Tokyo: Officer Rabbit and Her Evil Partner

Chapter 2

If this were an anime or a doujin plot, after Sakurai Chizuru was pinned to the ground she'd feel her heart thud—how thrilling, never before had a man dared treat her like this—awakening some weird new kink and chasing Fushimi Shika like a lovesick maniac...

Reality check: Fushimi Shika was ordered to run twenty-five laps around the parade ground. No dinner till he finished.

Because you're not Ling Ran, He Chen, or Li Chu, that's why.

And that wasn't the end of it—Instructor Sakurai seemed to have taken a personal dislike to him; he'd be wearing invisible tight shoes for the foreseeable future.

"After tuition and room-and-board, my balance is down to 150,000 yen. Who knows which precinct they'll dump me in after graduation..."

"This system is useless. A law-abiding citizen like me isn't about to start murdering people. A butter-gal-game system would be way more practical—"

A-hem →_→!

Fushimi jogged, mind wandering.

By the time he finished, the mess hall had closed.

The police academy kept a brutal schedule: even showers were capped at three minutes, all to drill time discipline into cadets.

His stomach growled.

High-intensity cardio burns through glycogen like wildfire, doubling the hunger without doing real damage—exactly why "run plus starvation" is every instructor's favorite punishment.

He gulped water, trying to trick his gut into feeling full.

Moments later the hunger pounced again.

Dragging his weary body back to the dorm, he regretted not packing instant noodles.

A small head popped out of the roadside bushes.

"Over here! Fushimi-kun, here!"

Under the dim streetlamp her eyes sparkled, pupils like gemstones catching the hazy light.

Minamoto Tamako—same class, same year. During practical training she'd sat beside him, whispering, "Whatever you do, don't freeze."

She crouched in the foliage, petite frame folded in on itself, two strands of hair sticking up like rabbit ears.

"Hungry?"

She waggled a paper bag. "I sneaked you some rice balls. Eat them here, don't let anyone see."

"It's you again..."

No surprise, just a throbbing headache.

Ever since orientation day Tamako had latched onto him.

The girl's intuition was scary, her curiosity worse—one glance at the "Crime Index" floating above her head and she'd grown suspicious.

"Fushimi-kun, what are you looking at?"

"Is there something on my head? Why that look?"

"Why do you keep staring at people's heads?"

For two weeks she'd cornered him every chance she got.

Lies, deflection, cover-ups—nothing worked; she'd see through them and double her curiosity, convinced "Classmate Fushimi must be hiding some unspeakable secret!"

The reason for his surprise: her Crime Index was an absurd 1 %.

Normal people hover between 10 % and 20 %.

Above 20 % you're a jerk; 30 % means you've probably committed a crime; past 35 % you're a serious felon—the higher it goes, the heavier the "crime gold content."

So a guy like me—jaywalking daily, scaring neighbor kids with monster faces, giving tourists wrong directions, hogging priority seats, squeezing instant noodles on weekends—should be downright evil, right? Ha! So far he'd never seen anyone break 40 %.

"Today I'm not here to interrogate you."

Tamako patted the grass, motioning him in. Starving, he obeyed.

Side by side in the bushes, he took the bag.

"Finally realized how annoying you are? Wow, the rice balls are still warm."

Tamako ignored the jab. "I want to talk about something else... Don't you think Instructor Sakurai's been acting strange?"

"She's always been a pervert." He spoke with his mouth full.

"Don't bad-mouth an instructor! And you really shouldn't have laid hands on her during practice."

Tamako scolded, then lowered her voice. "Haven't you heard? The class leader's been asking around—claims someone sent Instructor Sakurai an anonymous letter and he's helping her find the sender... What do you make of it?"

"Probably a love letter."

Given Sakurai's looks and temperament, plenty of guys would beg to be her lapdog.

"If it were a love letter, there'd be no need to investigate. Love letters have names or at least a way to reply—otherwise what's the point? Besides, how did the sender slip the envelope into a private office unseen?"

Tamako gnawed on a translucent fingernail, voice hushed. "There's definitely a secret here."

Fushimi couldn't care less. He stuffed the last rice ball in his mouth and brushed off his pants to leave.

Tamako grabbed his cuff. "Just like that?"

"What else?"

"You planning to dine and dash?"

"How much? I'll pay—"

"I don't want money." She shook her head. "Help me find out what's in that letter."

A system prompt popped up before his eyes.

[Crime Commission Triggered]

Details: Locate Sakurai Chizuru's anonymous letter

Reward: Level 1 Tracking Technique

Note: Follow-up quests locked

"There it is again," Tamako frowned, staring into his eyes. "Your gaze just went blank, like you're seeing something I can't. What are you looking at?"

"Nothing. Mosquito." He deflected.

"You're lying." She nailed it in a second.

Fushimi's scalp prickled. "Why me? Kawai's closer to you. Why not ask her instead? We're not even that tight."

"Kawai's a good girl; you're a bad one," Tamako said.

"What kind of logic is that? And I'm plenty nice!"

"I'm too scared to investigate alone and I can't break academy rules... so I need a— cough—hard man like you to take point." She forced the compliment.

"A hard man can't be bought with three rice balls."

"Please, you're my only hope." She whispered, "I'll do your laundry for a week."

Fushimi wondered why she cared so much. Sakurai wasn't her relative; why dig like a cat with an obsessive curiosity?

He looked down. Tamako gazed up, eyes shining with plea.

"Just this once," he muttered.