Tokyo: I'm really not a killer

Chapter 79 Killing the Chicken

The next morning, Hara Masaki and Shinomiya Rin got up early and went to the kitchen to cook breakfast.

Hideaki Shiraishi didn't sleep all night, curled up in a corner of the storage room, his eyes bloodshot.

Hearing the other two leave the room, he quickly scrambled up from his cot, moved to the door on all fours, pressed his ear against the cold door, and held his breath to eavesdrop.

"What do you want for breakfast?" It was the wig-wearing woman's voice, sounding a little groggy, as if she had just woken up.

"Just grab something quick, we need to get going after we eat," came the unfamiliar male voice, which sounded somewhat familiar. "I'll go check how many meters we have left."

The footsteps separated; one went towards the sink, and the other headed towards the storage cabinet.

Hideaki Shiraishi could hear the sound of the faucet being turned on, the gurgling of water lasting for more than ten seconds, followed by the sound of rice being rinsed, the rice grains rustling in the metal basin.

"There's not much rice left," Yuan Zhensheng said. "It's probably only enough to make one pot of porridge."

"Porridge is fine, it's better than dry bread," said Shinomiya Rin, her voice fading slightly from the doorway. "By the way, that guy—I mean Shiraishi, is he eating too?"

"Of course," Yuan Zhensheng said, "We can't let him starve to death."

"But it's such a hassle to carry him around—" Shinomiya Rin paused, mumbled something indistinctly, and Shishi Hideaki outside didn't hear her clearly. Then she continued, "Why don't we just get rid of him? He was just a spare ration anyway."

She held a knife in her hand, staring at the live chicken on the cutting board.

Yuan Zhensheng squinted and said, "I told you to prepare dry rations, and this is how you prepare them? Now look what's happened, we're going to have to bleed again."

Shinomiya Rin felt wronged. She was also a wanted criminal. How could she possibly swagger into a convenience store to buy canned food? She could only sneak into other people's yards to pick some homegrown vegetables and steal a chicken along the way. Since she started hanging out with Hara Masaki, her moral bottom line had become more and more flexible.

Behind the door of the storage room, Hideaki Shiraishi's heart was pounding in his throat.

He heard it clearly—"That guy—does he want to eat too?", "Of course.", "It's too much trouble to carry around—", "Why don't we just get rid of him? He's just a spare ration anyway."

Solve it?

Reserve rations?

Hideaki Shiraishi felt a chill run through his body, and his teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.

Could it be—could it be that the man who rescued him wasn't actually someone who wanted to find out the truth?

He recalled Shinomiya Rin's vague answer in the car, and Hara Masaki's perpetually calm, emotionless face.

The conversation outside continued.

The woman with the wig sounded somewhat guilty, "So what do we do now? — Should we still kill them?"

"Kill him." The man answered decisively. "What else would we eat? Hurry up, clean it up, and don't leave too many traces."

"Oh—" the woman with the wig responded.

Immediately afterwards, the sound of sharpening knives came from outside, sharp and continuous, like grinding on one's heart.

Shiraishi Hideaki was so frightened that he curled up into a ball, covering his mouth tightly, afraid of making a sound.

He recalled his experience of being tortured and interrogated at the police station, the cold eyes and merciless fists of those policemen—had he just escaped one danger only to fall into another?

This place is scarier than the police station!

"The rice is rinsed." The man's voice rang out again. "Is this much water enough?"

"More or less," the wig-wearing woman replied. "The fire's on, let's boil the water first."

Then came the sound of pots and pans being placed on the stove, the click of the ignition switch being pressed, and the whooshing sound of the gas burning.

The storage room was filled with dust and a musty smell, but Hideaki Shiraishi felt as if the air itself had been infused with the stench of blood.

His hands and feet were cold, and his wounds began to throb again, but at this moment, fear had overwhelmed the pain.

What should he do? Charge out? There are two people outside, and he's injured; how could he possibly win? Besides, that man—he gives off a very dangerous vibe.

The man's tone remained flat: "The porridge is almost ready. Go check if that guy has woken up yet."

Immediately afterwards, footsteps approached the door of the storage room!

Shiraishi Hideaki was terrified and scrambled back to his makeshift bed in the corner, closing his eyes tightly and pretending to be asleep, but his muscles were tense and his ears were perked up.

The door was gently pulled open a crack.

"She seems to still be sleeping." The wig woman's voice came through the crack in the door.

"Let him sleep—" a man's voice came from the kitchen. "To avoid trouble."

To avoid trouble? What do you mean? Do you think dealing with a sober person is more troublesome? Hideaki Shiraishi's heart sank to the bottom.

The door was gently closed again.

The sounds of bowls and chopsticks clattering and two people whispering could be heard from outside, but they were barely audible.

Soon, the sound of people drinking porridge could be heard.

Hideaki Shiraishi's stomach was growling, but he didn't dare think about eating. His mind was filled with thoughts of "reserve rations," "get rid of him," and "bloodshed." After breakfast, would they come and deal with him?

Time passed by, and each second felt like a year.

Hideaki Shiraishi began to have wild thoughts. He thought of his mother, who was far away in his hometown. What would happen to his mother if he died here?

He regretted it, regretted why he went to find that swamp man, and why he got involved in these terrible things.

He even began to regret revealing the identity of the swamp man at the police station. At least then, he might have only gone to jail, instead of being in this predicament, his fate unknown, and facing the terrifying prospect of being used as food.

The commotion outside seemed to have subsided; the porridge must have been finished.

Hideaki Shiraishi heard the woman with the wig say, "I'll get ready."

Then came the sound of running water and washing dishes.

After a while, footsteps approached the storage room again.

This time, it was the sound of two people's footsteps!

Hideaki Shiraishi's heart almost stopped; he closed his eyes tightly, his whole body stiffened, and he even held his breath.

The door was pushed open completely.

"Hey, wake up." It was the wig woman's voice, which sounded no different from usual, but to Hideaki Shiraishi at this moment, it sounded like the call of death.

He dared not move.

"Sleeping so soundly?" The woman with the wig seemed to move closer.

At that moment, the man's voice rang out, calm and unwavering: "Forget it, just put them in the car. There's no time."

Want to take him in the car? Where are you going?

Hideaki Shiraishi felt a cold hand pat his face.

He couldn't keep up the act any longer. He suddenly opened his eyes and looked at the two people standing in front of him in horror.

Shinomiya Rin was startled when he suddenly opened his eyes and shrank back: "Wow, you're awake? You scared me."

Yuan Zhensheng stood at the door, his face expressionless, simply looking at him calmly.

Hideaki Shiraishi's gaze fell on Rin Shinomiya's hand—the hand that had just slapped his face, which seemed to be stained with a little bit of dark red blood.

His gaze then shifted to Yuan Zhensheng, who seemed to have something tucked into his waistband, partially hidden by the hem of his coat, but its shape somewhat resembled a knife hilt.

"Get up, get up and have breakfast." Shinomiya Rin felt a little uneasy under his gaze, and pointed outside. "We made porridge, and—uh, some chicken." She felt a little embarrassed as she remembered the stolen chicken.

Hideaki Shiraishi felt a churning in his stomach, shook his head violently, and said in a voice distorted with fear, "No, I'm not hungry!"

I won't eat it!

Yuan Zhensheng frowned: "We must eat; we need the energy to travel."

His tone left no room for argument; to Hideaki Shiraishi, it sounded more like an order for him to finish his last meal.

"I...I'm really not hungry—" Hideaki Shiraishi shrank back, his back pressed tightly against the cold wall, tears welling up in his eyes. "Please—please let me go—I won't say anything—I really don't know anything—"

Shinomiya Rin was stunned. She and Hara Masaki exchanged a glance, both of them somewhat bewildered.

"What do you mean?" Shinomiya Rin asked. "Who said anything to you? Didn't we rescue you?"

Shiraishi Hideaki, trembling, finally blurted out the words that had been weighing on his mind, "I heard you—you said I was reserve rations—to be eliminated—"

Shinomiya Rin: "————"

Yuan Zhensheng: "————"

The room was silent for a few seconds.

Shinomiya Rin suddenly burst out laughing, but then realized something was wrong and quickly covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

Yuan Zhensheng pressed his temples, a rare hint of helplessness appearing on his face.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, though it was unclear who he was referring to.

Then, he turned around and brought in a bowl of still-warm porridge from outside the door. There were indeed a few pieces of white chicken in the porridge.

"Eat." He placed the bowl on the ground in front of Hideaki Shiraishi, his tone curt. "That's a chicken. A chicken we stole. We're not going to eat you."

Rin Shinomiya finally stopped laughing, wiping away her tears of laughter, and explained, "Yeah! We were talking about that chicken! What were you thinking!"

Hideaki Shiraishi stared blankly at the porridge on the ground, unable to process what was happening.

Chicken? It's a chicken?

His face flushed bright red, and he wished he could disappear into the ground.

"Eat quickly." Yuan Zhensheng stopped looking at him, turned around and walked out. "We're leaving in ten minutes. If you don't want to be caught by the police, you'd better replenish your energy."

Shinomiya Rin followed him out, turning back to make a face at him before leaving: "Coward!"

In the storage room, only Hideaki Shiraishi remained.

He stared at the bowl of porridge, the chicken fat and rice grains floating in it emitting a genuine aroma of food. He swallowed hard, a mixture of relief at surviving the ordeal and immense embarrassment swirling within him.

It turns out it was a misunderstanding.

He carefully picked up the bowl and took a sip.

The warm porridge slid down my esophagus, soothing my cramped stomach and gradually restoring some sensation to my limbs.

It's just a misunderstanding.

He mechanically swallowed his food while listening to the two men outside packing their belongings and whispering about their next move. The fear subsided temporarily, but another kind of unease rose within him.

Who exactly are they? And why are they saving him?

Where should we take him next?

Hideaki Shiraishi mechanically swallowed the warm porridge, feeling slightly better in his stomach, but his unease grew stronger.

The faint sounds of packing could be heard outside, along with Hara Masaki and Shinomiya Rin's hushed conversation.

"I'll take him out to scout the situation later." Yuan Zhensheng's voice was calm and even. "You stay in the house, clean up the bloodstains, and bury the chicken feathers and entrails deeper."

"Okay," Shinomiya Rin replied, her voice tinged with reluctance. "Then be careful and don't go too far."

"Mm." Yuan Zhensheng nodded in agreement.

Hideaki Shiraishi put down his bowl, pricked up his ears, and listened more carefully to the sounds outside.

"Have you finished eating?" The door was opened, and Yuan Zhensheng stood in the doorway, backlit, so his expression was not visible.

"I'm done eating." Hideaki Shiraishi quickly put down his bowl, trying to make his voice sound normal.

"Come out, we should go." Yuan Zhensheng stepped aside.

Hideaki Shiraishi slowly got up, his legs still feeling a little weak.

He walked out of the storage room and saw Shinomiya Rin washing pots and pans at the kitchen sink, her movements somewhat clumsy. Hara Masaki, on the other hand, had already slung a small backpack over his shoulder and was holding a machete in his hand.

"Let's go," Yuan Zhensheng said briefly, and took the lead in walking outside.

Hideaki Shiraishi glanced at Rin Shinomiya, who didn't even look up, focusing intently on washing the dishes, as if it were just an ordinary outing.

He could only keep up.

Yuan Zhensheng had already made up his mind. Today, he would take Shiraishi Hideaki into the deep mountains, find a deserted place to dispose of him, and bury him on the spot.

Hideaki Shiraishi was completely unaware of this and obediently followed behind.

The two, one after the other, wearing hoods, boarded the tram and got off at the Secret Realm Station—which is actually a tram stop located in the mountains, as it is called by hikers.

The air in the mountain forest was crisp and cool in the early morning, carrying the scent of earth and vegetation.

Hara Masaki walked ahead, his steps steady, seemingly very familiar with the mountain path. Shiraishi Hideaki followed a few meters behind him, stumbling along, his wound still throbbing.

As they ventured deeper into the forest, the trees grew denser, and the light dimmed. Aside from birdsong and the rustling of leaves in the wind, there were no other sounds.

Hideaki Shiraishi's heart was beating faster and faster.

After walking for about twenty minutes, the surroundings were completely enveloped by the shadows of trees and the chirping of birds. The way they had come could not be seen, and no human voices could be heard. Yuan Zhensheng stopped in a relatively open clearing in the woods, turned around, stuck his machete into the ground, took out a roll of plastic bags and a shovel from his backpack, and threw them aside.

Hideaki Shiraishi stared at the shovel and plastic bag on the ground, his throat tightening. He forced himself to hold his breath and looked up at Masaki Hara.

Yuan Zhensheng didn't speak, he just stood there, as if waiting for him to speak first, or as if there was no need to say anything more.

Then, Yuan Zhensheng spoke up: "Take a break, rest for a bit."

Hideaki Shiraishi was startled.

In this silent mountain forest, there was no concealment, no pretense, just that voice. The same tranquility, the same unfamiliarity, as in the toilet stall.

Hideaki Shiraishi's pupils contracted sharply, and beads of sweat slid down his forehead.

"It's you," he stammered.

"It's you." He stammered, his voice dry, his back teeth chattering slightly.

It's Swamp Man. It's definitely Swamp Man. His voice was different during the exchange of blows earlier, only slightly different, but now he seems unguarded, speaking in his original voice—he can tell that the man in front of him is Swamp Man!

Hara Masaki neither denied nor admitted it. He lowered his eyes slightly, as if examining a tool, then bent down and kicked the plastic bag and shovel towards Shiraishi Hideaki's feet.

"Since you've recognized me, you can choose a place yourself," he said.

He never intended to let Shiraishi Hideaki go from the beginning, otherwise he wouldn't have thrown a smokescreen into the well. He just didn't expect the guy to be so resilient. — He's learned his lesson now.

"It's over."

Hideaki Shiraishi thought to himself.

The swamp man brought him into this deep forest, with shovels and plastic bags ready, intending to dispose of him here and bury him on the spot.

He doesn't want to die.

But what else could he do? Run away now? Run? Where to run? There were trees all around, and he couldn't even recognize the way he came.

Begging for mercy? Would the swamp man listen? When he mouthed "Save me" in the interrogation room, the other man didn't even lift an eyelid.

—No, that's not right. Wait a minute.

A thought suddenly flashed through Hideaki Shiraishi's mind, like a drowning person grabbing onto a piece of driftwood.

Didn't the swamp man rescue him?

Moreover, the other party is not taking action immediately, but is letting him choose the location himself—maybe there is still room for maneuver.

What if—what if the Swamp Man was willing to take him on as an apprentice?