"Sato..." Takagi Wataru spoke, his voice hoarse yet unusually calm, "If this is your choice... if killing me makes you feel... one step closer to your so-called 'happiness'..."
He took a deep breath, as if using up all his remaining strength to utter his final words:
"Then fire the gun."
In his eyes, there was no resentment, no fear, only a heartbreaking, final tenderness and farewell. He stood firm at his post until the very last moment, even when facing the partner he once trusted most.
Miwako Sato looked at Takagi Wataru's expression of someone ready to die peacefully, and her hand holding the gun wavered imperceptibly. An extremely tiny sting, one she might not have even noticed herself, rippled through her heart shrouded in darkness, but it was immediately submerged by the more powerful, absolute obedience to Kanjuro.
Her gaze became cold and resolute once more.
"Goodbye, Takagi."
The moment the words fell—
Bang!
The gunshot rang out, crisp and decisive, echoing through the silent air outside the Suzuki Family Mansion.
A clear bullet hole appeared in the center of Takagi Wataru's forehead, and blood slowly flowed out. The sorrowful and gentle expression on his face froze, and his body fell straight backward, crashing heavily onto the cold ground. His wide-open eyes reflected the grey Tokyo sky and Sato's resolute back.
He was dead. He died at the hands of the person he once loved most, dying so peacefully, yet so... heroically.
The other police officers outside let out roars of grief and indignation, but no one dared to step forward. The cold gazes of the Valkyries of the Dark Night and the pervasive dark energy acted like invisible shackles, imprisoning their movements.
Miwako Sato slowly lowered her still-smoking muzzle. She didn't look at Takagi Wataru's body; instead, she turned to face Mr. Kanjuro inside the door, knelt on one knee, and lowered her head:
"Mission accomplished, Mr. Kanjuro."
Her voice was still steady, as if she had just crushed an ant.
Watching this scene, Kanjuro's face broke into an incredibly joyful and satisfied smile. He stepped forward, gently helped Sato up, and used his finger to wipe away a drop of blood that had splashed onto her cheek at some point, his movements intimate and full of possessiveness.
"Well done, my Miwako." His praise was like poison, nourishing the twisted loyalty in Sato's heart.
He put his arm around Sato's shoulder, took one last look at the gradually cooling corpse outside and the despairing police officers, then turned and walked toward the brightly lit depths of the Mansion.
"Clean it up."
He gave a faint instruction, though it was unclear whether it was to the Valkyries of the Dark Night or to the other "insiders" within the Mansion.
The gates of the Suzuki Family closed completely, isolating Takagi Wataru's body and all the anger, sadness, and helplessness outside into the night that was being gradually swallowed by darkness.
Kanjuro's rule, at the cost of another life, carved a bloody and profound mark once again in the heart of this bustling metropolis, Tokyo. And Miwako Sato, in this way, offered the most complete blood oath to the darkness she had chosen.
Before Takagi Wataru's blood had even cooled, Kanjuro had already bestowed a new order upon his dark empire. He took Miwako Sato's hand and led her before the group of solemn Valkyries of the Dark Night.
"From this moment on," Kanjuro's voice clearly entered the consciousness of every Valkyrie, "Miwako Sato is your direct commander. Her orders are my will."
The hundred Valkyries of the Dark Night raised no objections. They knelt on one knee in unison, lowering their once-proud heads to Sato: "We obey the Master's command! Greetings, Commander Sato!"
Looking at this powerful and absolutely obedient force transformed from her former colleagues, a twisted sense of accomplishment and belonging surged in Sato's heart. She took a deep breath, her gaze becoming sharp and cold, as she said firmly to Kanjuro, "Mr. Kanjuro, please rest assured. I will forge them into your sharpest sword."
Kanjuro nodded in satisfaction. Immediately, an even larger and darker plan began to brew in his eyes.
"A sword naturally needs to be blooded," he said nonchalantly, as if discussing a dinner menu. "Miwako, lead your legion and show Tokyo what... true chaos and fear look like."
He paused, adding hair-raising details:
"Target: the downtown areas of Tokyo, innocent civilians. No specific targets required; just create panic. Use whatever means... you like. I want to see the streets of Tokyo dyed red by sunset and hear the city's desperate wails."
This order was even more insane than the massacre of the police! It was a trampling of the entire human moral baseline!
However, Miwako Sato didn't even flinch. Her eyes held only absolute obedience to the mission and a fanaticism for Kanjuro.
"Understood! I will not disappoint you!"
She turned to face the standing legion of Valkyries of the Dark Night, her voice as cold as a blade:
"Valkyries of the Dark Night, hear my command! Targets: Shibuya, Shinjuku, and the core areas of Ginza! Indiscriminate attack! Cause maximum panic and casualties! Move out!"
Once the order was given, the black torrent moved instantly. The hundred Valkyries of the Dark Night, like specters merging into the night, split into several groups and pounced toward the most prosperous and crowded areas of Tokyo at speeds beyond common logic.
The next few hours became the darkest and bloodiest page in Tokyo's history.
At busy intersections, shockwaves formed by dark energy mowed down crowds like grass. In bustling shopping centers, invisible force fields distorted space, crushing living human bodies into unspeakable lumps of flesh. On neon-lit streets, former female police officers who once maintained order now held blades condensed from darkness, expressionlessly reaping lives. Screams, cries, explosions, and the sound of buildings collapsing intertwined to compose a symphony of hell.
Live news broadcasts were forced to cut off, the internet was filled with images of blood and despair, and police communication channels were flooded with calls for help and sounds of breakdown. However, facing this inhuman demon legion composed of former colleagues, the resistance of ordinary police officers appeared utterly pale and weak. Casualty numbers climbed exponentially, and panic spread like a plague to every corner of Tokyo.
Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, High-Level Emergency Command Center.
The atmosphere was no longer just solemn; it was complete despair.
"Madness! This is complete madness!" Inspector Matsumoto Kiyochika looked at the horrific images on the screen from various locations and slammed his fist onto the control console, his hand trembling slightly. When he finally confirmed from the chaotic flow of information that the culprit behind this catastrophe was 'Kanjuro', a cold fear originating from the depths of his memory instantly seized his heart.
"Kanjuro... It's that Kanjuro?! The one with eyes like a wolf cub?!" Matsumoto Kiyochika muttered to himself, his face turning pale. He remembered very clearly that many years ago, that thin boy with the stubborn gaze had been elementary school classmates with his daughter, Matsumoto Sayuri. Sayuri had even once developed feelings for the solitary boy.
At that time, Matsumoto Kiyochika, who was in the rising phase of his career and highly valued reputation and prospects, had not hesitated to drive him away in an extremely humiliating manner after learning about Kanjuro's wretched family background, sternly warning Sayuri never to associate with such "bottom-tier trash" again. He still remembered the look the boy gave him when he left—no crying, no begging, only a bottomless, cold resentment.
He never imagined that the "little bug" he could have crushed at will back then would now turn into such a terrifying... Demon God!
"Inspector Matsumoto! You know him?!" Officer Megure Jūzō asked urgently. Right now, any information about Kanjuro could be a life-saving straw.
Matsumoto Kiyochika closed his eyes bitterly and nodded with difficulty. "Many years ago... we crossed paths once. I... back then..." He couldn't bring himself to say what he had done, but his expression of regret and fear said everything.
"Now is not the time for that!" Officer Megure interrupted him anxiously. "We must come up with a plan! A frontal assault? Look at the situation outside! Our casualties are already immeasurable! Negotiation? What is there to talk about with a demon like that?!"
Matsumoto Kiyochika snapped his eyes open, his gaze filled with struggle and a desperate sense of burning his bridges. He looked at the jumping numbers representing deaths on the screen, listened to the reports from subordinates on the verge of collapse over the communicator, and a humiliating thought—perhaps the only one that could temporarily stop the bleeding—formed in his mind.
He took a deep breath, appearing to age ten years in an instant, and said to Officer Megure in a hoarse, powerless voice:
"Megure... abandon all resistance operations."
"You... you lead a team yourself. Don't carry weapons. Raise a white flag... go find Kanjuro."
"Tell him... we... the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, request to... negotiate for peace with him."
"The conditions... he can set them."
"Negotiate?!" Megure Jūzō almost thought he had misheard. "Matsumoto! Do you know what you're saying?! Suing for peace with a butcher, a demon?! This will bring unprecedented disgrace upon the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department!!"
"That's still better than letting all of Tokyo turn into a living hell!!" Matsumoto Kiyochika roared suddenly, his voice filled with powerlessness and grief. "Do we have a way to stop him now?! No! Unless we use final force, but how many people would die then?! And it might not even kill him! Suing for peace is a humiliation, but at least... at least it can temporarily stabilize him and buy time to find a countermeasure! It's also to protect the citizens who are still alive!"
Megure Jūzō looked at his old friend's nearly broken eyes, then looked at the hellish scenes on the screen. Finally, he clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging deep into his flesh, and squeezed a word through his teeth:
"...Fine."
The humiliating white flag rose on a Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department vehicle that once symbolized justice and order. Megure Jūzō, leading several pale-faced, unarmed officers, drove toward the area shrouded in darkness and death where Kanjuro was, his heart heavy and filled with complex emotions.
Meanwhile, Matsumoto Kiyochika slumped in his chair, covering his face with his hands. He knew this was only the beginning. Kanjuro would never let him off easily, nor would he let go of that old grudge from years ago. The contempt and humiliation he had shown back then might now cost all of Tokyo, and even the entire police force, a heavy price. As for his daughter, Sayuri... he didn't dare think further. Kanjuro's revenge had only just begun its bloody prelude.
-- 0 Requesting Flowers 0 -- When Megure Jūzō brought the team holding the white flag high through streets that looked like post-war ruins and finally arrived outside the Suzuki Family Mansion, which was guarded by layers of Valkyries of the Dark Night, the grief and humiliation in his heart almost burst from his chest. The corpses of former colleagues and the cries of innocent people haunted his mind like a nightmare.
After reporting their arrival, they were allowed to enter the courtyard, but all their weapons were confiscated. Kanjuro did not receive him in the magnificent drawing room; instead, he sat leisurely on a rattan chair in the courtyard. Miwako Sato stood in attendance by his side, while Hattori Shizuka and Toyama Kazuha conversed in low voices nearby, as if everything happening outside had nothing to do with them. The Valkyries of the Dark Night surrounded the place like cold statues, making it airtight.
"Kanjuro!" Megure Jūzō suppressed his anger, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. "The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department... requests a ceasefire! We... are willing to negotiate!"
Kanjuro lifted his eyelids, a faint, mocking smirk playing on the corners of his mouth. "Oh? The dignified Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department is finally willing to bow its proud head?" He gently swirled the wine glass in his hand, the crimson liquid inside looking like blood. "Fine, I accept the negotiation."
Megure Jūzō's heart tightened, knowing the real conditions were coming.
Kanjuro put down his glass, his gaze falling on Megure Jūzō's face like a scalpel, his tone flat but carrying an unquestionable pressure:
"My condition is very simple."
"Bring your wife, Megure Midori, to me."
"What?!!" Megure Jūzō's eyes instantly turned bloodshot, and his blood pressure soared. He almost drew his gun on the spot—if he still had one! He roared, "Kanjuro! You bastard!! You're dreaming!! Midori is my wife! I will never hand her over to a demon like you!!"
...He was so angry he shook all over, his finger trembling as he pointed at Kanjuro. This wasn't just an insult; this was a complete destruction of his dignity and bottom line as a man and a husband!
Kanjuro didn't care about his rage at all; instead, he looked as if he were watching an interesting performance. He took a small sip of wine and said slowly:
"Officer Megure, don't get excited. This is just a transaction."
"In exchange for your wife's 'companionship,' there will be no more new souls added to the streets of Tokyo, and your poor subordinates will no longer be slaughtered like chickens and ducks by my Valkyries..."
His voice was full of seduction and cruelty:
"Do you think it's more important to protect your own marriage and dignity, or to save thousands of lives and rescue the crumbling prestige of your Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department?"
He leaned forward slightly, his deep eyes staring intently at Megure Jūzō, asking word by word:
"Will you do it, or not?"
"The choice is yours."
Megure Jūzō's roar caught in his throat. He glared at Kanjuro, his chest heaving violently. Countless images flashed through his mind—Takagi Wataru falling after being shot in the forehead, young officers turned to charcoal in dark energy, the desperate eyes of terrified citizens fleeing in the streets, Matsumoto Kiyochika's nearly broken plea... On one side was the wife he swore to protect with his life and his personal, inviolable dignity.
On the other side were countless living souls, the heavy responsibility on his shoulders, and the survival of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department and all of Tokyo.
The immense pain and struggle almost tore his soul apart. His clenched fists' nails dug deep into his palms, oozing blood. His lips trembled, but he couldn't make a sound.
Time seemed to freeze at this moment.
Finally, as if all his strength had been drained, Megure Jūzō's upright body slumped. He closed his eyes, and two trails of murky tears rolled down from the corners of his eyes, mixing with endless humiliation and despair.
Using the last ounce of strength in his body, he squeezed out a few words from between his teeth, weak as a sigh yet heavy as a thousand tons:
"...I... agree..."
The moment those words left his mouth, he felt that something within him as a policeman and as a man had completely died.
A smile that could truly be called "radiant" finally appeared on Kanjuro's face, a smile filled with the pleasure of a victor and mockery of human fragility.
"Very good, a wise choice, Officer Megure." He clapped lightly, as if admiring a wonderful play. "Then, please go back yourself and 'invite' your wife here. Remember, my patience is limited. Whether the 'cleaning' activities outside continue depends on your speed."
Megure Jūzō didn't look at Kanjuro again. Like a walking corpse, he stumbled and turned around, walking out heavily, step by step, under the cold gaze of the Valkyries of the Dark Night. Every step felt like it was treading on his own dignity and heart.
He knew that from this moment on, he was no longer the respected Officer Megure Jūzō. He was just a pathetic wretch who had sacrificed his wife and soul for the "greater good."
Behind him, Kanjuro leisurely sipped his wine, enjoying the thrill of once again trampling so-called "justice" and "dignity" underfoot. Megure Midori's arrival would undoubtedly add an interesting "trophy" to his dark collection. The fall of Tokyo had spread from the physical level to the deepest reaches of morality and humanity.
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