Chapter 94: Seven Against One, the Advantage Is Mine (Part Four)

“Tick... tick... tick...”
Blood seeped from the wound, trickling slowly down the exposed blade before splattering onto the ground.

“Huff—huff—”
Ryo Miyamoto opened his mouth, emitting incoherent sounds as blood bubbles overflowed from his lips. His face was a mask of disbelief as he stared at Miya Inoue before him.

“You’re right. I am a good man. That’s exactly why I can’t let scum like you abuse power and cause more deaths,” Miya Inoue said coldly.

With his right hand, he slowly withdrew the dagger.

As he pulled it out, he deliberately twisted the blade, tearing the flesh around Miyamoto’s neck outward.

The wound widened, and the blood that once trickled now gushed out in torrents, soaking Miyamoto’s shirt with a sickening splash. The metallic stench of blood filled the air.

Once the knife was fully removed, Miyamoto clutched his throat, as if trying to stem the bleeding, but crimson soon stained his hands. His body slumped slowly against the row of desks behind him, one hand reaching out to Inoue with a pleading look in his tear-filled eyes.

Yet Inoue ignored his dying plea completely. Expressionless, he pulled out a household hammer and began striking Miyamoto’s head repeatedly.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

Each blow sent blood spraying.

Blood droplets dotted the car window.

Miyamoto was mercilessly beaten to death; his forehead caved in, flesh mangled beyond recognition, his eyes never closing in peace.

Panting heavily, Inoue wiped the blood from his face, turned around, slipped back into his coat, donned his mask and sunglasses, and exited the scene without taking the police pistol.

Inside the trunk, his subordinates sweated profusely. When silence fell, they pounded on the trunk’s interior to call for help, soon attracting the attention of a passerby.

Though the passerby heard the knocking, he instinctively glanced inside the car and was horrified out of his wits. “Ah! There’s been a murder! A murder!”

The police swiftly arrived at the scene.

Thanks to Miyamoto’s subordinate surviving and providing clear testimony, Inoue was immediately identified as the murderer. Ayako Asai promptly filed for a warrant for his arrest.

By afternoon, wanted posters of Miya Inoue were plastered across every street and alley. That evening, all major TV stations broadcast the news, urging citizens to report any sightings of Inoue.

Upon learning of Miyamoto’s death, Hane Konoe nearly lost his wits. It was as if he could see Death itself creeping closer with every step, and yet he was utterly powerless.

Only after the Metropolitan Police issued the warrant for Inoue did he feel some relief; at least it would be much harder for Inoue to come after him now.

He decided to stay in the prosecutor’s office for the time being, confident that with the whole city on alert, Inoue wouldn’t evade capture for long. It also gave him the chance to cultivate an image of a dedicated worker.

Technically, he could request personal protection from the police, but doing so risked exposing his son’s scandal—accused of sexual assault and driving a female classmate to suicide—which would severely damage his reputation.

His son was already gone; if his career and future were destroyed, what meaning would life hold?

“Tell me, do you think Miya Inoue will simply give up on killing Hane Konoe and try to escape instead?” In the office, Ayako Asai furrowed her brows as she sat in Hideaki Aoyama’s arms. If Inoue really ran away, it would be a massive embarrassment for the police.

Not only the media and public, but many officials and politicians would question the police’s competence. After all, who isn’t a corrupt official at some point? If the police were so useless, what if another extremist like Inoue came to harm them?

People like Inoue, who reject the law and take justice into their own hands, must be dealt with harshly—a harsh lesson to deter others!

Hideaki Aoyama was confident. Though he had never met Inoue, he somehow understood him well. “Don’t worry. He won’t run. He deliberately saved Konoe for last. By killing Miyamoto, Nakayama, and others step by step, he’s breaking Konoe mentally, making him live in terror every night before destroying him physically.”

“Strictly speaking, Konoe is the mastermind behind everything. If Inoue intended to escape after avenging himself, he would have struck Konoe first. So he never planned to run. He might even surrender after killing Konoe.”

“Surrender?” Ayako Asai thought that was absurd. “Inoue is no longer the temporary teacher he once was. He’s now a murderer bearing the weight of three deaths. Do you think he would willingly give himself up and face justice?”

“Yes.” Aoyama answered firmly, analyzing calmly, “Because deep down, he’s still a good person. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have spared Miyamoto’s subordinate, even though it risked exposing himself.”

“If he truly wanted to evade the law after killing three people, why didn’t he just kill Miyamoto’s subordinate as well? It shows he no longer cares whether he lives or dies.”

Ayako sighed. If Inoue was a good man, how terrible must those who pushed him to this point be? She pressed her lips together and said softly, “So, do we just slack off on the investigation and let him kill Konoe before surrendering to the police?”

“Of course not.” Aoyama rejected this idea without hesitation. “If we let him surrender, how would we claim credit for solving the case? And my idea that he’d surrender after avenging himself is only speculation. If I’m wrong and we let him go, we’d be a laughingstock.”

“So what should we do?” Ayako was puzzled by Aoyama’s thinking.

He buried his head in her neck, eyes closed, and said, “I’ve arranged for someone to watch over Konoe. Once he dies, Inoue’s whereabouts will be revealed. I’ll be the first to know and will dispatch forces to capture him. During the arrest, we’ll kill him and claim the glory.”

“You want to kill Miya Inoue?” Ayako was shocked and incredulous.

Aoyama’s tone was calm. “Of course. We already have evidence of his crimes, so we don’t need his confession. If he lives, he’ll be a problem. If he reveals his reasons for killing in court, how do we control the situation? It would damage our image.”

“Besides, he’s committed such grave crimes—three official murders. He’s bound to face the death penalty once captured. I’m just bringing forward the ending he deserves. I’m letting him avenge his daughter, then taking his life to claim credit. That’s fair.”

To him, it was a transaction. Though neither side had met to discuss details, without his tacit allowance, Inoue wouldn’t have been able to kill Miyamoto or Konoe. Having benefited from this, Inoue had to pay the price, willing or not.

Ayako remained silent for a long time, shifting uneasily in his embrace. She whispered, “Sometimes I feel like you’re the worst of all.”

“If Inoue knew everything, in his eyes, I’d be the good guy,” Aoyama chuckled softly and kissed her cheek to soothe her nerves, changing the subject. “Any news about transferring Ryoichi and Shinichi to the Metropolitan Police Department?”

“I’ll urge Inspector Hattori tomorrow.”

“Well, for now, you can flatter me.”

While grassroots officers worked overnight shifts to catch Inoue, Hideaki Aoyama and Ayako Asai lounged in the office, chatting and teasing each other.

………………………

The next day, Sunday.

Except for a few who had to work overtime or be on duty, the Tokyo District Prosecutor’s Office was closed. But Hane Konoe, who had stayed since last night, remained at his post.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, he watched the stream of cars passing the office entrance with a scornful glare.

Miya Inoue, let’s see how you plan to kill me.

Konoe didn’t notice the many unfamiliar faces lingering near the entrance—men arranged by Hideaki Aoyama and Ichiro Yamakawa.

Ten per group, rotating every half-day, all stationed outside the Tokyo District Prosecutor’s Office, each carrying a photo of Konoe and Inoue.

Miya Inoue drove a white Honda sedan rented at great expense for who knows how many times past the office entrance. He didn’t believe Konoe could hide there forever.

Since killing Miyamoto, he had known exposure was inevitable. To avoid police raids, he had been living in the car since last night, only stepping out for the restroom every two hours, changing parking spots to stay alert.

Inoue knew this tactic wouldn’t last long, which heightened his urgency to kill Konoe quickly. If caught, there would be no second chances.

Around noon, Konoe was reading the newspaper in his office when someone knocked on the door. A colleague peeked in. “Prosecutor Konoe, I heard you worked late last night. Want to grab lunch together?”

Knowing a leader was also working late, it felt proper to invite him out.

“Sure, it’s nearby. I still have some work to handle afterward.” Konoe, who hadn’t eaten breakfast, was hungry. Having colleagues along also eased his worries about an attack from Inoue.

After all, judging by the deaths of his son, Nakayama, and Miyamoto, Inoue’s weapons were limited to knives. As a teacher in gun-restricted Japan, he had no access to firearms.

The colleague smiled. “Right across from the prosecutor’s office.”

“Alright, let’s go together.” Konoe put down the paper and stood. Outside, five other prosecutors waited.

“I’m treating today’s lunch.”

“No way. We agreed to treat you today, Prosecutor Konoe. Working overtime on the weekend is truly admirable.”

“Exactly. Japan is lucky to have a prosecutor like you. Please allow us to show our respect.”

The others all flattered Konoe.

“You flatter me. I’m just bored staying home. Fine, I’ll let you treat me today. Next time, I’ll treat.” Konoe laughed heartily.

The group surrounded him as they left the Tokyo District Prosecutor’s Office.

Spotting their target, the Yamakawa family members on lookout immediately perked up.

“Konoe, you finally came out.”

Inoue pushed open the door of his white Honda and strode toward Konoe.

“Konoe!” he called out from across the street.

Konoe, chatting and laughing with his colleagues, glanced up instinctively. His eyes locked on Inoue approaching alone. Panic flickered for a moment before he composed himself.

He was alone. Why fear?

Seven against one—advantage is mine!