Chapter 682

The "disappearance" of Kawabe Mayu and Nishino Miki, in a production team already somewhat on edge from yesterday's incident, dropped another stone.

However, unlike yesterday's pure anomaly of Uesugi Muneyuki's strange disappearance and safe return, this disappearance seems closer to a "realistic" explanation; after questioning scholars and staff, someone saw Kawabe Mayu and Nishino Miki seemingly drawn by something, leaving along the commercial street near Uesugi Shinai.

That is to say, their disappearance is not like Uesugi Muneyuki's, vanishing with a "whoosh" and leaving no trace, but there are signs to follow.

"Another disappearance"? Two in a row in one day? And in the same place?" The on-site director rubbed his temples, his face grim, but his tone held more doubt than panic: "Uesugi the forensic pathologist's affair yesterday was already strange enough, and now it's a member again—could it not be a communication error in some link, or perhaps they just went off somewhere to wander?"

Suou Hinata nodded: "Seems so, someone saw them heading toward the commercial street, probably thinking the recording was over and everything was done, and next comes the New Year holiday, which is normal; young girls are curious about historical sites, so they might privately arrange to visit nearby shops or ancient sites, which isn't impossible; Mayu and Miki aren't clueless newcomers, they probably just forgot to check in, or their phone signal was bad."

"That said, it's true, and you lot in Team 48 really do have this sort of thing—" another Fuji TV staff member recalled how, back when Kawase Tomomi was doing a golden time show, she fled midway, calls wouldn't go through, the dormitory was empty, nearly forcing the TV station to open a skylight.

And this is worse, considering "Hand of God" is Fuji TV's all-out effort to create, an ultimate flagship show with average ratings around 30%! By comparison, other TV stations' flagship shows in this era of gradual decline at this station can only reach 15% ratings before they'd crack open champagne on set.

All four major TV stations have an unspoken agreement: during the time slot when "Hand of God" airs each month, they just casually put on some health exercises or similar watery filler—after all, nobody watches—while TV Tokyo calmly continues airing last year's recordings.

Suou Hinata's words got everyone nodding; seeing he had gained their approval, he continued: "Making a big fuss and calling the police isn't good for them, the team, or the show. Let's first look internally, contact local connections."

"Alright." Everyone looked at this Diet member's son with a bit more esteem; never mind, this guy has been at Yoshimoto Kogyo for so long, he truly understands TV stations, and truly understands idols.

His suggestion, heard by the production team aiming to "normalize" the incident fully, avoid renewed panic and external negative attention, made considerable sense.

The female anchor preparing for the upcoming show, Tei Reiji, though worried, also leaned toward internal search first, after all, yesterday Uesugi's disappearance and today Shirakawa Mai et al.'s lateness have already disrupted the shooting schedule; if this causes another delay, the timetable would be utterly thrown off.

Thus, large-scale police reporting was temporarily shelved; staff and some reliable local helpers were divided into several groups, spreading out from the shrine to search the surrounding commercial street and scenic spots.

Only Suou Hinata raised his eyebrows, his face showing a hint of doubt.

What's going on?

Uesugi Muneyuki did not participate in the search.

He returned to his lodging at the inn, stood by the window, gazing at the distant shrine roof's outline blurring in the twilight, his intuition humming low.

The consecutive strange events—his own consciousness piercing High Plain of Heaven, Date Clan being precisely attacked, Mai Xuejie's "accident" obstructed, members disappearing—occur too frequently; in his eyes, even if individual events seem coincidental, chaining them together often points to some pattern or intent; he needs to think, needs calmer observation.

The scheming frog keeps feeling your belly!

Lord Kenshin, what exactly does "seeking one's own path" mean? What direction should the path I need to seek actually point toward?

No matter what, if I, as an anomaly unaffected by the logical tide, perhaps I can exploit a BUG——

The first New God and the last Old God before me exploited this BUG; back then there was no New God, so he was an Old God because he was old enough, and he was a New God because he was new enough; he used Old God power to change the world and create the concept of New God, while the Old God's logical tide both fits the symbol of Old God as the world's fundamental law and, on this basis, excludes the existence of Old Gods.

Just as he was organizing his thoughts, in the evening, news came back: Kawabe Mayu has been found.

She was discovered in the back room of a traditional confectionery shop on an old street about one ri outside the shrine.

According to the staff who found her, Watanabe Mayu's face was pale, she sat weakly by the brazier, and the elderly couple running the shop warmly served her hot tea and freshly steamed rice cakes.

"Found?" Uesugi Muneyuki asked curiously, how was she found?

"According to Mayu herself, after recording ended, she felt a bit stuffy, so she wanted to walk alone to get some air, unknowingly wandered far. Possibly the cold weather and not having eaten anything caused a sudden low blood sugar attack, dizziness and blurred vision, nearly collapsing by the roadside, luckily a kind old lady supported her and brought her to the shop to rest. Her phone was on silent at the time, in her bag, so she didn't notice the vibration." Anchor Tei spoke softly.

"I see, that also makes sense; we could even record a behind-the-scenes segment." Uesugi Muneyuki nodded with a smile; this explanation is reasonable, full of everyday chance and human warmth.

Anchor Tei Reiji, arriving at the scene, carefully examined Mayu's condition, confirming she was merely fatigued and startled, with no serious issues.

The elderly couple's kind smile and warm hospitality also dispelled people's last doubts.

This is indeed a segment very much in line with a "Japanese mainstream melody," even suitable for insertion into the show.

"Great————just a false alarm." In the wagashi shop, Tei Reiji gripped Mayu's hand, exhaling in relief.

However, under the premise that "people have been found," the production team's hearts, which had been hanging, finally let go of most of their tension.

Everyone escorted Mayu back, then offered another round of comfort and reminders.

Nishino Miki still has no news, but with Mayu's "precedent," anxiety has eased considerably; more people tend to think she's just playing around or got lost, and will likely show up soon.

Anyway, she's just a wash-foot maid, rarely appears on the show and doesn't need to join Kohaku; missing her isn't a lack, lacking her isn't a shortage, or put another way, for a show like "Hand of God," she herself doesn't come to vie for screen time, so the production team really doesn't care.

An idol generally stays stable in a group for about three years; if she never breaks through, everyone will start having their own ideas, as mentioned earlier.

If you don't come up, plenty of others will!

Just as the production team rested in Yonezawa City, awaiting the arrival of Mai Xuejie et al. tomorrow to prepare for reshooting a few shots.

At 4:37 a. m., outskirts of Yonezawa City, beside National Route 13's "Yamagata North" rest area.

In this winter hour, the sky remains a thick ink-black, only the rest area building itself emitting a pallid fluorescent glow. Temperature dropped to minus eight degrees, last night's fine snow laid a thin layer on the ground, like salt sprinkled on black corduroy fabric.

Behind the rest area, about fifty meters from the main building, there is an old public toilet of wooden structure, blue paint peeling, a facility left over from a bygone era, ordinarily used only by long-distance truck drivers or those in extreme urgency.

Maintaining such infrastructure requires enormous cost; once-advanced and aesthetically pleasing facilities have gradually entered their twilight, with neither funds nor will to build new ones, while maintaining the old grows ever more burdensome.

Truck driver Sato Hiroshi had just finished delivering cargo from Sendai, now on his return route.

He parked his red Hino heavy truck, yawned, and walked toward the toilet.

Driving long distances in winter nights makes one drowsy; he needs cold water to wash his face, then relieve himself.

Japanese truck drivers were once a super-profitable profession; during Japan's golden era, a truck driver working a bit harder could earn twenty million yen a year, no exaggeration; moreover, know that back then the yen-to-deutsche mark exchange rate was nearly 10:1, and even now, truck drivers remain among the middle-high income brackets—if they push themselves, they can still earn ten million yen a year, it's just exhausting.

Moreover, after the old generation of truck drivers monopolized industry resources, the new generation faces a problem: insufficient cargo resources—trucks exist, drivers exist, but no cargo to haul.

This is also a kind of unwritten rule in Japan: after the old-timers monopolized industry resources, the newcomers, even if they have ideas and drive, seem to have nothing to do.

The air is so cold it stings; exhaled white vapor vanishes quickly in the light.

All around the toilet is dead silence, even the wind seems frozen.

Truck driver Sato pushed open the men's toilet door; the rusty hinges emitted a sharp "squeak—" sound, especially piercing in the stillness.

Inside is colder than outside; one bulb is dead, the other flickers erratically, making stains and graffiti on the walls appear and disappear intermittently.

The urinal is crusted with yellow urine scale, emitting a pungent smell mixing ammonia and mold.

Sato walked to the innermost urinal, unzipped, and hummed a familiar tune: "About to max out three hundred million, refugees, crying one by one in the well~"

"Nasumushroom, I fuck your ancestors!"

At that moment, his peripheral vision caught an anomaly.

The innermost urinal in the men's toilet—that one usually unused, with its drain already half-clogged—seemed to have something inside.

Not an ordinary blockage.

In the dim, flickering light, Sato saw a clump of black, damp, seaweed-like substance extending upward from the urinal's drain outlet.

He furrowed his brow, squinting as he leaned in closer.

That wasn't seaweed.

It was hair.

Human hair.

Thick, black, female hair, wet and clinging, defying gravity as it surged from the narrow,

drain opening only a few centimeters in diameter, like some bizarre aquatic plant, or as if something was trying to crawl up from deep underground.

Sato's bladder tightened, the urge to urinate vanishing instantly. He stepped back half a pace, his heart beginning to beat irregularly.

"What, what the hell————" he muttered, his voice weak in the empty toilet.

He turned on the flashlight function of his Huawei 5plus phone, trembling as he aimed the beam at the urinal.

Wha————what the heck?

The light pierced the gloom.

Under the bright light, the hair appeared even clearer, a single strand stained with dark red, already half-congealed viscous substance.

Not just the hair, on the concrete edge of the drain, there was an irregular ring of black-red stains, as if something had been forcibly shoved in, leaving scrape marks.

And the most terrifying part was that small patch exposed amidst the hair————