"God, that wiped me out... but I should have come sooner."
Amamiya Rin lay slumped in his seat, muttering to himself. Triple compression had left him wrecked — even after half an hour's rest, his whole body still ached with a dull, pervasive misery.
But when he turned his awareness inward, the picture was encouraging. Atrophied muscles, adhesed joints — both had improved dramatically. A single session under compression had stimulated his body at least as much as three full days of rehabilitation.
And that was just the incidental benefit. The real purpose of the compression was physical fortification. Amamiya Rin could feel it — skin, flesh, sinew, bone, lungs, heart — all of it had taken a measurable step forward. Even the cultivation techniques in those over-the-top fantasy novels probably couldn't match this.
He lay there a while longer, then turned his head to look at the passenger seat. Elizabeth's portrait and diary sat there, and behind them, a wicked bone-knife — everything he'd had Tomie retrieve for him earlier. The portrait and diary were for the other Kawakami Tomie. The bone-knife, once ground down a little, could serve as a real blade.
He gathered himself, started the car, and headed straight for the abandoned building.
He cut the engine, got out, and walked inside under his own power. Up to the fourth floor. He leaned against the doorframe and glanced in.
Kawahara Miyuki was still curled up where she'd been, motionless — apparently having lost consciousness.
Amamiya Rin wasn't certain, and he didn't particularly care to verify it. Knowing she was still there was enough.
He turned and headed back downstairs, fishing out his phone and scrolling to Kazumi Junya's number.
"Hello? Amamiya-kun?"
"It's me. I'll keep it short — I've found the perpetrator behind the serial murders."
Amamiya Rin gave a slightly edited account of events: an anonymous text, a tip-off, having Kawakami Tomie investigate on his behalf — and confirming that the real killer behind the serial murders was none other than Kawahara Miyuki.
"Impossible! Don't talk nonsense! How could Miyuki be a murderer!"
The roar was so loud it made Amamiya Rin's ears ring. Someone had yanked the phone away from Kazumi Junya and was now bellowing at him.
"And you are...?"
Amamiya Rin didn't recognize the voice. He asked carefully.
"I'm Kogure! That's not important! What's important is that Miyuki could never murder anyone! I won't allow you to slander her!"
The man on the other end of the line screamed.
Good grief — another obsessive fan?
Amamiya Rin found it faintly funny, but he didn't let it bother him. He simply said: whether it was slander or not, come and see for yourself.
About twenty minutes later, a police car pulled up and stopped a short distance away.
The door opened. Kazumi Junya stepped out first, his expression grim. Right behind him came Kogure Soichiro — brow furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line, the look he trained on Amamiya Rin heavy with undisguised distrust and seething resentment.
"She's on the fourth floor. The physical evidence is up there too."
Amamiya Rin didn't wait for questions. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the building behind him.
"In the name of Miyuki Fan Club member number 0023, I will not allow anyone to slander Miyuki!"
Kogure Soichiro shot Amamiya Rin a withering glare, then charged inside without another word. His footsteps boomed through the hollow stairwell.
"Sorry about that. I only just found out myself — Kogure is apparently a Kawahara Miyuki fan." Kazumi Junya walked over to Amamiya Rin and gave a helpless laugh.
"Still... that Kawahara Miyuki — a national idol — turning out to be the killer behind a string of murders. I don't think anyone could have seen that coming."
Kazumi Junya's smile faded, replaced by a look that was equal parts weary and bemused.
"Can't they just ban these paranormal shows? None of this would have happened if it weren't for those programs."
Amamiya Rin leaned back against the car door and couldn't help venting.
"If only it were that simple. Ban the shows and you still can't stop enthusiasts from going out and exploring on their own."
Kazumi Junya shook his head and, with no further small talk, strode into the abandoned building.
Amamiya Rin didn't follow — his mobility made it impractical.
A few minutes later, he watched as the hulking figure of Kogure Soichiro emerged from the building in a daze. His face was a picture of misery, those broad shoulders drooping as he shuffled out, mumbling over and over: "How could this happen... Miyuki... that damned Elizabeth..."
Kazumi Junya came out behind him, escorting Kawahara Miyuki. His face had gone rather pale — the look of a man who had seen something deeply disturbing. In his right hand he held a clear evidence bag containing a fruit knife, its blade smeared with blood.
Kawahara Miyuki walked with her head down and her hands behind her back, secured in a pair of gleaming handcuffs.
Amamiya Rin accompanied them to the Metropolitan Police Department and gave an official statement. The process went smoothly enough — though there was no katsu-don, and no chance to slip into the Police History Compilation Office and look through its files. A case this big — a national celebrity, a serial murder charge — had the entire department buzzing.
He caught a glimpse of Professor Matsuura on his way out, but didn't want to interrupt anyone's work. He gave a brief wave from a distance and left.
It was nearly seven o'clock by now. The sky had gone a flat, featureless grey; the sun had long since vanished. Amamiya Rin let out a quiet breath, climbed back into his secondhand Jeep, and drove toward Shimokitazawa.
The day wasn't done yet. The flesh-colored monster still needed to be dealt with — and the thoroughly unhinged mother needed to be put behind bars.
He parked in a paid lot in Shimokitazawa, locked the car, shouldered his sword bag, and set off with his cane.
Walking along, Amamiya Rin scanned the street signs out of habit. He passed a twenty-four-hour convenience store, and his pace slowed. His stomach registered a quiet complaint.
He'd spent the whole afternoon under the compression rack. He hadn't done much in the way of movement, but all that strain had been enough to work up a mild hunger.
Might as well grab something to take the edge off.
The thought was barely formed before he was already heading for the store.
He pushed the door open. Cool air rushed out, carrying with it the savory smell of oden. Amamiya Rin glanced at the oden pot on the counter — tempting — but eating while walking on a cane was more trouble than it was worth, so he let it go.
He made his way through the aisles, picked out a sandwich and a carton of strawberry milk, and headed back to the register.
The cashier was in the middle of scanning his items when the door opened again. A girl of about ten came running in, leaned over the counter, and called out: "Excuse me, do you have hair cream?"
The cashier didn't miss a beat, scanning the sandwich barcode as he answered: "Hair cream? No, we don't carry that anymore. Nobody really sells it these days — everyone uses spray now."
The girl said "Oh," looked disappointed, turned on her heel, and ran back out.
Amamiya Rin paid, pocketed his change, tore open the sandwich wrapper and pushed the straw into the strawberry milk carton, then walked out of the convenience store.
He took a large bite and let his gaze drift across the street. The little girl who'd asked about hair cream was now huddled with two or three other girls about her age, clustered on the opposite pavement, discussing something among themselves.
____
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🔥 New history: Oshi No Ko: Co-starring with Kana Arima
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