Chapter 905: , high-speed frenzy, three-way battle!!

PS: Today I'm planning to watch Niko win the Cologne Major, so I'll post an update first.

On the Shuto Expressway, the pursuit continues.

The Hyogo Prefectural Police's lead car weaves left and right through traffic, with the three vehicles behind following closely!

They can't shake off the Metropolitan Police, but they only need to buy time—enough to break out of Tokyo before the Metropolitan Police complete their interception deployment. Metropolitan Police vehicles close in from behind, with the SIT's black armored vehicle leading the charge, its front bumper less than fifty meters from the rear of the Hyogo Prefectural Police's Toyota HiAce.

Yet, this thirty to fifty meters makes the armored vehicle seem hesitant.

Ram?

If we ram, it's police hitting police—whoever strikes first is in the wrong.

Don't ram?

Then where is the dignity of the Metropolitan Police?

The SIT driver grips the steering wheel, knuckles white, foot on the accelerator, applying just enough pressure to maintain this distance—can't get any closer. The Hyogo Prefectural Police's lead car has already spotted the entrance ramp to the Hanshin Expressway.

Once they turn onto that ramp, they'll leave Tokyo, enter Kanagawa Prefecture, then proceed through Shizuoka, Aichi, Mie, and finally Hyogo. The Metropolitan Police's third vehicle surges forward from the left overtaking lane.

Pulling alongside the Hyogo Prefectural Police's lead car.

The passenger-side window rolls down halfway, a hand extends from inside the vehicle, holding a sign that reads "Stop Seven Predict" — the characters, written in messy handwriting on cardboard and covered with transparent tape, are barely legible.

Megure, the supervising officer, sits in the rear seat of that vehicle, not holding a sign—he's on the phone, calling the commander of the Hyogo Prefectural Police convoy. The call connects.

"I am Megure, Supervising Officer of the First Investigation Division, Metropolitan Police. You have now entered Metropolitan Police jurisdiction. I order you to stop immediately!" The voice on the other end is young, a Kansai-based field commander speaking thick Kansai dialect, so strong it sounds like a foreign language to Tokyo ears: "This is Ayakoji, Special Investigation Team Commander, Megure Supervising Officer. We are the Hyogo Prefectural Police, currently executing an emergency arrest operation. The suspect may flee—we cannot stop. If you have objections, take it up with our chief."

The call ends.

"Baka yarou! Chase! Chase!!!" Megure of the Metropolitan Police is so furious he nearly slams his radio against the windshield.

The driver slams the accelerator, the car lurching forward violently.

Ahead, the Hyogo Prefectural Police's lead car has already turned onto the expressway entrance ramp, the four vehicles' taillights forming a red arc on the curve—like a fleeing fire serpent.

The Metropolitan Police's six vehicles follow closely in single file. Other vehicles on the expressway slow down and yield—some roll down windows to film with phones, others honk.

No one protests—everyone is cheering!

Wow! It's Detective Conan's espionage blockbuster! Everyone, look quick!

Speed and Passion: Tokyo!

Seeyouagain!

Leclerc?

What about our Hamilton and Verstappen?

In Tokyo's morning rush hour traffic, honking comes and goes like watching a ticketless race.

The TV helicopter follows the train convoy from 2,000 meters above ground.

NHK's commentator finally abandons neutrality, voice trembling with uncontainable excitement: "Now both sides' vehicles have entered the expressway! Metropolitan Police vehicles have caught up to the Hyogo Prefectural Police's rear vehicle! The distance between them is extremely close!"

On screen, the front of the SIT's black armored vehicle is nearly touching the rear of the Hyogo Prefectural Police's Toyota HiAce.

Both vehicles exceed 100 km/h, with a gap of less than ten meters.

At this speed, ten meters means less than 0.4 seconds of reaction time.

If either lead vehicle taps the brakes even slightly, a rear-end collision is unavoidable.

Through the rearview mirror, the driver of the Hyogo Prefectural Police's rear vehicle sees the expressionless face behind the SIT armored vehicle's windshield. He looks away, grips the wheel tighter, and presses the accelerator.

He has no choice. As long as they remain within Tokyo's jurisdiction, the Metropolitan Police has the authority to stop them.

He must break out!

The two convoys resemble a snake split in two—the front half desperately fleeing west, the rear half biting down and refusing to let go. Other vehicles on the expressway pull aside to make way.

In social media comment sections, some count down the kilometers until the Hyogo Prefectural Police convoy exits Tokyo. Others place bets on whether the Metropolitan Police can stop them within Tokyo. Others relay real-time traffic updates, telling both sides which roads are jammed and which are clear.

All of Japan watches this pursuit, witnessing the Japanese police system split into two factions on the expressway!

Come on, let's fight it out!

"Father!" Likewise, the two vehicles of the Special Assignment Unit are also on the road, as Minami Ojou-sama calls Watanabe Eiji from her office.

"I know!" Watanabe Eiji, twenty percent calm, immediately calls someone else.

Kanagawa Prefectural Police Headquarters Chief, Kobayashi Shoji.

"Stop the Hyogo Prefectural Police convoy. Do it outside Tokyo—don't do it inside, don't let the Metropolitan Police take the blame!" The Kanagawa Prefectural Police Headquarters Chief hangs up, silent for a moment.

He's a Kantou native!

For the honor of the Bando warriors!

Chief Kobayashi picks up the red phone on his desk and dials the number for the Expressway Traffic Unit's duty room.

"Hanshin Expressway westbound, Kanagawa Prefecture section. Deploy all available checkpoint equipment—stop those police vehicles!"

The duty room falls silent. The other party thinks for a moment, then asks seriously:

"Please, Chief, clarify— which police vehicles are we stopping?"

"Hyogo Prefectural Police!"

The silence in the duty room continues.

"Understood!"

The Kanagawa Prefectural Police Expressway Traffic Unit deploys shortly after the Hyogo Prefectural Police convoy enters the Kanagawa Prefecture border—entire Kanagawa traffic police unit mobilized!

The traffic unit's white motorcycles line up single-file along the Hanshin Expressway emergency lane, blue-and-white lights flashing, resembling a row of nails driven into the pavement under winter sunlight—immovable.

Red checkpoint cones begin placement from the ramp entrance, layered and layered, growing denser and denser—by the toll booth exit, they're so tightly packed even a light vehicle can't squeeze through.

The Hyogo Prefectural Police's lead car is the first to spot the line of cones.

The driver lifts his foot off the accelerator: "We can't get through ahead."

His gaze shifts from the cones to the motorcycles behind them, then to the officers beside them—those officers wear Kanagawa Prefectural Police uniforms, aren't holding signs, just standing there.

The Hyogo Prefectural Police convoy has no choice but to stop.

Four vehicles stopped one after another on the emergency lane of the Hanshin Expressway.

"Stop!!!" Six vehicles from the Metropolitan Police Department also stopped less than two hundred meters behind them.

The first to get out was the driver at the very front of the Hyogo Prefectural Police vehicle convoy.

He was in his early forties, with very short-cropped hair and a thick neck.

He wore a dark blue uniform, the cherry blossoms on his Assistant Police Inspector shoulder boards perfectly aligned, but the uniform on him gave off an air less like a policeman and more like a certain Kansai violent group's young head—ferocious and sinister.

He walked toward the Kanagawa Prefectural Police checkpoint, his leather shoes stepping on the asphalt, each step carrying a certain "I'm not here to beg you to let me pass; I'm here to notify you that I must pass" determination: "Hey! What the hell are you doing, Kora???"

Stepping forward from the Kanagawa Prefectural Police side was a traffic division Police Inspector, in his fifties, with graying hair and a slightly paunchy belly.

He wore no bulletproof vest, carried no gun, and held only a traffic violation notice in his hand: "You cannot pass through here!" "Which unit are you from?"

"Which unit are you from, you damn bastards?"

The two men stood face to face beside the traffic cone, heads nearly touching, the distance between their noses less than half a meter.

The Hyogo Prefectural Police commander spoke first, his Kansai accent so thick that the Tokyo reporters on site needed to look at real-time subtitles.

"We are the Hyogo Prefectural Police, currently executing an emergency arrest mission. The suspect is in the vehicle, and we must immediately take him back to Kobe. Please make way!"

The Kanagawa Prefectural Police Inspector did not retreat, lowered his head, and wrote a line on the traffic violation notice, tore it off, and handed it over: "Speeding. Vehicle registration, driver's license."

The Hyogo Prefectral Police commander lowered his gaze to look at the violation notice, then lifted his head to look at the face of the Kanagawa Prefectural Police Inspector.

In an instant, more officers poured out of the vehicles on the Hyogo Prefectural Police side—some in uniform, some in bulletproof vests, some in plain clothes but with handguns at their waists.

They surged out simultaneously from the four vehicles, like a nest of hornets that had been stabbed.

The people from the Metropolitan Police Department side also moved.

Over a dozen people jumped down from the black armored vehicle of the SIT.

They wore black combat uniforms, black helmets, held no long rifles but had their pistol holsters unbuckled at the waist; the plainclothes detectives of Investigation Division 1 rushed out from the rear vehicles, some still holding handcuffs, some holding up their Metropolitan Police Department badges, some holding nothing but their entire bodies already in the state of "I can strike you at any moment."

Three groups, three colors.

The deep blue of Hyogo Prefectural Police, the black of Metropolitan Police Department SIT, the light blue of Kanagawa Prefectural Police.

The three colors collided on the emergency lane of the expressway—shoulder against shoulder, chest against chest, hand pushing hand.

"Make way!"

"On what grounds are you stopping us?"

"Don't move!"

"Someone's touching my magic pills!"

"You Kansai brat, this is Kantou!"

"We're conducting an investigation here!"

The television helicopter hovered in the sky, broadcasting live, sending this all into thousands of homes.

The guests in the live stream had already abandoned any serious analysis.

"This is nothing short of a yakuza brawl."

"The faces of the Japanese police have been completely lost."

"Souda Sosuke must be terribly confused in the car, right?"

"Souda War?"

On Twitter's trending list, "East Army vs West Army" remained in first place, "brawl" surged to second, and "yakuza police" rose to third.

In the comment section, netizens' excitement had already reached a level requiring medical intervention.

"I've lived this many years, and this is the first time I've seen police fighting police."

"Souda Sosuke: I'm just a baseball player."

"East Army vs West Army, this Battle of Sekigahara I've waited four hundred years for—have you forgotten the grace of Lord Taikō? Brothers, follow Lord Ieyasu and charge, gnashing your teeth!"

"Hyogo Prefectural Police: The person is mine. Metropolitan Police Department: The person is mine. Kanagawa Prefectural Police: The road is mine."

"Today's battle will determine the hegemony of the Japanese police!"

"Is justice with the East Army or the West Army? Justice lies with the television station that has the highest ratings."

"Where is Uesugi? Where is Uesugi?"

"Quick look! Uesugi has come! Enemy lines breached! Justice is with the East Army! War God Kogayakawa has descended from the mountain!"

A black Toyota Camry squeezed out from the gaps in the traffic flow and stopped at the edge of the three groups.

The car door slid open, and Uesugi Muneyuki stepped out of the vehicle.

Everyone looked at him, while Uesugi Muneyuki then took out his Huawei 11 Proma Cobalt Blue, extended it: "Who answers the phone?" "Whose phone?" Megure Keishi, who was familiar with Uesugi Muneyuki, spoke in a low voice.

"It's Commissioner Watanabe's."

The person in charge at the scene from Hyogo Prefectural Police, Inspector Ayakoji, answered the phone, heard Watanabe Eiji's voice, fell silent for a moment, then transferred the call to Chief Ikeda.

"Commissioner Watanabe, this is Ikeda. Do you want me to release the person? We arrested him, you Kantou people came running to snatch him. The person is ours we arrested, the case is ours we handled—on what grounds do you act?"

Watanabe Eiji's voice came from the earpiece, calm as if delivering a weather forecast.

"Chief Ikeda, you may take the person. I'll give you the interrogation rights. But there is one condition."

"What condition?"

"Uesugi Muneyuki. Special Mission Division. They want to participate in the investigation. Autopsy rights, investigative rights, crime scene examination rights. You give them, you can take the person. You don't give them, I will now let the Kanagawa Prefectural Police block your convoy on the expressway until it's dark. See if your vehicle runs out of fuel first, or if my media first turns your Hyogo Prefectural Police's cross-jurisdictional enforcement into a front-page headline."

Chief Ikeda fell silent for a moment. His silence on the phone was like a rubber band being slowly stretched, tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment: "Autopsy rights? Investigative rights? Examination rights? Special Mission Division coming to Kansai?"

"Special Mission Division going to Kansai."

Chief Ikeda's breathing in the earpiece became coarse, he was thinking about how to refuse.

He quickly realized he seemed unable to refuse.

"Watanabe, autopsy rights, investigative rights, examination rights. All acceptable. But there is one condition: the Special Mission Division personnel coming to Kansai cannot command our operations, cannot interfere with our interrogation, cannot steal our achievements in front of the media."

"Can do."

The phone was hung up.

The three groups each took a step back.

The Hyogo Prefectural Police officers withdrew from the pushing and shoving, straightened their disheveled uniforms, and picked up the hats that had fallen to the ground.

The Metropolitan Police Department SIT personnel retreated to the side of the black armored vehicle, and the Kanagawa Prefectural Police traffic unit began collecting the red cones, stacking them one by one into the trunk of the patrol car.

When Souda Sosuke was escorted out of the black Nissan sedan, his eyes were still covered with that black cloth.

He didn't know where he was, didn't know what had happened outside just now, only knew the car had been stopped for a long time, much longer than expected. Two Hyogo Prefectural Police officers, one on his left and one on his right, held his arms and shoved him into another vehicle.

"Wait a moment."

Uesugi Muneyuki's voice came from beside him.

The two officers' hands paused for a moment, Souda Sosuke's body swayed slightly in that pause, and he heard that voice. He had heard that voice many times, on the variety show and television drama of Hand of God.

It was Uesugi Muneyuki, the one who said he played basketball like LeBron; James's person. The one who said he was Managing Director G0AT. The one he had hated for months, the one who made him break down in front of the entire nation.

"Uesugi Muneyuki wants to speak with you. Just a few minutes." The Hyogo Prefectural Police officer brought Souda Sosuke to a secluded spot, an empty space beneath the elevated Tokyo Metropolitan Expressway.

Above was the traffic flow of the Hanshin Expressway, below was the dry drainage ditch. The two officers retreated to a distance, standing at the entrance, their backs to them. Uesugi Muneyuki stood in front of Souda Sosuke, the distance between them not exceeding two meters.

After Souda Sosuke's eyes adjusted to the light without the cloth, he saw Uesugi Muneyuki.

That face, in the winter sunlight, was stern and aloof, with no extra expression. He looked at Uesugi Muneyuki, the corner of his mouth twitching, that kind of self-mockery when driven into a corner, discovering that the person standing before him was the one he least wanted to see, yet he had to turn to him for help. "Uesugi Muneyuki. What do you want? Come to laugh at my joke?"

"Was it you who killed the person?"

Souda Sosuke's lips were trembling.

"No. The person was not killed by me. I did not kill her. I did not kill anyone! I was only looking for her, looking for her………"

"What are you looking for her for?" Uesugi Muneyuki frowned tightly.

"I…."

"Speak up! How can I help you if you don't speak???"

"I… I… well." Souda Sosuke painfully covered his head: "Well, I'll speak."

"It's all your fault, Uesugi Muneyuki! It's all because of you!"

"Actually, I and Reika……"