Before Minamoto Tamako could catch her breath, the entire corridor suddenly became lively. Several residents opened their doors and windows, shouting in competition, even the opposite building echoed with yells:
"Yasukawa, if you sing that crappy opera again, I’ll tear your mouth apart!"
"You scoundrel, you’re causing disturbances again! All day long, all you do is play that samisen!"
"Play, play, play, I’ll play your damn head—"
The door with the Noh chant slammed shut, and the mournful, haunting sound abruptly stopped. A man holding a pipe wrench came out from across the hallway, banging on the door while cursing: "Come out! I can’t take it anymore, if you don’t come out, I’ll smash your door lock!"
Fushimi Roku whistled, crossing his arms over his chest, placing his left toe pointed backward, leaning his body against the stair railing. He loved watching such commotions, hoping it would turn into a fight. If someone died, he could report it directly to the Criminal Police team, and wouldn’t have to worry about the rest.
"Stop fighting, stop fighting!" Minamoto Tamako hurried forward to intervene, grabbing the man pounding the door: "Sir, please calm down..."
"Calm down? You’re telling me to calm down? Look into my eyes, do you know how many days I haven’t slept?!"
The man waved the pipe wrench, his eyes bloodshot. He was wearing work overalls, covered in grime, seemed like a repairman. Before Minamoto Tamako could respond, he swung with all his might at the door lock, leaving the door slightly deformed, seemingly on the brink of a mental breakdown.
Minamoto Tamako was drenched in cold sweat, her legs trembling like sieves, though terrified, she stiffened up and said: "Don’t, don’t, you, you should go sleep now, I promise to negotiate with this tenant to stop the disturbances..."
"Huh? Who do you think you are! Don’t think you’re all that just because you’re in black leather!" The man slammed the pipe wrench against the door again, sidestepping slightly, leaning forward to gaze down at Minamoto Tamako, with a glint of amazement and malicious desire in his eyes: "Oh? Not bad looking! Want to come to my place for a bit..."
Before he finished speaking, the man’s head was suddenly slammed against the door, his cheek contorted by a large hand. Fushimi Roku twisted his arm, snatched the pipe wrench before the man could struggle, and smashed it firmly in front of his eyes.
"I’m not bad-looking either," Fushimi Roku taunted coldly, pressing his thumb into the man’s eye socket, the latter screamed in agony, "why not invite me over to your place?"
The pipe wrench blocked Minamoto Tamako’s view, she didn’t know why the man was screaming, thinking it was because Fushimi Roku had hurt him, she quickly urged Fushimi Roku not to use force.
The latter snorted, yanking the man by the hair, spinning him around, and kicked him back into the opposite room, casually tossing the pipe wrench inside.
The man closed his right eye, panting for a moment, then turned his head on the ground, his other eye filled with malice.
—"Criminal index: 36%"
A serious offender level, not wrongly accused even if killed.
Fushimi Roku placed his hand on his holster, merely glancing down, the man shivered, hurriedly kicking the door shut.
The yelling in the corridor stopped abruptly, Fushimi Roku looked around, all the residents withdrew behind their doors, he shouted loudly: "What’s all the shouting?! It’s not like it’s not being handled, are you in a rush to reincarnate?!"
Minamoto Tamako’s head buzzed, in her imagination, patrol police should be deeply revered by residents. By evening, she would stand guard in front of the Patrol House like a soldier, with a group of little brats wearing yellow hats circling her after school shouting ’Sister Tamako, you’re amazing, I want to become a police officer like you in the future’...
Although she thought actual work would be a bit tougher before coming, this clearly wasn’t a matter of toughness, was it?! That guy didn’t fear her at all!
Minamoto Tamako looked down, her badge pinned neatly on her chest, not crooked at all; her baton and handcuffs were holstered, five rounds—two with blank cartridges, three with live bullets—loaded in her gun, looking full of authority... Then where did it go wrong? Why didn’t her words carry weight?
Could it be because I look too weak?!
Minamoto Tamako had consistently ranked as the last in fitness tests over the years and had a sense of awareness about it. Realizing this, she felt disheartened, her legs went weak, collapsing to her knees on the ground, akin to a defeated player in a sports drama.
Since she was a child, she was treated as a pudding, believing that through countless efforts, she finally became a patrol police, transforming into the stern and aloof Lady Yuzi, that merely wearing a gun would make people wary, becoming a beacon of power against crime... Little did she expect others still didn’t see her as anything significant.
Could it be true as my mom said, only those born strong are suited to be police officers? It’s not fair! That’s just too unfair!
"What’s the matter? Can’t stand up?"
Fushimi Roku thought to himself, having seen corpses several times already, surely this isn’t enough to scare her into this state, right?
But then, he reconsidered, remembering how when Minamoto Tamako went with him to steal the anonymous letter in the school building, she was trembling with fear... It’s hard to know what standard of fear she measures by.
With such bravery, why insist on being a police officer?
"No, nothing." Minamoto Tamako pushed herself up, looking up she asked: "Do I appear not authoritative? Don’t laugh! I’m seriously asking you!"
Fushimi Roku was silent for a moment, opting to change the subject: "Let’s handle the noise disturbance first."
The important matters come first, Minamoto Tamako repeatedly reminded herself inwardly not to let personal emotions interfere with her work.
Her face tightened, she knocked on the twisted, deformed door, loudly called out: "Mr. Yasukawa! Is Mr. Yasukawa home? I am patrol police Minamoto Tamako from Nakagawara Station, can I chat with you for a moment?"
Earlier she heard other residents angrily shouting ’damned Yasukawa’, so she deduced Yasukawa was the surname of this tenant. Even knowing someone was inside, she courteously inquired if they were there.
After a moment, faint rustling came from behind the door. Before Minamoto Tamako could prompt again, the apartment door opened a crack, cloudy pupils peering through the gap at the two of them: "Patrol police?"
"Yes," Minamoto Tamako puffed out her chest, her winter black police coat flat before her, trying to make herself appear more imposing, "Several residents complained about your noise disturbances, we also noticed you singing Noh during resting hours..."
"I’m not disturbing," the person inside interrupted, "I’m saving them."
The voice sounded particularly sharp and indistinct.
Minamoto Tamako immediately pulled out a small notebook, extracting a ballpoint pen from her chest pocket, earnestly asked: "Why do you say that? Has anyone received a death threat? Or is there a mental health issue?"
The person inside didn’t answer, instead asked: "Have you noticed the ceramic bowls on the ground?"
"Yes, every household on this floor has a bowl of salt at their door," Minamoto Tamako pursued: "But what does this have to do with your Noh performances?"
"Recently, a woman jumped to her death. Since then, ghostly shadows often appear in the hallways and corridors... Everyone says it’s the woman returned for revenge."
The person inside paused, voice becoming more strained: "I’m performing a ghost opera to soothe her soul, otherwise, sooner or later she’ll kill us all."
Minamoto Tamako ’oh’ed, saying as she took notes: "Seems like you might have mental issues, I suggest you seek treatment promptly, if needed, I can help connect you to a public mental health counselor..."
Before Minamoto Tamako could finish her words, Fushimi Roku interrupted: "That ghostly shadow you’re talking about... is it the thing at the end of the corridor?"
She was startled, following Fushimi Roku’s gaze, she saw at the far end of the dark corridor stood a blurry figure. Hair hanging loose, posture eerie, toes pointed on the ground, seeming to gaze at them.