Tokyo: Rabbit Officer and Her Evil Partner

While Minamoto Tamako was snoring away, Fushimi Roku opened his eyes again.

He wasn't harboring any sinister thoughts, like seizing the opportunity for any bizarre behavior; he simply couldn't fall asleep.

Earlier, he had a cup of coffee at the café. He used to think caffeine didn't affect his sleep, treating coffee just like an ordinary beverage.

But now Fushimi Roku realized the power of caffeine.

He lay on the sofa, twisting and turning, like a maggot, but had not the slightest hint of sleepiness. He thought the problem might be the light; the living room was too bright, not conducive to melatonin production, so he got up and drew the curtains, dimming the living room, and Tamako slept even more soundly.

Fushimi Roku sat back in his original position, leaning on the sofa, still unable to fall asleep.

Half an hour later, the prelude music in the tape recorder ended, and Tamako was breathing evenly, seeming to sleep very sweetly.

Fushimi Roku tried hard to fall asleep, but unexpectedly the tape started playing human voices, the audio quality was very clear, but it sounded especially low and vague, as if a woman was reciting scriptures into the microphone.

Fushimi Roku found it strange and remembered Kazama Tatsuya's warning not to listen to the tape while awake, making it even harder for him to sleep.

He was uncomfortable lying down, so he simply sat up and opened his eyes, inspecting Tamako's sleeping face.

At first, Tamako's sleeping posture was quite adorable; she lay sideways on the sofa with her right cheek puffing softly, her small mouth slightly agape, faintly conveying a gentle sound of breathing.

Suddenly, her sleeping posture started to become odd.

In the dream, Tamako turned over and clamped the sofa pillow with her legs, her body began to move unconsciously, emitting low panting sounds.

"Mmm... ooh..."

Her voice grew softer and tender, her face flushed; her eyeballs moved rapidly under her eyelids, her body slowly curling up, a moist aura continuously spreading.

The air was filled with ambiguity.

Seeing this, Fushimi Roku wished he could take sleeping pills to go to sleep.

He tiptoed up, made gentle movements, and went out to the next door to ask Kazama Tatsuya for sleeping pills. These were prescription drugs, and he thought Tatsuya might have them.

But reality gave Fushimi Roku a cold, ruthless blow — Kazama Tatsuya used to have them, but ever since he visited Dr. Arima, he stopped using sleeping pills, so now he had no stock at home.

Fushimi Roku could only return home, sat back on the sofa, folded his arms, looking disgruntled, like Tom Cat waiting in a meme.

The tape finished playing human voices and switched to playing low-frequency sounds. He couldn't understand the content, felt like the whale calls from a documentary.

On the sofa, Tamako happily rolled around, wriggling like a caterpillar. From time to time, she uttered soft words, speaking some meaningless sleep-talk:

"No… not there..."

"Mr. Fu Jian... a little lower..."

"I can't take it... oh oh ow..."

"Coming, it's coming—"

Minamoto Tamako's body tensed to the limit, seemingly about to reach a critical point, when Fushimi Roku suddenly reached out and pressed the pause button on the recorder.

He couldn't enjoy it, so Tamako wouldn't be allowed to enjoy it either.

The soft cries came to an abrupt stop, and Tamako went limp on the sofa, her body completely relaxing, breathing heavily and slowly opening her misty eyes.

"Ah, what happened..."

"Turns out it was a dream..."

Minamoto Tamako felt a sense of loss, clearly just a little bit more; she was teetering with discomfort, feeling a hot and swollen sensation in her lower abdomen, itchiness in her heart. She couldn't help but press her lips together, and in the dim light, Fushimi Roku oddly looked pleasing no matter how she saw him.

Nope!

Minamoto Tamako suddenly pressed her legs together, used the sofa pillow to cover the absolute territory, stood up hurriedly, faced Fushimi Roku, and stumbled backward into her room: "Um, I just remembered, I haven't folded the quilt this morning..."

Fushimi Roku didn't expose her, pretending to be confused, knowingly asking, "Since when have you had the habit of folding quilts?"

"I've always had it... kept it since police school..."

Saying so, Tamako's calf knocked against the coffee table. Her body fell backward, landing flat on her face. Before Fushimi Roku could help, she scrambled up hastily, scooted into her room: "Hold on a moment, I'm folding the quilt!"

She locked the room door, dashed into the bathroom, turned the faucet to the minimum to avoid Fu Jian hearing the water sound.

After a quick wash, she changed into fresh, clean panties, plus an identical pair of trousers to avoid Mr. Fu Jian noticing any discrepancy.

Once done, Minamoto Tamako stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing herself to ensure nothing suspicious was exposed; she checked the time, less than a minute had passed, perfect, Mr. Fu Jian definitely couldn't guess what just happened.

Minamoto Tamako exhaled deeply and opened the door, about to make some excuses, but saw Mr. Fu Jian standing where she had fallen earlier, looking down at something.

She moved closer to see, only to find a round, translucent butt mark on the white ceramic tile.

"..."

Fushimi Roku recalled the previous generation when park elders used water-dipped calligraphy on the ground as a performance art.

"Did you wet the bed?" he pretended as if he hadn't seen anything earlier.

"How—how is that possible?!" Minamoto Tamako's face flushed, she rushed back to her room to grab two tissues: "I'm fully grown, how could I still wet the bed!"

"Then what's this...?" Fushimi Roku gestured at the water stain on the ground with his mouth.

Minamoto Tamako crouched down, quickly wiped the tiles with the tissue, her brain spinning to make up a lie: "Th-this floor was wet already!"