Chapter 4: The Past of Being Framed and Slandered, Learning to Adapt to Local Customs

“Knock, knock, knock!”

Standing before the Chief’s office, Aoyama Hidenobu glanced up at the plaque on the door that read “Superintendent Supervisor,” then raised his hand and knocked. “Chief, excuse me for disturbing you. This is Aoyama Hidenobu. May I come in?”

“Enter.”

Aoyama Hidenobu pushed open the door, closed it behind him, then quickly stepped forward and bowed deeply. “I heard you were looking for me. I apologize for my tardiness; it was discourteous of me.”

“No need for such formality, Aoyama.” From behind his desk, Asai Takehiko set aside the file in his hand and spoke in a gentle tone. “If I’m not mistaken, Superintendent Sato from the Criminal Investigation Division was your former superior, wasn’t he? Is there any grudge between you and him?”

Aoyama Hidenobu’s eyebrow twitched. Superintendent Sato—full name Sato Toshitomi—was the head of Division One in the Metropolitan Police Department.

He was the very one who, four months ago, shifted the blame onto Aoyama’s predecessor and orchestrated his demotion.

“I was just preparing to submit a report on your outstanding contribution in dismantling the Sakura-kai drug den,” Asai Takehiko continued as Aoyama remained silent, revealing the reason he had summoned him. “But Superintendent Sato approached me, hoping I would strike your name from the record.”

Aoyama hadn’t expected Sato to try suppressing him further. It seemed that not transferring his predecessor out of Tokyo was simply a way to keep him within sight.

“My apologies, Chief. It’s my fault for putting you in a difficult position.” Aoyama bowed deeply once more.

“A difficult position?” Asai Takehiko chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “And why would I find it difficult?”

Aoyama raised his head slowly and looked him in the eye.

Asai met his gaze and spoke casually, “Whatever grudges Sato has with you are his own. You’re under my command now, and as the head of the Shinjuku Police Department, it’s my duty to see your achievements properly rewarded. That arrogant man has no influence over my decisions.”

Good deeds should not go unrecognized. He wanted Aoyama to know that he was willing to offend a superintendent on his behalf—an act he hoped would be remembered as a favor.

Aoyama was both capable and perceptive. If Asai could win his absolute loyalty, it would benefit both himself and his daughter.

Most importantly, he had a pressing matter that required someone trustworthy, and he had been searching for the right candidate. This incident convinced him that Aoyama was an excellent choice.

“Thank you, Superintendent Asai!” Aoyama’s face flushed with emotion as he bowed ninety degrees and thanked him loudly.

Asai smiled faintly. “Now, can you tell me about the grudge between you two? I’m curious why a superintendent would target you so persistently.”

In truth, Asai already knew the answer; he was merely setting the stage for what was to come.

“Yes, sir!” Aoyama straightened and began, “I believe you are already aware, at least in part, of the circumstances surrounding my demotion.”

Asai nodded, playing along. “I heard you identified the culprits in the Nagashin Bank robbery and, eager for credit, launched an unauthorized assault before backup arrived. This resulted in one officer dead and three wounded under your command, two robbers killed, and the mastermind, Ichiro Takeda, escaping. The stolen seven hundred million yen has yet to be recovered.”

Four months ago, the Osaka branch of Nagashin Bank was robbed by three armed men who killed two employees and made off with seven hundred million yen, shocking the nation. The police investigation quickly identified Ichiro Takeda, a repeat offender, and issued a warrant for his arrest.

“But that’s not the whole story.” Aoyama’s expression darkened, his voice low. “That night, I was leading a team investigating a theft case and happened to discover Takeda’s hideout. I immediately reported to my section chief and was ordered to remain on site and observe.”

“Before backup arrived, I noticed the suspects were preparing to move and reported it. Superintendent Sato himself ordered me to launch a raid and intercept them inside the hideout until backup could arrive.”

“Following orders, I led four subordinates in the assault. By all rights, it should have caught the suspects off guard, but they seemed prepared in advance and turned the tables on us.”

“Afterward, Superintendent Sato denied ever ordering the raid, shifting all responsibility onto me and accusing me of recklessness. My three surviving subordinates, under his pressure, also testified that I had acted on my own. I had no way to defend myself and was thus demoted and reassigned.”

With that, Aoyama remained bowed, waiting silently for further instructions.

“So that’s how it was.” Asai Takehiko looked as if he suddenly understood, shaking his head. “I thought it odd Sato would go to such lengths over a mere inspector. Turns out, there was more to the story. Hmph, that’s just the sort of thing he’d do.”

“But…” He paused, folding his hands on the desk in a paternal gesture. “Whatever grievances you have, it’s best not to speak of them openly. It will only do you harm.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for the advice, Chief. I’ll remember it well,” Aoyama replied sincerely.

“That’s all I can do for you.” Asai waved his hand dismissively, then sighed. “I can help you this time, but Sato clearly won’t let this go. He won’t tolerate you rising in rank and gaining a chance for revenge. Next time—or the time after—I may no longer be able to help.”

Could Asai resolve this for Aoyama? Of course he could.

But not yet.

He intended to let Sato’s attempts to suppress Aoyama grow more aggressive, to push him into a corner, until he was utterly desperate and helpless.

Only then, by reaching out a helping hand, would Asai become Aoyama’s last hope—ensuring absolute, unwavering loyalty.

Some people, through the course of human evolution, mastered the art of herding sheep and taming horses. Others learned to guide and master their own kind—and thus rose above.

“Chief, your assistance alone is a debt I shall never forget, nor would I dare hope for more,” Aoyama said, his tone resolute. He truly felt Asai had done more than enough.

Asai sighed, shaking his head as though lamenting his own limited power—or perhaps Aoyama’s uncertain future. He hesitated, then waved his hand. “Go on. The merit you earned in breaking up the Sakura-kai drug den is significant, and with your academic background as a career-track officer, it’s more than enough for a promotion. Your new assignment will be announced soon.”

Though Aoyama had been demoted, as a member of the professional cadre, he could earn a swift promotion as long as he distinguished himself and faced no further sabotage.

“Yes, sir! I’ll take my leave.” Aoyama bowed and departed. As the door closed behind him, his expression darkened, nearly dripping with cold fury.

Sato Toshitomi.

Unless that obstacle was removed, any hope Aoyama had of making his mark in the police department was nothing but a fool’s dream.

Very well, then. He would embrace the local tradition of overturning superiors—the time-honored Japanese custom of “gekokujou.”

…

When Aoyama Hidenobu returned to the Firearms and Narcotics Division office, Aya Asai was holding a meeting. She glanced up as he entered.

“Just in time—come and listen.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Aoyama replied, moving closer.

Aya Asai held a document in her hands, her gaze sweeping over the group. “The Criminal Division just delivered this report. Three days ago, a police officer named Hiroshi Yamamoto lost his service pistol. He’s been suspended. The issue now is that yesterday, a man was found shot to death near Nishi-Toyama Middle School. Forensics confirmed the bullet came from the missing gun. Our job is to recover the weapon and apprehend the killer. Any questions?”

The Firearms and Narcotics Countermeasures Section was responsible for all firearm- and drug-related cases in their jurisdiction.

“Inspector, I have a question,” Aoyama said, raising his hand amid the low murmur of discussion.