Chapter 3: I Have No Desire to Waste Time Struggling for Money

The next day, April 28th, Tuesday.

Early in the morning, Akira Aoyama woke up. After freshening up and dressing neatly, he went downstairs and saw his sister-in-law setting out breakfast.

Today, she wasn’t wearing a kimono, but a black dress. As she bent over, her ample bosom nearly brushed the table. Her hips were full and shapely, legs sheathed in sheer nude stockings, slim calves visible beneath the hem of her skirt, and on her feet were black lace-up heels.

Hearing his footsteps, she glanced back and smiled, “Akira, you’re up just in time.”

“Sister-in-law, are you going out today?” Akira asked curiously, stepping over to help her set the table.

After her marriage, Haruko Aoyama had been a full-time housewife, rarely leaving home and almost always dressed in kimonos.

“That’s right, I’ve found a flower shop to work part-time for a week.” Haruko smiled, then winked mischievously, “But don’t tell your brother.”

Munemasa Aoyama, like many Japanese men, was rather chauvinistic and disliked his wife working or showing herself in public, believing it a blow to his pride.

But the Aoyama family’s current situation resembled the late Qing dynasty’s fallen nobility—little left but an empty name. Their estate, aside from the villa that maintained their appearance, was almost gone.

In Japan, only members of the national parliament wield true power; in the prefectures and cities, the governor has the final say and can dissolve the local assembly at any time. Local councilors have little influence.

Without power, there’s little profit. After Akira’s demotion, his salary had dropped significantly, so Haruko often worked part-time behind her husband’s back to help make ends meet.

It was also a way to pass the time.

“You work so hard, sister-in-law.” Akira bowed.

Clearly, he needed to start making money soon.

Haruko said gently, “Alright, hurry and eat or you’ll be late for work.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Akira replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “Well then, I’ll start.”

He had to admit, his sister-in-law’s cooking was quite good.

“Take care and have a good day.” After breakfast, Haruko saw Akira off at the door. With Munemasa always away, the two of them almost looked like a married couple.

Munemasa kept his wife in Tokyo not only because he believed he’d soon become a national assemblyman and return, but also to have her keep an eye on his troublesome younger brother, making sure he didn’t cause problems for the family.

Akira bowed to Haruko from the courtyard steps before turning to leave.

On his way to work, he thought of a way to quickly resolve the family’s financial troubles.

Once he arrived at the station, he headed straight for Aya Asai’s office.

“Detective Aoyama, good morning.”

“Morning, senpai.” Many colleagues greeted him proactively. After yesterday’s events, he had shed the label of “demoted failure” at the Shinjuku station, proving his capability.

The Japanese always admired strength.

Akira returned greetings to peers and juniors. When meeting seniors or superiors, he would stop and bow, only raising his head and moving on once they had passed.

There was no helping it—Japanese notions of hierarchy were ingrained to the point of obsession.

Fortunately, he was quite obsessive himself.

Otherwise, he would have struggled to fit into this society.

Arriving at Aya Asai’s office, he knocked. Hearing no response, he pushed the door open and found she hadn’t arrived yet. He sat in her chair, picked up that morning’s newspaper, and waited.

The headline was about the recent bust of the Sakura Society’s drug den. Aya Asai was portrayed as a shrewd and capable heroine, and though Akira was only mentioned in passing, it was already more than he expected.

“Ah!” The door burst open and Aya Asai froze when she saw him in her seat, startled. She quickly closed the door behind her, annoyance in her voice, “Who gave you permission to barge into my office?”

Such behavior was highly rude and presumptuous.

“Oh my, our heroic policewoman has finally arrived. I’ve been waiting for you quite a while.” Akira grinned, tossing the newspaper onto the desk.

Detectives weren’t required to wear uniforms. Today, Aya wore a silver-gray suit and skirt. Her hair flowed over her shoulders, and the outfit flattered her tall figure perfectly. She didn’t have the bowed legs common among Japanese women; her black-stockinged legs were long and straight, and her expression was full of spirit.

Seeing her own photo—confident and radiant—on the newspaper’s front page, Aya’s face flushed with embarrassment. She lowered her head, clutching her purse tightly.

Akira said, “Come here.”

Aya pressed her lips together and approached him.

“Sit here,” Akira patted his lap.

Flushed with a mixture of anger and shame, she glared at him. “Bastard! Don’t go too far!”

“Or would Inspector Asai prefer I reveal the truth to the media right now?” Akira laced his fingers and looked at her with a half-smile.

Aya clenched her fists, then released them, summoning her courage. “You have no proof, and if you reveal everything, you’ll be charged with murder yourself.”

Akira laughed and clicked his tongue. “Look at you—yesterday you accused me of murder with righteous indignation. Today, you’re threatening me with the same thing.”

Her face turned alternately pale and green, biting her lip so hard she nearly broke the skin. Shame burned inside her.

At that moment, Akira suddenly stood up.

Aya shrank back in fear—this man was, after all, a cold-blooded killer.

“Guess why Okita wanted me to kill Muto in the basement?” Akira leaned in close, whispering into her ear. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Of course, because there were hidden cameras in the basement. He could blackmail me with the footage.”

Aya’s head shot up, panic in her eyes—no surveillance equipment had been found during yesterday’s investigation.

“Now, guess whose hands the hard drive with that footage is in?” Akira’s smile widened as he wrapped an arm around her slender waist, drawing her close.

Aya’s body went rigid, her face deathly pale. She didn’t dare resist and stammered, “You wouldn’t release it, would you? You’d go down with me.”

“That depends on you.” Akira’s voice was dismissive as he held her close, their faces nearly touching. “I’m just a demoted loser, but you’re a rising star—an honored inspector carrying the Asai family’s reputation. If I go down with you, that’s still a win for me.”

In truth, he didn’t have any footage. He’d searched discreetly during the investigation but had found no evidence of hidden cameras.

But that didn’t stop him from using the threat to control her.

This woman was, after all, easily manipulated.

“No!” Aya cried, eyes squeezed shut, her voice trembling with tears. “Please, don’t—I’ll do whatever you want.”

The honor of the Asai family came above all else—she could not bear to see its name tainted by her actions.

She was, in the end, a greenhouse flower, sheltered from hardship, naïve to the world’s dangers.

“Good girl, I like obedient women.” Akira released her and sat down, pulling her onto his lap. His hand slid up her thigh, caressing the silky black stockings. “Relax, unless it’s necessary, I have no interest in dragging you down with me. If you behave, I’ll make sure you continue to earn these honors. You saw my abilities yesterday—I can make you a hero in everyone’s eyes, admired and respected.”

“How does it feel? Isn’t it wonderful?” He gestured at the newspaper and smiled.

Threats alone weren’t enough—he had to offer her hope, make her believe that being beneath his thumb had its benefits.

If he pressed too hard, she might break.

Aya’s face flushed scarlet, her breathing quickened, brows knit as though she were enduring something agonizing. Embarrassed, she nodded, admitting he was right.

The feeling of being admired, praised by colleagues, held up as the center of attention—this was what she’d always wanted.

As he felt his superior tremble in his arms, Akira decided it was enough for now.

Aya, left limp and breathless, felt a strange sense of loss as well as relief, biting her lip in silence.

“I’m having some financial trouble right now, Inspector. You’ll have to help me out,” Akira said, wiping his hand on her thigh, deepening the color of her expensive stockings.

No wonder they say women are made of water.

They seem flawless, but beneath the surface, traces of moisture are everywhere.

Aya was startled—she hadn’t expected him to ask for money, which seemed so at odds with the previous conversation.

Seeing her hesitation, Akira said lightly, “I don’t have the time or patience to work hard for money. If I want to get rich quickly, I have to take extreme measures.”

“Yes, sir,” Aya replied. As a member of a police family, money was not an issue for her. “How much do you need? I’ll have it ready for you tonight.”

“I’ll leave it up to you,” Akira said generously.

“Yes, sir,” Aya replied again.

Akira released her, adjusted his suit, bowed respectfully at the desk, “I’ll take my leave now,” then smiled and walked out.

As the door closed, Aya slumped in her chair, utterly drained.

What a despicable, shameless man!

But what could she do? For now, she could only let him have his way and see how things unfolded.

“Akira, why are you still here?” No sooner had he stepped out of Aya’s office than a colleague approached him. “The superintendent is looking for you.”

“Yes, I’ll go right away.” Akira bowed in thanks and hurried toward the superintendent’s office, curious what this summons could be about.