"So you promise never to mention that again?" Sakura Kuri's face was crimson, her voice strained.
"Mention what?" Fang Zuo feigned innocence, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "The soaked pleather incident? Or the equally soaked floor?"
"Dame! Dame!" she shrieked, shaking her head frantically, looking utterly mortified. "You're forbidden! Forget it! Right now!" Her small hand shot out, clamping firmly over Fang Zuo's mouth to physically stop the words.
She only released him when he raised his hands in amused surrender, signaling silence. Cautiously, she lowered her hand, still eyeing him warily.
Switching to business, Sakura visibly composed herself. She set her wine glass aside and gracefully shifted, folding her long, exquisitely smooth legs beneath her. Her fingers idly played with her perfect, pale toes, but her expression was serious, brows occasionally knitting in concentration.
"Regarding the previous murders," she began, her voice regaining its professional cool, "I enlisted Master Kouichi from Sensō-ji Temple's Fuūjinraijinmon to spiritually trace the scenes. The Paranormal Investigation Agency also sent Kyo Koma, a renowned investigator from Kyoto. Both concluded the pattern was identical: one victim is murdered, then the other commits suicide. It's as if someone guided them – the hunter sacrifices their prey, then performs seppuku."
"Not long ago, on the rooftop of a famous gym in Akihabara, Tokyo, a case unfolded with the exact same MO as the Tokyo Women's University incident. Again, a man and a woman were found dead, post-coitus. The similarities are striking," she emphasized. "From the scene arrangement, time of death, the murder/suicide weapons, down to the precise markings of the pentagram formations…" She paused, meeting his gaze directly. "No, not just similar. It's unnervingly identical."
"First," Sakura ticked off points on her fingers, "in both cases, a third presence was detected. Yet, no fingerprints or physical trace of them were found on the weapons. Second, exhaustive review of all surveillance cameras yielded nothing – this third entity is invisible to technology. Even Master Kouichi and Koma-san couldn't divine any trace; their attempts were blocked by vastly superior concealment magic."
"I asked Bibi-sama," she continued, referring to the spirit within the divination brush, "to visit both scenes. The lingering scent traces left by the third party at both locations are nearly identical. It is the same person."
"Furthermore," Sakura added, "despite their cunning, the scent profile and subtle operational patterns strongly suggest the interloper is male. We scrutinized thousands of gym members; all have verifiable alibis and documented backgrounds, but none simultaneously fit both a gym profile and employment at the university."
Hearing that the troublesome brush spirit had been mobilized, Fang Zuo chuckled. "So, has that little Ink Imp finally learned obedience?"
"Hai!" Sakura covered her mouth with a giggle. "Thanks to your... persuasive methods, Fujino-san, Bibi-sama undertakes any task I assign without protest now."
Fang Zuo snorted. "Those parasitic little spirits, feasting on incense yet slacking off. They only understand force." Stroking his chin thoughtfully, an idea struck him. He pointed a finger at his wine glass.
A shimmering Water Mirror spell coalesced. The wine's surface rippled, then resolved into a clear image: the small shrine within Shirayuki Nagimitsu's villa. The view magnified, focusing sharply on the idol of the four-armed Hinayāna demon god.
Sakura gasped softly, her beautiful eyes wide with fascination. While Sensō-ji monks possessed similar divinatory arts, they required elaborate preparation with specialized tools and talismans. To casually conjure this living image like a holographic display was breathtakingly beyond them.
"Use your official channels," Fang Zuo instructed, his gaze fixed on the eerie idol. "Monitor shrines across Tokyo – no, across Japan. Look for any displaying this particular style of heretic god. Record every instance and inform me immediately." This wisp of divine essence he'd harvested earlier wasn't nearly sufficient for refining an avatar. With the Black Bible cases stalled, catching the mastermind seemed distant. Collecting more fragments of this demon god's essence was his best current option.
"Wakatta," Sakura nodded solemnly. Then, a sly smile curved her lips. "And what's my reward?"
Fang Zuo raised an eyebrow, amusement returning. "Skip the preamble. State your terms."
"I still want you to go undercover." Leaning closer, her voice dropped conspiratorially. "Consider it. Tokyo Women's University – home to the most beautiful young women in Japan. You would be the women's dormitory supervisor." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Access to any beauty you desire... Didn't an ancient Chinese proverb say something like... 'The early bird twists the worm'? Or was it 'The moon leans toward thirsty lips'?" She waved a dismissive hand. "Anyway! Only this position offers constant proximity – protection for the students day and night, and prime opportunity to hunt for clues."
"Not happening," Fang Zuo vetoed flatly. "And it's 'The early bird catches the worm' and 'One who stands by the source draws water first'. How do you people manage to corrupt everything you learn?"
"Onee-chan!" Sakura suddenly adopted an exaggeratedly sweet tone, clasping his arm and shaking it like an importunate child. "Please, please? Only you can help me with this!" The movement caused the ripe peaches beneath her silk robe to sway hypnotically. Her figure truly resembled the fruit – not just the famed curve of her hips, but her full breasts possessed that same perfect, uplifted peach shape.
The invocation of 'Onee-chan' brought Nagishima Yuui to Fang Zuo's mind. That innocent girl would undoubtedly attend that university. Given the Shirayuki bloodline she carried, she'd be a beacon for those lurking in the shadows. He couldn't explain why, but he felt a strange protectiveness toward Yuui.
"...Fine. I'll do it," Fang Zuo conceded after a moment.
"Ehhh?! Really?! Arigatō gozaimashita!" Sakura beamed, clinging tighter.
"But," he emphasized, holding up a hand. "First condition: I won't be on site daily. Only occasionally. I'll relay intelligence when I have it. You find others to handle the mundane surveillance and security details. My role is strategic oversight only."
Sakura nodded vigorously. Having Fang Zuo handling strategy was more than enough. After witnessing him dismantle half her family's fighting force with terrifying ease, she harbored a near-mythical level of confidence in his abilities. He seemed omnipotent.
"Second," he continued, "arrange another position – one that grants me legitimate access to roam the entire campus freely."
"Done!" Sakura exclaimed, triumphantly throwing her arms around his bicep. Fang Zuo felt the incredible resilience of her breasts press against him. Her recovery was clearly remarkable, rivaling Nagimitsu's – another exquisitely resilient creature, seemingly built to withstand extreme force.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Sakura's phone chimed with an urgent notification. She retrieved it, her smile vanishing as she scanned the screen, brow furrowing. Swiftly, she opened a video link and rotated the screen.
"Look at this," she said urgently, shifting closer to Fang Zuo. She slid next to him on the tatami, placing the phone between them. Tentatively, she rested her head against his shoulder. A furtive glance confirmed he didn't react, so she settled her weight comfortably against him.
The video played a recent news report. A poised businesswoman with lustrous light brown hair, immaculate makeup, dangling earrings, and a sophisticated dress stood addressing the Japanese Diet:
[Kon'nichiwa, this is NHK's Minakawa Keiko reporting live.]
[This afternoon, the House of Representatives convened its fifth summer session. Diet Member Abe Na-Jaku immediately spearheaded a motion of censure, targeting the Tokyo Judiciary. She accused them of gross abuses of power, establishing superfluous and incompetent security departments, and deceiving the public.]
[She demanded the immediate dissolution of all such departments and called for apologies and resignations from relevant cabinet members.]
The footage cut to the Diet chamber floor. There stood Abe Na-Jaku, radiating confidence. Dressed sharply in a pristine white blouse, tailored black blazer, and matching trousers, her beauty was undeniable. She held the chamber's attention effortlessly, gesturing with commanding precision – each movement deliberate, forceful, yet elegant. Her aura was that of a formidable, charismatic politician.
[Tokyo's security expenditures have catastrophically exceeded the budget, Abe Na-Jaku declared, her voice ringing clear and sharp, causing severe imbalances in public finances.]
[We are barely into the second quarter of this fiscal year, yet government spending has already outpaced revenues!]
[And in this summer of unprecedented heat – with the peak still looming – Tokyo has already lost twenty-one citizens to heat-related deaths!]
[Where is our taxpayers' money going?! Why isn't it safeguarding the lives of our citizens?!]
[Who are these bloodsucking parasites devouring funds meant for our people's welfare?!]
[These twenty-one souls were vital members of their families – husbands, wives, parents! They worked diligently, paid their taxes faithfully... Why couldn't they even survive a single summer?!]
[We must demand answers: Why is this cabinet government so profoundly incompetent?!]
[How can such an inept administration remain comfortably ensconced in air-conditioned offices, drawing its salaries?!]
[If the grieving families affected by this negligence do not receive a thorough and satisfactory explanation from this government...] Her eyes swept the chamber, sharp as diamonds. [...I will mobilize my party and fellow legislators to initiate impeachment proceedings against the Prime Minister himself!]
The video cut to a live shot outside the Diet building. A throng of reporters jostled around a familiar figure caught exiting: Shirayuki Nagimitsu.
She was also impeccably dressed in a crisp white blouse straining against her voluptuous curves, paired with a formal black jacket and trousers. Small pearl earrings adorned her ears. Flesh-toned stockings sheathed her legs beneath the tailored trousers, ending in classic black high heels. She stood facing the reporters, a picture of formidable elegance amidst the media storm.