Chapter 62

“I think everyone here knows why the government called you here today.”

Director Takahashi sat on the villa’s sofa, looking at the various Shinto shrines and temple elders seated around him.

At these words, everyone present twitched their lips.

“Director Takahashi… yes, yokai are real, but that doesn’t mean priests, miko, or monks necessarily possess supernatural power—we…”

The abbot of Sensoji rose, face flushed with embarrassment.

Since yesterday, his phone had been flooded with calls—from government officials to friends and family—everyone asking if he was a realized sage, a hidden transcendent, whether he possessed divine powers to subdue demons and quell monsters.

He understood: today’s secret gathering was almost certainly about probing whether priests, miko, and monks possessed supernatural abilities.

“Abbot Sugimura, don’t rush to explain—let me finish first.”

Director Takahashi raised a hand to interrupt the abbot, smiling.

“Everyone knows why the government summoned you here: to ask whether any of you possess supernatural abilities. Please don’t overthink it—we’re only asking, nothing more.”

The government doesn’t need you to join national service, nor will it impose any restrictions on you—your lives will continue as before.

We’re asking simply because the government wants to better protect its citizens, understand more about the world, and do more within its power to safeguard them.

Honestly,

personally, I very much hope you are transcendent.

Because I truly love this country—I don’t want this beautiful land destroyed—so I’m selfish: I desperately hope you are transcendent. I don’t ask you to protect us constantly, only that when yokai run rampant, you won’t stand idly by—you’ll step forward and eliminate them.”

With that,

Director Takahashi sighed.

“Alas, yokai remain terrifying—beyond human capability. Only the transcendent can oppose the transcendent.”

Hearing this, the shrewd Shinto and Buddhist elders nodded on the surface, murmuring, “Director Takahashi is right—only the transcendent can oppose the transcendent,” “Yes, yes, Director Takahashi is right.”

But inwardly, they cursed him as an old fox.

They weren’t fools—they saw right through his ploy: a feigned vulnerability, a pity play meant solely for the younger generation brought along.

That’s right.

Alongside the shrine priests and temple abbots, the younger heirs to those positions were also present.

Director Takahashi’s entire speech was staged for the youths.

He knew the older generation wouldn’t talk, but the young—hot-blooded, idealistic—might be swayed by emotion, blurt out secrets, and reveal the truth about transcendent abilities.

Too bad.

Director Takahashi, we truly aren’t transcendent—your clever scheme won’t work.

The shrine priests and abbots smiled inwardly.

“Director Takahashi, your words don’t just insult us—they desecrate the gods.”

Tsuchimikado Xia Mei frowned, her delicate face practically screaming displeasure.

Her melodious voice, laced with irritation, echoed through the villa.

Instantly,

the villa fell silent.

The priests and abbots could no longer smile—their eyes bulged, staring at Tsuchimikado Xia Mei in disbelief.

???

???

They were utterly bewildered, as if a sledgehammer had smashed into their skulls, nearly giving them a stroke.

What just happened?

Who is this girl?

As Shinto and Buddhist priests and abbots, they understood exactly what Tsuchimikado Xia Mei meant.

From a strategic standpoint, Director Takahashi’s words were a baiting tactic, a pity play meant to extract information—but from the perspective of Shinto and Buddhism, his words insulted them all.

Since ancient times, yokai represented evil; the gods represented righteousness.

Good and evil cannot coexist.

As servants of the eight million gods, Shinto and Buddhist practitioners not only spread the divine will and save sentient beings, but also bear the duty of combating yokai and demons.

For example, miko historically served as spirit mediums and were tasked with punishing demons—like Kikyo from Inuyasha. Don’t think it’s just anime fiction; the manga author didn’t invent it—he accurately portrayed the ancient miko’s role.

Thus, exorcising demons is one of the core duties of Shinto and Buddhism—it is the will of the gods.

When Director Takahashi said, “I only ask that when yokai run rampant, you won’t stand idly by—you’ll step forward and eliminate them,” the phrase “stand idly by” implied that Shinto and Buddhist practitioners were neglecting their duties, disobeying the gods’ command.

This was a direct accusation against Shinto and Buddhism—a blatant insult, a desecration of their faith in the gods.

Of course, the priests and abbots present understood the full weight of Director Takahashi’s words toward Shinto and Buddhism.

But they didn’t care.

First,

they knew Director Takahashi didn’t intend to insult them—he likely didn’t even realize his words carried this meaning, since he wasn’t part of Shinto or Buddhism; ignorance was understandable.

Second,

Director Takahashi was the highest-ranking official of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department—he wielded immense authority. Who dared rebuke him? After all, they knew very well… they weren’t transcendent at all. They were just frauds.

Facing a national-level official, with no transcendent power, how could they possibly put on airs? They dared not.

Because if they did, it would look like they had confidence—like they truly were transcendent. Then what if Director Takahashi ordered them to go fight yokai? That would be suicide.

They didn’t want to die.

That’s why they hadn’t confronted Director Takahashi or acted defiantly—they chose to wait, then explain afterward that they were just charlatans.

Tsuchimikado Kenji’s eyelids twitched violently, his aged eyes bloodshot as he frantically signaled Xia Mei, tugging at her sleeve.

“Xia Mei.”

Tsuchimikado Kenji whispered, sweat beading on his forehead.

The old man, nearly seventy, nearly burst into tears on the spot.

The other priests and abbots were close to tears too, faces filled with disbelief, desperate to scream or collapse.

What the hell is going on?!

Tsuchimikado Kenji, are you trying to get us all killed?!

Is your granddaughter insane?

Do you have any idea what her words will do? He’ll believe we’re transcendent!

The abbot of Sensoji gripped his bald head, eyes wide, mouth agape—no trace of monkly dignity left, as if lightning had struck his scalp and split his skull open.

The others weren’t faring any better.

Some clutched their temples; others nearly fainted on the spot.

“Huh?”

Director Takahashi blinked in surprise.

He’d expected someone might be provoked into speaking—but he hadn’t expected to be directly challenged.

Seeing this, everyone’s scalp prickled, their hearts pounding.

Oh no!

He won’t believe we’re transcendent, will he?

They knew exactly what Tsuchimikado Xia Mei’s blunt reply would trigger—it would make Director Takahashi think his baiting tactic had worked, that someone had finally been goaded into revealing the truth.

And what was his baiting tactic for? Exactly—to uncover whether anyone was transcendent.

Therefore, Tsuchimikado Xia Mei’s response was effectively an admission of transcendent power—why else would she respond so defiantly?

Without real backing, who would dare challenge a national-level official?

The abbot of Sensoji felt like scratching his scalp raw, silently screaming in despair, wishing he could just die.

It’s over—it’s over. He really thinks we’re transcendent now.

He must.

He definitely thinks we’re transcendent.

He’s surely thinking: our juniors have the guts to defy him—they must have powerful backing.

What kind of power could give a junior the courage to defy a national-level official? No need to think—it must be transcendent power above the state itself. Otherwise, even a hundred times the courage wouldn’t let them stand up to a national official.

…