Chapter 721: , Red Goldfinch Returns!

Uesugi Muneyuki frowned, realizing the situation was not simple, and he gestured to Sugishita Ukyo and Kobe Takeru to come over. "Oh dear, oh dear, as expected, only the Uesugi Chief can easily face the corpse stench." Sugishita Ukyo approached with his hands behind his back, very elegantly: "There's nothing to be done, Kobe-kun?"

"Kou~ I really am……kou~" Kobe Takeru painfully pinched his nose, continuously retching: "Corpses are indeed better when fresh!"

"Indeed, fresh corpses are good—not only is there no corpse odor or stiffness, but organs can also be harvested, which is a big deal. I recall a German medical student recently published a paper in The Lancet, but he couldn't prove the liver source of his research was legal, so he had to retract it, even being expelled from the international medical organization." Uesugi Muneyuki nodded.

This corpse was already a "black ghost," the entire body was liquefying and seeping into the ground; even if organs were present, they would certainly be unusable. Organ trafficking has always been a major profit option on the international black market, with extremely strong demand. Around the organ black market, countless sins and bloodshed have occurred. Naturally, modern governments have long advocated organ donation, but the effect is ultimately limited. Not everyone is willing to become a cadaver teacher after death, especially in Japan, where traditional Confucian culture is strong—death is paramount, and death culture is incredibly rich. Therefore, in recent years, regarding organ trafficking, Japanese police have continuously engaged in wits and courage with the black market.

"Look here."

He used tweezers to gently lift the deceased's already loosened collar, discovering on the neck's side an extremely minute, almost concealed by decay, pinpoint-like mark, with a slight, unnatural subcutaneous discoloration around it.

"Injection marks?" Sugishita Ukyo also crouched down, his voice muffled through the mask but his eyes sharp.

"Highly likely." Uesugi Muneyuki's brows locked tightly: "The location is atypical for medical injection points, more like……a swift, covert method of administration. Toxicological testing is needed to confirm the specific substance. This method……"

He pondered, flashing through some cases in his mind: "Similar to the 'quiet' poisoning method, for example, high-purity, fast-acting synthetic alkaloids or neurotoxins, where minute amounts can be lethal, symptoms possibly resembling acute heart failure or respiratory failure, not easily detected by routine autopsy immediately, especially after corpse decay……so, this kind of poisoning requires a certain level of professional capability."

"Professional person?" Kobe Takeru's eyes flashed with a fierce light: "Could it be some extremist organization?"

"?" Uesugi Muneyuki's gaze instantly sharpened.

Kobe Takeru also realized he had revealed something, deciding to shut up.

The scene fell into silence; Uesugi Muneyuki was still considering whether to trigger the dead soul contract now, because the questioning opportunity was very limited, and the evidence he currently held was insufficient; acting rashly and losing the questioning opportunity would make things even more difficult.

At this moment, the detective responsible for visiting neighbors came over to report: "Uesugi Chief, Sugishita Superintendent. Neighbors reported, the resident's name is 'Imaizumi Yukio,' about sixty years old, living alone, lifestyle very low-key, almost no interaction with neighbors. He often has a habit of long-term outings 'traveling,' this time supposedly planning a one-month 'Europe trip,' should have just returned, so previously no one thought it abnormal. Unexpectedly………" "Imaizumi Yukio?" Uesugi Muneyuki noted this name.

The surrounding Europe trip plan perfectly explained the blank period during which the corpse decayed unnoticed.

"I see." Sugishita Ukyo added: "We preliminarily checked the interior, found no documents directly proving 'Imaizumi Yukio's' identity. Driver's license, insurance, passport……all missing. The drawer showed signs of being rummaged through, but the method wasn't particularly crude." Identity documents all gone? Deliberately cleaned scene? Atypical covert poisoning traces? A low-living yet 'frequent long-term travel' solitary elder?

Uesugi Muneyuki stood up, removed the mud-soaked outer glove, looked at Sugishita Ukyo and Kobe Takeru, and spoke with decisive tone:

"This is absolutely neither suicide nor accident. The scene has clear characteristics of murder followed by staging and cleanup. The poisoning method is covert and professional, and the perpetrator had ample time to handle the scene, transfer key items. I recommend immediately filing a formal case, requesting the Metropolitan Police Department Investigation Division 1 to fully intervene, launching a detailed criminal investigation. Meanwhile, toxicological and trace evidence analysis must be prioritized." Uesugi Muneyuki said coldly.

Sugishita Ukyo nodded, while Kobe Takeru gazed deeply at the corpse now coded as 'Imaizumi Yukio,' then looked toward the distant, hazy Tokyo sky, as if sensing a more complex, dangerous aura.

"Section Chief, Uesugi Chief! Counselor! Look here!" At this moment, a nearby officer said: "We found this. Uesugi Muneyuki et al. still thought they had discovered evidence of important value, but when the officer handed over the items, the three were somewhat laughing and crying. It was many DVDs and videotapes.

What 'Forbidden Care,' 'Business Trip Shared Room,' 'Mother-Daughter Loan Hell,' and moreover this guy is quite old-school; Uesugi Muneyuki glanced, what 'Asahi Ran,' 'Ozawa Maria,' 'Aoi,' etc.

Lewd, I don't even watch these.

However, Uesugi Muneyuki found it strange, able to afford money for Europe travel for weeks, no money for brothels?

"There's also this." The officer handed over another propaganda poster, which read: "Marriage Assistance," "Ideal Marriage Support," "Middle-Aged and Elderly Marriage Warmly Welcomed"!

"This makes sense." Sugishita Ukyo nodded.

"Yeah, this makes sense." Uesugi Muneyuki and Kobe Takeru both looked at Sugishita Ukyo.

Sugishita Ukyo's facial muscles twitched several times, then he stopped speaking.

Among the three at the scene, Uesugi Muneyuki and Kobe Takeru are already married, only he is divorced.

"In short, apply for support!"

Tokyo, in the afternoon, inside a detached house by the riverbank, the air was stagnant, only the sound of pen tip gliding over paper, and occasionally the faint sound of calculator key presses.

Honda Atsuhito sat at the low table in the living room, before him spread several sheets of white paper filled with chemical equations, structural diagrams, and numbers.

He wore a pair of reading glasses, his expression focused to near ruthlessness, the pencil between his fingers occasionally pausing, heavily circling a molecular formula or value.

He was calculating the ratio and equivalent of a mixed explosive.

Since the target is to destroy the Metropolitan Police Department Headquarters, that steel-reinforced concrete colossus, ordinary explosives certainly won't suffice.

His train of thought is clear and seasoned: ANFO (ammonium nitrate fuel oil) explosive.

This is a relatively stable, large-quantity option he, as an 'old hand,' can prepare with equipment ready; ammonium nitrate can be obtained under disguise from specific channels, fuel oil is easier to get.

The key lies in ratio, grain control, reliability of the detonation device, and how to cleverly place it at structural key points to form a directed blast effect, maximizing shockwave and high-temperature destruction. On paper, he has already sketched a simple diagram of the Metropolitan Police Department building, several red circles marked on load-bearing columns, energy hubs, etc. He is calculating the minimum explosive amount needed at different points, and how to use multiple detonation points to achieve synchronization, avoiding duds or incomplete sympathetic detonation. "………If aluminum powder could be mixed in, enhancing thermal effect……no, that would increase instability and preparation difficulty, under current conditions the risk is too high." He muttered to himself, completely immersed in constructing the blueprint of destruction.

Art is, explosion!

At this moment, the television in the corner, turned on, was playing the noon news; NHK anchor Eto Miyabi's voice was originally just background noise, until a certain word like a cold needle suddenly pierced his eardrum.

……Around eleven this morning, near the Ototsubashi Bridge in Arakawa Ward, a buried male corpse was discovered in a residential backyard. Police, based on scene clues and neighbor testimony, preliminarily confirmed the deceased as Mr. Imaizumi Yukio, living alone at that location, about sixty years old. Time of death estimated four weeks ago, cause of death under investigation……

"Imaizumi Yukio"?

Honda Atsuhito's pen-holding hand suddenly froze. He slowly raised his head, gaze toward the television screen. The screen was playing a mosaic-blurred exterior shot of the scene, police tape, busy police, that house……not this one, but this name……

Imaizumi Yukio?

A cold, absurd creeping dread rose along his spine.

He put down the pen, almost mechanically, slowly reaching into his pocket, taking out that brand-new document folder.

Opening it, the plastic-sealed driver's license clearly printed: Imaizumi Yukio in the name field.

The photo is him, address……different, but this identity, this carefully forged set of documents……

"Imaizumi Yukio died?" he murmured, voice dry and hoarse.

The identity given by Takakura and them, a 'clean' identity, now in the news became a corpse rotting for four weeks. This is absolutely no coincidence—is it a warning? Is it silencing? Or a more complex trap? Who is the 'Imaizumi Yukio' who died in Arakawa? A substitute? Or the original owner of this identity?

Takakura and those who call themselves his 'fans,' young people, are far more complicated than he imagined, and more dangerous.

They not only grasp his past, but also hold his soft spot—daughter Marie—hostage.

And the news broadcast equals publicly announcing that the identity 'Imaizumi Yukio' has been exposed to police view, can no longer be safely used. He is now trapped in this 'safe house,' yet holds in hand a dead person's driver's license.

Cold sweat, silently soaking the back of his underwear, not fear, but the extreme vigilance and isolation felt by a chess player discovering the board suddenly disturbed by a third, even fourth party force.

Metropolitan Police Department, Yamamoto-gumi……who else?

He violently swept the explosive design diagram papers before him to one side, braced his hands on the table, took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm. Eyes closed, then opened, inside only remained cold resolve.

He stood up, walked to the bedroom, from the interlayer of his old suitcase he always carries, took out an item wrapped in oilcloth, opened it, an old-style mobile phone with no smart functions.

He skillfully installed the battery and old-style SIM card, powered on.

Weak signal bars lit up. He walked to the edge of the balcony facing the river, where signal might be best, then took out another slip of paper, on which an extremely small string of numbers was written, the paper already yellowed, ink blurred, but that string of numbers, he has memorized for thirty years.

He directly on this old phone, pressed that long string of numbers digit by digit.

From the handset came a long waiting tone, each sound striking his long-stilled heartstrings. He gazed out the window at the winter river, calm and icy, his face under the grayish daylight appearing especially stern.

Beep... beep...

"Hello? This is Onoda..."

"Onoda, I have returned! Or rather, Red Goldfinch, I have returned!"