Chapter 744

"Is this… some…?" Uesugi Muneyuki, having heard his brother's words, was struck dumb enough to be sharp-tongued.

"Well, I just… I just wanted to say, such unions, however, are merely products of excessive hormonal secretion in the moment; they never seriously consider the future." Uesugi Sadanori also realized he had spoken his mind and hastily corrected himself.

"Human DNA determines that after the reproductive system matures, one instinctively seeks mates and reproduces offspring, just like the current low birthrate—is it truly that people don't want to have children? It's not this DNA harming you, but this society harming you!" Uesugi Muneyuki complained.

"Really? I don't believe it!" Uesugi Sadanori thought, I have never had such worldly desires.

Uesugi Muneyuki naturally did not understand what his brother was thinking.

He was merely wondering why the marriage of Eto Miyabi and Souda Sosuke had so quickly turned into each going their own way.

Baseball and Go are similar, both requiring a certain viewing threshold to appreciate as sports, unlike football and basketball, where football only needs to know that a goal counts as one point, the higher scorer wins, and then one learns offside and fouls—normally, a person can grasp the rules in about five minutes. Basketball is the same: a basket inside the arc counts as two points, outside as three, the higher scorer wins, and then one learns the three-second area and foul shots—ten minutes suffices to fully understand.

But baseball is the hardest to grasp among these sports; broadly speaking, baseball rules can be understood as follows:

The opposing side throws hand grenades (balls) at you; normally, three throws—if you fail to catch, you are blown up.

If you can hit the hand grenade away with a baseball bat, you must quickly run to the fortress; you have three fortresses, each holding only one person. When you enter, the person originally inside must come out to make way for you, running toward the next fortress.

At this moment, the opposing side will try to retrieve the hand grenade; if, before they retrieve it, you and your teammates on the three fortresses complete a full circuit and return to your original positions, you score; if you fail to return in time and the opposing side has already thrown the hand grenade back, you are blown up.

Meanwhile, there is a special case: if you can hit the hand grenade directly out of the field (a home run), then, with the opposing side unable to retrieve the hand grenade, you can leisurely complete the entire process and score easily.

After several rounds of alternating offense and defense, the side with more survivors wins.

This is already the simplest and most easily understood rule set; there is still much unsaid, such as "stealing bases," "balls and strikes," various tactical touch plays and force outs, "sacrifice hits," and other advanced content.

It's more complicated, right?

Thus, Uesugi Muneyuki has no interest in sports with complex rules like Go and baseball; his usual case-solving and research at the University of Tokyo already tax his brain enough.

But baseball, after all, differs from Go—in the United States and Japan, rugby and baseball, with their rich community and school club foundations, see people regularly holding similar activities to strengthen cooperation; the Koshien tournament has long been accepted as part of daily life, whereas Go is entirely otherwise, so baseball always has viewers, while Go in Japan reached its peak 80 years ago, with 10 million Go players nationwide; now, Go players have dwindled to under 2 million, hardly anyone plays, matches attract no attention, and even major domestic tournaments have fallen from semi-official national player events to trading companies merely "selling advertisements." The foreseeable future sees Go continuing its decline, while baseball can maintain its heat for a long time.

Souda Sosuke is a star baseball player, earning 300 million yen annually; Japanese entertainment income has always been modest, so 300 million yen is already the income of a top-tier, super-hot celebrity star; and Japan's entertainment industry simultaneously includes the sports and entertainment worlds, so female announcers and stars like Eto Miyabi, young, wealthy, and full of vigor on the baseball field, marrying baseball stars is very common.

But such marriages often do not last long; aside from the branch-family property mentioned earlier, once a baseball star retires, they go from being a "warrior" accustomed to being the center of attention, with adrenaline surging, to suddenly becoming a "ordinary person" who stays home all day.

The immense psychological gap, confusion about the future, and decline in social status bring great pressure on the man; he may become irritable, despondent, controlling, or utterly lost.

The woman also suffers from her husband's sharp income drop, from having defined roles to being forced to constant companionship, from being a radiant, heroic figure to becoming an ordinary middle-aged man, and from shared topics and friend circles shrinking drastically, leading to emotional breakdown and divorce.

In reality, modern law essentially encourages "divorce"; a wife can easily take half the property and receive alimony based on the husband's highest income level, as the famous Silicon Valley philosopher Li Xinye said—similar to French marriage law, which essentially encourages "infidelity" and "cuckoldry." However, someone like Eto Miyabi, who married only three years ago, just had a child, and is already thinking about an exit strategy, is indeed rare.

"This couple seems to have emotional problems." Uesugi Muneyuki said in a low voice.

"Perhaps." Uesugi Sadanori's mind was still on the topic of "true same-sex love."

All Katana! The Sacred Band of Thebes! The companion cavalry of Alexander the Great, the conqueror!

Our ancestors truly did not deceive me!

Indeed, the wisdom of our ancestors is boundless!

The more he thought, the more reasonable it seemed.

Kenshin Kō, I have attained enlightenment!

In this moment, my brother understood the truth of the universe, and his gaze toward Uesugi Muneyuki also gained a hint of pity.

My foolish Ododo, my brother has attained enlightenment, but you are still refining immortality in the red dust, suffering in this society!

It is not this marriage that harmed you, but this chaotic age that harmed you, you wretch!

But there is no way; the main family needs a male heir, so we can only make you and Minami suffer—I will bear the blame!

The responsibility to propagate the next generation is entrusted to you!

Uesugi Muneyuki and Ikeda Erena ate lunch at the University of Tokyo cafeteria; in the afternoon, he remained at the University of Tokyo handling various affairs and academic matters, while Ikeda Erena quietly played on her computer in his office; the tall, beautiful female officer played the game "Rainbow Six Siege."

She never looked at the manual or tutorial; Erena only knew one thing: kill everyone on the opposing side one by one, and we win.

Erena's tactical ability is poor, but her marksmanship is truly fierce—opponents who expose their heads are instantly eliminated, even teammates suspect she is cheating.

She greatly enjoys this environment; Uesugi Muneyuki is busy, so she waits by his side, watching him work.

This is the main meaning of her life: don't overthink, empty your mind, follow your feelings, and that's fine.

3:47 PM.

On the windowsill of the Criminal Investigation Division Section Chief's office, the small-leaf fig tree sent by Mrs. Tanaka had just been watered, with tiny droplets still clinging to the leaves. Mr. Tanaka Laodeng sat behind his desk, the case report spread before him for twenty minutes, having turned only one page.

He was checking his watch.

Three hours remained until the sukiyaki dinner he had arranged with Uesugi and Erena for tonight.

He recalled the expression of Uesugi Shouto when he "extorted" money—righteous and bold—and the sight of Erena pursing her lips in a secret smile; he couldn't help shaking his head, yet the corner of his mouth betrayed an irrepressible smile.

"Imafuku" sukiyaki……that place he had only visited once before, on someone else's invitation.

Black-haired wagyu beef cheek meat, melts in the mouth; secret sauce, the craftsmanship of three generations; last time he went was five years ago, after finishing a case with Section Chief Sutou, who treated him.

He himself is reluctant to go.

Mrs. Tanaka's side had already filed the report.

……It's Uesugi Muneyuki, yes, it's him! That very Uesugi! And Ikeda, you remember? That girl who used to work at the Otaku Police Station, very quiet (in a heavy fog)……yes, yes, yes, that's her. Oh dear, she's now an Assistant Police Inspector—you know about the Special Mission Division, right? Good, good, I know, she doesn't drink, just eats……Alright, you can relax."

On the other end of the phone, the wife's tone shifted from initially "again spending money" to "it's Mr. Uesugi, so of course."

Family internal crisis, smoothly resolved.

Mr. Tanaka Laodeng's family is still a traditional Japanese household: the husband hands over all his monthly income, and the wife then returns 30,000 yen from his over 300,000 yen monthly salary as pocket money and social expenses; it should be said that the credit of the old-generation Japanese housewife managing household finances through bookkeeping was built over at least two generations, decades of effort.

But destroying this credit might take only ten years; now, the youngest generation of Japanese men no longer believe that handing money to their wives will be managed well—they don't even want to marry at all.

However, just as Mr. Tanaka Laodeng was enjoying this moment.

4:20 PM, Toshima Ward, a luxury apartment.

The living room was very quiet.

The winter sunlight outside had already shifted westward, casting long, slanting shadows on the light gray carpet.

Suzuki Kenichi sat on his living room sofa.

This middle-aged man, forty-seven years old, an accountant, whose long habit of dealing with numbers has instilled a certain bone-deep restraint—even when emotionally agitated, he maintains it; but at this moment, his clasped hands resting on his knees showed whitening knuckles.

On the opposite sofa sat two middle-aged men in dark suits.

The older one just displayed his credentials—Metropolitan Police Department Inspection Bureau, Kinoshita.

The younger one is his colleague, Kishimoto Patrol Officer Section Chief.

On the coffee table in the center, the red indicator light of a small recording device was flickering weakly.

"Mr. Suzuki," Kinoshita Supervision Officer said in a steady and polite voice: "Thank you for taking the time today. We have already received the complaint materials you submitted to the Metropolitan Police Department, and today we would like to hear your statement in person."

Suzuki Kenichi lifted his eyelids, filled with distrust.

"The situation?" His voice was not loud, but carried a long-suppressed weight: "The situation is very simple—my father's money was stolen by someone. And the thief is among your police force!"

This is a very serious accusation; Kinoshita Supervision Officer's eyebrows twitched slightly, but he did not respond, merely making a "please continue" gesture. Suzuki Kenichi took a deep breath and began to speak.

"My father's name is Suzuki Tadahiko, he is seventy-eight years old this year, and lived alone in an apartment in Ōtaku, Bunkyo Ward."

His voice was steady, but each word seemed to be spoken with effort.

"He was that kind of old-fashioned person. He didn't like to trouble others, nor did he like to get too close to people. After I got married, I moved to Toshima Ward, which is about a twenty-minute drive from him, but we didn't see each other every day. We called once or twice a month, and on holidays I brought my wife and children to visit him, had a meal, sat for a while, and then went home."

He paused.

"In early February, I received a call—from the apartment manager. He said someone next door had complained about a strange smell, the manager went to check but no one answered, and only after reporting to the police did we discover..."

His voice caught for a moment.

"... that he had already passed away. Alone in the house, he had been lying there for over ten days."

Kishimoto Patrol Officer Section Chief's pen lightly scratched across the notebook without him looking up.

Suzuki Kenichi swallowed hard and continued.

"The aftermath was handled by me—cremation, interment, sorting through his belongings, one by one. He didn't leave much behind after all those years of saving: a few old pieces of furniture, some old photographs, and a small Buddhist shrine—that was something he and my mother bought when they got married. After my mother passed away, he lit incense there every morning and evening."

The middle-aged man lifted his eyelids.

"But there is one thing I have never known—he rented a safety deposit box at Mitsubishi UFJ Bank."

Kinoshita Supervision Officer's eyes narrowed slightly.

"I found out when I was handling the aftermath and went to the bank to close the account. The bank staff told me that my father had rented a safety deposit box during his lifetime, the annual fee had always been paid on time, and I needed to come as the heir to open and inspect it."

He paused for a moment.

"When opened, there were only two things inside: a handwritten will, and a bankbook—the bankbook showed only ten or twenty thousand yen." He stared at Kinoshita.

"The will stated that he had deposited thirteen million yen in cash. It was kept in the drawer of that Buddhist shrine in his bedroom."

The air in the living room seemed to freeze for an instant.

"I checked that drawer." Suzuki Kenichi's voice finally gained a tremor: "It was empty."

Suzuki Kenichi's body leaned forward slightly, his gaze blazing as he fixed it on the person opposite him.

"That thirteen million yen was money my father had saved his entire life. He said it was very clearly for my son's overseas studies. The will was written in July last year, in his own hand, with a date, signature, and seal from the notary office. That money did exist."

"But now, it is gone. The shrine's drawer is empty. I called the Ōtaku Police Station to ask, and they said the crime scene investigation record contains no mention of 'cash' at all. Only one sentence: 'A small amount of valuable items were found in the shrine's drawer and have been registered for safekeeping.'"

He let out a cold laugh.

"A small amount of valuable items? Thirteen million yen called 'small'?"

Kinoshita Supervision Officer did not answer; he merely frowned and asked: "Did you receive those 'valuable items'?"

"I did." Suzuki Kenichi said: "An old pocket watch, a few pieces of jewelry left by my mother—together worth about three to four hundred thousand yen. I have received these things, and they are now at my home. But that thirteen million yen—"

His voice suddenly grew heavier.

"Someone took it away!"

Suzuki Kenichi's body leaned back slightly, but his gaze never left Kinoshita Supervision Officer's eyes.

"I asked the people from Ōtaku Police Station who were at the scene that day. Not through formal interrogation, but by asking through connections. Three people, with consistent accounts: during the inspection that day, no one saw any 'large amount of cash.' The shrine's drawer was opened by whom, and what was inside, they all say they don't know, because at the time, the person responsible for the inventory and registration was only one person—"

He paused.

"Tanaka Naoki Police Inspector, the newly appointed Criminal Investigation Division Section Chief of Ōtaku Police Station!"