Chapter 837

The arrest of Night Come Hui caused a huge uproar in Japanese society.

This content involves too many TAGs: gender conflict, radical feminism, financial fraud, online hatred, mass murder, serial crimes, organized crime, social morality, safety of single women, male laborers and female reproductive machines, offline lectures, cross-jurisdiction enforcement, entrapment enforcement.

After Uesugi Muneyuki finished capturing people and felt satisfied, the cleanup naturally fell to Watanabe Eiji and Uesugi Minami here.

This is also why Uesugi Muneyuki is willing to be manipulated: often, solving the case is just the beginning, and the follow-up work is the main burden, but with Minami and them handling the aftermath, he only needs to submit a report and doesn't have to worry about anything else.

On the third day after Night Come Hui's arrest, the curtains in the National Police Agency Commissioner's Office had been drawn since 9 a. m.

The south-facing windows looked out onto Sakuradamon and the distant Imperial Palace; on weekdays, Commissioner Watanabe Eiji liked to open the curtains to let sunlight in, shining on his wide redwood desk, illuminating the medals and commendations he collected, as well as horse racing memorabilia kept as mementos.

But today was not possible.

The matter to be discussed today must not be lip-read by anyone.

Watanabe Eiji sat behind his desk, fifty-three years old, with a few nearly invisible white hairs at his temples, but his hair remained thick and combed into a neat pompadour; he wore a deep navy-blue Commissioner's uniform, with a medal ribbon on his chest and cherry blossom shoulder boards that flashed a subdued light under the indoor lighting. The uniform was pressed without a single wrinkle, and even the cuff buttons were fastened tightly.

Compared to the earlier incident involving U. S. Lieutenant Colonel Morante, Watanabe Eiji appeared much more composed this time, or perhaps the various explosive major cases of recent years had already numbed him; instead, he felt this nationwide serial mass murder case was actually tolerable.

Eight people sat on either side of the long table before him: the Criminal Investigation Department Chief, the Police Affairs Department Chief, the Organized Crime Countermeasures Bureau Chief, the General Affairs Department Head, the Metropolitan Police Deputy Superintendent, and three district police superintendents each overseeing different regions.

Before each person lay a thick document, its cover printed with the words "Top Secret".

The air in the room was so heavy it seemed about to solidify; no one drank coffee, no one turned pages, everyone waited for the Commissioner to speak.

Watanabe Eiji's gaze swept across each person's face, finally settling on the Criminal Investigation Department Chief's face.

"What is the current state of public opinion on the Night Come Hui case?"

The Criminal Investigation Department Chief cleared his throat, opened his notebook in front of him: "Commissioner, public opinion has basically reversed. Initially, the negative opinion in the first four hours mainly criticized our cross-jurisdiction enforcement; it began to subside in the second hour after information disclosure, and after twenty-four hours, the proportion of negative opinion dropped from seventy-three percent to twelve percent. Currently, the mainstream opinion is sympathy for the victims and condemnation of the perpetrator. But there is one issue…" He paused, seemingly choosing his words.

"Speak."

"Night Come Hui used labels like 'female independence' and 'female awakening' to package her criminal system. This label has many supporters on social media—not supporters of murder, but supporters of the core idea that 'women should not be bound by marriage and family.' Her arrest has been interpreted by some as 'the male-led Metropolitan Police suppressing women's voices.' Although this voice is currently small, it cannot be ruled out that certain forces might exploit it."

"Moreover, the case details involve a large amount of hate crime content targeting married housewives; if mishandled, it could trigger conflict between 'married women' and 'unmarried women,' potentially escalating into a broader gender war."

Watanabe Eiji fell silent for a few seconds. His fingers lightly tapped twice on the desk surface.

"Therefore, this case must be handled discreetly." He said, his voice not loud, but each word carried an undeniable weight: "The scope of disclosed information must be limited to 'already published facts.' No expansion, no deep digging, no giving media opportunities to create explosive points. All follow-up investigations will go through internal channels, with no press conferences held externally.

For media inquiries, we will uniformly reply: 'Under investigation, not convenient to disclose.'"

"Commissioner," the Organized Crime Countermeasures Bureau Chief raised his hand: "The victims' families might have objections. Seventeen victims, distributed across different prefectures, and some family members have already begun contacting the media."

Watanabe Eiji glanced at him; in that glance there was no impatience, only a kind of 'Do I really have to teach you this?' indifference.

Stability maintenance is something bureaucrats are naturally adept at, and handling major mass movements and major public opinion incidents even more so has several mature approaches. For example, avoid the real and strike the false: when everyone is focused on the mass murder, key reporting pretends to be about socially idle civil servant examinees jogging near the scene—Maeda Toshihide and Date Nagamune—calling it something like 'Most Beautiful Walker.'

For example, enforce rumor control: when everyone claims Night Come Hui made 100 million yen yearly selling courses to women, the police come out to debunk it, saying it's untrue, the actual amount being 9,995,000 yen.

Again, for example, cold treatment: citing 'personal privacy' and 'follow-up investigation' as reasons to forcibly take offline all 'false' reports. Or, as another example, let minor criticism bring major help: let some self-media attack the Special Mission Division police, say they used 'rough' force, breaking eighteen ribs total among those five men, demand compensation, demand suspension and self-criticism, provoke online outrage and mobbing, thereby diverting attention. If all else fails, learn from South Koreans: go to the entertainment industry and create a big explosive point—for instance, the South Korean Prosecutors' Office actually has lots of explosive material on the entertainment industry hidden all along; clever Seoul prosecutors and Prosecutor General Yoon Kakka, when facing unavoidable thorny problems, just throw out one or two, instantly shifting attention. Public attention to any matter generally does not exceed two weeks; they have too many things to be angry about, and their energy is limited.

"The work with victims' families will be handled by each prefectural police headquarters respectively. Tell them the case is already solved, the perpetrator has been caught, and the rest is just legal procedure. Compensation issues go through the crime victim relief system. Media interviews are advised to be politely declined. If family members insist on speaking to the media, that is also their right—but we must ensure they say nothing we prohibit them from saying."

His fingers stopped tapping.

"This case, so far, the greatest merit is capturing the suspect, the greatest risk is losing control of public opinion. Hold the line, keep risk at minimum. This is my only request of you."

The meeting room echoed with uneven "yes" responses and nodding motions.

Watanabe Eiji said no more unnecessary words, waved his hand, signaling dismissal.

The eight people stood up silently like a receding tide, filed out in single file, and when the last person closed the door, the door lock emitted a soft "click," like a kind of judgment.

Watanabe Eiji sat alone in the office, the curtains still drawn, sunlight blocked outside, only a lamp on the desk casting a small dim yellow glow. He took out a document from the drawer, its cover printed with "Police Integrity Personnel Xunqin (Planned); Next Year April Gui Ling".

This was something he had just obtained this morning—leaked from within the National Police Agency, unconfirmed but highly credible.

His gaze fell on a certain position on the third page, where a name and a position were written.

"Police Commissioner General; Watanabe Eiji".

April next year.

Less than five months away.

His finger lightly pressed on the four characters "Watanabe Eiji", his fingertip repeatedly sliding, confirming the name was truly there, confirming this position would indeed be his in five months.

Watanabe Eiji's heart had been pounding violently.

He knew how hard-won this position was.

His father and uncle had died when he was in his early forties; becoming Commissioner was already the limit.

But thanks to Uesugi Muneyuki, he not only served another term as Commissioner, and now he is set to become Commissioner General.

But, but…… thinking of this, Watanabe Eiji sniffed, nearly bursting into tears.

I've had it so hard!

Am I easy or not? In my four-year term as Commissioner, the outrageous cases that erupted exceed the total of the past twenty years combined! Every time I trusted Uesugi Muneyuki, I treated this as my final gamble as Commissioner!

Every time I treated it as the last round, and then I didn't fear losing!

But if I really lost, he'd be finished!

My life has been like walking on thin ice—do you think I can make it to the other side?

Watanabe Eiji finally made it there.

But now the problem is not "whether I can reach the Commissioner General position," but "what to do after reaching that position"? He turned to the back pages of the document, which contained a handwritten, densely packed list.

A list he himself compiled over two months: current holders, terms, backgrounds, factions, and most importantly, whether they are "our people" within the entire Japanese police system.

Under the three characters "our people," he drew a red line, then circled about ten names with a red pen—these ten or so people are those he intends to place in key positions within the next five months.

The Commissioner General position, if lacking one's own people distributed across key departments, is merely an empty shell.

Issuing orders is easy; making them executed is hard.

And most importantly.

He turned to another page, where blue ink wrote: "Special Mission Division; transfer to National Police Agency".

Special Mission Division.

The Metropolitan Police Department's ace unit, the most elite investigative team in the Japanese police system, the Japanese police's ultimate weapon—Uesugi Muneyuki is here.

Moving the entire department from the Metropolitan Police Department to the National Police Agency, he gained at the highest level of the National Police Agency an elite force that could be directly commanded, without needing to look at any prefectural police's face or go through any intermediate steps.

But the problem is, broadly speaking, the Special Mission Division is an asset of the Metropolitan Police Department, not Watanabe Eiji's private belongings.

Moving the Special Mission Division from the Metropolitan Police Department to the National Police Agency means taking from the hands of the current Director General of the National Police Agency, Onoda Kimiaki—who will be the next Superintendent General—his most valuable treasure.

And as compensation, he must, after Onoda Kimiaki assumes the post of Superintendent General, hand over part of his personnel approval authority, allowing the other side to place his own people in key positions within the Metropolitan Police Department.

Onoda Kimiaki.

Current Director General of the National Police Agency, who will assume the post of Superintendent General in five months.

And what truly pressures Watanabe Eiji is not Onoda Kimiaki himself, but his older brother—Chief Cabinet Secretary Onoda Kimiaki. This is the final hurdle.

He must negotiate with Onoda Kimiaki.

He has Uesugi Muneyuki, he has Uesugi Minami, he has actual control of the Special Mission Division and his political achievements over these four years, which are immensely vast and nearly invincible. Onoda Kimiaki has nominal authority over the Special Mission Division, he has actual control over the resources of the Public Security Police system, and he also has, as Chief Cabinet Secretary, the possibility of becoming the next Prime Minister through his elder brother.

He has what Onoda Kimiaki wants, Onoda Kimiaki has what he wants, the two sit down, lay out their chips on the table, then each takes what they can take, each leaves what they must leave.

Politics is like this: the majority approves, the minority opposes; politics is like this—if one hasn't learned compromise and betrayal, one doesn't deserve to play. The meeting place is naturally arranged at a ryotei.

After all, ryotei politics is part of the Japanese system, one must partake.

This is the final tower opening!

Watanabe Eiji took a deep breath, picked up the phone.

"Onoda Kanchoukanbou... regarding the future of the entire Japanese police..."