Chapter 750: Wukong Immortal Drink and Procedural Inertia!

Takahashi Toshio, 48 years old, Patrol Sergeant.

On that forty-eight-year-old face, there were no tears, no regret, only a fury that had been suppressed for too long and finally burst through—almost maddening in its intensity. "I won't accept this!"

His voice was hoarse and sharp, like rusted iron scraping across glass.

He braced himself on the table, leaning forward, his gaze sweeping over everyone in the conference room—Kinoshita, Kannari, Kuwabara—finally locking onto Tanaka Naoki's face.

"Twenty-six years!"

"Twenty-six years ago, when I joined the police force, what was he, Tanaka?! We were both patrol officers, patrolling together, getting scolded together, squatting by the roadside eating convenience store rice balls! Twenty-six years! I've served in the police force for twenty-six years!"

His shout startled everyone, even causing the officers at the scene to instinctively reach for their waists—where there was no baton. As previously mentioned, Japanese people place great emphasis on conformity and social morality, so everyone tries their best to avoid causing trouble for others. Yet when a Japanese person begins to hysterical, it means they've been driven to the brink.

His voice grew louder, the veins on his neck bulging like earthworms.

"He became Patrol Sergeant, I became Patrol Sergeant. He became Patrol Division Chief, I'm still Patrol Sergeant. He became Assistant Police Inspector at 38, I'm still Patrol Sergeant! Now he's a Police Inspector, a Section Chief, and I, damn it, am still a Patrol Sergeant! Why?! Just because he got lucky, met you..."

He suddenly turned his head, glaring at Uesugi Muneyuki, his eyes burning with hatred.

"Just because you were a fresh-out-of-the-box intern forensic pathologist back then, helping him crack a few cases! What skills does he have?! What does he have?! What about me?! I've served twenty-six years—how many cases have I solved, how many people have I arrested, how much overtime have I worked, how many scoldings have I endured—what's the result?!"

He slammed his chest hard, producing a dull thud.

"I'm still a Patrol Sergeant! Twenty-six years, Patrol Sergeant!"

No one in the conference room spoke.

Kuwabara Mako lowered her head, afraid to look at him.

Normally, non-career track hires join at 22 and become Patrol Division Chief around 30, but Kuwabara became one at 27—thanks to Uesugi Muneyuki's favor.

Uesugi helped many people, but he couldn't help everyone.

Supervisor Kinoshita frowned, but the furrow in his brow held more than anger now—it held something complex, something hard to name.

We were played! Used as tools!

Thinking back, this group of us was actually conducting a "presumption of guilt" against Inspector Tanaka!

If Tanaka was truly framed, and if Old Man Tanaka came back to complain, we'd be in trouble at the Metropolitan Police Department!

"And one more"

Patrol Sergeant Takahashi's voice suddenly dropped, dropping to near a choke. But that choke held no weakness—only deeper despair and fury. "My monthly pocket money is eighteen thousand mon."

18,000 yen.

Hearing that number, everyone frowned.

The custom among Showa-era salarymen was to hand over their wages, then wives would give a portion back as pocket money.

But this concept of pocket money differs from children's.

For husbands, it covers entertaining clients, lunch with cigarettes, even some commuting expenses—so in many cases, without 30,000 to 50,000 yen a month, husbands struggle to get by.

Eighteen thousand yen a month works out to over 700 yen per workday—enough only for a "medium set meal" at Yoshinoya or Matsuya, which isn't filling for an adult man. Assuming Takahashi eats at the police station cafeteria with Metropolitan Police subsidies, a meal of 400–500 yen is still necessary.

This is too tense—police face high pressure, almost all smoke, and there are other expenses too, like post-patrol meal circles and the customary senior-junior socializing.

Indeed, hearing this, everyone in the conference room showed sympathetic eyes.

Patrol Sergeant Takahashi lifted his head, looking at everyone, his gaze as if asking—do you know what this means?

"Eighteen thousand mon. Smoking, drinking, socializing, eating—it's all in there. My wife told me, she handles the household money, so I can relax. I relaxed—I damn well relaxed."

His voice suddenly rose, nearly a howl.

"And she took all the household money—twelve million yen—and went to open some milk tea shop!"

??? II」

Milk tea shop?

This twist caught everyone off guard—even Uesugi Muneyuki's face showed astonishment.

Milk tea, coffee, baked goods, burgers—the four-piece set of middle-age bankruptcy?!

"She saw Mixue Ice City was trending in Tokyo, so she searched for Mixue Ice City franchises on TikTok, then someone called, saying this 'Wukong Immortal Drink' was a sub-brand of Mixue Ice City, soon to launch, she believed it—'Wukong Immortal Drink'! Kantou general agent! Grab it! She said she could make big money, claimed the brand was huge overseas, said franchisees were lining up but couldn't get in—"

He suddenly laughed—a sound worse than crying.

"Lost it all. Every penny. The contract was crystal clear, responsibilities defined, they don't owe a cent. Twelve million yen, half a year, gone." "She had no choice but to tell me this, saying it's all my fault—I'm a police officer, I should have a way." Patrol Sergeant Takahashi said angrily: "What way could I have? The contract was hers to sign, the shop hers to open, rent and agency fees hers to pay—she opened it for half a year, lost everything, now comes blaming me, saying I don't understand a housewife's despair, don't care about her pain—what way could I have?!" Uesugi Muneyuki's expression completely changed.

Mixue Ice City? Wukong Immortal Drink? The four-piece set of middle-age bankruptcy?

Good grief, after Lord Kenshin Kō, there's actually a new Kantou Kanrei?

No way, sis—you haven't even opened a store, and you're already Kantou general agent?

Indeed, everyone's faces were priceless—some wanted to laugh but didn't dare, some wanted to blame Takahashi but realized it wasn't his fault—he's also a victim.

Housewives' financial struggles are a long-standing social issue in Japan—if you recall, Professor Tsuda from Tokyo University had the same problem. The Showa-era salarymen let housewives control finances, leading to housewives routinely spending 200,000 on expenses and 100,000 chasing Johnny's idols—common as dirt.

Being isolated at home too long dulls one's sense of money—earning under 3 million yen yearly is normal, yet 30 million yen still feels low. Not to mention Japan provides medical and social insurance for housewives earning under 1 million yen yearly—many don't even feel they're being supported. This is still better; the bigger issue is that housewives' labor value can't be measured, and since the 80s–90s, with appliances spreading, housewives have already escaped laundry, cooking, cleaning—yet the idea that "full belly leads to lust" means they need spiritual fulfillment and a way to prove their worth.

That's how Johnny & Associates went national.

But as Japan's economy declined, single breadwinners' salaries could no longer easily cover family expenses—Johnny & Associates declined too. For a moment, no one stopped him from continuing.

Patrol Sergeant Takahashi turned his gaze to Tanaka Laodeng.

"You said your daughter TMD wants to study in Edinburgh, UK—needs four million yen. My daughter? She's taking university entrance exams next year—can't even afford tuition! You stand by the window thinking about your daughter—whether she wants to become a Police Inspector or just wants pocket money—I can't control that, but I stand on my balcony thinking—how the hell do I tell my daughter, say Dad has no money to send you to university?!"

"How the hell do I tell my daughter, say Mom wants to divorce you Dad? Because she despises me for not earning enough and lacking the ability to recover money? And she's eyeing my civil servant pension and salary? To fill that Wukong Immortal Drink hole?"

"She's not satisfied—she wants to invest more! She wants me, a civil servant, to go to the bank for loans to keep funding it! And she wants to check out a second branch!" His voice finally trembled—this tremor was real, undeniable despair.

"And then that day, I saw it—in the Buddhist shrine, inside the Buddhist shrine, lay thirteen million yen, just sitting there—that old man was already dead, couldn't use it, his grandson, his grandson wants to study in the US—what does that have to do with my daughter?! Why does his money go to his grandson, while my money got wiped out by my wife, and I still have to smile and say 'It's fine, it's fine'?!"

"Enough!"

Supervisor Kinoshita slammed the table, stood up. His face was ashen, his eyes now devoid of earlier complexity—only pure, professional anger remained.

"Patrol Sergeant Takahashi, every word you say now will become court evidence!"

Takahashi turned his head, looked at him, then suddenly laughed—a twisted, grim smile, as if laughing at Kinoshita, or at himself.

"Court evidence?" He murmured, repeating: "I stole money, I know. I'm finished, I know. But you—"

He looked at Tanaka again, that gaze like a knife.

"Don't think Tanaka is clean just because he's Tanaka."

Tanaka's body trembled slightly.

"He was drunk back then, told me he'd saved up some private money, he also said promotion required some necessary expenses, luckily he'd stashed some private money that came in handy, he... you guys investigate, dig deep, see if this 'good cop' really..."

"Take him away!"

Supervision Officer Kinoshita waved his hand, Patrol Sergeant Kishimoto and another supervision officer immediately stepped forward, one on each side grabbing Takahashi's arms. Takahashi struggled a bit, but to no avail, he was dragged toward the door.

When he reached the door, he suddenly turned his head, giving Tanaka one last look.

In that glance, there was anger, resentment, despair, and something indescribable—perhaps the last lingering thought of twenty-six years as colleagues, perhaps complete surrender.

The door slammed shut behind him.

The meeting room fell into dead silence.

After a long while, Uesugi Muneyuki, standing by the window, suddenly asked Tanaka Laodeng: "Why exactly couldn't this guy Takahashi get promoted to patrol sergeant? Normally, a police officer working normally for over a decade would get a patrol sergeant position as a consolation prize, right?"

Normally, if someone hasn't made patrol sergeant after five years of patrol work, they'd be given the title 'patrol sergeant,' and if they'd worked over a decade without incident, they'd get a patrol sergeant position.

In Japan's police system, patrol is the lowest rank and not considered a formal position; only patrol sergeant counts as a formal staff member with official status, so patrol work is essentially equivalent to 'deputy inspector' in meaning, but the difference is that after enough years, one can become regular staff.

Tanaka Naoki sat in the chair, his whole person seeming emptied out. He stared at the closed door, his facial expression complex beyond words. "He..." Tanaka's voice hoarse: "He really is a hardworking person, just..."

He paused.

"Say it!"*2

Supervision Officer Kinoshita and Prosecutor Kanzai almost spoke at the same time.

Japanese people differ from those of other countries; in some nations, people speak ill of others behind their backs due to poor relations, but Japanese speak ill only when relations are good, while poor relations lead to various affirmations and praises (with a hint of sarcasm).

"But... he has one flaw—his hands aren't exactly clean." Tanaka Laodeng said helplessly.

"There were rumors about him even back at the station." Tanaka Laodeng recalled, voice low: "During investigations, during patrols, he'd occasionally... take small things—candy, cigarettes, lighters, sometimes small items from the scene, loose change... no one ever caught him red-handed, and few would complain over such trivial matters, he always... precisely controlled things to avoid being called out."

"But everyone knew. So all these years, he never got promoted."

"Do not do evil even if it is small; do not neglect good even if it is small; only the wise and virtuous can earn people's submission." Uesugi Muneyuki finally sighed. Takahashi's wife, a housewife and part-time entrepreneur who founded the Kantou Kanrei.

The dream of Wukong Immortal Drink, it's time to wake up.

When the meeting room door opened again, Uesugi Muneyuki was already standing in the hallway.

Prosecutor Kanzai Watari followed behind him, steps neither fast nor slow.

The two walked down the long corridor of the Otaku Police Station, occasionally police passed by on either side, seeing them, they instinctively slowed their steps, turned sideways to make way. Stepping out of the office building, the winter sunlight was somewhat glaring.

"Uesugi Chief, please wait a moment."

Kanzai Watari's voice came from behind.

Uesugi Muneyuki stopped, turned around.

Kanzai Watari stood on the steps, still holding that briefcase, his face showed no expression, but his eyes held something new—perhaps admiration, perhaps curiosity.

"One night." Kanzai Watari said seriously: "You only used the time from last night to this morning to figure everything out—amazing, I understand."

Uesugi did not respond.

Kanzai stepped down the stairs, stood before him.

"I've worked over a decade in prosecution," he said: "I've seen many excellent police, many clever forensic pathologists. But in one night, starting from zero, locking onto the culprit, finding evidence—frankly speaking, this is the first time I've seen."

He paused.

"How did you do it?"

Uesugi Muneyuki fell silent for two seconds, thinking I can't possibly tell you I visited the scene's three police officers last night—Sanguo was inexplicably confused, while Patrol Sergeant Takahashi was inexplicably nervous and even a bit excited, and when Uesugi Muneyuki expressed regret that the body had already been cremated and the scene cleaned up, he seemed relieved...

Asuka told me!

But such things can't be used as court evidence, just like the famous sound-listening technique—you can notice a suspect's heartbeat racing wildly at the crime scene, which almost confirms they're the killer, but this can't serve as evidence for homicide.

But for Uesugi Muneyuki, since he's confirmed it, he can directly take the answers to look for evidence.

"Inertia."

Kanzai Watari blinked.

"It's inertia, my investigative inertia." Uesugi Muneyuki repeated, tone light: "You know better than I do. Whether prosecution or police systems, both have inertia. Once a procedure starts, it just keeps going along its set track."

"The real culprit is undoubtedly someone deeply familiar with the police system. Combined with the case details, I can confirm he is a police officer." He looked at Kanzai Watari: "For example, this morning at ten o'clock, if I hadn't come, what would Supervision Officer Kinoshita do?"

Kanzai Watari didn't answer, but he knew the answer, he gestured for Uesugi Muneyuki to continue.

"He would have Tanaka turn himself in." Uesugi Muneyuki continued, clearly very familiar with the police affairs system: "If Tanaka didn't turn himself in, he'd be suspended and investigated, after which all materials would be transferred to the district prosecutors' office. The prosecutors' office would file a case upon receiving the materials, investigate, then indict, and after indictment, the court would rule."

"So, through elimination, I quickly deduced the money-taker was one of the three people present—not Tanaka, but either Sanguo or Takahashi—so following this logic, we just need to search accordingly."

He finished in one breath, then softly exhaled.

"In this process, every step requires someone to sign. Those who sign don't want to be held accountable. So what would they do?" Kanzai Watari remained silent.

"The supervision section chief would give the supervision officer endorsement, the police affairs department head would give the supervision section chief endorsement, the district prosecutors' office chief would give the prosecutors endorsement, they'd find ways to make this case 'ironclad.'" Uesugi Muneyuki said with a bitter smile: "Originally, plenty of evidence pointed to Tanaka, everyone would work to explain all doubts as coincidences, then align all testimonies. Then, this case would become an 'ironclad case,' any attempt to overturn it would trigger resistance from the entire system."

He raised his head, looking at the distant gray sky.

"By then, whether Tanaka Laodeng really stole the money or not would no longer matter. What matters is that the procedure runs its course, everyone fulfills their duty and becomes a link in the chain, nobody wants to be held accountable."

Kanzai Watari stayed silent for a long time.

Then he lightly tapped his head.

"You're right." He said: "This is exactly our line's 'inertia.' Sometimes it's good, letting things proceed by the rules, sometimes..."

He didn't continue.

Uesugi Muneyuki turned around and kept walking forward.

After a few steps, he suddenly stopped, turned back, and glanced at Kanzai Watari.

"Since you've joined the Special Mission Division, from now on you'll have to keep up with my pace."

Uesugi Muneyuki's eyes held a hint of amusement.

District Public Prosecutors Office elite, ah, can you keep up with my Sped?

Kansei Watari was momentarily stunned, then smiled.

That smile was faint, but carried an indescribable meaning—perhaps appreciation, perhaps some kind of default.

"I will."