She had not obtained any direct evidence pointing to Kanjuro, but what she gained was perhaps more important—a clear signal: Kanjuro was firmly protected by a network of relationships built on fear, blind obedience, twisted loyalty, and possibly deeper secrets. He was like a black hole, not only full of mysteries himself but also causing those who approached him to become abnormal.
Hiratsuka Shizuka's fear, the girls' protection, Yukinoshita's "Uncle"... all these fragments pieced together a dangerous profile in Sato's mind, far exceeding her imagination.
She looked at Kanjuro. Kanjuro seemed to sense her gaze and, from a distance, gave her an extremely slight yet meaningful smile.
That smile seemed to say: "See, you can't prove anything."
Miwako Sato clenched her fist. She knew that routine questioning could no longer break through this barrier. This case, and Kanjuro himself, required a deeper, more cautious, and perhaps even... an investigation outside the rules.
The truth might be darker than she imagined, and the path to it was certainly fraught with thorns. Miwako Sato did not give up. She found a relatively secluded corner and stopped Kanjuro, who was standing alone, seemingly enjoying the scenery. She needed to set aside the emotionally compromised witnesses and speak directly with the man at the center of the storm.
"Kanjuro-kun," Sato got straight to the point, her eyes burning bright, "We both know that perfect coincidence often implies careful design. Dozens of lives cannot simply vanish into thin air. You are the prime suspect."
Kanjuro slowly turned around, his face showing no hint of panic at the accusation, but rather a calm smile bordering on pity. He tilted his head slightly and looked at Sato:
"Officer Sato, the law requires evidence, doesn't it?" His voice was calm, yet carried undeniable force. "Without absolute evidence, all your suspicions are merely... theoretical conjecture. And I have an absolutely sufficient alibi; so many pairs of eyes can testify for me. Don't you think it's... ridiculous and unprofessional to determine I'm the killer before finding concrete proof?"
His logic was clear, his tone composed, casually dismissing Sato's doubts as "ridiculous" and "unprofessional."
As he spoke, he suddenly took a step forward, closing the distance between them. Before Sato could react, he reached out a finger and, in an extremely flirtatious yet irresistible manner, lifted Sato's chin, forcing her to look directly at his breathtakingly handsome face.
Miwako Sato froze, her breathing suddenly quickening. At such close range, she could clearly see her reflection in Kanjuro's deep eyes, and feel the warm touch from his fingertip, a stark contrast to his cold words. A wave of emotions—anger, shame, and a hint of an unspeakable flutter—instantly swept over her, cracking her renowned composure and causing her body to involuntarily soften slightly.
"You...!" She violently slapped Kanjuro's hand away and stepped back, her cheeks uncontrollably flushing, her heart pounding relentlessly in her chest. She forced herself to calm down, took a deep breath, regained her detective's authority, and sneered:
"Coincidence? Ha, taking the only surviving little girl, happening to sleep in another camp, happening to have more than one person testify for you—isn't all this too 'perfect'? Kanjuro, your suspicion cannot be cleared!"
Kanjuro seemed satisfied with her reaction. He withdrew his hand, his fingertip seemingly brushing against itself unintentionally, the curve of his mouth carrying a hint of amusement:
"That is merely your theoretical suspicion, Officer Sato. The reality is, you can't touch me." His tone remained flat, yet revealed an air of confident arrogance.
Sato stared at him, suddenly remembering Hiratsuka Shizuka's fearful gaze, and demanded sharply: "And! Did you threaten someone? Teacher Hiratsuka Shizuka, she..."
Kanjuro chuckled, cutting her off: "Threaten? Officer Sato, please watch your language. I have never threatened anyone. Perhaps some people just have a guilty conscience, or... have witnessed things they cannot understand and should not touch." His words were full of innuendo, attributing Hiratsuka Shizuka's fear to herself.
He took another step closer. Although there was no physical contact this time, the powerful sense of oppression made Sato find it hard to breathe. His gaze brazenly swept over Sato's graceful figure beneath her police uniform, finally settling on her feigned composure. A flash of light, unreservedly mixed with aggression and appreciation, crossed his eyes, and he even subconsciously licked his lips.
"Officer Sato, do you know something?" His voice dropped, carrying a dangerous magnetism. "I'm a person who hates police the most in this life. You think you hold the measure of justice, but you are often foolish and obstructive." He leaned in slightly, his breath almost brushing her ear. "If you dare to continue putting on an act in front of me and refuse to let go... I don't know what kind of... 'transgressive' action I might take toward you."
This was already a naked threat, a chilling threat laced with sexual innuendo.
Miwako Sato felt a chill shoot up her spine, but even more so, a sense of offended rage. She straightened her back, suppressed the flutter and fear in her heart, met Kanjuro's possessive gaze, and countered with a cold sneer:
"Just you? Kanjuro, don't get too cocky! Heaven's net is wide, though its meshes are coarse; it misses nothing! You just wait and see!"
After speaking, she didn't linger, turning sharply and striding away. Her back was still straight, but her slightly trembling fingertips and unrestrained heartbeat betrayed her inner turmoil.
Kanjuro stood in place, watching Miwako Sato's retreating figure, the smile on his face gradually fading into deep indifference.
(Wait and see, huh?)
(Well, let's see, Officer Miwako Sato. Will you find your so-called "evidence" first, or will I be the one to... permanently silence you, or perhaps make you "quiet" in a different way.)
The sunlight was still bright, but it could not warm this newly escalated, dangerous game played on the edge of rules and darkness. Sato's intuition and Kanjuro's facade were destined for a more intense collision.
Moonlight poured down like water, quietly illuminating the secluded clearing at the edge of the camp, stretching and overlapping their shadows. Hiratsuka Shizuka nervously wrung her hands, waiting for the figure she both longed for and feared.
When Kanjuro silently appeared like an elf in the dark night, calling her "Xiao Jing" with that familiar, magnetic, and gentle voice, her heart still pounded uncontrollably.
"Kanjuro, I..." Hiratsuka Shizuka looked up. Before she could speak, her eyes reddened, and her voice was filled with uncontrollable sobs and trembling. "I never thought... you would be this kind of person! How could you... how could you kill so many children?! Those are dozens of living, breathing human lives!"
Tears finally broke free, streaming down her cheeks, sparkling with crystalline, painful luster in the moonlight. She seemed intent on pouring out ten years of accumulated grievances, fear, and current shock all at once.
"Back then, you... you hurt me, and then you even altered my memories..." She bit her lip, almost weeping uncontrollably. "I admit... I admit that I've been useless all these years. I... I still couldn't help but like you, and even... love you! When I chose to stay and teach at this school, wasn't it subconsciously... hoping to see you again... But, Kanjuro! My liking and loving you doesn't mean I can accept you becoming such a cold-blooded devil who treats human lives like grass! Those children... they were innocent!"
Her accusation was filled with pain and despair, a questioning of the man she loved deeply, and a self-flagellation of her own twisted emotions.
Facing Hiratsuka Shizuka's tearful accusations, Kanjuro neither grew angry nor showed any trace of guilt. Instead, a look of near-gentleness mixed with pity surfaced on his incomparably handsome face.
He slowly stepped forward. Before Hiratsuka Shizuka could attempt to retreat, he extended his arms and, with an irresistible posture, gently pulled her trembling body into his embrace.
"Xiao Jing..." His voice was low and steady, as if stating an undeniable truth. "You need to know, they bullied my daughter. Rumi is so small, so lonely, isolated and insulted by them... As a father, I stood up for my daughter and cleaned out everyone who bullied her. Isn't that the fate they deserved? And, you are also my daughter. You understand what I mean."
His logic was so twisted and direct, casually labeling a horrific massacre as "cleaning up" and "a deserved fate." As he spoke, he lowered his head, and his warm lips covered Hiratsuka Shizuka's without warning, blocking the protest and gasp about to escape her.
The kiss carried an undeniable possessiveness and an eerie sense of reassurance.
Hiratsuka Shizuka's body first stiffened violently, then she struggled symbolically twice.
After the kiss ended, Kanjuro slightly released her, his fingertips stroking her burning cheek, his eyes holding a seemingly genuine sigh of emotion:
"I didn't expect it either, Xiao Jing. After I hurt you so badly back then, you actually... still love me so much." His tone even carried a hint of appreciation, as if he were admiring a piece of porcelain that had been shattered but repaired itself and become even more devoted to him.
Hiratsuka Shizuka went limp in his arms, trembling all over, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes, her voice holding one last faint plea:
"So, Kanjuro... I'm begging you... can you... stop? Don't continue this..."
Hearing this, Kanjuro shrugged indifferently, a nearly innocent smile appearing on his face:
"Stop? I have already stopped. Everyone who bullied Rumi is gone, so the game naturally ended."
He cleverly swapped concepts, equating "stopping the killing" with "stopping," as if he were merely a "good father" who settled down after getting revenge for his daughter.
Hiratsuka Shizuka looked at him and knew he hadn't understood, or perhaps disdained to understand, the true meaning of "stopping" that she spoke of—which was to halt his dark game of treating all living beings as playthings and arbitrarily trampling on life and ethics.
But what could she do? Expose him? She had no evidence and feared the unbearable consequences even more. Leave him? Her body and soul were already bound by that cursed love and desire, making escape impossible.
"Then... good..." In the end, her response could only be a powerless, heavy sigh.
That "good," rather than being belief, was an act of desperate compromise and self-deception.
Under the moonlight, she actively reached out again and wrapped her arms around Kanjuro's waist, as if trying to draw the last bit of illusory warmth and peace from this source of sin.
She could not suppress her moth-to-a-flame love for Kanjuro, nor could she shake off the bone-deep craving.
This contradictory and painful degradation had tormented her for many years, and it seemed it would continue indefinitely.
Kanjuro embraced the Hiratsuka Shizuka in his arms, who was entangled in love and hatred, and felt her submission and dependence. At an angle Hiratsuka Shizuka couldn't see, the corner of his mouth slowly curved into a deep, satisfied arc.
See, this is the weakness of emotion.
Whether pure or twisted, they would ultimately become the firmest shackles in his hands.
The night wind blew past, carrying a chill, yet it could not disperse the thick, irreducible darkness and despair between the two people embracing tightly under the moonlight.
Miwako Sato locked herself in the archive room, surrounded by stacks of household and family relationship files for Yui Yuigahama, Miura Yumiko, Ebina Hina, and even Tsurumi Rumi, who had just entered her view. The light from the desk lamp illuminated her tightly furrowed brow and the cold text on the pages.
Checking over and over, the result was singular and chillingly clear.
No father.
Not deceased, not divorced, but a fundamental "absence."
Yui Yuigahama's father column listed "Deceased," but on the earlier birth certificate attachment, the father's information was blurred, almost certainly indicating "Unknown."
Miura Yumiko's file clearly showed that her mother was "unmarried and gave birth," and the father column was blank from the start.
Ebina Hina's situation was identical; the father's information was completely absent from all official records.
Even for the elementary school student Tsurumi Rumi, although her parents' information was complete, her affectionate address of Kanjuro as "Papa" was particularly jarring.
This was too unusual. Miwako Sato rubbed her temples, trying to dispel the absurd notion in her mind—how could an eighteen-year-old boy possibly be the biological father of these girls? It fundamentally violated biological common sense.
But the coincidence of reality wouldn't let her rest. Why were these specific girls, who had lacked paternal love since birth, all gathered around Kanjuro? Furthermore, their relationship was intimate, surpassing that of ordinary classmates, and even the boundaries of adolescent flirtation?
She recalled information she had previously gathered indirectly. Some lower-grade students had vaguely heard Miura Yumiko call Kanjuro with a term similar to "Papa"; Yui Yuigahama had also confided in a friend that she felt Kanjuro was reliable, like a "father"; coupled with Tsurumi Rumi's undisguised "Papa"... These girls seemed to be searching for the missing piece in their lives through Kanjuro—the role of a "father."
Was Kanjuro consciously or unconsciously playing this role? Was he exploiting the emotional void and vulnerability of these girls to establish a twisted, controlling relationship? Was this relationship part of some unknown objective of his?
Miwako Sato felt a chill. If this line of deduction was correct, Kanjuro's psychological profile would become extremely complex and dangerous. He wouldn't just be a potential criminal; he could be an extremely dangerous individual skilled at manipulating people and exploiting their emotional weaknesses.
She looked at Kanjuro's handsome and calm one-inch photo on the file. His eyes seemed to gaze at her through the paper, carrying a hint of faint ridicule. He was like a bottomless vortex, not only full of mysteries himself but also drawing these girls with similar backgrounds, one by one, into the dark center where he resided.
Routine questioning and investigation seemed pale and ineffective against his rigorous logic and the girls' maintenance of the facade, whether true or false. Miwako Sato knew she had to find more substantial evidence, a chain linking these strange "coincidences" to the crimes Kanjuro might have committed (such as the Camp Incident).
She closed the file and took a deep breath. The investigation had to continue, but the direction needed to be more covert and in-depth. She had to figure out what unknown secret was hidden between Kanjuro and these "fatherless" girls. This secret might be the key to uncovering the whole truth.
Meanwhile, Kanjuro seemed completely oblivious to all this. He was still on campus, bathed in sunlight, playing his role as the gentle, harmless transfer student, surrounded by the girls who held a special attachment to him.
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