013. The Night of the Unjust

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7:45 PM
The fading dusk ignited the mystery of the night, and the slender crescent moon quietly traveled along the dark river to pay its silent visit.

In front of the Starlight Detective Agency, a flickering orange-red glow danced intermittently.

Anritō, clutching his collar, leaned against the wall and gazed upward at the neon-lit urban sky.

The night had fully settled in when suddenly, the apartment door beside him swung open. A slender shadow emerged, moving deftly and silently closer.

“Ah, good evening, boss.”

Anritō casually stubbed out the burning cigarette at his lips, addressing the much younger high school girl with the unusual title of “boss.”

“That title sounds so strange... Just call me by my name, old man,” Shira Kaneiko said, her hands clasped behind her back, holding a roll of printed paper.

“...Old man?” Anritō hadn’t expected such a sharp retort and immediately felt unsettled.

He composed himself, pressing the cigarette against the wall behind him to extinguish it, and fixed Kaneiko with a cold glare. “Don’t get too cocky, kid.”

Just as discussing a woman’s age is a taboo topic, men too have their sensitive subjects.

Primarily, salary is the most delicate—mention it lightly, and irritation and impatience arise.

With a modest income, many sensitive issues emerge: age, singleness, loans...

This brat’s words were enough to rile anyone up.

Anritō thought, doubting his own sense of justice as a police officer was one thing — after all, the “Reaper” did it all, and his involvement in a civilian detective agency was against regulations.

But this kid dared to bring up age...

Yet, recalling the over four million yen recently transferred to his bank account, his anger quickly subsided.

He sighed inwardly.

Though it was a bit humiliating to stoop to a high school girl for money, she was indeed generous.

Kaneiko noticed the change in Anritō’s expression but didn’t display the typical victorious glee of a young girl—only a calm smile. “Didn't you go looking for a hotel nearby to stay overnight?”

“I found one.”

“I see. You were worried about me going home alone as a high schooler, so you came to escort me?”

“You guessed right.”

“Then please take me home, old man.”

Kaneiko glanced at the bicycle beside Anritō. “You’re not exactly broke now, right? Want to try buying a car?”

Buy a car? Anritō considered the question. With a decent job, it seemed natural to want a car, but the money wasn’t easy to spend. Being a public servant brought all sorts of complications.

“Not planning on it for now.”

“In that case... you can use my car if you want, sometime. My home is quite far, and biking takes ages.” The young lady said this as she reached into her school uniform pocket, pulling out a car key and handing it to Anritō.

“Maybach?” Anritō was holding the key to such a high-end car for the first time in his life.

Kaneiko smiled proudly. “It’s parked in the garage over there.”

“They say on rainy summer nights, driving a Maybach on the highway you might encounter Odin from Norse mythology, riding his eight-legged steed and wielding Gungnir, blocking the toll gate.”

“Really?” Kaneiko, familiar with cognitive science, was intrigued.

During Anritō’s absence from the agency, she had contacted friends to investigate this special police officer, learning about his “S.T.F.” identity, and naturally trusted his words.

“Of course not. Rainy nights and Maybachs have nothing to do with Odin. Gods like Odin, who could change reality with a wave of the hand, vanished from the world millennia ago.”

“That scared me.”

“But driving such an expensive car on a rainy day on the highway can’t end well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Capitalists flaunting wealth attract envy, or in other words, divine retribution. With your family background, you should know some cognitive science—sometimes natural disasters and man-made calamities mean the same thing there.”

“Hehe...” Kaneiko chuckled.

As they talked, they entered the garage.

Though it was Anritō’s first time driving a Maybach, his driving skill easily overcame the nervousness and unfamiliarity.

The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department was a peculiar place: officers were encouraged to use bicycles daily but had to be ready to jump into patrol cars and chase criminals at a moment’s notice.

Thanks to this, “driving skills” were part of monthly evaluations, with officers rotating through driving practice weekly.

...

Anritō didn’t drive Kaneiko directly to the sprawling mansion atop the hill.

He dropped her off at a distance, then drove back to Sakura Shrine Town.

According to Kaneiko’s casual bragging, the car was a gift for graduating elementary school.

Usually, a chauffeur was hired to be on call, driving the car around her.

But recently, the detective agency’s establishment had strained relations with her parents, so the driver was recalled.

Without a license or driving experience, Kaneiko could only let the car gather dust in the garage.

Now...

This Maybach had become Anritō’s official work vehicle.

Thinking this way, joining the Starlight Detective Agency was quite a windfall.

Leaning back into the soft seat, Anritō inhaled the intoxicating scent of money and power in the driver’s seat. The oncoming cars under the high beams seemed like commoners bowing to their king.

Too bad the car wasn’t his.

The overworked salaryman searched Sakura Shrine Town on his phone’s GPS.

His eyes flicked to the vague outline of a building on the hill—the White Kane family residence.

Recalling a school romance manga he once read, Anritō murmured to himself.

He wondered if the young lady would ever meet a poor but determined student council president, leading to some elaborate “love mind games” and a flash marriage after graduation.

But Kaneiko’s life was none of his concern.

He was just an ordinary man who had stumbled upon a lucky break...

Ordinary... in what way?

Anritō caught a fleeting slender shadow in the rearview mirror and suddenly burst out laughing in exasperation and helplessness.

...

“Open the door!”

Though they were already on the highway, a sharp, ethereal voice came from beside him.

Anritō glanced at the dashboard, then turned his head in despair to see Shū Sakurao, a middle school witch cosplayer, riding a broomstick at forty-five kilometers per hour, tapping persistently on the car window.

Her wide witch’s hat fluttered wildly in the wind.

You want me to open the door on a highway?

Do you want me dead?

Does she think everyone is as bizarre as her?

Suppressing his urge to complain, Anritō flatly refused.

“You can’t open the door on the highway. Either find a way in yourself.”

He didn’t care if Sakurao could hear him.

Obviously, she didn’t take the deadly speed seriously; the wind seemed powerless against her, and she clearly heard his words.

In the next moment, the little witch outside vanished.

A broom appeared in the back seat.

On the passenger seat sat a young witch with a dangerously beautiful face.

Honestly, after leaving “Night Moon” this afternoon, Anritō was surprised he could ignore Sakurao’s extraordinary allure.

But when faced with the incomprehensible, it was easier to leave it to the “Reaper” and the erased month of memory.

“What kind of magic is this?”

He asked the little witch while driving.

“Just came up with it... ‘Magic to enter a car without opening the door.’”

“How did you find me?”

“I used ‘Magic to find Anritō.’”

Sakurao wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, but the car’s safety system seemed not to detect her presence, offering no warning.

Yet, considering she flew on a broomstick at highway speeds and had roamed the world unnoticed for a month, none of this seemed strange anymore.

“You’re quite carefree, Miss Shū.”

The girl tilted her head toward Anritō. “Why... do you always use formal speech with me?”

“Isn’t formal speech appropriate?” Anritō answered calmly. “Strangers use formal speech to show respect.”

“But my sister said you only use formal speech for people you dislike... and I don’t dislike you.”

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“I see. Then how did you address strangers when you first met them? For example, if you bought a cake at a dessert shop and brought it to the counter, how would you interact?”

“Human, I’m taking this.”

Damn it, I knew you weren’t human! Anritō’s expression darkened as he recalled the tumultuous start to his return to normalcy, feeling a pang of sorrow and a desperate urge to head straight to Shinjuku for a wild night of spending.

The silence inside the car grew awkward.

This made Sakurao uncomfortable.

She said, “I asked Rita about you.”

“Rita?” Anritō muttered the name but quickly realized it was short for Margarita, shortened to “Rita” by Sakurao.

Sakurao toyed with the seatbelt beside her. “Rita usually calls you ‘Tō.’”

“Just my given name, huh.”

Sakurao nodded seriously. “Because ‘Anritō’ is tiring to say, just ‘Tō’ is convenient.”

Then she added, “My name is hard to say too. You can call me however you like.”

Anritō wasn’t concerned about what might seem an ambiguous topic to a middle schooler.

He focused seriously on driving.

Only after confirming the luxury car had safely exited the highway and entered the slower city streets did he finally relax a little.

Sakurao sensed his mood and refrained from disturbing him.

Like a playful kitten tiring itself out, she lazily leaned back in the seat, closed her eyes, and breathed evenly and calmly.

Tokyo’s night was as dazzling as ever.

The distant clamor of crowds felt as if one were part of it.

...

8:55 PM

Anritō parked the car in the private garage beside the agency.

He didn’t bother the sleeping Sakurao in the passenger seat.

He got out, locked the Maybach, and helped lift Ryōtarō Tōdō’s bicycle in front of the agency.

Riding this old companion, likely as old as Sakurao, he sped through the streets.

Soon, he found the inn he had scoped out for dinner time.

The original plan was to rest there one night away from the coffee shop and observe how Sakurao and Margarita got along.

But this witch had recklessly shown up and even followed him onto the highway...

To be honest, it was rather unsettling.

Given that, Anritō saw no reason to continue staying at the inn.

Recalling Sakurao’s “Magic to find Anritō,” he felt a tinge of dread.

At the counter, he canceled the reservation, pocketed his bank card, closed his wallet, and left the lobby, convinced he was just an ordinary man.

...

Honestly, if he were to spend the night somewhere, the “Night Moon” was indeed the best choice in Anritō’s view.

After all, it was the loft he’d remodeled with three years of savings.

A cozy, snug layout that inspired security, combined with the slightly cool spring night — just a shower, pajamas, and a dive into the warm bed would quickly lull him to sleep.

Just as he was about to sleep, he suddenly sensed something heavy in the bed.

He glanced down, then quickly lifted his head, glaring in disbelief and frustration at Margarita, who was timidly peeking from the stairwell.

But the “abnormality” in the bed suddenly became active.

And its movements grew so pronounced they couldn’t be ignored.

At that moment, his phone on the bedside table lit up with an incoming call.

The caller ID read Ryōtarō Tōdō.

Anritō didn’t dare answer.