Chapter 233: You really are becoming more and more interesting

Natsume Chikage's peripheral vision scanned his surroundings.

The men in black surrounding him all had cold, hard expressions, sunglasses covering their eyes, and burly physiques; just from their steady and ready-to-go standing posture, one could see they were no ordinary characters, clearly having undergone systematic training.

He didn't think he could find a gap to break out under such a siege.

His gaze fell back onto that car.

The one who opened the car door for him was Konoe Hitomi, wearing a maid outfit.

She was born with a deadpan face; although her features were exquisite and cute, this classic maid outfit on her emitted an indescribable, almost contradictory sense of weirdness.

Konoe Hitomi slowly reached out, signaling him to enter the back seat: "Natsume-kun, please come in."

The tone was as flat as a daily greeting, but it caused a clear intuition to quietly rise in Natsume Chikage's heart: it's best not to refuse.

Just at this moment, his phone rang.

It was a call from his sister.

After a slight hesitation, he still answered the call.

【Natsume Ruri: Brother, why did you suddenly disappear? Fujiwara-sister and I can't find you anywhere nearby.】

【Natsume Chikage: I... temporarily met a friend and have some things to deal with. You guys go have dinner first... don't wait for me.】

【Natsume Ruri: Is that so... alright. If you finish early, call me, I'll order some food for you first.】

【Natsume Chikage:... Mm.】

Hanging up the phone, Natsume Chikage stared at the call record with his sister, silent for a moment, put away his phone, and then leaned over to sit into the car.

After entering the car, he found the driver's seat was empty, and just as he felt confused, he saw Konoe Hitomi close the car door for him, then walk straight to the front of the car and sit into the driver's seat—she was actually the driver.

Wasn't she a second-year high school student?

She must be seventeen at most.

In Japan, one must be at least eighteen to get a driver's license!

Questions flashed through his heart.

He saw Konoe Hitomi skillfully start the engine, and the vehicle slid smoothly into the lane.

The entire operation process was so smooth that there wasn't a single superfluous movement; she was clearly an experienced driver.

Natsume Chikage was silent for a long time, finally deciding not to delve into it further.

With the Mido family's unfathomable background and power, letting an underage "maid" drive, even the police would probably choose to turn a blind eye, and perhaps this car itself possessed some kind of privilege.

"Natsume Chikage."

An eerie and cold female voice came from beside him.

Natsume Chikage turned his head.

He saw Mido Orihime tilting her head slightly, her princess-cut long hair reaching her waist sliding down from beside her fair and eerie face with the movement.

Those deep and indifferent eyes stared straight at him like a predator locking onto its prey, bringing a kind of almost substantial heavy sense of oppression.

"Mido-president, is there something you want with me?" Natsume Chikage suppressed the strangeness in his heart and asked in a deep voice.

Mido Orihime acted as if she hadn't heard his question, still maintaining the posture of tilting her head, focusing on examining him.

In her vision, the interior of the carriage was like wriggling, viscous, rotting organs, and the car walls were covered with intertwined and knotted blood vessels, pulsating with the rhythm of the engine.

The air was filled with a pungent smell of decay.

The sky outside the car window was a scarlet color that never faded.

All pedestrians on the side of the road, including Konoe Hitomi who was driving, were just disgusting lumps of meat with limbs, wriggling slowly.

The sounds they made were like countless fingernails continuously scratching a blackboard, sharp and twisted.

However, in this completely deformed and nauseating "world," the only one who maintained a "normal" form and color was Natsume Chikage in front of her.

Mido Orihime had no intention of answering his question at all, just issuing an order in that eerie and indifferent voice:

"Hand, stretch it out."

Natsume Chikage fell into silence, his peripheral vision keenly capturing that in the rearview mirror, Konoe Hitomi's calm black pupils were silently focusing on his every move.

And beside the gear lever at her hand, who knows when, there was an extra Glock 19 pistol emitting a cold, matte light.

That was definitely not a toy or a replica.

In Japan, firearms were under extremely strict control.

There might be rough homemade firearms among the public, but this well-crafted service pistol in front of him completely didn't belong to that category.

It also wasn't the New Nambu M60 revolver commonly equipped by the Japanese police.

That gun had a simple structure and was easy to maintain, suitable for daily security patrols.

The Glock 19, famous for its excellent reliability, concealment, and moderate recoil, was a common choice for many law enforcement agencies and even private security overseas.

Its appearance itself was a silent yet extremely weighty warning.

Natsume Chikage had never liked being in the spotlight, one of the reasons being that excessive attention easily led to unexpected trouble.

Sometimes it led to meeting some very crazy girls.

And this Mido Orihime in front of him was probably the most dangerous and most difficult-to-fathom one he had encountered so far.

He had no choice but to slowly stretch out his hand.

Mido Orihime's expression didn't fluctuate at all, still that inhuman indifference and eeriness.

She raised her fair, soft hand, gently grasped Natsume Chikage's wrist, and guided it in front of her.

From fingertips to arms, she began to slowly stroke, examine, observe, and scrutinize.

That movement didn't carry any emotional temperature, more like a calm scientist inspecting a rare specimen or collection.

Natsume Chikage's five senses, which had just improved yesterday, were feeding back everything with incomparable clarity.

But there wasn't half a ripple in his heart, only a strong sense of incongruity and quietly standing hair.

The soft touch of those fingertips didn't bring warmth, but a kind of horror that felt like being gently sliced by a cold surgical blade, almost like an autopsy.

Just at the moment this thought flashed through his mind, Mido Orihime's movement suddenly changed—she inserted her fingers into his finger gaps, interlocked her fingers with his, raised them to her eyes to examine them carefully for a moment, then released them, continuing that detailed "inspection" from before. ===== CHAPTER 234 =====