Chapter 833

Japanese police are often too progressive.

They are so progressive that when it comes to issues involving male-female relationships and internal marital conflicts, they often simply favor the female side and advocate for resolving matters quietly.

According to the confessions of these five criminals, their early crimes were not so intense or perverse, but when husbands reported the crimes and investigated the scene, Japanese police tended to regard them as "missing" or "suicide," and even if there was clear evidence of homicide, they often still viewed the husband as "the most suspicious suspect."

After all, it's always the husband.

This leads to many cases never truly entering the public domain, as local police begin prosecution referral by labeling them "suicide," "missing," or "husband suspected of crime."

Moreover, the Tokyo District Public Prosecutors Office is also quite cunning; although its prosecution success rate exceeds 99%, if it lacks absolute confidence, it will not easily initiate litigation, because if problems arise later, who would be responsible?

Such cases are either turned into ironclad cases, or if the evidence is incomplete and the prosecution decides not to indict, Japanese police, having obtained court permission beforehand, cannot re-arrest the suspect, so the case thus goes unresolved—there's nothing to be done, as Japanese police power is much smaller compared to other countries, and combined with bureaucratic inertia and officialdom, this leads to the group handling seven or eight cases without attracting attention. This is Japan, as Nishikawa Wei said like this."

Okada Masayoshi put down his coffee cup, his fingers lightly tapping twice on the desk.

Nango Yui leaned over from the chair beside him, placing a laptop on the desk, the screen showing data just transmitted from the Public Security Police side: "We found it." Nango Yui's voice was very low, as if sharing a secret that couldn't be heard by anyone in the hallway: "This woman is called Night Come Hui; this name is extremely rare, with no more than fifty households in Japan bearing this surname. After graduating high school, she came to Tokyo and worked nearly eight years in hostess clubs in Shinjuku and Roppongi."

"Night Come? What a rare surname!" The Special Mission Division members gathered around, crowding to view her data.

"Hey." Nango Yui flipped to the next page, which was an old photograph.

The woman in the photo was about twenty years old, heavily made up, wearing a sequined mini-skirt, leaning against the bar, holding a glass of champagne in her hand, her smile radiant but her eyes devoid of mirth.

Her features were not particularly outstanding; in a place like Tokyo, she seemed unremarkable, but according to Nango Yui, because her surname was exceptionally distinctive, she was actually very easy to remember.

A strange reason, but upon reflection, it makes perfect sense.

Night Come Hui—this name indeed leaves a deep impression.

Uesugi Muneyuki recalled that in his past life, he had heard of someone surnamed "Tuo," who was a salesman, and precisely because this surname was so unusual, everyone remembered him, giving him countless conveniences in his work.

Another example is a man surnamed "Niu" who married a woman surnamed "Ouyang," resulting in the entire family unanimously agreeing that the child would take the mother's surname.

The birth mother of Emperor Wu of Han, Liu Che, was remembered by Emperor Jing of Han simply because she was called "Consort Wang," and at the time, whether a concubine without background could rise in status truly depended on those one or two favors—whether she had the luck to be favored, whether she could seize this rare opportunity in life to conceive and bear a son or daughter.

"When she worked as a hostess, her social media account already existed." Nango Yui continued scrolling down, and the screen displayed rows of screenshots, with timestamps stretching from seven or eight years ago to the present: "Of course, it's now been deactivated and no longer exists, but we used special means to restore it; her early posts were quite interesting—not showing off bags, watches, or gifts from clients, but rather observing. She observed the men who came to spend money at the club, and also observed those hostesses who were more popular than her."

Uesugi Muneyuki took the mouse and scrolled down himself.

Everyone gathered around.

【I want to see, I want to see! Damn, human text is so hard to understand, Uesugi, you quickly translate it for me to hear!】Arimura Hana exclaimed excitedly: 【Her soul, I claim it!】

Those posts were like some secret human anthropology field notes, buried among a pile of selfies and food photos, unnoticed unless examined closely. But upon careful inspection, one would discover this was a complete, long-observed and summarized "methodology."

"Some men, you see—the more you ignore them, the more they spend money on you. They don't want you as a person; they want the 'feeling of being needed.' As long as you reply with 'You've worked hard' when they say 'I've been really tired at work lately,' they think you're the person in Tokyo who understands them best. "Today came a client, in his forties, claiming to be a department manager at some IT company, his salary probably not low, but when speaking, he dared not look at me, his hands kept trembling. Such men are the easiest to profit from—they've never interacted with women since childhood, and if you're just a little kind to them, they'll empty their entire savings."

"Those hostesses who are good-looking earn quick money. Men pay for their faces, coming today and leaving tomorrow. I don't want quick money; I want steady money."

"Make men feel 'only she understands me' and 'she's different from other women,' and they'll keep coming, again and again. "I've summarized it into an iron law: don't ask men for money. Make them feel that giving you money is their own idea. "I want to save money with you to buy a house" "I want to buy you a gift to express my feelings"—once such words are spoken, they part with money ten times faster than if you said 'Give me money,' and afterward they won't report to the police, because this is 'voluntary giving.'"

Uesugi Muneyuki flipped page by page.

The sound of the mouse scroll wheel turning in the quiet office was especially clear, like a scroll unfurling, like the song of a sea siren.

A high-quality panorama of human evolution slowly unfolded before them.

"She was already summarizing this during her time as a hostess." Nango Yui's voice carried a complex, subtle emotion between admiration and disgust: "She wasn't just hosting; she was conducting social research."

"Eight years as a hostess, she saw all kinds of men—from salaried workers earning three million yen annually to investment bank elites earning thirty million, from first-time college students to long-time regulars who'd visited for ten years. She categorized them, summarized each type's weaknesses and soft spots. Then she discovered that the easiest to deceive weren't the wealthy, but those 'ordinary men lacking confidence'—they longed for recognition, longed to be needed, longed for a woman who could see their worth. Just give them a slight sense of 'being seen,' and they'd be willing to give you everything." Okada Masayoshi placed his coffee cup on the desk; the bottom tapped lightly against the surface: "So she wasn't deceiving men; she was using her professional knowledge, distilled from eight years of hostess work, to precisely harvest a specific type of man."

"Moreover, her clientele includes many civil servants, even police officers; this logic and method of hers is precisely derived from our own thinking patterns to counter us—that is, so-called……enemy and ally share the same origin!" Kai Toru said, unable to resist glancing at Okada Masayoshi. No, everyone was looking at Okada Masayoshi.

You should understand, right?

Okada Masayoshi's face was grim; he understood all too well, he understood too clearly.

Just why do I feel unwilling to understand? Just why do I feel……so tormented?

The Special Mission Division Supervisor crossed his arms, unable to help gazing toward the distant sky.

Yeah, sometimes, some things might not need to be known so clearly.

A hypocrite who can pretend for a lifetime is truly a gentleman.

A wise wife and good mother who can pretend for a lifetime is truly a wise wife and good mother.

But many things, once laid bare and naked, can never return to the past.

We have no sacred Kara linking us together, no Gestalt will unifying each individual; we are all independent people, each with our own thoughts, each person has their own wall of the heart, humans can never truly understand one another.

Looking at Okada Masayoshi's expression, Uesugi Muneyuki thought thus.

Unless, let humanity be completed, let the world return to unity! Let all souls sing together the Love Nu Grand Chapter!

Uesugi Muneyuki suddenly understood why Kansai's New God was so obsessed with this point.

How wonderful, I suddenly understand everything!

"Yes." Nango Yui flipped to the next page: "Moreover, her brilliance lies in teaching not 'deception,' but 'legally making the other party voluntarily spend money.' Don't write IOUs, don't promise repayment, don't leave any textual records that could be deemed a 'loan relationship.' Everything is wrapped in the sugarcoating of 'emotion' and 'shared future.' Even if the other party reports to the police afterward, the police can only say 'civil dispute, suggest finding a lawyer.' The law has no recourse against her."

Uesugi Muneyuki stopped scrolling the mouse. The post date on screen showed five years ago—exactly when she left the hostess industry and began working as a "Female Mentor." The post's content was very short, just one sentence, but each word felt like a declaration of war:

"Eight years, enough. Now it's my turn to teach them."

"Three sentences, making a man spend 2 million for me!"

"They" refers to those she trained. Those who screened targets on dating apps, used her speech techniques to build emotional connections, and extracted one sum after another from men lacking confidence. She packaged her summarized methodology into a "Women's Independence Course," selling it for 20,000 to 50,000 yen per month to women who wanted to "take control of their destiny."

The number of trainees grew, success cases multiplied, and her annual income broke through in the third year—Nango Yui drew a red underline beneath that number on screen.

One hundred million.

Yen.

Annual income.

A high school graduate with no professional skills, who once carried cups in a hostess club, by teaching other women how to swindle men's money, easily surpassed an annual income of one hundred million yen.

But Uesugi Muneyuki read something else deep in those posts.

Not a sense of achievement, not satisfaction, but an ever-stronger, ever-harder-to-ignore anxiety and unease, pressed into the lowest layer. She continued recording her own affairs.

"Today's consultation session had twelve trainees, each bringing their own 'case' for me to critique. I spoke with them for two hours, my voice hoarse. A trainee cried, saying 'Teacher, did I do something wrong?' I said you didn't do anything wrong; you're merely taking back what belongs to you. But after hanging up, I vomited in the restroom."

"I'm not teaching them independence. I'm teaching them to become the kind of person I hate most—those who swipe men's credit cards in Ginza to buy designer bags, those who post on INS showing off diamond necklaces given by their husbands—housewives, all of them. I used to think they were enemies, but now the trainees I've produced are even more extreme than them."

"I'm wondering, what exactly am I doing?"

These posts were never publicly posted; they were all saved in her phone's memo app, and after being screenshotted, they were recovered from her iCloud backup by technical staff of the Public Security Police.

Uesugi Muneyuki looked at those words, as if he could see what she was thinking.

Her success was built on the pain of tens of thousands of men whose savings had been drained, and those men's pain, in turn, came back through her cadets' emotional extortion and moral condemnation, weighing on her shoulders day after day.

Every cadet's success story was a knife plunged into her conscience.

The more she earned, the deeper the knife went, but she could no longer stop.

Because if she didn't do this, she would have nothing.

Like those deceived men, she, as a female tycoon who had earned countless money, would not trust anyone else, for her Tower of Babel itself was built on lies and deception.

"I passed by Omotesando today, saw a woman pushing a stroller, her husband standing beside her, a family of three basking in the sun. That woman wasn't good-looking, her figure had changed, she wore ordinary clothes, but she laughed so happily. What gave her the right to laugh so happily? She did nothing, just married a good husband, had a child, and then possessed what I, working myself to death to earn money, could never buy."

"Happiness? That's luck. They're just lucky."

"If lucky people can have happiness, then unlucky people should take their happiness away. That's only fair." Out of typical compensatory psychology, she began to hate other women, especially happy housewives.

This was the first time she redirected her hatred from "men" to "women."

The more successful her female cadets became, the more desperate the deceived men grew, the more she earned, the more she hated those "housewives who had happiness without doing anything."

Those women who didn't need to fake-smile at men in late-night clubs, didn't need to have their emotional value extracted by three hundred women on the podium, didn't need to wipe off their lipstick after vomiting in the restroom and keep smiling.

Those women who married well, lived well, posted a carefully edited photo on INS every day with a moon emoji, and gained hundreds of likes.

They were the image she could never become.

They were the existence she could never forgive.

Then, One Fish Three Eats.

First eat: teach women to scam men's money; second eat: turn the deceived men into criminals; third eat: let those criminals kill those happy housewives.

Three fish, three lives. Men's money, men's lives, women's lives. She used the money from the first eat to sustain herself, used the hatred gathered from the second eat to sustain the third eat, and used the bloodshed from the third eat to feed her heart, which had been riddled with holes by her cadets' emotional extortion and moral condemnation. She became the person she hated most, yet she felt she was a "partner of justice."

This is, Enemy and Ally Are One!