As a weirdo, I like being a Kamen Rider.

Chapter 69 The Dinner on the Rooftop

At exactly 6:00 PM, the automatic lighting system in the Metropolitan Police Department's underground base switched modes on schedule. The cool white fluorescent lights dimmed one by one, while the warm yellow wall lamps slowly lit up, softening the cold edges of the metal corridor.

The alarm at the end of the corridor still stood, but no longer flashed a glaring red light. All the high-priority warning lights had turned to green and remained constantly lit, leaving only the monitoring waveforms on the main control room's display screen to slowly rise and fall, quietly maintaining the base's state of readiness.

The elevator doors spun open with a "ding," and Hikawa Makoto stepped out quickly, carrying two large, overflowing shopping bags. His bangs, damp with sweat, clung softly to his forehead. He clutched a crumpled shopping list in his hand, muttering to himself as he walked, "Beef, green onions, mushrooms—yes, and tofu too. Director Ozawa specifically told me to buy it."

He walked too fast, his steps faltered, and he almost bumped into a fire hydrant around the corner. He quickly turned to the side to steady himself.

Takahiro Omuro carried two folding tables out of the equipment room. He stopped as he passed Lin Chen, who was standing against the wall. He scratched the back of his head, revealing his youthful little tiger teeth, and greeted him with a smile: "Mr. Lin Chen, come and lend a hand! Director Ozawa made an exception today and allowed us to have a feast on the rooftop to celebrate the safe return of everyone from the last mission."

As soon as she finished speaking, Sumiko Ozawa walked slowly out of the control room. In her left hand, she held a half-cold cup of black coffee, and in her right hand, she hugged a cardboard box tightly wrapped in a white coat. She carefully and stealthily slipped towards the fire escape.

Upon catching sight of Lin Chen, she paused, immediately putting her index finger to her lips in a shushing gesture. Her voice, low and sly, said, "Don't tell Hojo that this is my stash of beer. I just switched the base alarm to silent mode; it only triggers when an 'Unknown' attack occurs. If he finds out, he'll be reading the Metropolitan Police Department's Internal Affairs Regulations to me for three hours straight."

Lin Chen leaned quietly against the corridor wall, holding the newly printed Unknown attack report in his hand.

A sense of melancholy welled up within him. The gatherings at the photo studio were always noisy, their atmosphere tinged with a sense of urgency, as if they were about to be packing up and leaving at any moment. But the liveliness at the base was slow and peaceful, a genuine and heartwarming display of everyday life unique to ordinary people.

As dusk settled in late autumn, the Metropolitan Police Department's rooftop was surrounded by layers of barbed wire. Several neglected succulents stood quietly against the wall, their leaves withered and brown.

In the distance, the lights of countless homes in Tokyo lit up one after another, twinkling and shimmering like tiny diamonds scattered on a black velvet night sky. A cool autumn breeze carried a sense of desolation, causing the barbed wire to rustle softly, but this was instantly dispelled by the billowing steam rising from the hot pot, creating a hazy white mist that lingered in the air, like a gentle, soft-focus layer.

Two folding tables were placed together securely, with a sukiyaki pot in the center. The milky white pork bone broth bubbled in the pot, with a few red dates and goji berries floating on the surface, and the aroma slowly wafted out.

The table was laden with a bountiful array of ingredients: paper-thin slices of beef glistening with cold air, shiitake mushrooms glistening with dewdrops, vibrant green scallions, and plump, golden tofu puffs. There were also oden and fried chicken skewers that Bingchuan had specially gone out of his way to buy, glistening with oil and emitting an irresistible aroma.

Bingchuan Cheng awkwardly put the beef into the boiling pot with a slotted spoon. He was not paying attention and his elbow hit the hot pot rim, and the scalding soup splashed onto the back of his hand.

He gasped, instinctively pulling his hand back; the back of his hand was already bright red. Ozawa Sumiko gently patted his hand, her tone slightly reproachful: "Slow down, no one's going to fight you for it. If you burn your hand, who's going to wear the G3 armor on missions tomorrow? We can't expect Lin Chen to shoulder everything alone."

Takahiro Omuro took out a soda can and filled everyone's can with Coke. While Ozawa was busy preparing the ingredients, he secretly poured himself half a glass of beer. He had just taken a sip when Ozawa turned around and gave him a cold glare that made him freeze.

He reluctantly poured the beer back into the can, muttering to himself, "It's just a sip, celebrating a safe mission, nothing bad will happen." With that, he obediently filled his can with Coke.

Just then, the heavy iron door to the rooftop creaked open.

Hojo Toru stood in the doorway, his navy blue police uniform crisp and neat, his tie perfectly tied. His hands were in his pockets, his brows furrowed, and his face icy.

"It's so noisy, the whole underground base can hear your commotion." His voice carried its usual coldness and detachment. "The Metropolitan Police Department is an important office, not a family restaurant where you can have your own private gatherings."

None of the people on the rooftop responded or refuted, their tacit understanding unspoken.

Hikawa Makoto silently opened a box of sliced ​​beef and put it all into the boiling pot. Ozawa Sumiko calmly picked up an empty bowl and serving chopsticks, quietly making room next to Hojo Toru, and neatly arranged the bowl and chopsticks.

Hojo Toru stood quietly for a moment, frowning, observing the lively scene before him, before finally walking over and taking a seat. He remained silent throughout, and only picked up the serving chopsticks when the beef was cooked to a tender and flavorful perfection.

Lin Chen gazed at the billowing steam rising from the pot, the misty white vapor blurring his vision, his thoughts drifting involuntarily into the distance.

He recalled the rich and delicious tonkotsu broth at Sato's noodle shop, and the way Koyuki ran towards him with her colorful crayon drawings, the ribbon in her hair swaying gently as she ran. His fingers unconsciously slipped into his shirt pocket, caressing the five-cent coin worn smooth by time. The cool metallic touch spread from his fingertips, yet a warmth welled up inside him.

Sumiko Ozawa noticed his absent-mindedness and pushed a plate of tofu in front of him, saying calmly, "Eat more to replenish your strength. The G3-X armor hasn't completed its final testing yet. In future missions, you will still be our main force."

Lin Chen nodded gently, picked up a spoon, and scooped the tofu pieces one by one into the soup pot. The tofu floated and swelled slowly in the warm broth.

After a few beers, the effects of the alcohol began to rise, and Hojo Toru's face turned bright red, even his ears were tinged with a deep crimson.

The usually composed and restrained man became less reserved and started rambling on and on. First, he complained that his colleagues in the First Investigation Division were slow in their work, spending three hours looking at the surveillance footage without finding any trace of the Unknown; then he couldn't help but complain that Ozawa always assigned him the most tedious and dangerous crime scene investigation tasks.

As he spoke, his voice suddenly lowered, tinged with an indescribable melancholy.

He held the glass, his gaze drifting leisurely towards the dazzling neon lights of the city in the distance, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the cool rim of the glass. A drop of water condensed on the glass slid slowly down his fingertips, dripping onto the table and spreading into a small, shallow puddle.

After a long silence, he spoke in a voice just loud enough for a few people to hear, almost as if he were talking to himself: "That guy Kono used to love eating fatty beef the most. Every time the team had a meal together, he would always rush to eat the tenderest slices in the pot."

As soon as he finished speaking, the air on the rooftop fell into a deathly silence.

Hikawa Makoto's hand, which was picking up food, suddenly froze. The slice of fatty beef on his chopsticks slipped back into the soup pot, splashing a drop of boiling broth. Omuro Takahiro put down the can of cola in his hand, his relaxed smile vanishing completely, and the atmosphere suddenly became heavy.

On the vast rooftop, only the bubbling sound of the hot pot remained, exceptionally clear in the silence.

Hojo Toru seemed oblivious to the tense atmosphere around him, and continued to speak in a low, slow voice.

"I was there the day he died. I watched as the G3 armor was torn apart by the claws of the rhinoceros beetle Unknown, and I watched him fall in the ruins, without even leaving a last word."

He tilted his head back and took a swig of beer, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily. His usually cold and hard voice held a hint of barely concealed tremor.

"Ever since Glacier took over the G3 lineup, I've never felt at ease. He's a hothead who only knows how to charge headfirst into things, and he might just end up getting himself into trouble someday."

He slowly raised his head, his gaze sweeping over Lin Chen beside him. His usual sharpness and arrogance had vanished, leaving only a deep-seated weariness and a hint of relief.

"Now that you're here—" He paused, avoiding everyone's gaze, his tone calm yet carrying a hint of reluctant relief, "at least we don't have to watch him brave danger all by himself anymore."

After saying that, he downed the rest of the beer in his glass in one gulp, slamming the glass down on the table with a dull thud.

"I'm full. I'll go back and work on my report. I've just started to make some progress on those leads I helped Xiaoze check earlier."

Hojo Toru suddenly stood up, turned around, and walked towards the iron gate. His steps were slightly unsteady from the alcohol, and his body was a little unsteady, but he deliberately straightened his back and never looked back.

No one tried to stop him. Takahiro Omuro sighed softly, picked up Hojo's coat from the chair, and got up to follow him: "I'll take it to him."

From deep within the corridor came Hojo Toru's slightly impatient voice: "Mind your own business."

But there were no footsteps to leave, so he had clearly taken the coat silently.

On the rooftop, only Lin Chen, Bingchuan Cheng, and Ozawa Chengzi stood quietly.

Hikawa Makoto lowered his head, looking dazed, and remained silent. He already understood Hojo's awkward concern, but he was not good with words and did not know how to express it.

Lin Chen gazed at his silent and forlorn profile, then looked at Ozawa Sumiko, who stood calmly and composedly to the side. The tension that had gripped him for so long began to ease slightly.

As night deepened, the evening breeze grew cooler.

The steam rising from the hot pot slowly dissipated, and the broth in the pot gradually thickened until it was almost empty. In the distance, the city's neon lights went out one by one, the hustle and bustle subsided, and the entire city of Tokyo slowly sank into a tranquil slumber.

Only in the night sky, where countless stars fill the heavens, bright and clear, do they resemble countless gentle eyes, quietly overlooking the earth.

Hikawa Makoto silently began clearing the table, collecting empty cans and plastic food bags one by one and neatly putting them into trash bags. Ozawa Sumiko leaned against the rooftop railing, gazing up at the starry sky, a freshly brewed cup of black coffee in her hand, the wisps of steam rising slowly and blending into the cool night breeze.

Lin Chen slowly walked to her side and also looked up at the deep night sky.

The evening breeze ruffled his hair, carrying the crisp coolness of late autumn, yet it brought him an unprecedented sense of peace.

Having drifted from place to place in the past, working at the Hikari Photo Studio, Sato Noodle Shop offered him a moment of peace. And now, these companions fighting side by side are a haven he doesn't want to lose, a place he only wants to quietly protect.

My fingertips quietly tightened around the Orga phone in my pocket, the cold metallic touch was clearly felt, but my thoughts became more and more settled.

If Agito never appears in this world again.

Then I'll go first.