Tokyo: Officer Rabbit and Her Evil Partner

Chapter 1

Late April, and the cherry blossoms were blooming in Sapporo. Hokkaido Police Academy was famous for its sakura, and while the season was perfect for viewing them, the cadets had no time to appreciate the flowers.

They sat in two rows in the training room, eyes wide and breathing hard. Their notoriously strict female instructor had shed her uniform, revealing a black, deep-V bodycon dress beneath. Her long, fair legs had slipped out of regulation boots into red-soled stilettos with black trim.

The cadets whispered among themselves.

"Man, I always thought Instructor Sakurai had a killer figure..."

"Holy shit, was she binding her chest this whole time? Look at those!"

"And those legs—her toes look so soft. How does she not have calluses from all that standing?"

Sakurai Chizuru ignored their lewd comments. She picked up a prop bag from the table, flipped open a compact mirror, and applied lipstick to her full lips while shooting them a sideways glare.

"Alright. Who wants to go first?"

The cadets exchanged nervous glances, nobody volunteering.

In the back row, one male cadet lowered his head and stifled a yawn. He thought he'd been subtle, but Sakurai spotted him immediately. One glance was all it took for her to recall his file.

Fushimi Shika. Male, 23. Graduated from Nagoya City University. A-Class cadet. Test scores were average, athletic ability unremarkable. Only his looks stood out—unforgettable, really.

Perfect.

She was about to call on him when a cadet in the front row jumped up.

"I'll do it!"

Snap. She closed her compact and motioned him forward.

They faced each other. The exercise began.

The cadet stepped forward. "Excuse me, sorry to bother you—"

Before he could finish, Sakurai grabbed his shoulders and drove her knee up between his legs, right into his most vulnerable spot.

He collapsed with a shriek, clutching his groin and curling into a ball. Her stiletto pressed down on the back of his skull, grinding slowly.

Looking down at him, Sakurai snapped, "Eyes on women's chests while on patrol? And you think you deserve to be a cop? How many times have I said it—when questioning someone, watch their hands!"

But if her chest isn't moving, I don't move. What's wrong with that?

The watching cadets shivered. When Sakurai's sharp gaze swept over them, they quickly looked away.

"Listen up! I'm not here to train you. I'm here to weed out those who shouldn't be police. If you can't commit fully, withdraw now!"

She paused, then barked, "Next!"

The cadet limped back to his seat, hands still cupped protectively. The room fell silent. No more volunteers.

Sakurai pointed. "Fushimi. You're up."

The class exhaled collectively, shooting him sympathetic looks.

As Fushimi stood, Tamako at the next desk whispered, "Good luck! Don't show weakness—Sakurai-sensei respects tough guys!"

"Respect? This woman is clearly enjoying herself..." Fushimi thought.

Two months ago, he'd been Zhou Hao, a Chinese citizen and avid mystery fan who wrote bizarre suspense stories on the side. His main job was lawyer. His mouth had been too sharp—someone he'd prosecuted had stabbed him to death.

When you can't talk trash anymore, you're truly cornered.

He'd woken up as a fresh graduate in 1990s parallel Japan. His parents were dead, university had drained his inheritance, and the bubble economy had just burst. After consideration, he'd decided to become a cop.

Partly because he loved Japanese mysteries but didn't want to return to law. Police work put him closest to actual cases. Partly because becoming a cop was easy—just high school, clean record, and passing the basic civil service exam. University graduates were A-Class cadets, needing only six months of training before getting their badges.

But the real reason was his Criminal System.

To Fushimi, everyone had three lines of text above their heads: Crime Index, Vices, and Clearing Reward.

Currently, Sakurai's read:

"Crime Index": 27%

"Vice": Believes only tough men are worth training

"Clearing Reward": Level 3 Grappling Technique

The higher the Crime Index, the better the reward.

"I really don't understand why I got stuck with this weird system..."

Lost in thought, Fushimi took his position.

Sakurai's eyes traveled up his body. He stood straight, handsome in a pretty-boy way, but gave off herbivore vibes—like he'd break down crying quickly.

Only his face was interesting, really.

Fushimi was right. She was enjoying this.

But educating students was an instructor's duty. Police school was a pressure cooker, and her methods were justified.

"Begin."

Sakurai swayed her hips, playing the role of a drunk suspect.

"Excuse me, where are you heading?" Fushimi kept his distance, hand raised.

"What business is it of yours?" Sakurai tossed her head. "I'm drunk and confused. Get lost!"

"I'm Koban Officer Fushimi Shika. May I have your name?"

"Why should I tell you? You tax thieves are all the same. Think that uniform makes you special? Keep following me and I'll file a harassment complaint—"

Sakurai's words cut off as a foot swept her knee.

She stumbled, dropping to one knee. Before she could react, a hand pressed her face into the floor.

Thud. The cadets gasped.

"Uh—"

Fushimi pinned her neck and back with his knee, controlling her wrists. "Under Police Duties Execution Law Article 2, officers may question suspicious persons. Your behavior violates Penal Code Article 230—public insult. Refusing to cooperate during questioning, you're under arrest for obstruction of official duties."

This approach would definitely draw complaints unless he actually caught a criminal. Career suicide for non-career track officers.

"You bastard!"

Sakurai fumed. This was clearly excessive force! Since when do cops ambush citizens from behind? Proper procedure was to endure harassment during questioning! These kids would be bottom-tier koban officers—how dare they act like detectives?

"Instructor Sakurai!"

Fushimi's sharp voice brought her back.

"Meeting violence with violence is my life philosophy," he said seriously.