Tokyo: Officer Rabbit and Her Evil Partner

Chapter 3

That night the moon hung bright and cold.

Three furtive shadows slipped out of a dormitory window, met by pale light, and converged at the main entrance of the teaching building.

"Yo! First time meeting—nice to meet you," the tall girl greeted, grinning.

"Shh!"

Tamako shrank behind her, whispering, "Keep it down! What if someone sees us?"

Fushimi clicked on a pen-light and shone it into Tamako's face. "Didn't you swear you hadn't asked Kawai for help?"

The tall girl was none other than Nagano Kawai, Tamako's best friend since high school. They'd bonded over mysteries back then and had been inseparable ever since.

The beam made Tamako yelp. She ducked behind Kawai and muttered, "I—I didn't dare sneak out alone."

Fushimi shot her a sidelong glance, too tired to even sigh.

She was the one who'd proposed raiding Instructor Sakurai's office, and here he was—skipping sleep, risking expulsion—only to find their duo had turned into a trio.

More bodies meant more chances of getting caught. The dorm matron and night-patrol instructors weren't fools. Breaking curfew could earn you anything from twenty hand-written pages of apology to outright dismissal. The academy ran on strict discipline; humiliation and physical punishment were routine.

Still, they were already here. Turning back would be worse.

Quick introductions done, they hoisted themselves through a ground-floor window and tiptoed up the stairwell.

Fushimi took point, Kawai brought up the rear, and Tamako—bravery in short supply—kept to the middle.

Phone lights dimmed, they crept to the third-floor office. Kawai flicked a bobby pin into the lock and had it open in three seconds.

"My dad's a locksmith," she explained, as if it were nothing.

I didn't even ask, Fushimi thought. Explaining without being asked is practically a confession.

He pushed the door. Sakurai's office was spartan: one desk, one chair, fax, printer, and shelves of neatly labeled folders.

"Sure the anonymous letter's in here?" he asked.

"Very likely," Tamako said. "When I brought Takagi's sick-leave slip, I saw Sakurai reading a sheet of paper through the frosted glass. Her face was... scary. When I knocked, she shoved it into a drawer."

"Sounds fishy," Kawai murmured.

While they talked, their hands worked. Seconds later they found the paper—no, the letter.

Three heads bent together under one phone's flashlight.

On bone-white stationery, crooked red words slanted like claw marks:

I know what you did, murderer.

Think hiding in a police academy keeps you safe?

Get ready. I'll make you pay.

Fushimi's first instinct was evidence protocol—plastic bag, photos, no fingerprints. Then he remembered he was just a cadet, not a lawyer, and rolled his eyes at himself.

Whether from the light or the words, Tamako and Kawai had gone pale.

"That color... is it blood?" Kawai swallowed.

Tamako sniffed. "No. Birch oil—like red tincture. Pilot-brand red ink."

"What are you, a bloodhound?" Fushimi muttered.

"Tamako ran our high-school Mystery Club," Kawai said proudly. "Don't underestimate her. So—prank or threat?"

"P-probably a prank?" Tamako's voice shook. "Sakurai's a sworn officer. She wouldn't break the law. She's always so diligent..."

"It's a threat," Fushimi said, sliding the envelope back exactly where they'd found it. "And the 'murderer' part is almost certainly true."

"Eh? How do you figure that?"

"If it were a prank, would Sakurai just swallow it? With her temper she'd have gone public and hunted the sender. Instead she's hiding it. Guilty conscience."

In his past life he'd handled mountains of nasty cases; one glance at anonymous malice told him real from fake.

Some people wore suits but had the souls of beasts—killers who even stiffed their own lawyers. One twitch of their lips, and he knew what stink was coming.

A system prompt flickered before his eyes:

Task Complete

Reward: Tracking Technique LV1

Follow-up Unlocked

Contract Killing: Accept a fee and avenge the victim against Sakurai Chizuru

Reward: 2 Skill Points

Warmth rushed up his spine like fine whiskey, leaving goosebumps and muscle memory full of tracking tricks.

Tamako, too nervous to notice—or pretending not to—bit her thumbnail. "That's pure conjecture! Maybe Sakurai's worried about her reputation—"

"Relax," Kawai soothed, patting her back. "You always wanted to crack a real case. Here it is. Don't wimp out."

"Right," Fushimi said. "It's only a threatening letter tied to a possible murder. I've read worse on toilet paper."

"Shh!" Tamako suddenly raised a finger.

"Stop jumping at—" Kawai began, but Fushimi and Tamako cut her off together: "Someone's coming."

Tap... tap...

From the darkness at the end of the hallway came crisp footsteps.

Tamako cupped her ears, listened, then went white. "Crap—it's Instructor Sakurai. She's almost at the door. We'll be expelled if she finds us!"

"How can you tell?" Fushimi whispered, amazed.

"She's light and fast—I memorized her steps!"

Tamako's forehead beaded with sweat. "What do we do? We're dead!"

Click. The lock turned.