Chapter 42

Not just the cadets—even the instructors saw it.

The skull sat upright on its cervical spine, not dangling in circles but vibrating with a steady rhythm. It rested deep in the gloom of the cave like a silent sentinel.

A few cadets had been on their way to relieve themselves in pairs; at the sight they let a few drops go prematurely.

In a classic mystery novel, this would be the moment some rookie barges in to deliver breathless exposition: an eerie legend about cave-skeletons resurrected, or perhaps a local ritual where villagers worshipped skulls—anything to crank up the dread and insist the killer must be a ghost, a monster, a psychic...

Reality was far duller. The cadets couldn't manage a single squeak; the instructors only exchanged glances, wondering if anyone dared step closer.

"Come to think of it—where's Instructor Shirata?" someone muttered.

They looked around and realized the pillar of their group had vanished.

They pushed aside the vines at the mouth of the cave to call for help, but the mountain fog was thick as porridge. Their shouts vanished into the cold, empty echo of the forest.

Just as they stood helpless, faint voices drifted through the mist. At first indistinct, then clearer: a man and a woman.

"Honestly, I wasn't going to say anything, but I have to ask—why drag me along?"

"As a member of the Reasoning Squad, of course you have to be present!"

"When did I join your squad?"

"You're my partner; that's automatic admission..."

Miu recognized Tamako's voice; Yoshimura Yu recognized Fushimi Shika's. Under the crowd's stunned gaze, two figures emerged from the fog and trudged toward the cave.

Fushimi wore a windbreaker and earmuffs, guiding Tamako across the snowy slope. Still recovering from her illness, she had swaddled herself into a ball; a bead of sweat glistened on the tip of her small nose.

Fushimi hadn't wanted to come—who'd hike into the mountains on a freezing day? As if he were desperate for the System's reward of Level 1 Handgun Proficiency. If he truly loved shooting, he'd have maxed it out at the academy range long ago; he wouldn't be graduating without a single point in marksmanship.

But Tamako's offer was just too generous. He planned to cash in one last time; after graduation they'd be posted to different koban and the partner fee would dry up. Might as well pad his private stash while he could.

Secondly, Fushimi was a sucker for complicated cases. A front-row seat to a live Conan episode? Worth the trip—though, like a grade-schooler whose summer outing wilts under the blazing sun, he'd changed his mind the moment he hit the slope.

Tamako narrowed her eyes and mimed a monkey scanning the horizon. "Hmm? Sounds like quite a crowd."

As they drew near and saw a cluster of sullen classmates at the cave mouth, Fushimi greeted them with a grin. "Yo! Good afternoon, everyone—eaten yet?"

Before the words had settled, Yoshimura Yu lunged, seizing Fushimi by the collar and roaring, "You shameless bastard—how dare you show your face? This is all your fault—"

"Let go," Fushimi cut in.

"What?" Yoshimura's teeth ground, eyes bulging. He hadn't expected such indifference. "Make me. I remember you only managed twenty-one pull-ups. In a straight fight, there's no way I'd lose to a weakling like you!"

Tamako waved her hands frantically. "Ah—don't fight! We're all classmates; let's sit down and talk this out..." She hovered, ignored.

Cadets and instructors alike nursed grievances against Fushimi. When Yoshimura threw the first punch, no one moved to intervene—Miu considered it, but lacked the nerve.

Besides, at a police academy that worshipped the "way of the warrior," Yoshimura's call for a "fair, man-to-man fight" resonated. Real men settled things with fists, for honor—true samurai spirit.

"Take your hand off," Fushimi said, already in a foul mood and now at rock bottom. "Don't make me say it a third time."

"Hah?!" Yoshimura grabbed a fistful of Fushimi's hair. "I said I won't—so what are you going to do? Try prying my fingers loose—"

Before he finished, Fushimi twisted the elbow joint with a sharp crack. The arm bent back at a horrifying angle.

Before Yoshimura could scream, Fushimi locked an arm around his neck, hooked a leg behind his knee, and slammed him into the snow.

Yoshimura tried to rise; the back of his head was pinned under Fushimi's boot.

"I've never heard such a polite request," Fushimi remarked.

Humiliated beyond bearing, Yoshimura roared and flailed. Fushimi's boot found the other elbow—another crack—leaving him howling in the snow with both arms dislocated.

Snowflakes whirled; the forest fell silent. Everyone stared.

Fushimi... can actually fight?

And why did those grappling moves look so familiar? Only Instructor Sakurai ever used joint locks to "discipline" cadets.

"Enough!"

A voice cracked through the trees. Shirata Masahiro pushed past low branches, face thunderous. "I leave for five minutes and you start a brawl!"

With the pillar back, the crowd exhaled in relief.

Shirata nudged Yoshimura with his toe. "Up. Lying there is embarrassing."

Yoshimura's face was streaked with tears and snot, eyes vacant. "I want to go home..."

"You're the class leader—don't disgrace us. Besides, you started it—"

"Class leader my ass!" Yoshimura shrieked. "You just use me as your errand boy!"

"I've had it! If you're kicking me out, why drag me on this march? I'm taking the bus back right now, and I'm filing a complaint! My father's the Dean—he'll have you fired!"

An injured cadet should halt the exercise and be evacuated. But stranded as they were, Yoshimura would have to walk down on his own—something the instructors couldn't admit.

Shirata knelt, popped the dislocated arm back in, and splinted it with a stick. "Make a dignified exit, like a man."

Yoshimura refused. Ever since Shirata changed the posting rules, resentment had festered. Now, facing expulsion, he vented every grievance, cursing in guttural Japanese.

Finally he paused, realization dawning. "You—none of you instructors have a way down, do you?"

Not entirely stupid. The question hung in the air; the instructors stayed silent. The cadets erupted.

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