Chapter 96: The Resentment of a Stolen Wife Spurs Determination, a Meeting with the Superior (Sixth Update—Please Vote for Me!!!)

On Monday morning, the news reported the shooting death of Inoue Miya and the details released last night at the Metropolitan Police Department’s press conference, leaving the public stunned to realize how much had unfolded in Tokyo overnight.

Inoue Miya had taken revenge with her own hands, yet she was branded as a ruthless criminal and a violent felon.

Konoe Hane, Nakayama Meiko, and Miyamoto Ryo managed to protect their reputations but lost their lives in the process.

Aoyama Hidenobu, having killed Inoue Miya, became the hero who solved the case and gained nationwide acclaim.

In this situation, one could say everyone was satisfied.

Uchida Yuki, who was scheduled to shoot a set of advertisements that morning, saw the news and found the stern, composed Aoyama Hidenobu on TV completely different from the man she had met before. She could not imagine what he looked like when he fired the fatal shot at the criminal, and it piqued her curiosity even more.

“Yuki, hurry up and change your clothes. It’s your turn to shoot soon,” her manager called out.

“Okay!” Yuki snapped back to reality, withdrawing her gaze and rushing to the dressing room. Moments later, she emerged dressed in black yoga attire.

Her top was a fitted, cropped design exposing her waist, perfectly outlining the supple yet powerful lines of her abdomen. The visible muscular definition along her torso revealed her youth, health, and vitality.

Her lower half was clad in high-elasticity yoga pants, hugging her long, well-proportioned legs. Beneath the thin fabric, her skin appeared as smooth and translucent as polished white jade, accentuating her graceful figure. Her hips were rounded and firm, and her leg muscles toned and strong, radiating an inner glow of health and confidence.

“I’m ready. Please start,” Yuki said with a bright smile unique to a blossoming young woman, full of energy.

Meanwhile, Jiro Nihei, who had locked himself in his room in despair for days after confirming that Asai Aya was not his, saw the news broadcast. Seeing Aoyama Hidenobu on TV, his emotions spiraled out of control. He grabbed a chair and smashed it violently against the screen.

“Damn it! Die! Just die!” Jiro shouted, smashing while cursing. The thought of the girl who once vowed to marry him now welcoming Aoyama Hidenobu with open arms tormented him unbearably, fueling his rage.

Downstairs, Nihei Kunio and his wife, along with Nihei Taro and his wife, were having breakfast and naturally heard the commotion upstairs. The atmosphere at the table suddenly grew tense.

“Bang!” Kunio slammed his knife and fork onto the table, breathing heavily as he stood up to go upstairs.

“Honey!” Kunio’s wife quickly rose to stop him, advising, “Jiro has always been sentimental and deeply attached to Aya. After such a blow, it’s normal for him to vent his feelings. He’ll come around after a while. Don’t provoke him.”

“He’s spoiled rotten because of you! It’s just a woman, and their relationship was barely off the ground. Now it feels like he’s been cuckolded! If he had any guts, he’d go fight for Aya instead of wallowing at home like a worthless fool!” Kunio, clearly suppressing a flood of negative emotions, shook off his wife’s hand and stormed upstairs in anger.

Mrs. Nihei wanted to follow, but Nihei Taro spoke up, “Mom, Jiro’s behavior is really unacceptable. Let Dad try to talk some sense into him.”

“Sigh,” Mrs. Nihei sighed, sitting back down, muttering complaints about Hikokawa Noritomo. “Aya and Jiro were made for each other. What’s the Hikokawa family meddling for? That Aoyama Hidenobu isn’t worthy of Aya—not even close to our Jiro.”

Nihei Taro smiled faintly but said nothing.

In his heart, however, he harbored strong resentment toward Aoyama Hidenobu.

After all, Asai Aya was not just any woman. Whomever she married would also gain the extensive network of the Asai family as part of the dowry. Originally, Taro had planned to leverage the Asai family’s connections to deepen their roots in the police force and eventually supplant the Asai family’s influence, especially since the only male heir, Asai Sawaki, had left the police to pursue politics.

As a member of the House of Representatives, Taro could help Sawaki in his political career. The two families already shared a foundation of trust, and with the marriage tying them even closer, mutual support and shared growth would be ideal.

But Aoyama Hidenobu’s unexpected intrusion had dashed all these plans, fueling Taro’s bitter hatred.

Being seven years older and more seasoned in politics, Taro maintained a mature and rational demeanor, never showing his displeasure toward Aoyama in front of the family. Privately, however, he was already plotting revenge.

“I’m done eating. I have a meeting later, so I’ll leave first,” Nihei Taro said, setting down his cutlery and picking up a briefcase.

His wife hurriedly stood, handing him his coat and following him to the door. “Hope your work goes smoothly today.”

Upstairs, an infuriated Kunio kicked open Jiro’s bedroom door. Seeing the broken TV, his anger skyrocketed.

He stormed forward, grabbed Jiro by the hair, and forced him onto the bed, breathing heavily as he yelled, “Smashing the TV? What’s the matter? You saw this morning’s news about Aoyama Hidenobu? I seriously doubt you’re my son. If you had even half your brother’s backbone, Aya wouldn’t have chosen some nobody like him!”

“Damn! Look at yourself! You’re less of a man than that nobody! If you’ve got the guts, go make something of yourself and show Aya the truth! If she saw you like this, she’d be glad she didn’t pick you.”

“Even if you ran at Aoyama with a knife like a madman, Aya might respect you a little more! But you don’t even dare! If you’re capable, wash away the humiliation he’s inflicted on you yourself.”

Jiro, struck by his closest kin’s relentless attacks, felt a mix of shame and anger, his face flushing alternately pale and red.

“Think about it. If you don’t come down for breakfast in ten minutes, pack your things and go study in America. Running away is shameful, but it’s useful for cowards,” Kunio said, releasing Jiro and slamming the door behind him.

“Bang!”

Listening to the heavy door slam, Jiro lay still a moment before sitting up. “Aoyama Hidenobu, just wait and see.”

Even if you marry Aya someday, I’ll take her away and put a cuckold’s hat on you!

…

“Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!”

In Asai Aya’s office, Aoyama Hidenobu sneezed three times in a row, sniffed, took a tissue from Aya, wiped the corner of his mouth, and muttered, “Someone’s definitely talking about me behind my back again.”

“Who knows? Maybe it’s because you’ve put so many people in cuckold’s shoes that your victims are plotting to kill you,” Aya said with a sarcastic edge.

She knew Aoyama maintained long-term casual relationships with two married women, often meeting them for bubble baths.

Learning about Aoyama’s tastes, Aya suddenly felt sorry for Jiro Nihei. If they had married through family arrangements, Jiro would have spent every season wearing a cuckold’s hat.

“One victim’s dead, another’s lying in misery on a sickbed. If anyone comes to kill me, that’d be a medical miracle,” Aoyama tossed the tissue into the trash and brought up his real reason for visiting. “My older brother’s coming back this Wednesday. Go ask your father-in-law if he’s available. If so, let’s have dinner that night.”

“All right.” Aya nodded in agreement.

Aoyama turned and walked out. As soon as he closed the door, his phone rang. Walking toward the department office, he answered, “Hello?”

“Chief Aoyama, Shinichi and I just received transfer orders. We have to report to the Metropolitan Police Department by Friday to meet Officer Asai,” Fujimoto Ryo said excitedly.

Since Aoyama’s return to the Metropolitan Police and his promotion to Chief Inspector, Fujimoto no longer addressed him so familiarly but by his rank, giving Aoyama a taste of Lu Xun’s helplessness.

A thick wall had come between them.

Hearing the news, Aoyama was pleased. “Great, it’s finally settled. Tonight I’ll invite Aya to have a drink.”

Having trusted aides close by would make handling cases much easier.

“Hi! But please let Shinichi and me treat you,” Fujimoto insisted earnestly.

Aoyama laughed heartily. “With people fighting to pay, I’m more than happy. Tonight’s a date.”

“Hi!”

“Chief Aoyama.”

A voice called from behind. Turning around, Aoyama saw Morishita Isamu, Deputy Section Chief of the Criminal Investigation Division. He hung up the phone and bowed deeply.

“Good morning, Chief Morishita.”

“Don’t be so formal, Aoyama. You really made our division proud this time.” Morishita, a man in his thirties with a round face and large ears, looked almost ten months pregnant. His eyes nearly disappeared when he smiled. Trying to pat Aoyama’s shoulder but falling short in height, he patted his arm instead. “I’ve wanted to have a drink with you for a while. How about tonight?”

An invitation from a superior to drink after work was a sign of respect, and since it was the first time, Aoyama couldn’t refuse.

“Sure!”

As for the drink with Nakamura Shinichi and Fujimoto Ryo, it could be pushed back to later—the second round.

“Then let’s walk together after work. I’ll take you to a great place,” Morishita said with a meaningful wink. “You won’t be disappointed!”

“Sure!” Aoyama bowed again.

Morishita patted his shoulder once more. “Now get busy. Call me in my office after work.”

“Will do!” Aoyama turned and left.

Morishita stood there, eyes narrowed to thin slits as he watched Aoyama’s retreating back. Then, clutching his large belly, he turned and went back to his office to make a phone call.

“He accepted the invitation… Yes! Yes!”