Chapter 819

After Uesugi Muneyuki finished speaking, it was already getting late.

By the time the Special Investigation Headquarters meeting ended, it was past nine o'clock in the evening.

The hallway was filled with the smell of convenience store coffee and tobacco; local policemen rubbed their eyes and yawned, filing out in twos and threes. Their accommodations had been uniformly arranged in the civic center next to Kawaguchi City Gymnasium—bunk beds, public showers, one thin blanket per person, as spartan as a training camp.

Sato, section chief of Wuyu County Police, was loudly assigning tomorrow's shifts in the hallway, his voice hoarse with fatigue.

"Special Mission Division team," Sato turned to Uesugi Muneyuki and his group, his tone noticeably different, carrying the respect due to a superior unit: "We've arranged accommodations for the teaching staff."

"No need," Kai Toru politely interrupted him: "Special Mission Division has its own accommodation arrangements. We have a long-term cooperation agreement with the APA Hotel nearby, and we've already booked the rooms."

Sato opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but ultimately just nodded.

He watched the six members of Special Mission Division walk toward the parking lot, then turned to Kinoshita beside him and said: "After all, it's the Metropolitan Police Department—they stay in hotels."

Kinoshita lifted his briefcase, gave a wry smile, and shook his head: "Section Chief, their per-person overnight accommodation standard for one night is enough for us to stay in the civic center for a week."

Sato patted his shoulder, said nothing more. The two walked toward the civic center, their shadows stretched long under the streetlights.

After all, this is Uesugi Muneyuki.

Moreover, in reality, Uesugi is saving money for the Japanese police!

Is it gathering hundreds or thousands of police, deploying over ten thousand person-times of police force, searching for months, and finally, whether solving the case or announcing dissolution, the expenses are high? Or is it requesting the Special Mission Division to deploy, surrounding Uesugi Muneyuki with at most a dozen people, at most not exceeding two weeks, and announcing the case solved with both person and property recovered, the expenses high? Actually, it's the latter.

Too bad, Japan only has one Uesugi.

The APA Hotel is only a ten-minute drive from Kawaguchi Police Headquarters.

Special Mission Division has long had a cooperation agreement with this hotel chain—not an ordinary official agreement, but an exclusive, high-level agreement for Special Mission Division alone, allowing immediate check-in without cumbersome approval.

When Uesugi Muneyuki swiped the room door open, the room had already been prepared in advance: a wide double bed, snow-white sheets, fluffy pillows, and on the tea table by the window, a bottle of mineral water and a handwritten welcome card.

He took off his suit jacket, hung it on the clothes rack, loosened his tie, unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt, and walked into the bathroom.

At the moment the hot water poured down, he let out a long breath.

The hot water washed over his shoulders and back, the muscle soreness gradually dissolving, flowing with the water into the drain.

Now, what should I do?

His mind temporarily had no good plan.

He washed for a full twenty minutes before turning off the faucet, drying his body with a towel, wrapping it around his waist, and pushing open the bathroom door.

There was one more person in the room.

Ikeda Erena sat on his bed.

Her jacket and suit skirt were neatly folded on a chair beside her; she wore only a set of deep red underwear. It was a shade between burgundy and true red, glowing with a satin-like sheen under the warm yellow bedside lamp light.

The underwear's design was extremely bold—a sheer lace cup barely supporting her full breasts, tracing a bottomless ravine, below which was a matching thong, its straps so fine they could almost be ignored, sinking into the curve of her hip bones, revealing a long, beautiful leg wrapped in plush sheer stockings with a glossy finish.

Those stockings were not ordinary.

The plush stocking body bore a delicate shimmer, like crushed diamonds, that shifted with her every minute movement under the light, the suspender lines extending from the stocking tops upward, connecting to the lace waistband at her waist, forming a delicate geometric pattern at the base of her thighs. Her leg shape could be called perfect—from ankle to calf, the lines flowed smoothly and tightly, her kneecap small and exquisite, her thighs full and round, with not a shred of excess flesh, yet not overdeveloped like an athlete's muscles, but a balance between softness and strength, a line that made it impossible to look away. Beside her feet lay a pair of high-heeled shoes.

Not the kind for going out—one with open sides, exposing the arch of the foot; the toe decorated with a fine chain of pearls, glowing with a warm luster in the light; the heel was fine and high, at least twelve centimeters, with a fine ankle chain hanging at the back.

Every detail of these shoes proclaimed their purpose: they were not made for walking, but only suitable for wearing in bed, or being slowly taken off someone's feet by a certain person.

Erena's hair still carried the bathroom's steam, falling over her shoulders and collarbones, a few damp strands sticking to her long neck. She had obviously just showered, her skin flushed with the pink hue unique to skin steamed by hot water, spreading from her cheeks to her chest.

Under this light, her features appeared even more profound—the arc of her brow bone, the height of her cheekbones, the fullness of her lips—each just right, combining into a fiercely aggressive, wild beauty that made one dare not meet her gaze.

The moment Uesugi Muneyuki stepped out of the bathroom, her body tensed slightly.

Her original posture was half-lying, half-leaning against the headboard, one leg straight, one leg slightly bent, one hand resting on her knee, the other propping up the pillow.

She had adjusted her posture at least three times facing the bathroom door before settling—she wanted to look nonchalant, yet achieve some effect—but when she truly saw Uesugi Muneyuki walk out, that carefully crafted "nonchalant" shattered. "Master?" Uesugi Muneyuki blinked: "You're……impatient?"

Ikeda Erena felt a little ill at ease under his gaze. She had prepared a line—something like "I've waited long for you" or "You washed really slow"—but that look swept over her, and the words caught in her throat.

She lowered her eyelids, the corner of her mouth twitching into an arc that held embarrassment, as well as a somewhat unwilling, slightly aggressive stubbornness. "Minami said, since going out on duty again is such an important murder and extermination case, we must prevent you, Muneyuki, from being distracted by other things, maintain focus and concentration!" Erena said, lacking confidence: "So, Muneyuki, you only need me by your side now!" Uesugi Muneyuki did not answer. He draped his towel over the chair back, walked two steps toward the bed, and stopped before her.

His gaze slowly moved down from her face, past her collarbone, past her chest, past the faint outline visible beneath the sheer lace cup, past the long thighs wrapped in suspender stockings, and finally came to rest on those pearl-chain high-heeled shoes.

His gaze lingered on those shoes for two seconds, then lifted again, returning to her eyes.

"Did you buy these from 《Hand of God》?" Uesugi Muneyuki said with a half-smile: "I remember Mai Xuejie wore something similar in the drama—it caused quite a stir and started a fashion trend at the time."

Already, newspapers and many fans have complained, saying the stocking close-ups in the TV drama version of 《Hand of God》 are excessively numerous—could it be that the director or screenwriter has some fetish? Or is it that the mighty hand of fate has exerted force, and Fuji has been eroded by fate?

Uesugi Muneyuki said I don't think so!

Ikeda Erena was momentarily speechless—he knew her too well, this understanding making her breathing visibly disordered.

She could smell the body wash on him—nothing expensive, just the APA Hotel standard citrus-scented body wash, but mixed with the unique pine-scented steam rising from his body heat, turning into a scent that made one dizzy and light-headed.

After all, this is the pine scent even the Jiajing Emperor Zhu Houcong liked!

She instinctively shrank back, her head hitting the headboard, with nowhere left to retreat.

"Muneyuki!" she called his full name, her voice carrying a gritting-teeth meaning: "Time is precious, Kai said, eleven o'clock we go downstairs for late-night snack……

He kissed her.

Without giving her a chance to finish this sentence.

Those pearl high-heeled shoes slipped from his hand, fell onto the carpet, and made a muffled sound almost inaudible.

Her fingers plunged into his still-wet hair, nails digging into his scalp—she didn't know whether she was pushing him away or pulling him closer. His palm pressed against her thigh wrapped in suspender stockings, that plush diamond-gloss material under his palm giving a wonderful sensation, somewhere between silk and skin—slippery, warm, slightly hot.

The light in the room flickered, then dimmed.

I am the dividing line where the light dimmed—

Eleven o'clock sharp.

The izakaya on the first floor of the APA Hotel was booked half by Special Mission Division—not because they needed to show off, but because at this hour it was still open, could seat six people, and for 3,000 yen per person one could eat a decent meal, and within a 500-meter radius, this was the only such place.

Uesugi Muneyuki changed into a dark gray cashmere sweater and black casual pants, his hair already dried, combed neatly, making him look as if he had just come out of a spa—refreshed, the dark circles under his eyes faded somewhat.

Okada Masayoshi was the first to arrive.

He had already ordered the food—sashimi platter, grilled Wagyu beef, fried tempura, chawanmushi, grilled fish, edamame, soybeans, plus six large cups of Coca-Cola.

He still loved Coca-Cola that much.

Kai Toru arrived second, changed into a black turtleneck sweater, sat down expressionlessly, poured himself barley tea, and drank it all in one go. Date Nagamune and Maeda Toshihide arrived together, both clearly having showered and changed clothes—Date wore a deep blue cotton shirt, Maeda a white sweatshirt; neither looked like they were working a case, more like university students on vacation in Kawaguchi City.

The last to arrive was Ikeda Erena.

Ikeda Erena wore a burgundy velvet dress, the hem three finger-widths above her knees, revealing a slender calf wrapped in black silk stockings; her hair was pinned up with a hairpin, a few strands falling by her ears. Her makeup had been refreshed, her lipstick a deeper shade than daytime, making her look like she stepped out of a magazine color spread.

The six of the Special Mission Division were seated, and finally Maeda Toshihide spoke.

"So, what do we do next?"

Once the topic was opened, it flowed like a breached dam, impossible to stop.

Kai Toru put down his cola cup, picked up a piece of fish with his chopsticks, dipped it in the soy sauce dish, and said while chewing: "The problem now is, we know the killer locked onto targets via the internet, but knowing that doesn't help—we can't track a ghost account in cyberspace; if the other party logs off or switches accounts, we lose the trail completely."

"And even if we lock onto the account and IP address," Maeda Toshihide added, "by the time we get a warrant to investigate, they're already gone. The evidence window for cybercrime is measured in hours, while our legal process takes days."

Uesugi Muneyuki nodded: "Yes, our situation is this—the killer observes victims online, gathers personal information online, and locks onto targets online. They come at us through network cables; can we police come at them through network cables? No. At least not now."

The table fell silent for a moment.

The server brought out grilled Wagyu beef, sizzling with oil on the iron plate, filling the air with aroma.

No one moved their chopsticks; each person was thinking the same problem—how to lure those ghosts from the dark corners of the internet out, to a place where handcuffs can be applied.

At that moment, Date Nagamune put down his chopsticks, swallowed his food, and cleared his throat.

"Mina-san, although I, Date, came into this halfway and am not from the Career Track, and though I fall short of you in criminal investigation and forensics reasoning, I am indeed someone who spends all day online, surfing intensely, constantly scrolling social media, and voyeuristically reading tweets, so let me say this……" "Go ahead," Uesugi Muneyuki nodded.

"I have an immature idea—namely, could we not change our angle……"

"Change our angle?"