The first step in apprehending the youth serial killer Fushimi Roku is to figure out how to get a gun.
Minamoto Tamako thought it was clear to her that having a bare-handed fight with Fujimura-kun would be like a little rabbit battling a big gray wolf; no matter how hard she tried, it would only result in making the wolf choke from overeating.
But the biggest difference between humans and animals is the ability to use tools.
Using weapons to level the playing field in terms of size and strength, Minamoto Tamako felt there was nothing wrong with that. Otherwise, countries wouldn’t bother researching weapons, and medieval knights wouldn’t have been overshadowed by firearms.
After all, she was a criminal police officer and should have the right to carry a gun. Besides, this was all a dream; real-world laws couldn’t control what she imagined in a daydream. Even if she resorted to stealing or robbing, it wouldn’t go against her principles — Fujimura-kun was a serial killer in the dream! She was just getting a gun to stop him, so who dared say she was wrong? The rightful source is n0velfire.net
Minamoto Tamako braced herself, successfully convincing herself to ’knowingly violate the law,’ and considered asking the local gangs about the price... She temporarily had no money in her pocket, so she had to ask first to have a sense of what to expect.
From her past experience, gang hideouts often lurked in pigeonhole-type apartment buildings, in the alleys, or in illegal underground bars.
Minamoto Tamako was no longer the naive rookie she once was and wouldn’t recklessly run to such dangerous places.
To ensure her own safety, she wore a mask, flipped her red scarf inside out, and put it on her head, covering her face tightly. In her pocket was a small fruit knife she got as a gift when buying a watermelon from a fruit shop, while holding half a watermelon in her right hand... She stumbled upon incredibly cheap Kirin watermelons at a fruit stall, and since she still had breakfast money her mother had given her, she thought it worthwhile to buy one.
Huh, why did I think the watermelon was expensive?
Minamoto Tamako scratched her head, unable to remember the reason, vaguely feeling she had forgotten many things.
If I can’t remember, so be it. The most important thing now is to apprehend Fushimi Roku!
Minamoto Tamako wandered around the city center for half a day and finally found a bar that looked suspicious. A group of colorful-haired youths stood at the entrance, along with a few delinquents in tiny skirts, smoking and exhaling clouds. It was clearly a haven of vice.
She lowered her head, hastily walking to blend into the bar, but a server stopped her at the entrance: "No minors allowed. Go away."
Minamoto Tamako thought, isn’t this an underground bar? An underground bar that still adheres to the law of prohibiting minors? Why run an underground bar, then? Might as well operate normally!
She left resentfully and was intercepted on the way by hooligans and delinquents who tried to ’borrow’ some money from her.
Fortunately, Minamoto Tamako had no money, avoiding extortion.
Plan A didn’t work, so she moved to Plan B. As she ate, she wandered around the old residential areas with a watermelon — she had eaten watermelon before and knew its taste, hence why she could taste it even in a dream.
In an alley of old neighborhoods, plenty of older sisters stood around, seemingly cooling off, playing on their phones, occasionally talking to young men passing by, bargaining as if doing some business.
Minamoto Tamako had always been curious since she was a child. When she saw this scene, she wanted to take a closer look, but unsurprisingly, she was shooed away by one of the women. She pouted, finding it boring to be a primary school student, constantly looked down upon, making everything twice as difficult.
Before she could recover, a group of officers in hats raided the area, catching the place by surprise. Many patrons fled out the windows with their pants barely up, only to be pinned to the ground by the officers.
Minamoto Tamako stood by, eating watermelon and got noticed by the officers, who were astonished and quickly asked what she was doing there.
Seeing the situation was unfavorable, Minamoto Tamako hastily fled, ignoring the shouts behind her. She only slowed down when no one was pursuing her.
That was close, almost landed in the police station again.
Huh, why did I say ’again’?
Minamoto Tamako felt she had become somewhat unfamiliar with herself, with strange thoughts popping up in her head.
But she couldn’t delve into this now; getting a gun was a priority.
Plan B failed, so she shifted to Plan C. Minamoto Tamako slipped into the alley, intending to find a gang hideout. But all she found were hole-in-the-wall eateries with open flames, where owners cooked on the roadside with boiling pots. The customers were eating so heartily that it made her mouth water.
It’s possible these restaurant owners are actually gang leaders, and cooking is just a daytime cover to avoid suspicion.
Minamoto Tamako, with sharp eyes, noticed a tattoo on one chef’s arm, further confirming her guess — just like Zhao Chunshu, who seemed to be just a restaurant owner but was actually a senior in the Inakawa Association.
In Minamoto Tamako’s understanding, besides gangsters, no one else would tattoo a large part of their arm. She lived in an era cracking down on crime, where society had a unique bias against gang members. Some bathhouses even banned clients with back tattoos, forcing gangs to run their own bathhouses.
She watched for a while, and the owner didn’t mind, assuming it was a kid who was coveting the food, continuing to cook. When hot, he’d wipe his sweat with a towel on his shoulder, revealing a thick gold chain around his neck as he moved.
Minamoto Tamako’s eyes narrowed slightly, another strong hint; except for gang members and rappers, who would wear such ostentatious gold chains?