Tokyo: I'm really not a killer

The following morning, inside the Inspectorate Medical Center.

Section Chief Yamamoto received the autopsy report on time. According to the forensic examination, there were no drug residues in the deceased's body, no bruises that looked like they had been tied up, and the deceased had not been abused, beaten, or deprived of food or water before his death.

Based solely on the autopsy report, it is undoubtedly a suicide.

Section Chief Yamamoto scratched his head, completely baffled as to how the deceased could have obediently opened his mouth while fully conscious and allowed himself to be ejaculated into...

Next, the police station should notify the family to claim the body. As is customary, Section Chief Yamamoto lifted the white sheet to check, in order to prevent the hospital from stealing organs again and causing the police station to have to argue with the family.

It was a shock when he looked up at the forensic pathologist, Section Chief Yamamoto. "Where's my face?" he asked.

The forensic doctor was baffled. The body's face was fine yesterday, so how did it become a skinless corpse today?

The two called the security guard on duty and asked him what happened. They then learned that a man had sneaked into the morgue the night before.

The guy ran very fast, and the security guards couldn't catch up. When they turned back and carefully counted the bodies, they found that none of them were missing, so they didn't report it.

Section Chief Yamamoto's heart skipped a beat, suspecting that the killer had peeled off Akiyama Miki's face... As far as he knew, some psychopathic killers would cut off the organs of their victims as trophies.

"Did you see what that person looked like?" Section Chief Yamamoto asked.

"I saw it," the security guard said confidently. "I saw it very clearly."

Section Chief Yamamoto immediately summoned his subordinate and asked him to draw a portrait of the suspect based on the eyewitness's description.

"Hmm, her nose is a bit big..."

"His eyes look very sharp..."

"Your lips are quite full, yes, that's it..."

The security guard kept correcting him, and his subordinates changed the description accordingly, their expressions gradually becoming strange.

Half an hour later, the security guard nodded in satisfaction: "It's about 80 or 90 percent similar."

Section Chief Yamamoto took the drawing paper, stared at it intently, then looked up in disbelief. Seeing the security guard's sincere expression, he looked down again and examined it carefully, wondering if he had misread it.

"Isn't that me?" Section Chief Yamamoto placed the portrait sketch next to his own face for comparison.

"It's different." The security guard shook his head.

"What's different?" Section Chief Yamamoto asked.

"He's more attractive than you." The security guard paused, then added, "He's in better shape too, no belly."

"..."

Section Chief Yamamoto flipped through the portrait and was astonished by the resemblance; it was as if he were looking in a mirror. This made him wonder if he had a long-lost twin brother.

That's fucking bizarre.

……

Meanwhile, in Roppongi, Minato Ward, Hara Masaki still clocked in for work as usual.

The director of the office yawned as he entered, and after a while, he yawned again as he came out, asking, "Where's Shinomiya? Is she late? That's strange."

"They probably overslept," Yuan Zhensheng said.

The director of the communication station laughed and said, "It's so good to be young," adding that he used to oversleep when he was young.

At noon, the police chief remarked, "A morning's absence? That's rare." Later that afternoon, he said, "Is it acceptable to be absent without cause? That's a bit much."

As Hara Masayuki was leaving get off work, the head of the tax office sat in his chair and sighed, "Another tax thief? At this rate, Japan will be finished sooner or later... Hara-kun, don't follow her example. I've always had high hopes for you."

Yuan Zhensheng thought to himself, "You didn't have this attitude yesterday."

"Yes, I will try my best."

He humbly accepted guidance and maintained a "nice guy" image in the workplace, striving not to arouse any suspicion.

My part-time job is over; time to get down to business.

Yuan Zhensheng went to the mall to buy beds, soundproofing foam, training equipment, emergency medicines, and canned food. He tidied up the safe house and improved the soundproofing. He plans to come here often to train in the future.

Firearms training can be conducted at the police station's shooting range, but knife training can only be practiced privately. At least two hours of practice are required daily, not to build muscle, but simply to maintain dexterity.

Self-discipline is an essential quality for professional assassins.

Inside the house, Yuan Zhensheng repeatedly stabbed the dummy. The killing technique was not fancy; it was all about surprise and a single, fatal blow.

This line of work isn't a martial arts competition; if you get into a fight, it means the mission has failed.

After finishing his practice, his skills returned slightly. He took a hot shower, changed into a hooded tracksuit, and planned to buy weapons on the black market.

Just then, Yui Komi, who was going out to take out the trash, heard the door open and greeted him, "Good evening, Mr. Suzuki."

"Good evening." Yuan Zhensheng locked the door from the inside and nodded in greeting.

"Eh, are you all alone?" Komi Yui's face turned slightly red.

Her ears and nose were very sensitive, and even though the room was filled with soundproof foam, she could clearly hear the "slap slap slap" sound, accompanied by the "plop plop" sound of plugging and unplugging... This noise lasted for two hours, and then it was quiet for about ten minutes. Mr. Suzuki came out with the scent of shower gel, obviously having just finished taking a shower.

Although she had never eaten pork, she had heard of pigs running and vaguely guessed what Mr. Suzuki was doing.

It's perfectly normal for adults to have sex; there's nothing to be surprised about. Everyone's body is different, and Mr. Suzuki's ability to last two hours is within the range of normal human beings...

Komi Yui tried to remain calm until she noticed Mr. Suzuki leaving alone. Suzuki suspected that he was heartless and planned to abandon his "girlfriend," so she asked him.

"I've always been alone," Yuan Zhensheng said, feeling bewildered.

Huh?!

Komi Yui wondered if it was an inflatable doll? Was Mr. Suzuki so repressed?

So pitiful...

Should I introduce him to a girlfriend? It feels too forward! Maybe I should pass…

"No matter what, you still need to take care of your health." Komi Yui really didn't know what to say, so she could only kindly remind him before going downstairs to throw out the trash with her guide cane.

Yuan Zhensheng's gaze narrowed slightly. Could it be that she discovered his stabbing practice next door? Blind people have more acute hearing than sighted people; perhaps she sensed something amiss…

Let's add another layer of soundproofing foam later.

He put on his hood, hurried downstairs, and used a public phone booth to contact the prop shop (gun dealer).

Being a patrol officer has its advantages; you can come into contact with all sorts of people. For example, the person who sold him the gun had been arrested on the street by the patrol officers before and was a repeat offender. As long as you check the file, you can easily find the person's address and contact information.

Last time they used a dead mailbox for the transaction, never meeting in person; this time the gun dealer demanded a face-to-face transaction, saying there was something to discuss in person, and the location was under the bridge over the river.

When Gensei equipped the "Face of the Fickle One" in the phone booth, his aura underwent a dramatic transformation. His ordinary face gained a touch of charm, making him more pleasing to the eye.

He lowered his head, adjusted his facial features, and made himself look uglier in order to offset the 15% charm bonus from the equipment.

To avoid being recognized for his height and build, he wore shoulder pads and shoe insoles, deliberately bent over, and walked with small steps to the agreed location.

Half an hour later, Yuan Zhensheng arrived at the designated bridge arch and saw the gun dealer from a distance of more than ten meters.

The other person was a middle-aged man in his forties, fat and strong, with a cigarette in his mouth and a scar on his face, looking very intimidating.

When Yuan Zhensheng approached, he threw his cigarette butt on the ground and asked bluntly, "Where's the gun I sold you last time? You're buying a new gun so soon... You're not some middleman, are you?"

His name is Kenichi Uchida, and he specializes in dealing in small-scale firearms in the Tokyo area. Recently, his regular customers have stopped buying from him, saying that a batch of cheaper firearms has appeared on the market, so he suspects that someone is stealing his business.

Cutting off someone's livelihood is like killing their parents. Kenichi Uchida must find his competitors and let them know whose territory Tokyo is.

Yuan Zhensheng entered work mode, remaining highly alert, and said in a hoarse voice, "It's lost. I only use a gun once."

"Huh? What do you do?"

Don't ask.

"Hey! Stop pretending! Just tell me what's going on!"

"I will not repeat this a second time."

"Hey, don't you understand what's going on?" Kenichi Uchida drew a pistol from his waist and pointed it at Hara Masaki: "You're here to buy a gun—"

The next second, his vision blurred, his wrist was lifted up, his elbow was punched down, and his right hand holding the gun was bent into a V-shape, with the muzzle pointing directly at his chin; before he could react to what was happening, the gun went off.

--boom!

Yuan Zhensheng pulled the trigger for him, shooting him straight up through the head, clean and efficient.

The whole process takes about one second, less than two seconds.

Kenichi Uchida's body swayed back and forth. In the instant before his consciousness faded, he looked into Hara Masaki's cold eyes, and all that remained in his heart was deep fear.

"The dog doesn't bark? Not bad, good gun."

Hara Masaki skillfully removed the spent cartridges, inspected the firearm, and left Uchida Kenichi's body lying on the riverbank.

He couldn't wait a year, or even a week. Kuwata Kenkichi was indeed difficult to kill, but he didn't care. The King of Hell never chooses a time to take a life.

Let's get started tonight.