Tokyo: My Superpower Refreshes Every Week

The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, in the deepest room of the detention center.

There sat Durant.

He was one meter ninety-three tall, with natural brown hair buzzed short, deep-set features, and sharp eyes. His dark wheat-colored complexion made it obvious he was not Japanese.

According to the files, he no longer had any living relatives.

His wife, children, and parents had all perished during a trip.

That trip had also changed Durant's character, making him radical and eager to pursue justice.

This was the persona designed by the CIA.

Durant was the first undercover agent selected to get close to Dio.

His real identity was known only to Jack and John from the Special Intelligence Investigation Department.

Aside from them, no one else knew he was a CIA undercover agent.

He would not receive any assistance from the CIA, all to prevent Dio from suspecting his identity.

Judging by his hunger, Durant guessed it was noon.

His meal still hadn't been delivered, which meant the people from the Right-wing faction might very well eliminate him at noon.

Durant was not surprised by this outcome.

Gaining renown so quickly always came at a price.

The shrine was a symbol deliberately created by Right-wing forces, emblematic of their unchecked ambitions.

Burning it down was a slap in their face.

For this reason, destroying that building held more symbolic justice than assassinating the Prime Minister and was more likely to attract media coverage.

He wanted to show Dio his sense of justice.

Of course, to most Japanese people, his actions were heinous and an intolerable evil.

Deceived by distorted textbooks, most people had developed a deeply troubling set of values under that twisted education system.

But those textbooks only fooled the blissfully ignorant. The truth of history would never be altered by Japan's self-deception; it still circulated abroad.

Durant believed that once Dio saw the news about him, Dio would definitely not allow him to be sentenced to death.

Dio might approach him at noon, or perhaps in the evening.

If it was the latter, his current situation would be dire, and he would have to find a way to survive the noon crisis himself.

He looked down at the silver handcuffs, his mind racing. How am I going to counter the assassin sent by the Right-wing faction?

Durant's brows furrowed slightly. At that moment, he heard footsteps approaching from outside.

The air in the room grew heavy, signaling the assassin's arrival.

He looked up, sighing inwardly. The assassin is here before Dio. I have to figure out how to deal with him.

TAP! TAP!

Hattori Takayuki deliberately made his footsteps loud.

As a ninja trained in modern techniques, his steps should have been as silent and gentle as a cat's.

But such stealth was reserved for specific targets.

For targets in their own residences, he would indeed move silently to avoid detection.

But for prey trapped in a cell, he would never approach so cautiously.

Instead, he would stomp heavily, reminding his quarry that death was drawing nearer with every step.

A mouse in a cage, however agile, cannot escape being devoured by a cat.

He reached the door of the target's cell and peered inside through the small window.

"Rodrigo Durant, good afternoon. It's time for you to depart."

Durant looked up. Through the small square window, he saw a long, horse-like face with bushy eyebrows and triangular eyes, its expression openly vicious.

"You don't look like a cop."

"Ha ha! After committing such a heinous crime, do you still expect a normal trial process? Before the media can question you, you will 'commit suicide out of fear of punishment.' A fitting end, wouldn't you say?"

A smile spread across Hattori Takayuki's face. The higher-ups would never allow someone who committed such a crime to explain their actions publicly.

Any explanation would shatter the lies they had so carefully constructed.

Lies are like paper; they cannot withstand the slightest scrutiny.

Only by having Durant 'commit suicide out of guilt' or 'hang himself in remorse' could they silence the incident quickly.

Endless slander would be heaped upon him, painting him as a Demon.

"I don't believe my decision was wrong. Leaving that building standing in this world is the greatest mistake. I am innocent of any crime!"

Durant's voice was fervent as he responded to Hattori Takayuki. He didn't know if Dio was watching, but he knew that to maintain his cover flawlessly, he had to project an unwavering image of justice.

"You're just a butcher! Those innocent tourists and staff members died in your fire. You should die burdened by guilt for them!"

"Ridiculous! Anyone who would visit such a place, or work proudly and solemnly in a building soaked in the blood of countless people while promoting a false history—they all deserved to die. Their deaths were nothing to regret."

Durant's voice was strong and unwavering, without a hint of regret, like a hammer striking an anvil.

"Life and death are not yours to decide. The higher-ups have decreed that you will regret your crimes against them, and then you will die. The families of the deceased will weep, public opinion will be swayed by sympathy, and this whole charade will end."

Hattori Takayuki, quite familiar with the procedure, took out his keys to unlock the cell door.

"Judging by your black attire, are you by chance a ninja?"

A simple sentence, yet it held the kind of allure a courtesan might use when asking if you'd like to go again. It made the hairs on Hattori Takayuki's body stand right up.

He was professionally trained and didn't believe anyone in the world could evade his senses and appear so suddenly behind him.

However, someone had just managed to do that.

Hattori Takayuki quickly turned around and saw a tall, blond man standing behind him.

He wore a black tank top and golden leather pants.

His arm muscles were extraordinarily developed, as thick as an average person's thighs.

"Who the hell are you?" Hattori Takayuki demanded.

Logically, besides himself, no one else should be in the detention center at this hour.

Inside his cell, Durant knew in his heart that only one man could have appeared at this moment.

"Dio."

Hattori Takayuki frowned. He seemed to have heard this name before. Where have I heard it?

After a moment's thought yielded nothing, he dismissed it. No need to remember a dead man's name.

Hattori Takayuki hooked his index finger on the ring on his left hand and pulled. A translucent thread spooled out.

It was a specially made, titanium-coated fiber thread—incredibly strong, lightweight, and capable of slicing.

Mastering the art of killing with thread was a required skill for a modern Upper Ninja Level ninja.

Hattori Takayuki said coldly, "Whoever you are, since you've discovered my existence, I must send you on your way. This is the code of the ninja."

Aozawa said leisurely, "You don't even have the Sharingan, and you dare claim to be a ninja?"

"Shut up!"

Hattori Takayuki's face darkened. He was a ninja, yes, but not one from Naruto. He was a Koga Ninja, the kind recorded in Japan's ancient history.

They were like ancient special agents or spies, undertaking covert operations like assassinations.

The ninja ranking system, however, was very similar to that in Naruto. In fact, Naruto had copied the Koga Ninjas' ranking system. But Naruto became so popular that many believed the Koga Ninjas had copied Naruto, not the other way around.

This infuriated Hattori Takayuki.

He hated it most when outsiders, armed with their Naruto knowledge, presumed to judge a real ninja's abilities.

Real-life ninjas could never be as powerful as their anime counterparts. At best, they used modern tools and underwent brutal training to achieve feats unimaginable to ordinary people.

But things like forming hand seals to breathe fire or create shadow clones were utterly impossible.

The so-called ninja was simply someone with more endurance than the average person.

"I'm going to wring your neck and see if that mouth of yours can still run."

Hattori Takayuki lunged. His slightly bent legs acted like coiled springs, gathering his body's strength. He arched his back, and the power erupted in an instant.

He shot past Aozawa, the fiber thread in his hand unspooling naturally to land on Aozawa's neck.

He was now behind Aozawa.

Hattori Takayuki crossed his hands and pulled hard. Given the thread's resilience and sharpness, severing flesh and bone should have been simple.

From past experience, it wouldn't take three seconds to decapitate a man, sending his head flying half a meter into the air on a geyser of blood.

Some could even spray blood a meter high, depending on the volume of blood loss.

But Hattori Takayuki's hands couldn't complete the motion. The man's neck hadn't been severed.

Was it blocked?

Hattori Takayuki glanced sideways, his pupils dilating in shock. His fiber wire was taut around the man's neck, yet it hadn't even broken the skin.

Impossible! Gritting his teeth, Hattori Takayuki pulled with all his might, but the fiber thread suddenly vanished from his grasp.

His hands flew back as the thread snapped, and he stared in shock at the broken ends he now held.

It broke? Impossible! How did he do that?

This thread could be tied between two adult elephants pulling in opposite directions.

It would sever their legs before the thread itself snapped.

Hattori Takayuki couldn't fathom how Dio had snapped it. What baffled him even more was, when had Dio's hand even gotten close?

After a moment of shock, Hattori Takayuki roared in fury, "You bastard! Don't touch my clean face with your filthy hands—you probably didn't even wash after pissing!"

The moment he finished speaking, he kicked toward Aozawa's groin.

The thought of 'explosion' flashed through Aozawa's mind.

The next second, Hattori Takayuki watched his own right leg explode.

What?!

Flames and smoke erupted from the stump, spreading rapidly up his body. His face swelled grotesquely before it, too, burst open.

Aozawa confirmed something. The point where a marked person started to explode didn't depend on the mark's location, but on his own thoughts.

Only when he chose not to direct the explosion's origin would it start from the marked Chrysanthemum pattern.

Hattori Takayuki vanished.

Aozawa turned and walked to the door.