"Hello, everyone! Today, we are honored to have a sociology professor from the University of Tokyo join us to discuss the pressing issues of our time. Let’s hear his thoughts on the recent surge of violent incidents and where our society is headed."

  "Let’s give a warm welcome to Dr. Kimura Keiichi!"

  A white-bearded old man walked leisurely onto the stage, waving to the audience in the studio. After taking his seat, he shook hands warmly with the female host.

  "Thank you for inviting me. It’s truly an honor."

  "No, no, Dr. Kimura. The honor is ours to have you here."

  After a round of mutual flattery, they finally settled down to get to the point.

  "So, Dr. Kimura, as I mentioned earlier, another violent street assault occurred today. Such incidents have been alarmingly frequent lately, wouldn’t you agree?"

  "Ah, yes, indeed. I’m deeply concerned about our society and the younger generation. This tense atmosphere has left many people, including myself, feeling uneasy."

  "You and many viewers may not have heard the latest news yet. Let me read it for you—today, in Shibuya, a stabbing incident took place. The victim was an 18-year-old girl who was out shopping with friends. While waiting in line at a bubble tea shop, she encountered the perpetrator, a 42-year-old Chinese male laborer working in Japan."

  She paused briefly, noticing that Dr. Kimura didn’t interject, then continued:

  "According to police investigations, he did not possess an official work permit. Instead, he entered the country illegally through connections with a mainland gang. Currently employed in the kitchen of a Chinese restaurant, he was exploited by his boss, who frequently withheld his wages. Frustrated, he stole a kitchen knife and went to the bustling Shinjuku district to commit a random act of violence."

  Dr. Kimura’s bald head glistened with sweat as he nodded along nervously.

  "Tragically, he encountered the victim, who was dressed beautifully. Enraged by her youthful appearance, he demanded that she go on a date with him or he would kill her. When she refused, he flew into a rage and murdered her."

  The audience erupted in murmurs of disapproval, and some gasped after hearing the host’s words.

  "Ah, how horrifying. That poor girl lost her young life just like that."

  "Exactly. And this is not an isolated incident, Professor. Just ten days ago, the dismemberment case involving a mainland exchange student shocked the entire society. A former councilor was tragically killed, leaving behind a helpless single mother and two children. Yet, that murderer remains under police protection and has yet to face trial."

  "In the past three months alone, there have been nearly 50 major robbery cases, 38 of which involved immigrants, including the Ginza jewelry store heist. Here’s another statistic: serious crimes this year have increased by nearly 50% compared to the same period last year—and we’re only three months in. What are your thoughts on this?"

  "Ah, ah, my goodness. These numbers are truly alarming. I believe the police system should be held accountable—"

  "With all due respect, Dr. Kimura, we cannot blame our hardworking Japanese police officers who diligently perform their duties. Isn’t the root of the problem the large number of unregistered, virtually invisible illegal immigrants in our country?"

  "Host, what you say certainly holds some merit, but—"

  "So, you agree with my stance on illegal immigration? What measures do you think we should take to restore a safe environment for ordinary citizens?"

  "It seems there’s no hope for improvement under these circumstances. What are your thoughts on this?"

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  "What’s your opinion on the current government’s lenient immigration policies? Are they a blessing or a curse for ordinary citizens? Let me remind you, unemployment rates are rising alongside crime rates..."

  "Dr. Kimura..."

  "Dr. Kimura..."

  The poor Dr. Kimura was lost in the barrage of leading questions. He couldn’t even complete a full sentence, reduced to nodding and fumbling for words. In the eyes of the audience, he became a laughingstock—a mere prop for the beautiful host to stoke the flames.

  "Alright, let’s give another round of applause for Dr. Kimura’s visit. Next, we’ll return to our regular news programming. Please welcome..."

  The woman in front of Du Wen lazily turned off the TV.

  "Ugh~"

  She let out an adorable yawn and stretched ungracefully.

  Her alluring curves were wrapped in a professional shirt and slacks, fully displayed before Du Wen’s eyes. Her flawless, delicate skin seemed immune to the toll of overtime and night shifts. Her swan-like neck, adorned with a few stray strands of hair, invited wild imaginations.

  Her deep blue hair was tied into a neat ponytail. Long eyelashes fluttered, and her narrow, enchanting eyes glistened with a hint of moisture.

  Tears. The culprit behind such a beauty’s tears? The sheer boredom of her guard duty.

  She was Nishikawa’s junior. They had undergone selection and preliminary training together in Section 9—comrades, in a sense. But the age gap had led their fates down vastly different paths.

  Nishikawa, with his extensive experience in cybernetic manipulation, was transferred to Section 9’s reserve unit, making him a nominal member.

  Meanwhile, despite passing the selection, she—a rookie officer who had relied on cybernetics since childhood due to a car accident—was relegated to auxiliary status, stuck in a police box to bide her time.

  Auxiliary status meant no pay raises and occasional assignments to mind-numbing tasks, like guarding Section 9’s criminals or witnesses. Today, she was assigned to monitor Du Wen—a long-term, highly important task, even if she was the only one assigned to it. Or so Nishikawa had solemnly told her.

  She didn’t believe a single word of it and mentally added another strike against that middle-aged jerk Nishikawa.

  Back to Du Wen. Since that day, he had met with the psychologist many times. The doctor was genuinely kind and courteous, and Du Wen had grown accustomed to his prison life. Though he couldn’t remember how he used to live, he had adapted to the routine of endless interrogations.

  But even this newfound normalcy ended today. Soon, he would be transferred from this prison to another.

  And this beautiful officer would remain responsible for his escort and supervision until the day he was sentenced.

  "Are you tired?"

  "Not really. About as tired as I’d be watching a midday soap opera."

  "Huh? You cops have time for midday soaps?"

  "Yep. Because I’m irresponsible—a tax thief, to be precise. My deepest apologies."

  She said it without a hint of guilt.

  "Hey, kid, do you know where we’re headed later?"

  Du Wen shook his head honestly and complained, "You’re about the same age as me. Why call me ‘kid’?"

  "Because I feel like it. Wanna fight about it?"

  She grinned provocatively, stirring a flicker of emotion in Du Wen. It had been a while since anyone had teased him like this.

  "Then untie me first."

  "What, planning to run? Without our protection, you’d be torn to shreds out there."

  "Why do you say that?"

  The girl stared at him in disbelief, pulling the lollipop from her mouth to point at him. "Are you really this dumb or just pretending? There’s a bunch of middle-aged guys outside waiting to kill you with their bare hands. You didn’t know?"

  "Uh… no? I don’t even know what crime I committed."

  She studied the boy with newfound interest—the first time she’d properly looked at him in the half-hour she’d been in the room.

  The first time she’d examined the criminal she was assigned to monitor long-term.

  The unlucky kid looked much better than when he’d first been arrested. He bathed and slept on schedule—something rare for someone his age. The prison food was sometimes better than what patrol officers ate, with three balanced meals provided daily by the Metropolitan Police Department.

  The dark circles from sleepless nights had faded, and his complexion was no longer as pale. After coming to terms with his amnesia, he’d also become more talkative, spending long hours in conversation with the psychologist.

  His messy black hair was a bit long, but that wouldn’t matter—it’d all be shaved off in prison. His loose clothes had already been replaced with standard-issue prison garb.

  A comparison with his mugshot would show he looked far more alert now.

  Though his eyes still occasionally glazed over, as if his mind had wandered off during a math class.

  Overall, he still seemed like an ordinary student—bookish, with glasses that gave him a scholarly air. Hard to believe he was capable of something as deranged as murder and dismemberment.

  "Anyway, there are a lot of people outside waiting to tear you apart limb from limb. Only Section 9 is willing to protect you. Got it? So behave."

  Du Wen obediently nodded.

  "Can you at least tell me what crime I committed? I’ve asked several times, but no one will say."

  "Seriously, kid? Didn’t you just hear the TV? They mentioned you."

  Du Wen pointed at himself in shock. "Wait, did I kill that girl? Am I 42?!"

  The girl stared back at him, equally stunned.

  "Are you an idiot?"