What did he rely on to attract women? Only a facade, showing off his knowledge!"

He spoke with increasing confidence, as if he had found theoretical support: "I've researched that era, a time when intellectuals were highly respected! If he did his homework beforehand, pretended to know everything, brought a woman to this high-class museum, and talked at length about the exhibits and history, wouldn't he instantly appear more sophisticated? Wouldn't that salvage some of his image?"

“And most importantly,” Hayato clapped his hands, “it’s free! No entrance fee! For a poor guy like him, is there a more perfect date spot that allows him to show off without spending any money?”

Oshima pondered for a few moments, his brow gradually relaxing. It seemed...that really made sense.

After he said that, it felt like this place should be the top suspect, but for some reason, no player seemed to have thought of it before.

While Oshima was still pondering the logic behind this, the action-oriented Hayato had already strode to the magnificent gate of the museum, which resembled a temple with many towering pillars, completely ignoring the several vigilant police officers at the entrance with their hands already in their holsters.

He took out the Mercy Crystal and activated it without hesitation.

Tick.

A familiar scene appeared: crystals condensed into water droplets, which fell to the ground. An invisible ripple spread through the space, and the reality before our eyes seemed to be stripped away by some force, as if a semicircle had been quietly dissected, revealing a London scene from a hundred years ago hidden deep within time.

The past and the present were strangely superimposed, leaving several police officers dumbfounded.

"Wow! A rift in spacetime, an echo of history, an intertwining of destinies!" Lu Du exclaimed dramatically, her eyes sparkling. It was the first time she had ever witnessed a key node being activated, and the scene was even more magical than she had imagined.

Oshima opened his mouth, never expecting that Hayato would be the first to find the second key point.

I wonder how Uesugi will express his gratitude when he finds out.

Hayato excitedly clenched his fist and shouted, "It's here!"

He dared not delay and immediately reached out to touch the constantly fluctuating water sphere-shaped core that was suspended in the center of the illusion.

In an instant, his consciousness was suddenly pulled back to more than a hundred years ago.

Outside the British Museum in the 1880s.

The scene before me was both bustling and retro. Well-dressed gentlemen and ladies, workers and citizens lined up, waiting to enter this museum that is said to be "a trip to the British Museum is like seeing the whole world".

Their purposes varied, ranging from broadening their horizons to simply having more topics to talk about.

"The line is outside again. I heard they rearranged the Assyrian exhibition hall yesterday and added two giant beast reliefs brought from Nineveh."

"See? This is the benefit of the empire. The whole world delivers treasures to our doorstep and saves us money on cruise tickets."

"Please sign in turn. Make sure your handwriting is clear. Write down the street and house number for your address, not just 'South Bank'!"

In the crowd, a short figure stood out from behind.

He was wearing an ill-fitting, even somewhat worn and worn-out, but still reasonably presentable coat, and he tried his best to straighten his back.

Standing next to him was a woman dressed simply in ordinary fabrics, her face showing a hint of unease at being in such a sophisticated intellectual setting and a touch of disdain for her date.

Allen enthusiastically showed off his bits and pieces of knowledge about Egyptian mummies or Greek sculptures, which he had somehow heard or read, to the woman, and intentionally or unintentionally revealed that he was preparing for medical school and had already made some progress, and would likely become a doctor in the future.

Upon hearing this, the woman's expression indeed improved considerably, and her eyes held a hint of expectation as she looked at him, though now she was mostly filled with unease about her surroundings.

She asked nervously in a low voice, "Can we really go in? I see they're all..." She glanced at the well-dressed men and women around her and subconsciously tugged at her shabby skirt.

"Of course, trust me!" Allen patted his chest confidently and led her to the end of the line.

He was naturally confident; he had been here some time ago.

The British Museum today, at least on the surface, has abandoned class distinctions and claims to be open to everyone, without refusing entry based on social class, as long as one is neatly dressed and behaves properly.

The thought that he could also share in Victoria's glory made him straighten his already taut back.

The line moved forward slowly, and finally it was almost their turn.

Standing at the entrance, the doorman, dressed in a crisp uniform, was talking to a guest dressed as an aristocrat—or rather, his back was bent at almost a ninety-degree angle, his face full of fawning obsequiousness.

The noble guest, of course, did not need to queue, and no one dared to step forward and question him.

The nobleman casually glanced at the group behind him, his gaze lingering on Allen for a moment. He frowned, perhaps annoyed by Allen's ugliness, but said nothing, simply shaking his head before walking into the museum.

The astute gatekeeper noticed the nobleman's expression and made a plan.

Soon, it was Allen's turn in line. Just as he was about to pretend to be an expert at registering, the gatekeeper stopped his outstretched hand, glanced at Allen from head to toe, and lingered for a moment on his filthy fingernails and ugly face.

The doorman slightly raised his chin, with a condescending politeness, and coughed lightly: "Excuse me, sir."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was loud enough for the people around him to hear: "I'm afraid you can't go in."

Allen stood frozen for two seconds, then his face instantly turned bright red, like a pig's liver: "W-why?! I came in just a few days ago, and nobody stopped me! This place is open to everyone!"

He tried to argue, his voice trembling with shame and indignation.

The doorman's eyes flashed with undisguised contempt and mockery. He didn't answer his question directly, but simply repeated, "That's the rule, sir. Please leave and don't obstruct the gentlemen and ladies behind you."

A few suppressed snickers and whispers came from the surrounding area.

Allen felt countless gazes piercing his back like needles. He stiffly turned his head to look at his female companion, only to see her subconsciously take half a step back, deliberately distancing herself from him, her face filled with embarrassment and panic as she tried to distance herself.

"I...I suddenly remembered I have something to do at home." The woman's eyes flickered as she made up a clumsy excuse. She didn't even dare to look at Allen again before turning around and leaving in a hurry, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

All that was left was Allen Cross, like a clown nailed to the spot, enduring the mocking and contemptuous gazes around him.

All his pretense, all his efforts, and all his humble hopes for the future were utterly shattered at this moment.

He slowly raised his head, his eyes burning with hatred and resentment, staring intently at the solemn relief of "The Progress of Civilization" above the museum, completely imprinting this museum, a symbol of the glory of the British Empire, into the hatred in his heart.

Then, he turned around, head down, pushed through the crowd, and fled in a disheveled state from the place that had humiliated him.

"How ugly must he be?" Hayato felt he had underestimated the Ripper's appearance.

However, the perspective was fixed, and from his position, it was difficult to see what the jacker, who was looking down, actually looked like.

The image slowly faded away, and he returned to reality.

"What did you see?" Oshima asked expectantly.

Just as Hayato was about to briefly tell Oshima what he had seen, a terrible scream came from inside the museum.

(End of this chapter)