Tokyo: Proving one's position from behind the scenes

On the hospital bed, Nobuko Yoshida's eyelids twitched violently, and the fingers of her right hand began to curl, one by one, from her little finger to her index finger, as if something that had been dormant for a long time was beginning to awaken from its fingertips.

Her right hand touched the hilt of the heavy sword.

The instant they touched, her five fingers clenched tightly, her nails digging into the grooves of the flame patterns on the hilt, producing an extremely faint scraping sound. The dark red luster on the sword suddenly brightened, transforming from a slow, breathing alternation of light and shadow into a truly beating heart. The light spread from the hilt along the blade to the tip, moving with the speed of a red lightning bolt striking the metal.

Then the flames ignited.

Dark red flames erupted from the sword, surging from every part of it simultaneously, as if the sword itself were a container of flames compressed to their limit, now bursting open. The color of the flames was a deeper, darker red, like congealed blood ignited. The flames spread in all directions, like a flower blooming from the sword, its petals and stamens ablaze with fire, the entire flower ablaze with fire.

The flames spread to Nobuko Yoshida's hands.

There were no burns. The flames licked her fingers, the backs of her hands, and her wrists, leaving no blisters or scorch marks on her skin, not even a hint of redness. The flames seemed to have a will of their own, flowing along her skin as if caressing rather than burning. Then the flames spread to her arms, shoulders, chest, waist, abdomen, and legs, and in less than a breath, she was completely enveloped in dark red flames.

The hospital gown was not set on fire.

But the hospital bed was set on fire.

Flames spread from beneath her, rapidly creeping along the fibers of the sheets. The cotton sheets curled and turned black the instant they came into contact with the dark red flames, then burst into flames—a normal orange-yellow, starkly contrasting with the dark red flames enveloping Nobuko Yoshida. Tiny bubbles began to rise from the water in the plastic bottle on the bedside table. The electrodes on the ECG monitor detached below her collarbone, the green waveform on the machine's screen turned into a straight line, and a piercing alarm blared throughout the corridor.

Nobuko Yoshida suddenly opened her eyes.

Her pupils turned dark red, and the texture of her iris was faintly visible in the dark red light. Around her pupils were extremely fine flame-shaped patterns that spread outwards in concentric circles.

She sat up.

"What's wrong with me?"

Her left hand rested on the burning mattress, the fabric beneath her palm hissing. Flames danced around her hand, but didn't burn it. She raised her right hand, gripping the heavy sword. The dark red flames on the blade arced through the air as she sat up, the trail of light lingering for less than half a second, like a scar frozen in time.

She looked down at the flames engulfing her body.

Her face was expressionless, blank, as if she had just woken from a very long dream and couldn't distinguish between dream and reality. She raised her left hand, turned it over, and looked at her palm. The flame danced in her palm, like a gentle cat made of fire, licking her skin, leaving a warm touch but no trace.

Hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Nobuko Yoshida abruptly turned her head toward the door. The movement was so fast that her black hair whipped through the air in an arc, the ends brushing against the flames on her shoulder. The flames followed the trajectory of her hair for a moment before receding.

The footsteps grew closer. The distinctive, slightly sticky squeak of rubber soles on the hospital's plastic floor. At least two people, their footsteps rapid; they were running.

Nobuko Yoshida closed her eyes.

An instinct welled up from the depths of the Vajra Wrathful Form practice, telling her that the flames were hers, that she belonged to the flames, that she could make them burn, and that she could extinguish them, as simply as controlling her breath. With a thought, the dark red flames surged back from her body, like a video being played in reverse. The flames retreated from her shoulders to her arms, from her arms to her wrists, from her wrists to her fingers, and from her fingers to the sword. The entire process was eerily quiet; there was no hissing or whooshing sound that one would expect when flames extinguish—it simply vanished, silently, piece by piece.

The flame on the hospital bed went out at the same instant, then vanished silently, as if some force had absorbed all its heat from within. A large, charred patch remained on the sheet, its edges edged in grayish-white ash, its center a carbonized black fabric fragment shaped like a blooming flower drawn with ash. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning fabric, mixed with the odor of disinfectant and a faint, lingering scent of smoke.

Nobuko Yoshida got out of bed.

Barefoot, she stepped onto the cool plastic floor. Her feet were small, and on the instep was another electrode for an electrocardiogram monitor, connected to a thin, colored wire that dangled on the floor, the other end still plugged into the machine. She bent down and gently peeled the electrode off her body, as if removing a band-aid. A soft popping sound followed as the electrode left her skin.

The sound of the doorknob turning.

Nobuko Yoshida straightened up, glanced in the direction of the door, then turned and walked towards the window. The window was a typical hospital sliding window, with an aluminum frame and a pale blue film on the glass to block ultraviolet rays. The streetlights outside shone through the film, casting a blurry orange glow on the profile of her face.

She opened the window.

A night breeze rushed in through the window, carrying the damp air characteristic of early summer nights in Adachi Ward, a mixture of car exhaust and the smell of oden broth from convenience stores. Her black hair billowed in the wind, and the hem of her hospital gown rustled against her ankles. She straddled the windowsill with one leg, then the other, crouching on it, her right hand gripping the greatsword, her left hand bracing against the window frame. The dark red greatsword hung outside the window, its tip pointing to the ground. From this height, the ground appeared black, with only a few circular patches of light from the streetlights.

The door was pushed open.

A nurse stood in the doorway. A woman in her forties, her hair pinned up under a white nurse's cap, opened her mouth, as if preparing to say something like, "The ECG monitor just gave an alarm."

Then she saw the charred hospital bed. She saw a fourteen-year-old girl crouching on the windowsill, wearing a blue and white striped hospital gown, holding a dark red greatsword in her right hand.

Yoshida Nobuko glanced back at her, then turned back, pushed off with her legs, and leaped off the windowsill.

The nurse rushed to the window.

She saw the blue and white striped figure land on the fire escape platform on the side of the inpatient building, bending at the knees to absorb the impact of the fall, then stand up and run down the metal steps of the fire escape. Barefoot, each step on the openwork metal steps made a dull thud. The greatsword trailed behind him, its tip occasionally brushing the edge of the steps, sparking a few dark red sparks that landed on the metal steps, illuminating them briefly before going out. The figure grew smaller and smaller, more and more blurred, finally disappearing into the shadows at the bottom of the fire escape.

The night swallowed her up.

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The Special Affairs Operations Division of the Metropolitan Police Department is a newly established department with the support of Chief Inspector Yamazaki. It is composed of elites drawn from various departments of the Metropolitan Police Department, with Naoya Taniguchi from the Violent Organization Countermeasures Division serving as its head.

3:40 a.m.

On the table in front of Naoya Taniguchi were more than a dozen crime scene photos, showing the interiors of three yakuza offices in the Ayase area. The first location contained six bodies. The second, four bodies. The third, seven bodies. The three locations were not far apart, and the crimes were committed within the past two hours.

The corpses all share the same characteristic.

Burns. The preliminary forensic report stated that the victims' burn wounds exhibited a previously unseen dark red charring. The skin at the wound edges was curled and charred, and the skin and muscle textures were distorted in an unnatural, churned state, as if melted from the inside. Three victims' bodies were completely severed, with smooth, clean bone fractures accompanied by the same dark red charring as the burn wounds. The report used the phrase "high-temperature cutting," followed by a question mark.

"Section Chief."

A young police officer in uniform pushed open the office door, holding a tablet computer in his hand, his expression somewhere between excitement and nervousness.

"Two more incidents occurred. The location was Umeshima in Adachi Ward, at the offices of two yakuza organizations, less than twenty minutes apart. Surveillance cameras nearby captured some of the incidents."

The tablet was placed in front of Naoya Taniguchi. The surveillance footage on the screen was black and white, with a timestamp displayed in the lower right corner. It showed a narrow alley with low buildings on both sides, and a street lamp at the entrance, its light forming a white halo in the image.

A human figure appears in the picture.

She was very short. Judging from her height and build, she looked like a teenager. She wore a large top, the hem almost reaching mid-thigh, the sleeves extending far beyond her to cover most of her hands. Her trousers were also very wide, bunching up at the ankles, and she was barefoot. In her right hand, she dragged a sword. The length of the sword was almost the same as her height, the tip dragging on the ground, leaving a thin trail of fire as it cut across the asphalt. In the black and white image, the fire appeared as a much brighter white than its surroundings, extending from where the sword tip touched the ground, like a glowing snake swimming behind her.

She stopped in front of a building. She looked up. There was a sign hanging at the entrance of the building; the words were illegible in the black and white image, but Taniguchi Naoya knew what it said.

She raised the heavy sword. The movement was slow, almost like a ritual. The blade rose from the ground, its dark red light turning into a blinding white in the black and white scene, almost engulfing her entire figure. Then she brought the sword down.

The screen turned completely white.

The white light lasted for about two seconds. When it dissipated, the building's door was gone, and normal flames burned along the edge of the door frame, appearing gray in the black and white image, licking and spreading upwards along the wall. The figure walked inside. Then came a wait of about three minutes. Three minutes later, she emerged, sword trailing behind her, and walked away in the opposite direction of the narrow alley, her pace as unhurried as when she arrived.

The image freezes.

Naoya Taniguchi stared at the small, barefoot figure dragging a sword on the screen for about ten seconds. Then he pushed the tablet back and stood up.

"I'll go find the director."

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The lights were still on in Director Yamazaki's office.

When Naoya Taniguchi pushed open the door, Yamazaki was standing in front of the window, his back to the door, holding a cup of coffee that had gone cold. Outside the window was Tokyo at four in the morning; it was still dark, and the city lights stretched into a dense sea of ​​light in the distance, extending to the horizon.

"Understood." Yamazaki didn't turn around. "I've reviewed the surveillance footage."

Naoya Taniguchi stood at the door without moving.

"Adachi Ward Central Hospital reported a missing person case half an hour ago. Nobuko Yoshida, 14 years old, female, room 307 of the inpatient department. An unexplained fire broke out in the ward, the bed was severely burned, and no signs of arson were found at the scene. The patient is missing. The on-duty nurse said she saw the patient jump out of the window with a red sword in her hand."

Naoya Taniguchi took the cigarette off his ear and put it in his mouth.

"So the esper who killed the Yakuza in Adachi Ward was that little girl named Nobuko Yoshida."

"It's her." Yamazaki turned around, placed her coffee cup on the table, and the bottom of the cup made a soft sound as it hit the surface. "Yoshida Sho's sister. She was unconscious for so long after being attacked by an evil spirit, but she's awake now. The first thing she did after waking up was to kill a yakuza."

He paused.

She's the third.

"The third one what?"

"The third person with superpowers. The first was Yoshida Sho, who died after turning into a monster. The second was Hoshimiya Akira, who is now cooperating with the Metropolitan Police Department. The third is his sister. Two from the same family, that can't be a coincidence."

Naoya Taniguchi took the unlit cigarette out of his mouth.

"What should we do?"

Yamazaki walked behind his desk, sat down, opened a drawer, and took out a folder. Inside were several printed emails in English, with the insignia of the U.S. Army at the top.

"Received it twenty minutes ago. The Americans are already aware of it."

Naoya Taniguchi frowned slightly.

"They're faster than us?"

"The Yokosuka base's surveillance system was connected to the civilian surveillance network throughout the Kanto region long ago. They have a dedicated analysis team working 24/7 to screen footage that matches that kind of energy residue. Nobuko Yoshida appeared on Umeshima's surveillance footage for the first time and was flagged by their system in less than five minutes."

Yamazaki closed the folder.

"They've already dispatched special forces. They departed from Yokosuka and should be in Tokyo by now."

The office fell silent.

Yamazaki said, "The Seventh Fleet is here, the Tokyo District Public Prosecutors Office is here, their base is here. They say they want to assist in dealing with 'unconventionally armed individuals who may threaten the safety of American citizens,' and we have no legal means to stop them. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs hasn't even prepared a protest statement yet."

Taniguchi didn't say anything. His fingers held the cigarette so tightly that the cigarette rolled out slightly, and some tobacco fell out from the gap in the paper roll and landed on the surface of his military boots.

"But we're not powerless to do anything." Yamazaki stood up. "Put the Operations Division's mobile unit on standby and act as needed."

He walked up to Naoya Taniguchi.

"Also, send our people to contact Nobuko Yoshida. Before the Americans find her, or after they find her but before they take her away. Tell her that if she's willing to cooperate with the Metropolitan Police Department, we can let go of the yakuza she killed before, and we can even provide her with information on the yakuza. She can kill as many as she wants."

In the director's view, the so-called Yakuza are nothing more than non-citizens.

Naoya Taniguchi looked at Yamazaki. The old policeman's face was expressionless, but there was something in his eyes that was hard to tell whether it was weariness or resentment.

"As long as we can cooperate with the Metropolitan Police Department and not be completely biased towards the United States, everything is negotiable."