Tokyo: Officer Rabbit and Her Evil Partner

Chapter 10

"I'll talk to you later—my cadet's here."

Sakurai Chizuru ended the call, straightened her blouse, cleared her throat, and called out, "Come in."

Fushimi Shika pushed open the door. Instructor Sakurai sat behind her desk in a white shirt, a blue uniform jacket draped over the back of her chair.

He greeted her formally, hands flat at his sides, and came to attention.

"Fushimi-kun, do you know why I asked you here?"

She leaned back, crossed her legs, and every shred of prim authority vanished.

The rest of the staff were at lunch; the office was empty, so there was no need for pretense.

"Because I messed up during practical training," Shika said—no fool would argue with an instructor to her face. "I'm truly sorry. I'll memorize the patrol officer regulations at once."

"That incident is over. I'm not that petty."

Tilting her head, Sakurai rested her cheek on her hand and studied him with a teasing smile. "Who knew such a delicate-looking boy could be so hardcore? 'Counter-violence with violence is my life creed'—you made quite an impression."

Shika kept silent; the compliment sounded like a trap.

"But I must point out," she continued, voice turning severe, "personal 'counter-violence' is not justice. Only the law and its enforcers may exercise righteous force. As your instructor, I have to correct your thinking."

"Understood," he said.

"Starting now, drop and give me push-ups. With each rep, shout: 'Counter-violence is not justice!' Keep going until I'm convinced you've reformed."

Shika cursed her silently. First she claims she's not petty, then she invents an excuse for corporal punishment. Kicking a student in the groin is justice? I should've kicked harder yesterday.

He inhaled, swallowed his anger, and lowered himself to the floor.

Ah, that glare—angry yet obedient—utterly delightful, Sakurai thought.

She rose, hands clasped behind her back, looking down at him. "Louder! I can't hear you!"

"Counter-violence is not justice!"

"No spirit!"

"Counter-violence is not justice!"

"Continue!" she barked.

With every shout, color rose in her pale cheeks; her angular features softened into something almost alluring.

By the forty-first push-up his form was collapsing; sweat soaked his shirt and splattered the floor.

"What's wrong? Chest lower! Elbows at forty-five degrees!" she snapped, slipping off one shoe and lifting her foot.

A crimson-nailed toe pressed between his shoulder blades.

Shika grunted, barely able to hold the position.

"Keep going! Show me your guts!"

He clenched his teeth, arms trembling, veins bulging at his temples, and forced himself up again.

So delicious—still enduring. I'm starting to like this one, Sakurai mused, unconsciously licking her lips.

"At your limit?"

She moved her foot away, only to raise it to his face, arch taut. "Lick. Show me your remorse."

When he didn't move, she added, "Do it and you're free to go."

Shika turned his head and kept shouting, dredging up the last of his strength for another slow push-up.

Sakurai narrowed her eyes. A treasure, she thought—proud men brought reluctantly to heel.

I'd love to see him collared, face flushed with shame...

She had her own methods: some men need more than the stick; a little carrot goes a long way.

With a soft laugh she slipped her shoe back on and opened a drawer. "Enough. Get up."

Shika stood, panting.

Sakurai produced an envelope.

"Next month a Mobile Squad recruiter will visit. Take this letter of introduction. Whether you pass is up to you."

It was a golden ticket. Mobile Squad pay and promotion prospects dwarfed those of patrol officers. A rookie made over 4,000,000 yen a year, rising toward 10,000,000 by forty.

Patrol officers? At best 2,000,000 yen. With the bubble burst, the Metropolitan Police paid partly in coupons; take-home was barely sixty or seventy percent.

Of course, the Mobile Squad was riskier and harder. But a hardcore man like Cadet Fushimi wouldn't mind...

"No, thank you," Shika said flatly.

Forget it. I became a patrolman for the easy life—to coast, pawn work off on others, and read manga with my feet up at the koban.

If I wanted money, I'd have taken the bar exam and become a lawyer.

"Oh? Planning to earn it on your own?" Sakurai tossed the envelope back into the drawer. "As your teacher, I'm proud. But Mobile Squad standards are brutal; you're nowhere near ready."

Shika couldn't fathom the mind of a pervert; silence was safest.

"Then come to my office tomorrow night. I'll give you private tutoring. Don't disappoint me."

She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes. "Your answer?"

"I respectfully decline—"

"I'm not asking. You have no right to refuse," she cut in. "If you can't handle it, withdraw from the academy."

"...Yes, ma'am."

"We're done for today. Dismissed." Sakurai settled back into her chair with a satisfied sigh.

Shika bowed and left, mood heavy.

The moment he stepped out he ran into Minamoto Tamako, head poking from the adjacent Academic Affairs Office.

"Eh? Fushimi-kun, weren't you eating in the dorm?"

Before he could answer, she puffed out her chest, hands on hips, proudly announcing, "I've already found the letter-sender!"

"Great," Shika muttered, already plotting how to squeeze Instructor Sakurai's dirty secrets out of that sender.