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World of Bizarreness and Monsters

第14話 - We Buy Japan

62,706文字

2026年07月27日

#kaiju

#SciFi

菊池川詠人

A mansion stood atop a hill in an exclusive residential district of Tokyo on a winter night. From a room deep within the house, the piercing sound of an alarm bell rang out.

Three men in matching black suits came rushing from the back of the house. Upon reaching a certain room, they could hardly believe their eyes.

The handle assembly of the sturdy wooden door had been torn clean off and lay on the hallway floor. The lock mechanism — which included a keypad for entering a security code — had been ripped right out of the door panel along with the handle.

Drawing special batons from their belts, the men opened the ruined door and stepped inside.

The room appeared to be a vault for valuables; the walls and shelves were lined with gems and art objects from across the ages and around the world.

In the center of the room stood a figure, planting their feet firmly and making no attempt to hide. As the men switched on the lights, they shouted in unison:

“Who the hell are you?”

“How did you get in?”

“Don’t move! Unless you want a beating that leaves you half-dead.”

Illuminated by the light, the figure revealed a bizarre appearance. Clad head-to-toe in a dark blue-black leather jumpsuit, the intruder surveyed the room with an air of utter indifference toward the men.

As the men moved forward with their batons raised, they realized the intruder was wearing a mask. It was a metallic mask — specifically, a Hannya mask of the type used in Noh theater — featuring horns that jutted out from the top and sides of the head.

Exchanging a silent signal, the three men lunged at the masked figure simultaneously from the left, right, and rear.

Yet, without taking a running start, the masked figure leaped straight up; upon reaching the four-meter-high ceiling, they flipped their body vertically in mid-air, kicked off the ceiling, and slammed into one of the men with the force of a battering ram.

The man in the black suit was instantly sent flying out into the hallway, where he collapsed onto the floor and lay motionless.

The two remaining men in black suits struck from behind and the right with their batons. Yet, the masked man easily caught the baton — swung with full force by a giant of a man resembling a pro wrestler — on the backs of his hands.

With a sweep of his arms, the masked man sent the two men flying effortlessly into the corner of the room. He then approached a Japanese sword resting against the far wall.

He grasped the sword — scabbard and all — and drew the blade halfway out to inspect it. Pulling a smooth, black bag from his pocket, he completely wrapped the sword in it.

Just as the masked man was about to calmly walk away with the sword, one of the men in black — who had appeared to be unconscious — suddenly sprang up and pressed a stun gun against the masked man’s neck.

Small blue sparks scattered, accompanied by a rapid crackling sound — an electric shock powerful enough to instantly knock a person unconscious.

Yet, the masked man didn’t even flinch; he effortlessly lifted the man in black with just his right hand and hurled him straight up at the ceiling. The man’s body slammed onto the ceiling before crashing to the floor and lying motionless.

The masked man took three gold bars from a pocket at the back of his clothes, placed them on the floor, and stepped out into the mansion’s corridor. A section of the estate faced a steep, low cliff.

He smashed through the window, sprinted toward the five-meter-high cliff, leapt gracefully down to the road below, and vanished into the darkness.

Alerted by the commotion, the elderly master of the house discovered that the Japanese sword was missing from the storage room; his voice trembled as he spoke.

“This is a disaster! The deal … a deal worth two hundred million yen…”

Outside the mansion, only the cold north wind blew across the deserted road, illuminated by the glow of streetlights.

At 9:00 the next morning, Watari and Matsuda arrived at the mansion that had been the scene of the heist. Police cordon tape surrounded the property, but when Watari stated his name and business to the two uniformed officers on guard, they lifted the tape and waved them inside.

After slipping protective covers over their shoes and stepping from the entryway into the hallway, they found Miyashita standing off to the side of several forensic technicians, her arms crossed.

Noticing the pair, Miyashita beckoned them to a spot a short distance away so as not to interfere with the forensics team. Watari leaned in close and asked:

“What kind of case is this, exactly? If it’s just a robbery, it shouldn’t fall under the jurisdiction of the Watari Lab.”

Miyashita explained the events of the previous night, pointing out the smashed door and the shattered glass window. Watari stroked his beard — a habit of his when deep in thought — as he spoke.

“I see. If that’s true, this isn’t an ordinary case. So, what happened to the three security guards?”

“Their lives aren’t in danger, but they all sustained serious injuries requiring one to six weeks of recovery. The issue is that none of them were run-of-the-mill guards; they were professionals trained in hand-to-hand combat. One of them even served in a French mercenary unit.”

“So, security that tight was breached with ease.”

Matsuda, who had been examining the shattered hallway window up close, called out to Watari.

“Prof. Watari, this isn’t ordinary window glass. It’s special reinforced, bulletproof glass — the same type used on Ground Self-Defense Force armored vehicles. To smash through it with a single body-slam … that’s beyond human capability.”

Watari continued stroking his beard as he spoke to Miyashita.

“I gather this is some sort of bizarre incident. I assume a request for the Watari Lab’s cooperation is coming, then. Does the stolen item have some sort of unusual history attached to it?”

Miyashita glanced quickly around the room before lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Let’s discuss the details of that at the Watari Lab. I’ve already asked Ms. Tsutsui to gather the relevant information as well.”

The three of them left the mansion and headed to Watari’s laboratory at Teito University of Science in a car driven by Miyashita.

When they arrived, Toyama and Tsutsui were already seated at their respective desks. They all sat together on the sofa in the reception area, and Miyashita once again explained the details of the case.

“The item stolen this time is a Japanese sword. In fact, five similar incidents have occurred over the past two months; witnesses have consistently described the culprit as a man wearing a Hannya mask who possesses superhuman strength and agility.”

Miyashita spread out a list on the table containing photos of the items stolen so far. Watari leaned in to look at it and tilted his head in thought.

“A Buddhist statue, a picture scroll, a tea ceremony bowl, a Japanese doll, and now a Japanese sword … They’re all Japanese artworks or traditional crafts.”

Miyashita nodded.

“And every single one of them is an object of immense cultural value — items that really ought to have been designated as National Treasures or Important Cultural Properties.”

Toyama’s eyebrows twitched at Miyashita’s phrasing.

“You said ‘ought to have been’? Does that mean they weren’t actually designated?”

Miyashita nodded, and Tsutsui opened her notebook to continue the explanation.

“I spoke with the Agency for Cultural Affairs. It turns out there are quite a few cases where owners intentionally avoid notifying the agency of an item’s existence.”

Watari tilted his head and asked, “Why wouldn’t they apply? Official recognition of its value would be a benefit, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s true, but designation as an Important Cultural Property can require government notification for sales or transfers. If it’s a National Treasure, selling it overseas becomes virtually impossible, and it becomes subject to inheritance tax. It seems there are more owners than you’d think who deliberately avoid applying for designation to sidestep those issues.”

Toyama glanced up at the ceiling and muttered.

“Inheritance tax, huh? How much was that Japanese sword worth?”

Tsutsui consulted her notebook before answering.

“If sold on the antiques market, it’s estimated to fetch around 200 million yen.”

The other four sighed in unison. Matsuda spoke, his eyes wide with astonishment.

“That’s a sum of money an ordinary person like me would never see in a lifetime. So, does that mean the owner of the mansion lost 200 million yen?”

Miyashita pressed her right index finger against her forehead as she spoke.

“That brings us to another odd point. At every crime scene, a gold bar — or bars —worth roughly the same amount as the stolen item is left behind. Three gold bars were left at the victim’s home this time as well; apparently, their value comes to about 200 million yen.”

Tsutsui leaned forward and asked Miyashita:

“Wait, so even though the victim had the Japanese sword stolen, he didn’t actually suffer a financial loss?”

Miyashita answered hesitantly.

“Since the origin of the gold bars is unknown, the police are holding them for the time being. However, they’ll likely end up being classified as lost property and handed over to the victim.”

Watari stroked his beard again and said: “That makes it questionable whether we can even call it robbery. Why go to such elaborate lengths?”

Miyashita continued:

“There is one more common thread: every stolen item was scheduled to be sold in the near future. The Japanese sword in this case was set to be handed over to a wealthy tycoon from a Middle Eastern oil-producing nation in three days. In every instance, the items were stolen right before they were to be sold overseas.”

Around the same time, on the top floor of a high-rise apartment building in Roppongi, Tokyo, an elegant, white-haired elderly gentleman in a suit sat on a chair in a windowless room.

A section of the wall opposite the door slid smoothly open, revealing a figure wearing a mask that covered only the eyes — reminiscent of those used at medieval Western balls.

The figure was strangely small and draped in a black hooded cloak; combined with the room’s dim lighting, it was impossible to gauge the age or build. Holding a voice changer to the mouth, the figure spoke to the old gentleman.

“Please verify the item.”

At a wave of the figure’s hand, a woman in a maid outfit — her eyes also concealed by a mask — carried in a long, narrow box, placed it before the old gentleman, and removed the lid.

The old gentleman looked down to see a Japanese sword resting inside. Breathing heavily and with slightly trembling hands, he grasped the sword, drew the blade from its scabbard, and gazed intently at it from end to end.

“T-there is no mistake! This is the original Muramasa sword passed down through my family! How on earth did you retrieve it?”

The figure replied. The voice changer made the sound muffled, yet the tone was somewhat high-pitched and distinctly feminine.

“I am not at liberty to say. More importantly, please ensure you safeguard it properly and pass it on to the next generation. Make sure your nephew doesn’t secretly sell it off for peanuts again.”

“Indeed!”

The old gentleman rose from his chair, knelt on the floor, and bowed deeply to the small figure.

“I hardly know how to thank you. But are you truly certain you require no reward? Why did you go to the trouble of retrieving this for me for free?”

The figure answered. “I simply cannot stand by and watch Japan’s valuable culture being sold off to overseas interests. As I’m sure you understand, I must insist that you keep this matter strictly confidential.”

“I understand! I intend to take this secret to the grave — that has been my resolve all along.”

“Then please take the item with you. A car has been arranged for your return. Good day.”

The elderly gentleman returned the Japanese sword to its box, cradled it reverently, and left the room, guided by the woman in the maid outfit. Just before passing through the doorway, he bowed deeply to the small, masked figure.

Once the old man had left and the door closed, the room’s lighting suddenly brightened. The small figure removed the cloak, tossed it aside, and took off the mask.

Revealed beneath was a girl with long black hair, appearing to be around ten years old. While her complexion was typically Japanese, her eyes were a striking, clear blue.

The girl spoke to the woman in the maid outfit, who had also removed her mask.

“Honestly, can’t I do something about this getup? It makes me look just like an evil secret society.”

The woman in the maid outfit replied in a serious tone, without even a hint of a smile.

“I felt it would be inappropriate to reveal Boss’s true appearance directly.”

The girl walked toward a hidden door in the wall as she spoke.

“Still, it’s amazing how many Japanese people are so blinded by greed that they’d try to sell off Japan’s historic treasures overseas. I wonder if Novel Renaissance alone can keep stopping them all in the future?”

Three days later, the Watari Lab received a request from the Metropolitan Police Department. Upon hearing the explanation from Assistant Inspector Miyashita in the lab, the other members voiced their doubts and complaints.

Watari spoke with a look of displeasure.

“You want us to provide a bodyguard detail? We aren’t a private security firm, you know.”

Miyashita offered a conciliatory, strained smile.

“Of course, police security will be provided. We are simply asking you to accompany that detail.”

Matsuda asked Miyashita while gazing at a photograph in the documents spread across the table.

“This is a piece of pottery, isn’t it? Is it valuable?”

“It’s an incense burner made in the late Muromachi period. It had previously been overlooked because it was assumed to be an import from China or the Korean Peninsula, but recent research revealed it to be Shigaraki ware. In other words, it’s a domestic product.”

Toyama also stared at the photo, nodding repeatedly. The piece, small enough to fit in the palm of one’s hand, consisted of a jar-shaped body with a smooth, reddish-brown surface and a lid featuring openwork gaps at the base.

Its surface was decorated with thin bands of dull red, green, and gold — colors that had likely once been vibrant.

Toyama murmured: “I’m no expert, but I can tell it’s a beautiful object. If it’s a domestic piece, it would certainly qualify as a precious Japanese cultural asset.”

Tilting her head, Tsutsui asked Miyashita:

“What exactly does this escort to Haneda Airport entail?”

“The owner has agreed to sell it to a wealthy Chinese individual. The Agency for Cultural Affairs tried to stop the sale, but since the item hasn’t been officially designated as a cultural asset, they apparently can’t intervene in a private commercial transaction.”

Watari pressed further.

“Then why is the police providing security?”

Miyashita replied with a desperate, ingratiating smile.

“It’s because of that ‘Hannya-masked figure’ — the mysterious criminal. The current owner requested police protection through a certain Diet member.”

“I see.”

Matsuda spoke with an expression that suggested his thoughts had been confirmed.

“So, if we act as security for the transport of this pottery, we can lie in wait for that mysterious figure?”

Watari spoke, looking unconvinced.

“That may be, but we’re talking about selling off a precious Japanese cultural asset to a foreign buyer, aren’t we? Personally, I’d rather that mysterious figure just made off with it.”

Miyashita put on an even friendlier smile and pleaded with Watari.

“Please don’t say that, Prof. Watari. We can’t just let that mysterious figure do whatever he pleases anymore, can we?”

Frowning, Watari reluctantly agreed to the request.

The next morning, the five members of the Watari Lab boarded a box truck arranged by Miyashita and visited the owner’s home in western Tokyo.

Upon entering the lavish detached house, they found moving company staff just finishing the task of securely packing the incense burner in question.

A portly man in a suit — apparently the owner, and likely in his fifties — strode over to where the group stood.

“You’re the extra security, right? Make sure you guard it well. If the buyer in Shanghai gives the nod, this deal is worth a billion yen. I’m counting on you.”

As the man walked away, Tsutsui pursed her lips and muttered,

“Who does he think he is, acting so high and mighty? We’re practically doing this for free.”

Miyashita held up her palms in a soothing gesture and said,

“We’ll transport it from here to Haneda Airport and load it onto a flight bound for Shanghai. Once the plane takes off, even that mysterious figure won’t be able to interfere. Our job is to ensure the incense burner isn’t stolen before then.”

Then, the incense burner was transported out, with the delivery company’s vehicle sandwiched between two unmarked police cars.

The male owner rode in the delivery vehicle, while Watari’s team followed behind.

Beneath a cold, blustery sky that threatened snow, the convoy entered the highway and headed for the airport.

Uniformed officers were already guarding one of the airport entrances as the convoy pulled into the underground parking garage.

Surrounded by plainclothes detectives who had stepped out of the unmarked cars, the owner and the delivery staff carried the box containing the incense burner.

As they headed toward the departure gate, Watari spoke in a low voice.

“The figure won’t be able to get inside the airport now. That’s a relief.”

Miyashita, her expression relaxing slightly, replied:

“The police have the airport secretly surrounded. It seems he didn’t dare make a move.”

At that same moment, inside the airport control tower, an air traffic controller held a phone receiver to his ear and shouted, “Huh?”

“That flight is scheduled to land in five minutes, but … there’s a person on top of the aircraft? That’s ridiculous.”

It was a small business jet arriving from Nagoya. In the cockpit, the captain and co-pilot gaped in astonishment at the radio transmission they received from the Haneda control tower.

The captain muttered, looking incredulous.

“Someone riding ‘on’ the plane — not inside, but on top? It’s got to be a mistake; they must have misidentified something.”

The co-pilot added with a chuckle, “Even for a small plane, it’s still a jet aircraft. If someone had latched onto it back in Nagoya, a human being would have been shaken off long ago.”

The business jet landed safely on the designated runway, and a special vehicle approached to tow the aircraft to the hangar. Due to the bizarre report, a security patrol sedan also drew near.

Just as they finished checking the instruments, the co-pilot looked out the window and screamed.

“Whoa! What the—!”

The captain gasped, too. He had seen a figure clad in an all-black outfit — resembling a motorcycle racing suit — descend from the outiside of the cockpit window onto the nose of the plane.

Two security guards leapt from their vehicle, attempting to intercept the figure. When the figure turned around, its face was concealed by a metallic Hannya mask.

The mysterious intruder effortlessly flung the two guards several meters away, jumped into the vehicle they had arrived in, and sped off toward the international terminal at full throttle.

As the car tore across the runway, the holding area where planes waited for takeoff descended into chaos.

Ignoring the commotion, the figure drove the car to the side of the international terminal building, stepped out, leapt onto the roof, and then vaulted more than ten meters up toward a window of the terminal building.

The window glass near the group — comprising the man who owned the incense burner, the police officers, and the members of the Watari Lab — shattered with a deafening crash.

Just as the airline staff were about to accept the box containing the incense burner, a figure wearing a Hannya mask burst in through the shattered window.

Leaving the box on the counter, the airline staff retreated to the back. While everyone stood stunned, the masked figure quickly dashed toward the counter where the box sat.

Matsuda stepped in to block his path at the last moment. He stripped off his coat, revealing a Ground Self-Defense Force field uniform underneath. Assuming a boxing stance, he stepped forward to confront the intruder.

The masked figure walked briskly toward the counter without even taking a defensive stance. Matsuda lowered his body and slammed into the intruder’s waist, executing a rugby-style tackle.

The intruder’s body didn’t budge an inch. Although Matsuda — standing 185 centimeters tall and powerfully built — pushed back with all his might until his face turned bright red, the intruder continued to inch steadily toward the counter.

Seizing an opening, Matsuda thrust his right hand upward and tore off the intruder’s mask. For a fleeting moment, the face of a man who appeared to be in his early thirties was revealed.

Matsuda muttered in sheer astonishment: “That face … is that Yanagi?”

Matsuda’s body went slack for a split second. The intruder grabbed Matsuda, effortlessly tore him away, and hurled him through the air.

Matsuda was sent flying, slamming into the floor ten meters away.

The intruder put the mask back on and, ignoring Matsuda —who lay groaning on the floor — reached the counter and grabbed the box containing the incense burner.

Clutching the box, he walked toward the man who owned it. Standing before the owner — who had collapsed onto the floor, paralyzed by fear — the mysterious figure pulled a gold bar from a pocket at the small of his back.

He tossed the gold bar forward. It landed with a heavy clatter right between the owner’s legs, eliciting a sharp, terrified gasp from the man.

Then, still clutching the box, the figure sprinted out toward the terminal building.

Miyashita gave chase, her pistol drawn and ready.

The mysterious figure sprinted away with ease, passing right through areas like the waiting room. Miyashita gave chase at full speed, but the gap between them widened rapidly.

She dashed out of the terminal building and scanned the road, but the figure had vanished completely from her sight. Holstering her pistol, she muttered breathlessly:

“That wasn’t human. No flesh-and-blood person could possibly do something like that.”

Three days later, Miyashita was summoned by the Public Security Mobile Investigation Unit of the Metropolitan Police Department. Upon hearing the details in the unit commander’s office, she voiced her bewilderment.

“If it’s a kidnapping, shouldn’t Investigation Division 1 be handling it? Why Public Security? And what does it mean that they’ve even requested cooperation from the Watari Lab?”

The commander laid three photographs out on the desk: an intelligent-looking middle-aged man, a boy in his mid-teens, and a slightly younger girl. He spoke in a grave tone.

“The boy and girl were kidnapped. The man is their father. We only learned of the abduction because their mother contacted the local precinct; the father had refused to report it to the police.”

Miyashita crossed her arms, looking exasperated. “That’s a classic line for a kidnapper to use, isn’t it? Is there anyone these days who would actually take that seriously?”

“It’s not quite that simple. The man is Professor Hyodo, a researcher at the National Institute of Cybernetics.”

“So, this isn’t just a kidnapping for profit?”

“The detective in charge finally managed to get the real story out of him after some persuasion. Apparently, the culprit demanded the professor’s research findings — in exchange for the children’s lives.”

“And what kind of research was it?”

“Research into artificial muscle. The initial goal was to treat muscle-wasting diseases like muscular dystrophy, but animal testing revealed the potential to dramatically enhance a vertebrate’s physical capabilities — boosting them to levels dozens of times greater than normal.”

Miyashita sprang up from her chair and leaned over the commandere’s desk.

“Are you saying there’s a connection to that ‘monster’ involved in the string of cultural property thefts?”

The commander held up a palm, signaling Miyashita to calm down.

“We don’t know that yet. Prof. Hyodo works at a national research institute; there’s no way they’d be conducting human experiments. The most likely scenario is that a terrorist organization got wind of the story about that monster and is trying to obtain data from the professor to create their own enhanced, modified humans.”

Miyashita sat back down, organizing his thoughts as he spoke.

“True, in that case, we might well need the cooperation of Prof. Watari and his team. Understood — I’ll explain the situation to the Watari Lab myself.”

After leaving the commander’s office, she stopped by her own desk. A colleague sitting next to her called out.

“An envelope arrived from the Community Safety Division a little while ago. Apparently, it contains files on some athlete.”

“Oh, this must be it. Thanks.”

Miyashita put the large envelope into her tote bag and headed for the Watari Lab.

Everyone gathered in the lab, sitting side-by-side at the table in the reception area, and listened to Miyashita’s explanation. Toyama spoke up, sounding genuinely impressed.

“I’ve heard about that. It’s not my field of expertise, but I recall a huge commotion where a mouse broke out of its cage and escaped. If somebody was to transplant that into a human, it might indeed grant them superhuman physical capabilities.”

Miyashita asked: “But apparently, Prof. Hyodo claims he’s never transplanted it into a human. He says the safety hasn’t even been confirmed in animal trials yet.”

Toyama nodded and said: “From what I’ve heard, the problem is that the artificial muscle has an incredibly short lifespan after transplantation. Apparently, in mice, the artificial muscle malfunctions and causes death within six months.”

Watari stroked his beard as he spoke.

“There might be a group out there conducting secret human experiments without Prof. Hyodo’s knowledge. An international terrorist organization could be capable of such a thing. In any case, I’d like to speak with Prof. Hyodo as soon as tomorrow.”

Miyashita nodded deeply, took that envelope out of her tote bag, and turned to Matsuda.

“Mr. Matsuda, I had someone look into that matter regarding the professional baseball player. Is this definitely the person? Is this the face you saw beneath the mask of that monster?”

Matsuda nodded vigorously upon seeing the photograph Miyashita had pulled from the envelope along with the documents.

“Yes, this is exactly the face I saw. It’s Kentaro Yanagi. Believe it or not, I used to be a baseball kid myself. I was on the team in high school — though we only ever made it as far as the prefectural tournament finals and never quite reached Koshien Stadium. He was a player I really admired back then, partly because our first names are the same.”

Tsutsui chimed in tentatively.

“I asked our company’s sports desk about him, too. He played first base, and for a time, he was a promising young talent who came within a hair’s breadth of winning the home run title.”

Matsuda spoke excitedly, his eyes shining like a child’s.

“Oh, he was incredible back then. Why, a full forty percent of his home runs actually cleared the stadium walls. If only he hadn’t suffered that injury three years ago …”

Tsutsui consulted her notebook as she spoke.

“He broke his right leg in a collision with an opposing fielder while baserunning. He was released by the team after the season; he tried out for various other clubs, but because he hadn’t fully recovered physically, he failed every time. It seems he just faded from the conversation and was eventually forgotten.”

Miyashita spoke while reading the documents she had taken from the envelope.

“It seems his whereabouts have been unknown for about two years. That said, they filed a moving-out notice with the local municipal office and properly terminated the lease on his rental apartment, so it doesn’t look like a case of someone simply vanishing without a trace. However …”

Matsuda leaned forward and asked Miyashita.

“However — what is it? Is there something suspicious?”

Miyashita tilted her head slightly as she answered.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it suspicious, but apparently, just before disappearing, he told close friends that he might be able to get his original body back. Prof. Watari, Dr. Toyama.”

Miyashita turned to the two of them and asked, “Is there a possibility that someone — someone who already possessed exceptional physical capabilities — was approached with an offer to have those artificial muscles implanted?”

Toyama replied, “If there were people out there willing to conduct illicit human experiments, it’s certainly possible. And if the procedure succeeded, it wouldn’t be surprising if the subject turned into a monster with superhuman physical abilities like that.”

“Good grief.”

Watari let out a heavy sigh as he spoke.

“Back when I was a kid, there were plenty of Tokusatsu TV dramas with premises just like that. To think we’ve reached an era where such things actually happen …”

Since there was a possibility that the culprit was keeping Prof. Hyodo’s home under surveillance, Watari and the others met the Hyodo couple in a hotel room near the professor’s house.

Recognizing that the technical details would likely require Toyama’s expertise, Toyama and Miyashita interviewed Prof. Hyodo in one room, while Watari, Matsuda, and Tsutsui spoke with Mrs. Hyodo in the adjoining room.

Mrs. Hyodo looked as though she might burst into tears, unable to sit still; she struggled to find the words as she answered the three men’s questions.

“My older son, Hiroshi, has high school entrance exams coming up soon, and my husband kept insisting he follow in his footsteps and become a doctor. But our son was adamant about pursuing a career in IT — he wouldn’t listen to reason — so the two of them were arguing every single day.”

Sipping tea from a paper cup, Watari asked another question, trying to sound casual.

“I understand your husband told you not to contact the police.”

Mrs. Hyodo nodded vigorously.

“That’s right! He kept saying things I couldn’t make sense of — like how he had some other plan in mind. At first, I didn’t worry too much about our son coming home late, thinking it was just because of the arguments with his father. But when our younger daughter didn’t come home by late at night either, I finally pressed my husband for answers, and he admitted they’d been kidnapped. Honestly, what on earth is my husband thinking?”

Watari spoke to the wife, nodding emphatically to show he understood.

“As a scholar at a national university myself, I’ve heard the rumors — apparently, your husband was once scouted by a university in the United States. I heard the salary and research environment offered were exceptional, yet he turned it down in the end.”

“Yes, that did happen. Back then, he wasn’t getting enough research funding here in Japan, so he was torn, but fortunately, we found a source that provided a massive amount of funding.”

“Oh? That’s news to me. If you don’t mind, could you tell me who the funder was?”

“Just a moment, please. I believe I received a business card from someone at that foundation.”

Mrs. Hyodo rummaged through her handbag for a while before finally locating a business card. She took it out and handed it to Watari.

“It was a foundation with a name that’s a real tongue-twister.”

Watari looked at the card and read the name aloud.

“The Ecnassianer Levon Science Promotion Fund? I’ve never heard of it. Tsutsui, does that ring a bell for you?”

Watari handed the card to Tsutsui. Tsutsui tilted her head in thought.

“No, I’ve never seen or heard of it. Oh, excuse me.”

Tsutsui, who had been acting somewhat fidgety until then, stood up from his chair.

“I’m just going to the restroom.”

She hurried off to the restroom.

“It’s getting cold today. I suffer from poor circulation, so I have to go more often,” she muttered to herself as he relieved himself and washed his hands at the sink.

When she pulled a handkerchief from her suit jacket pocket to dry her wet hands, the business card from earlier came out with it and nearly fell to the floor.

“Whoops! Oh no, I ended up bringing this with me. I hope it didn’t get wet.”

Tsutsui held the edges of the card with both hands and raised it in front of her face. Tsutsui happened to glance at the mirror and nearly cried out, but hurriedly stifled the sound.

She quickly snapped a photo of the business card with her smartphone, returned to the room where Watari and the others were, and handed the card back to Mrs. Hyodo.

The meeting with the Hyodo couple concluded without revealing anything beyond what the police had already gathered. Once the couple had been seen out, Tsutsui gathered the other four members.

“I happened to notice something when I saw the reflection in the mirror earlier.”

She showed them a photo she had taken with her smartphone of the business card the wife had been holding. Then, using a ballpoint pen and the notepad provided in the room, Tsutsui began to write something down.

“You see the alphabet spelling beneath the katakana for the foundation’s name? If you reverse the order of those letters …”

The business card in the photo bore the name “Ecnassianer Levon.” The string of letters Tsutsui wrote on the notepad read: “Novel Renaissance.”

Watari and the others all gasped in unison. Watari stared at the notepad and murmured:

“Novel Renaissance … So this is the source of Prof. Hyodo’s research funding!”

At that same moment, on the top floor of a high-rise apartment complex in Roppongi — the headquarters of Novel Renaissance — the blue-eyed girl, her eyes concealed by an ornate mask, stood facing a man wearing a Hannya mask.

Behind the man in the Hannya mask, another man in a black suit stood explaining the situation to the girl.

“We’ve pinpointed the kidnappers’ hideout. It’s at the foot of the Chichibu Mountains. There are ten of them. We suspect they’re armed with guns, though likely nothing more than handguns.”

The girl asked in a calm, matter-of-fact tone: “And their identities?”

“They’re religious extremists based in the Middle East. Since they’re terrorists who entered the country illegally, there’s no risk of them digging into our background.”

An older woman dressed in a maid’s uniform — her eyes also hidden by a mask — leaned in and whispered into the girl’s ear. “It seems Prof. Hyodo’s wife has contacted the police. What shall we do?”

“Oh dear. Well, let them do as they please. If we can rescue the professor’s children, the police being involved doesn’t really matter. To think that after preventing a ‘brain drain’ of a scientist who is a national treasure, we’d end up entangled in something like this … Prof. Hyodo came to us directly for help, so we must rescue those children unharmed, no matter what.”

The man in the Hannya mask stood perfectly still, without uttering a word. Frowning, the girl walked right up to him and removed her own mask, revealing a face that still held a youthful innocence.

Yet, the man in the Hannya mask did not budge. She spoke to him in a somewhat sharp tone.

“Aren’t you surprised to see my face?”

The man wearing the Hannya mask silently shook his head. The girl ordered him again, her tone sharper.

“Take off that mask and kneel there. Let me see your head.”

The man immediately removed the Hannya mask, revealing the face of Yanagi, a former professional baseball player. He then knelt before the girl. When she brushed back his bangs, several long scars were visible on his forehead. Her voice held a note of anger.

“This isn’t what we agreed on.”

A man in a black suit standing behind her asked quietly, “Is there a problem, Boss? If you wish to explore other options, we do have time.”

The girl thought for a moment before speaking to the man in the black suit.

“No — just in case, we need to move immediately. Proceed with the recovery operation as planned.”

She turned back to Yanagi and gave the order.

“From this point on, follow his instructions. You may go.”

Yanagi nodded silently, stood up with a completely expressionless face, put the Hannya mask back on, and left the room, following the man in the black suit.

The girl issued a sharp command to the woman in the maid uniform.

“I need to speak with the Middle East branch manager via the video conferencing system. Get it ready — right now.”

About ten minutes later, the girl sat in a chair before a large LCD screen in a windowless room. The screen lit up, revealing the image of a boy — apparently Arab and around ten years old. He spoke to the girl in Arabic.

“Hello, Himiko. It’s been a while. Is this urgent?”

The girl — addressed as Himiko — replied in Japanese, her expression and eyes fierce.

“The ‘Augmented Human’ project wasn’t supposed to include brainwashing via neural modification. What is the meaning of this?”

“What? Are you talking about that Japanese guy, Yanagi?”

The boy responded in Arabic. Without the need for interpreters or subtitles, the two appeared to understand each other’s languages perfectly.

“That’s right. I verified it myself. Those are unmistakably the scars of a neural modification surgery. He’s no better than a robot. I gave strict orders not to disregard the subject’s own will.”

“Understood. It seems there was a mistake on our end. I need a little time; I’ll look into it immediately.”

“Let me know as soon as you find out what happened.”

The girl pressed a switch on the armrest of her chair, and the screen went dark.

At the foot of the mountain, amidst the snow-covered landscape, stood a solitary, stylishly built house. Locked away in the basement — a space that appeared to have once served as a pantry — were a fifteen-year-old boy and a twelve-year-old girl.

Being underground, the room had no windows; the only way to reach the surface was via a ladder leading to a ceiling hatch, but the ladder had been pulled up, and the hatch was firmly shut.

Wrapped in blankets, the two huddled together to endure the biting cold. In the corner of the room lay scattered empty plastic bottles and wrappers from sweet bread.

Peeking out from her blanket, the girl spoke to the boy.

“Brother … I’m cold.”

Though shivering himself, the boy tried desperately to cheer his sister up.

“Hang in there, Rika. The police will come to rescue us soon, I’m sure of it.”

At the entrance of the high wall surrounding the house, two dark-skinned men stood guard. Taking advantage of the area’s isolation, they made no effort to conceal the handguns they held.

It was a clear morning; the sunlight was bright, yet the cold was severe. They kept rubbing their leather-gloved hands together.

Just then, a sharp, metallic clang-clang rang out several times nearby. The men raised their guns and moved toward the source of the sound, finding only an empty canned-coffee tin rolling on the ground.

Standing back-to-back with their knees slightly bent and guns held at chest level, they scanned their surroundings. About ten meters away stood a large tree.

A figure rose to a standing position on a branch some five meters up that tree. It was Yanagi, wearing a Hannya mask. Kicking off the branch, Yanagi launched himself straight toward the guards.

Before they could even react to the figure hurtling toward them like a bullet from out of their field of vision, the two men were slammed into and sent tumbling to the ground.

Cursing in a foreign tongue, the men sprawled on the ground aimed their pistols at Yanagi without changing their position. But the next instant, Yanagi vanished from their sight once more.

Crouching low, Yanagi moved at breakneck speed toward the heads of the fallen men. He brought his fists down hard, smashing them onto the hands the men were using to grip their guns.

With a sharp crack, the guards let out piercing screams. Yanagi snatched the pistols from them — one in each thick-gloved hand — and crushed the weapons right then and there.

The sound of twisting metal escaped his palms as the guns, their barrels bent, clattered to the floor.

As the two men tried to crawl away, Yanagi delivered a swift, sharp-edged hand strike to the back of each man’s neck, knocking them unconscious.

Yanagi walked straight through the gate in the wall and reached for the building’s door. Finding it locked, he slammed both arms against it, forcing the entire door to collapse inward.

Alerted by the noise, three men rushed into the hallway with their pistols drawn. Yanagi sprinted straight ahead, running sideways along the wall to launch himself at the men one after another.

It took less than three seconds to knock all three unconscious. He then moved to the large kitchen and effortlessly shoved aside a metal safe — standing a full meter tall — with just one hand. Beneath it lay a square-shaped hatch in the floor.

Yanagi hooked his fingers into the recessed seam and pulled upward, revealing the entrance to a basement. The trapped siblings huddled together in alarm, gazing up at him from below.

Yanagi found a wooden ladder, lowered it into the basement, and beckoned for the siblings to climb up.

The two cast off their blankets and tentatively ascended the ladder. The boy was wearing a high-collared school uniform, while his younger sister, Rika, appeared to be in her school clothes — just a jumper skirt with a cardigan thrown over it.

The boy spoke to Yanagi in a trembling voice.

“Who are you, mister? You aren’t one of them, are you?”

Yanagi replied in a flat, robotic tone.

“Save you. That is my duty. Come with me.”

As Yanagi led the pair outside, a buzzing sound echoed from above; a multi-rotor drone was hovering about twenty meters overhead.

The communicator in Yanagi’s jacket pocket rang. He pulled it out and held it to his ear, hearing the voice of a man in a black suit from the Novel Renaissance headquarters.

“Yanagi, there are more of them. Evade the drone’s surveillance and take the children to civilization. It’s too dangerous to rendezvous right now.”

Yanagi ended the call and picked up a fist-sized stone lying on the ground. He hurled it at the drone high above. With a sound of air being sliced, the drone exploded in mid-air and plummeted to the ground.

Yanagi tucked the boy and his sister under his arms — one on each side — and sprinted toward the nearby woods. The two children cried out in terror as they were carried along.

Yanagi sprinted through the forest at a furious pace — hardly the speed one would expect while carrying two people. Before long, a ravine about five meters wide came into view. Sheer cliffs dropped dozens of meters on either side, with a stream flowing along the rocky bottom.

Yanagi ran straight toward the cliff without slowing down in the slightest. The boy shouted at him in a voice tight with panic.

“Mister, you can’t make that! We’re going to fall!”

Paying no heed, Yanagi leapt across the gap. The two he was carrying covered their eyes with their hands. After a slight jolt, they tentatively opened their eyes to find themselves on the opposite cliff, having cleared the five-meter span.

Still carrying the pair, Yanagi continued to race through the forest at forty kilometers per hour.

Eventually, they emerged onto a paved road. The boy asked Yanagi to put them down. Yanagi set them on the ground and pointed toward the town. As the three of them walked along, the boy looked up at Yanagi and asked:

“Are you a cop? Oh, I’m Hiroshi Hyodo. And this is my little sister, Rika.”

Yanagi looked at Hiroshi but offered no reply; instead, he placed his hands on their backs and urged them forward. Dressed too lightly for the cold, Hiroshi and Rika soon began to shiver.

After walking for about thirty minutes, they spotted a small shop. They hurried to the entrance, only to find it blocked by an iron security shutter and a sign reading “Closed for the Winter Season.”

Peering through a gap, they saw a rural general store; inside, there appeared to be items like cold-weather jackets. Hiroshi clicked his tongue in frustration.

“No good. If we could just get our hands on those, we could keep the cold at bay.”

Hearing this, Yanagi suddenly grabbed the iron shutter and forced it open to the sides. Something snapped loudly as it broke. He then used the same brute force to pry open the glass door behind it.

Hiroshi and Rika stepped inside, pushed aside the merchandise on the shelves, and each picked up a cold-weather jacket. They looked for a telephone, but it appeared to have been removed; it was nowhere to be found.

Yanagi pulled a gold bar from a hip pocket of his black outfit — which resembled a motorcycle racing suit — and placed it on the register counter.

Then, he spoke to the two of them: “This will do. Take it.”

The three of them walked along the road for another hour, mostly in silence. Eventually, houses began to appear here and there, but they were all deserted — left abandoned for so long that they had fallen into ruin.

When Rika complained of being tired from the walk, they decided to take a break in a vacant lot between the houses. Hiroshi noticed a baseball lying in the corner of the lot and picked it up.

Rika sat down on the ground and asked Yanagi, “Hey, we never actually asked your name, did we? What should we call you?”

Yanagi tilted his head slightly.

“Name? My … name? I don’t know.”

Baffled by the reply, Hiroshi held the ball out to Yanagi.

“Let’s play catch. Moving around might warm us up. You’ve played baseball before, right?”

Yanagi’s reaction shifted. His whole body gave a sharp jerk, and he twisted his head as if desperately trying to recall something.

“Baseball … baseball.”

Without waiting, Hiroshi tossed the ball toward Yanagi. Yanagi caught it with his right hand. When he simply stood there motionless, Hiroshi grew impatient and spoke up.

“What’s wrong? Throw it back.”

Looking bewildered, Yanagi nevertheless assumed a pitching stance and threw the ball. It flew wide, far to the side of where Hiroshi stood.

There was a sound of air being torn apart, and Hiroshi’s hair fluttered up. For a split second, the ball seemed to vanish. It struck a concrete block wall in the distance at bullet-like speed, instantly shattering into flying fragments.

A section of the wall where the ball had hit collapsed to the other side with a dull thud. Both Hiroshi and Rika gasped in astonishment.

Yanagi removed the gloves from both hands and stared at his fists and palms. Still devoid of inflection, he muttered to himself in a tone of bewilderment. “What’s happening? Is this … my body?”

Hiroshi, who had rushed to his side, cried out in surprise again upon seeing Yanagi’s hands.

“Whoa, look at all those scars. Are those from some kind of surgery?”

Yanagi remained silent, his gaze fixed intently on his own hands. Just then, the sound of several vehicles approaching from a distance reached them.

Yanagi scooped up the two of them again and sprinted toward a warehouse a short distance away.

Two black vans spotted the group and closed in. Yanagi shoved Hiroshi and Rika into a small, door-equipped alcove within the warehouse.

“Mister! What are we going to do?”

Hiroshi shouted. Yanagi replied in a flat, emotionless tone.

“Stay here. Safe.”

Yanagi closed the double iron doors and wedged a thick wooden beam through the handles — acting as a makeshift bar — to keep them shut.

The vans screeched to a halt, and eight men clad in helmets, protective gear, and carrying transparent reinforced-plastic shields leapt out. Several of them were armed with assault rifles.

Yanagi charged at the men with blinding speed, leaping into the air just before reaching them. Catching the men off guard as he vanished from their line of sight, he dropped down from above onto one of the rifle-wielding men at the back of the formation.

With a single, lightning-fast strike of his hand, he slashed at the man’s right shoulder; the man screamed and collapsed, his right arm dangling limply at an unnatural angle. It looked as though his shoulder joint had been shattered.

The other men immediately scattered, forming a circle around Yanagi. Yet, they held their fire.

Another van slid into the scene a moment later. Amidst the tense standoff between Yanagi and the armed men, the sound of Hiroshi pounding on the closed door from the inside and shouting could be heard.

“Mister! Are you okay? Please, don’t push yourself too hard!”

The door of the van slid open, and a large figure leapt out. It was Matsuda.

Members of the Watari Lab team watched from inside the vehicle. Matsuda took a wide detour to avoid the spot where Yanagi and the others stood, sprinting instead toward the warehouse door.

Noticing this, Yanagi moved straight toward the man directly in his path. Yanagi’s fist punched right through the reinforced plastic shield the man thrust forward, striking him in the face and leaving it a bloody mess.

Yanagi vaulted five meters into the air, closing in on Matsuda from behind just as the man reached the door. Matsuda pulled out the timber bar securing the door while calling out to the children inside.

“Are you Hiroshi and Rika? Stand back. I’m going to save you.”

Yanagi, who had closed the distance and was about to strike from behind, suddenly froze. Sensing a presence, Matsuda turned around.

His eyes met Yanagi’s, visible through the openings of the Hannya mask. Yanagi spoke.

“Those children … save. You … save?”

“That’s right — we came to save them, too. Those people over there are police special forces; they aren’t the enemy!”

Yanagi looked back. Two members of the police special forces lay on the ground, groaning in agony after being severely injured by Yanagi’s attack.

Nearby officers were frantically trying to administer first aid.

“Hey, hang in there! It’s no good — the bleeding won’t stop.”

“Get a medevac helicopter here immediately! First aid isn’t enough!”

Staring at the scene, Yanagi walked unsteadily toward the officers. As he walked, he looked at his own hands; they were stained crimson with the blood of the officer he had just struck down.

An officer armed with an assault rifle noticed Yanagi approaching; he leveled his weapon and shouted, “Stop! I’ll shoot this time!”

Yanagi didn’t stop; instead, he walked right up to the officer. He grabbed the barrel with his left hand and pressed it against his own forehead. Raising his right hand to chest level, he beckoned repeatedly with his index finger, urging the officer to pull the trigger.

Just as the officer hesitated, Hiroshi and Rika came running through the open door. Rika shouted at the officer, “No! Don’t shoot!”

Hiroshi threw his arms around Yanagi’s waist and cried out, “Don’t kill him! He’s not a bad guy. He saved us from the kidnappers!”

Rika grabbed Yanagi’s right hand and said, “It’s going to be okay, mister. Our dad is a scientist and a doctor. I’m sure he can fix this.”

Hiroshi, too, shouted as he tried to pull Yanagi back. “Yeah! If some surgery made you like that, Dad can turn you back to normal. So please, don’t try to die!”

Yanagi released the gun barrel with his left hand and turned around. Slowly, he removed the Hannya mask, revealing a face covered in scars. A faint, gentle smile appeared on his previously expressionless face.

He placed his left hand on Hiroshi’s shoulder and stroked Rika’s head with his right. Immediately after, his body gave a violent jerk and began to shudder uncontrollably. Then, he collapsed backward onto the ground.

Even after falling, his body continued to convulse violently. Matsuda rushed over and lifted him up. He shouted toward the van, “Dr. Toyama!”

Toyama came running from the car, clutching a piece of equipment at his side. He pressed a stethoscope-like device against the exposed skin of Yanagi’s neck and wrists; the device was connected by a cord to a box-shaped unit.

Toyama offered an explanation before Matsuda could even ask.

“I borrowed this from Prof. Hyodo. It’s a device for measuring the bio-currents in artificial muscles.”

He laid Yanagi’s body on the ground and stared at the digital readout on the measuring device. Then, he murmured in a daze:

“There’s no bio-current flowing. The artificial muscles have reached the end of their lifespan. Do they really fail this quickly when transplanted into a human?”

Yanagi’s body stopped convulsing, and his eyes closed. Suddenly, Matsuda began to shout, waving his right arm in short, rhythmic motions in front of his chest.

” Blast it out, Yanagi! Blast it out, Yanagi!”

Matsuda spoke to Hiroshi and Rika, who were staring at him in surprise.

“He used to be a professional baseball player. If we call out to him like this, maybe he can hold onto his consciousness.”

Hiroshi immediately grasped the idea and began shouting at Yanagi as well.

” Blast it out, Yanagi! Blast it out, Yanagi!”

Rika joined in too, clapping her hands to keep the rhythm as she called out.

” Blast it out, Yanagi!”

Before long, Yanagi’s eyes snapped wide open. His right arm slowly lifted, reaching out as if trying to grasp something in the air.

A radiant smile spread across Yanagi’s face. Yet, what was reflected in his eyes was not the reality before him.

Carrying his bat, Yanagi steps onto the field from the dugout, bathed in the blazing midsummer sun. A roar of cheers erupts from the stands, shaking the entire stadium.

“Blast it out, Yanagi! Blast it out, Yanagi! Waaaaaah!”

Enveloped by the cheers, Yanagi walks confidently toward a swirling vortex of dazzling light.

In the real world, Yanagi lay lifeless, a bright smile still on his face. His right arm, which had been thrust toward the sky, dropped limply to the ground. Matsuda spoke to Toyama in a desperate tone.

“Dr. Toyama, is there anything we can do?”

Toyama silently shook his head. Matsuda gently closed Yanagi’s eyelids with his palm.

The next day, at the headquarters of Novel Renaissance, Himiko — the girl with blue eyes — was speaking via a large screen to an Arab boy from the Middle East branch. He began speaking in Arabic.

“I’m sorry, Himiko. It turns out the oversight was on our end. It was this man.”

An elderly Arab man, looking terrified, was shoved into view from the edge of the screen; two burly, masked men were gripping him by the scruff of his neck. The boy continued.

“Blinded by greed, he leaked a sample of the artificial muscle onto the black market. It seems he intended to sell that Japanese man — Yanagi — later as a finished demonstration model. That’s why he performed the brainwashing surgery.”

Himiko asked another question in Japanese.

“What about recovering the diverted sample?”

“I’m sorry; it had already been purchased. It might have ended up in the hands of some country’s military.”

“Dispose of that man. Right now. While I’m watching.”

“Understood.”

The boy issued an order to the men; an elderly man was shoved into the center of the frame, and a pistol was pressed against the back of his head.

As the old man shouted something, three bullets were fired in rapid succession into his head, sending a spray of blood into the air.

Once the man’s corpse vanished from the screen, Himiko let out a deep sigh and spoke to the boy on the display in Arabic.

“Adults are hopeless, aren’t they? They’re all incapable of understanding our ideals.”

The boy replied in fluent Japanese.

“This incident was an utter blunder by the Middle East branch. There is no excuse for it.”

Himiko answered in Arabic.

“We need adults to handle the fieldwork, so it couldn’t be helped. It’s a dilemma. That means I’m owed a favor. So, how about you pay that back right away? There’s something I want you to look into.”

The following Sunday afternoon, Watariu was jogging along the riverbank some distance from his home; he bought a cup of sake at a convenience store, sat by the water, and began to sip it slowly.

Although it was winter, the sun felt warm. Just as Watari — dressed in sweatpants — was enjoying a drink in broad daylight, a sleek black limousine, easily eight meters long, pulled to a stop on the road directly above him.

As Watari gazed curiously at the incongruously luxurious vehicle, a door opened, and a woman emerged wearing a maid’s outfit with a long black skirt. She wore a mask over her eyes — the sort one might see at a ball for European nobility in days gone by.

When she respectfully opened the other door, a young girl stepped out, wearing a child-sized duffel coat over her dress. She, too, wore a similar mask.

Blue eyes peered through the eyeholes of her mask. She appeared to be around ten years old. It was Himiko. She walked straight down the riverbank slope and approached Watari, then suddenly spoke to him.

“My, drinking while it’s still so bright out? Isn’t that bad for your health?”

Watari looked puzzled, yet he answered.

“It’s a drink after a workout — something I really look forward to. So, did you have some business with me?”

“I just wanted to say thank you. You were a great help regarding Kentaro Yanagi.”

Watari’s hand, holding the cup of sake, froze in mid-air. Slowly, he asked her a question. “Young lady, who exactly are you?”

“Let me just say I represent ‘Novel Renaissance.’ I want you — and only you, Prof. Watari — to understand our true intentions.”

“True intentions? You mean your organization’s objective?”

“You’re likely under a misconception; our goal isn’t to sow chaos or destruction in human society. It’s to conduct repeated experiments to determine how humanity can survive the coming climate change.”

“Hmph, that’s a bold claim. Do you intend to become humanity’s savior, young lady?”

“Saving every single human being without exception is impossible. We only save those deemed worthy of survival. To that end, if there’s a chance it might help restore the balance of nature, we might even bring our predecessors back to the modern age.”

“Our predecessors?”

“Cenozoic creatures. After the dinosaurs went extinct, mammals — which had lived quietly in their shadow — underwent explosive evolution. We humans are their descendants and the current champions of the planet, right? But some species survived while others went extinct. What made the difference? There are surely clues there for how humanity can survive the coming era of climate change.”

“Is that the reason for the string of giant creature incidents happening only in Japan? And what does that have to do with me?”

“We need an adult who understands our ideals and will cooperate with us. There are many things in this world we can’t do at our age, after all. Of course, we’ll make it worth your while.”

“Worth my while? Oh? In what way?”

“We’ll provide Prof. Watari and Dr. Toyama with a research environment far superior to what you have now. And for the detective, the newspaper reporter, and the Self-Defense Force member — we’ll offer jobs where they can exercise their talents more freely. What do you say?”

“Hah! That certainly sounds appealing.”

“Right? So, it’s a deal, then.”

Himiko extended her right hand, inviting a handshake. Watari reached out his right hand as well, but instead of shaking hers, he used the back of his hand to flick hers upward. As Himiko yelped and pulled her hand back, Watari spoke in a low, stern voice.

“Listen, kid — don’t underestimate adults.”

The smile vanished from Himiko’s face, and Watari continued in a calm, measured tone.

“Saving every single person is impossible. That’s certainly true. But knowing full well it’s impossible, we still struggle and fight to find a way to save everyone. That’s how adults do things. If you lot were involved in this whole giant creature mess … there’s no way I’m becoming your ally.”

“Ooh, scary.”

Saying this with exaggerated flair, Himiko began climbing the slope toward the limousine.

“But I do like that about you. After all, there aren’t any adults around who’ll truly scold us like that. Anyway, Prof. Watari — let’s meet again sometime.”

Himiko climbed into the limousine, and the woman in a maid’s uniform closed the door. She bowed deeply to Watari before disappearing inside the vehicle herself.

As he watched the limousine drive away, Watari wondered whether he should notify Assistant Inspector Miyashita. Ultimately, however, he decided against it.

“If they were the sort of people who could be easily caught by the police, they wouldn’t have appeared before me so brazenly. Are they children? If so … this is going to be a tougher challenge than I imagined.”

A few days later, a quiet wake for Yanagi was held in Tokyo. His body had undergone a meticulous forensic autopsy; once the necessary data was collected, the remains were released to his parents.

All information regarding the cause of Yanagi’s death and the recent series of incidents was kept confidential from the family.

Because Hiroshi and Rika expressed a desire to attend the wake, Miyashita accompanied them as a precaution, and the four members of the Hyodo family visited the ceremonial hall where the service was taking place.

They told Yanagi’s parents that they had been fans of his during his days as an active athlete. After offering incense and while on the way home in the family car driven by his father, Hiroshi suddenly spoke up.

“Dad, I’m going to apply to that high school. I’m aiming for medical school.”

Professor Hyodo’s face lit up.

“Is that so? Ours has been a family of doctors for generations. You’ve finally come to understand.”

Hiroshi replied in a resolute tone.

“No, that’s not it! It’s not to follow in your footsteps. You mentioned it briefly the other day, didn’t you? That there might be future cases where that artificial muscle technology is misused. If medical science can turn a human into a monster like that, it should be able to do the reverse, too. I’m going to research a way to restore victims like Mr. Yanagi to their original bodies. That is why I’m going to become a medical researcher.”

A week later, a medium-sized helicopter was flying inland, passing over the Kurobe Dam. Seated in the rear were Himiko and an attendant dressed in a maid outfit.

Pointing out the window, the maid offered an explanation:

“That is the area in question. We had a shell company acquire all the plots, including the spring water source.”

Himiko gazed at the landscape below and remarked:

“Huh, there’s a lot of exposed rock. It’s not quite the image I had of a water source. We would’ve been in trouble if we hadn’t realized the other interested buyer was backed by Chinese capital.”

“Indeed. Thanks to intelligence from our Middle East branch, we were able to outbid them.”

Himiko sighed as she read some documents on her tablet.

“Regulations on foreign land ownership are still only at the ‘reporting requirement’ stage. Armed conflicts over water resources have been raging worldwide for ages, even if it hasn’t made big headlines yet. They can’t even grasp the danger of letting foreign capital control water sources in times like these. Adults really are hopeless.”

Himiko looked out the window again, a mature smile playing on her lips.

“Oh, well. If push comes to shove, Novel Renaissance can just buy it all up. Even the entire nation of Japan itself.”

Beneath a clear blue winter sky, the helicopter banked and flew off into the distance.