The BGM from the CD system, bolted crudely to the wall to save precious floor space, had stopped. Since there were no customers, the room remained in total silence.
Alisa, on the late shift, threw a dart with a careless flick of her wrist and spoke to Marina, who was on the early shift.
“Nasty weather lately, isn’t it, Marina-chan?”
“It’s been dead quiet all day.”
“Looks like the night shift will be the same.”
“Yeah, doesn’t look like the rain’s going to let up.”
It was that season where typhoons arrived one after another. The autumn rains would eventually turn into winter showers. Since the manager was away, Marina skipped her quota of tissue distribution and spent a while listening to the rain drumming against the window, feeling the subtle shift of the seasons.
Alisa eventually grew bored with the darts. Marina, feeling the need to bridge the silence, decided to initiate a conversation.
“When it’s this quiet, don’t you send sales emails or text on LINE?”
“Nope,” Alisa denied flatly. “I hate that stuff.”
Yikes. Marina wondered how to handle the awkwardness, but decided to push further. “Can I ask you something I’ve been curious about?”
“Go ahead.”
“Um. How much time and money do you spend every day on your hair? The salons and aesthetics must cost a fortune.”
“It’s free.”
“What?”
“I do it all myself.”
“Really?”
“I have a licensed cosmetologist’s certificate.”
As expected of a First-Class Maid. To even have a professional license—she was the real deal.
“You can actually do your own hair?”
“I can.” Alisa gave Marina a sidelong glance, seeing her bewildered expression. “Listen, the manager told you that you don’t have to worry so much about your looks or makeup, right? We’re not hostesses. You can just be yourself. I just wear this because I like it. This hair—believe it or not—is all natural.”
“That’s amazing.”
“I use extensions for the lashes, though. You should just do whatever you want.”
So, Alisa’s Gothic Lolita style was purely a personal hobby. Then, Alisa turned the question around.
“Did any customers come in while you were alone?”
“Yeah. A few.”
“What kind of customers come out in weather like this?”
“A group of three students.”
“Anyone else?”
“That was it.”
“Just them?”
“Yeah.”
“Were they otaku?”
“The students? Yeah, probably. They had backpacks and wore checkered shirts. They said they were here to buy electronic components, like LEDs and microcontrollers.”
“Classic otaku.”
“And then they asked, ‘This is a café, right?’ and I told them, ‘As you can see, it’s a perfectly normal café.’
Then they asked how much it costs, so I asked them how much they were willing to pay. They asked to see the menu, and after some back-and-forth, I told them, ‘Why not the thousand-yen cake set? That’s three thousand for the three of you.’ They asked, ‘Exactly three thousand?’ and I said, ‘Yes, tax included.’ They agreed to that.”
“Heh. You’re surprisingly tough with the customers, Marina-chan.”
“Am I? I’m just being fair. Transparent accounting.”
“Weren’t they scared?”
“Not really. But they couldn’t even decide on their order. They just dawdled for fifteen minutes; it was infuriating.”
Marina went on, “Then, while they were poking at their cakes, they started whispering among themselves. Suddenly, they got all fidgety and asked, ‘Do you have handshake tickets?’ I was like, ‘Excuse me?’ and they explained that if you buy a lot of CDs from AKB, you get a ticket to shake hands with the idols. So I asked, ‘Does that mean you want to shake hands with me?’ Their eyes went wide, they looked at each other, and then they said yes. I told them, ‘I’m new here, so I’m not sure if I’m allowed to shake hands with customers. I’ll ask the manager, so come back later.’ They mumbled something about the bill and left immediately.”
“For a rookie, you’ve got a decent handle on the customers. Those guys won’t be back. They were just window-shopping; ignore them. First of all, as a rule, customers shouldn’t touch the staff—and staff shouldn’t touch the customers. If you do that in this shop, it’s a violation of the Adult Entertainment Law. You heard that, right? You can’t sit next to customers unless the shop has a specific permit.”
“I heard, I heard.”
“AKB’s handshakes are probably in a gray zone, but you see authors do it at book signings all the time. Since AKB are technically artists, shaking hands after buying a signed CD is barely acceptable by social standards. Well, I’m no expert on the law.”
“I haven’t heard of handshake tickets in maid cafés, but in Akihabara, they probably do it at ‘underground idol’ events. Signings, handshake sessions. Some maid cafés might even do photo sessions, or sell ‘Cheki’ tickets and lotteries.”
“Cheki tickets? Cheki lotteries?”
“You take a two-shot photo with a maid using an instant camera, develop it on the spot, and the customer buys the film. That’s a Cheki.”
“Instant camera? Like a Polaroid?”
“Not exactly, but the principle is the same.”
Underground idols, maids, hosts, hostesses, sex work… Marina realized they were all slightly different, yet overlapping, with plenty of gray zones in between.
“Hmph. If they wanted a handshake, they should have just courageously invited me to a movie. Then I might have considered it.”
“Haha. Do you really think such kind of boys could darely come to Akihabara maid café? Look, they come to Akihabara with high hopes, but shaking hands with a real AKB member is a high hurdle—it costs a lot, requires reservations, and the dates are fixed. So, they drift into places like maid cafés hoping for a substitute. And often, the girls working here are the ones who wanted to get into AKB but didn’t make the cut.
AKB hopefuls, or rather, AKB washouts.”
“Is that what ‘underground idols’ are?”
“Hmm. People call the ones on TV ‘above-ground idols,’ but the actual activities aren’t that different. It’s like a first-string and a second-string. Some rise from the underground to the surface. Others lose popularity and sink back down. The service, the business model, and the character settings just keep escalating in the extreme.
Luise, for some reason—maybe the owner’s wish—remains relatively wholesome.”
“I only do wholesome work. I’m not working as a maid because I’m an idol hopeful.”
“I can tell just by looking at you. In fact, I want to ask: why is a girl like you working in a place like this?”
“Because the company that hired me went bankrupt, and I have no money until I find the next one.”
“Still, you’re doing a job that doesn’t pay well, even though it’s not your hobby.”
“Ugh. But I’m a little interested in it!”
“Really?”
“And the hourly pay isn’t bad, is it?”
“Don’t sell yourself so cheap, young lady.”
“What about you, Alisa-san?” Marina forced the conversation away from herself. If she talked too much, she might let something slip.
“My First-Class Maid certification isn’t just for show. I’ve been on this path for a long time. Even the manager respects me.”
“Isn’t it just for the money?”
“No. It’s a complete hobby. A hobby-turned-side-job. Or rather, the hobby is the main job, and the main job is a side-job for survival. Wait, I’m confusing myself.”
“You have a main job?”
“…Technically. Though they never last long.”
“What is it now?”
“I told you, don’t ask!”
Alisa bared her teeth, furrowed her brow, and flexed her claws. Wow. Marina suddenly felt a strange urge to be bitten. Am I a masochist?
“Yes, ma’am…”
I don’t quite get it, Marina thought, but she loves being a maid and does it for fun, even though it doesn’t pay. She has a separate professional life for income, but it’s unstable and she keeps it secret. She’s a person who lives for her passion.
“By the way, is the manager trusting of you, Alisa-san?”
“Of course he is.”
As I thought, Alisa might be a key figure in Luise. Highly suspicious.
“Anyway, the AKB-wannabes and the AKB-fans-who-can’t-afford-the-real-thing actually get along pretty well in these cafés. The manager and owner turn a blind eye if a girl gives a handshake to a customer, as long as the other customers don’t notice. What they do outside the shop is their own business.”
“You could have been an AKB member yourself, Alisa-san. Maybe you were a member back in the day?”
“You’re good at flattery. No way. Besides, I hate being in a pack, belonging to an agency, or being tied down by management. I’m more of a ‘high-consciousness’ independent maid.”
“Heh. ‘High-consciousness,’ huh.”
I’ve never met someone who describes themselves as ‘high-consciousness’ before.
“Is Luise actually a decent maid café?”
“What do you mean by ‘decent’?”
“Like, does it run a sex business on the side? Or procure prostitution?”
“Why on earth are you asking me that?”
“No particular reason.”
“Did you hear a rumor somewhere?”
“Yeah. A little.”
“I’ve heard the rumors too. But from what I’ve seen, there’s no shadow business. Some girls might take customers out on their own, but that happens in any shop. It’s just girls doing their own thing. It’s true that a few mentally unstable girls might follow a customer to a karaoke box and sleep with them. Some fall for handsome hosts. But if the shop finds out, they’re fired immediately. Luise has nothing to do with it.”
Marina was surprised by Alisa’s definitive denial. It completely contradicted Kudo’s projection.
“Speaking of which, I was almost hit on by a host named Hiroshi from Templeton.”
“Templeton? Oh, I know it. That butler café that’s started getting popular recently.”
“Butler café?”
“Maid cafés are women serving men. Butler cafés are men serving women.”
“Ah. So it’s a roleplay where the butler serves the mistress with utmost devotion.”
“Exactly. They act out a forbidden love between a princess and her servant. Templeton claims to be a British royal-style tea house, but in reality, it’s a cosplay bar targeting fujoshi. It’s apparently a sister shop of Luise.”
“Heh. So it’s part of our group.”
“The target audience is different. They open different genres of shops to satisfy the diverse tastes of customers. That’s how the adult industry works. Some like ‘loli,’ some like ‘shota.’ The essence of otaku is fragmentation. When customers try to be true to their inner desires and shops pursue profit according to market principles, this naturally happens. Japan has been like this since the Edo period. It’s just matching through marketing. Surveying niche needs and creating services. That’s the adult industry.”
“You really have a lot to say about this, Alisa-nee-san. Does that come up in the First-Class Maid exam?”
“Of course. A top-tier maid needs to understand marketing.”
“Are you aiming for the manager’s seat? Planning to go independent and open your own place?”
“Don’t be silly. I’m not cut out to be a business owner. Don’t misunderstand—I purely love cosplay. I’m a pure cosplay otaku. I work in a maid café because it allows me to turn my hobby into a job. Thanks to that, I’ve picked up all sorts of knowledge. As they say, mastering one art leads to mastering all.”
“That’s deep, sister.”
“But I have no interest in sexual play. The idea of men and women doing that using cosplay as a theme… it actually gives me the creeps. Costumes are sacred; the meaning is in becoming the character, whether it’s orthodox or perverted. For me, using a costume as foreplay is heresy.”
“Hmph. So you’re not interested in men. Maybe you like women?”
“Don’t say weird things. I’m a perfectly normal woman. I can fall for a man. But my otaku hobbies and my taste in men are separate. I’d be troubled if someone fell for me just because of my cosplay. In fact, I think most people hide their hobbies from the men they actually like. Do you understand now, Marina-chan?”
“Yeeees.”
As the cosplay talk seemed likely to drag on, Marina steered the conversation back. “So, do you know this host, Hiroshi?”
“No. Is he some famous cosplayer?”
“Who knows. Maybe his look is a kind of cosplay. He talked to me while I was distributing tissues.”
“What’s he like?”
“I’ve only met him twice. The first time he looked like a typical host—brown hair and flashy clothes. The second time, he had black hair and was dressed as a magician.”
“What is that? There are tons of guys like that in Akihabara. Magic shows are a staple in host clubs, not just at Templeton. What, did you fall for him?”
“No way. A shallow guy like that. Just a joke.”
” ‘Just a joke’ (jodan-poi)? You use some really old-fashioned phrasing sometimes.”
“I do?”
“Only old men talk like that these days.”
“Maybe it’s the influence of my father or grandfather.”
“Hmph.”
I see. So the Luise group runs all these different shops. Marina realized she was learning something new. wonder who the owner is.
“Say, Alisa-san, have you ever seen the owner of Luise?”
“Once, directly. During the renovation of this shop.”
“What’s their name?”
“Catherine.”
“A female owner? Or a mistress?”
“I don’t know. But she said she was the owner. Anyway, in shops where Catherine is involved, there’s no sign of illegal adult entertainment. No unauthorized shadow business. Completely clean. As a First-Class Maid, I can tell you it’s a fact.”
Alisa is surprisingly talkative, Marina thought. She seems open to talking about anything except her private life.
“Um… I’ve been wondering. That jewelry… is it real?”
Alisa laughed. “Cosplay always feels a bit fake, right? But if you subtly wear real accessories—a necklace, earrings, a watch—it suddenly adds a layer of reality. Just a single point, though. If you spend money on everything, it becomes tacky. Some people are fine with the fiction, but I want to follow the royal road. You should try it, Marina-chan.”
“I will. I can’t spend much, but I’ll try.”
So Alisa’s Gothic Lolita and jewelry aren’t gifts from a patron—they’re her own obsession.
“By the way, ” Arisa asked, “you have beautiful hands. Do you do anything for your nails?”
“No, nothing.”
“I love it. Being young. I could almost eat them with mayonnaise and ketchup.”
Alisa stroked Marina’s hand for a while. Wait, is Alisa a lesbian? the suspicion swirled in Marina’s mind.
“Marina-chan, you do some kind of martial arts, don’t you?”
“Eh?”
“Your movements aren’t normal. And touching your hand… my intuition became a conviction.”
“Oh, you can tell, Alisa-san?”
“Of course. When you shake hands, you can tell immediately if the other person is a fighter.”
Damn. So that was it. The vague dissonance Marina felt toward Alisa was because Alisa was also a martial artist. She didn’t know the discipline, but she knew.
“Let me guess… Aikido, right, Marina-chan?”
“You’re very good.”
“I did Aikido for a while. You’re strange, by the way. Your posture is too straight. Your chin is tucked too far.
And the moment you enter a room, you emit a ‘ki’ as if you’re bowing to a family altar.”
“Really? I didn’t notice at all.”
“What dan are you?”
“Third dan. I’m taking the test for fourth dan next year.”
“Wow, look at you!”
I’m hopeless. Marina realized her aura was leaking so badly that anyone with a trained eye could spot her. She was an undercover agent, yet she couldn’t even hide her presence. Hiding one’s ‘ki’ is also part of Aikijutsu.
She was still an amateur. She suddenly remembered Professor Nakayama’s favorite line: “Aikido is Love.” Not that it’s relevant here.
Alisa seemed to see through everything. If Alisa is one of Sasai’s people, I’ve already been flagged. Was the mission a failure?
But Alisa didn’t smell like a criminal. If anything, she felt like the same kind of person as Marina. There was a straight line of integrity running through her.
“What dan are you in Aikido, Alisa-san?”
“I’m too fickle. I just dabble in things and never master anything. Let’s see… I was second dan in Kendo before my second year of high school, and then…”
Suddenly, Alisa reached her hand into Marina’s crotch.
Marina was caught off guard. Alisa’s hand speed was incredible.
“What’s this?”
“Um. A model gun for my hobby. And handcuffs.”
Probationary Officer Keiko Yamashita had undergone basic firearms training, but she wasn’t permitted to carry a real gun yet. Instead, she carried a resin replica in a garter belt to get her body used to the weight of a weapon.
She kept the handcuffs because some civilians carried them as a hobby, so it wouldn’t look out of place. Plus, she might need them for an arrest. Carrying zip-ties instead would make her look too much like a pro.
As Marina resigned herself and relaxed her muscles, Alisa pulled out the handcuffs and the model gun and placed them on the table with a clunk.
“Hahaha. Planning on some cosplay, Marina-chan?”
“Something like that, Alisa-onee-sama.”
“Hmm. A semi-auto concealed carry.” Alisa handled the weapon with practiced ease, racking the slide and removing the magazine.
“Wow. This is great. Model guns are the best. I love this mechanical feel.”
“Beretta Nano. 9mm. Cute, right? With the pink and black two-tone color.”
“I hear many female police officers carry this kind of gun as a backup.”
Marina flinched again. Does Alisa see everything?
“The trigger is deep and heavy,” Alisa said, pulling the trigger slowly. Click. A dry fire.
“Yeah.”
“Double-action. The polymer frame and flashy colors make it look like a toy, but it’s as heavy and solid as the real thing. Heh. The details are exquisite.”
“You’re very knowledgeable, sister.”
Marina struggled to hide her agitation.
“These props are essentials for cosplay. You naturally become an expert. Hey, want to go to a shop together sometime?”
“Sure. We are in Akihabara, after all.”
“For military gear, Ameyoko in Ueno is famous, but there are good shops in Akihabara too. A hidden gem run by a guy who once got arrested for violating the Swords and Firearms Law and had his shop shut down. A total psycho.”
“Haha. Sounds dangerous.”
“He always wears a Marine Corps cap. You can tell by his eyes—he’s the real deal,” Arisa added, “but if you have a hobby like that, you should have told the manager. Why don’t we do some cosplay together? Like ‘Mini-Skirt Cops.’ You’re probably bored of being a maid. We could transfer to a shop like that. I’ll talk to the manager for you.”
“Eh… I don’t know about that.” Moving to an affiliate shop was within the realm of possibility, though.
“Think about it. I’m totally down.”
But no one would ever suspect a girl in a mini-skirt police costume of being an actual cop, Marina thought.
Even if her aura leaked, she could just say she was a hardcore enthusiast. It might actually be a perfect cover.
Marina punched her timecard, waved goodbye to Alisa, and called Kudo.
“So, it turns out Alisa might have figured out my identity. She could be Sasai’s watchdog or his mistress. Or maybe she’s a fellow agent—an undercover cop? Tax office? Public Security? She seems to have a main job she can’t talk about. Hey, Kudo-san, can’t you check her through your police contacts?”
“Hmm. I don’t know. Even if the police know, if she’s Public Security for counter-terrorism, or under the jurisdiction of the National Tax Agency, the Ministry of Defense, or the Cabinet Intelligence and Research Office, they won’t tell me. Even if it’s a First Division case, they might not tell you.”
“Is it really like that? That’s so distant.”
“It can’t be helped. I’m an outsider. You’re a rookie. It’s actually easier that way. Just do what you can.”
“I guess.”
“You just have to trust your instincts and keep associating with her. Right?”
“I suppose so.”
A few days later, Marina and Alisa were both on the late shift.
“Shall we walk to the station together? It’s dangerous for a woman alone.”
“Sure.”
The two changed out of their maid uniforms in the locker room and exited through the back door.
“Let me stop by somewhere first.”
Using a keycard, Alisa entered a private vault room of a certain bank located in the UDX building complex.
“Should I wait outside?”
“No. Come inside. It’s safer.”
Inside was a small private booth with an ATM-like device. While Alisa entered the code on the keypad, Marina looked away. A steel case was automatically delivered, and Alisa opened it with a key.
“I’ve never been to a place like this.”
“Really? Safe deposit boxes have become very convenient now, fully automated.”
When the lid opened, a black leather notebook emerged.
“Do you know what this is?”
Alisa opened the notebook and held it up to Marina’s eyes. It was a National Tax Agency Investigator’s Badge—a Marusa notebook. It looked authentic.
“Would you mind accompanying me voluntarily?”
The name written there was likely Alisa’s real name: Arisa Takenaka.
It felt like a joke. Alisa was a Marusa agent.
“What? I mean… me? Accompany you?”
“Marina-chan. You are suspected of tax evasion. Also, forgery of official documents and falsification of your background. You are not Marina Misaki. Your real name is Keiko Yamashita.”
“Tax investigators don’t have the power to arrest.”
“But I do,” Marina replied, flashing her police badge to Alisa.
“Only if you have a warrant, right?” Alisa burst out laughing. “Just kidding, Marina-chan. Or rather, Ms. Yamashita. Your boss, Mr. Kidera, and your friend Mr. Kudo are waiting. Will you come with us?”
“Geez, just say that from the start! Stop with the weird acting. My heart can’t take it.”
They walked slowly from the vault toward the Akiba-building intersection on Kanda Myojin Street. Unlike the daytime, the street was nearly empty of people and cars.
“So, Alisa-san, you were an undercover agent for the National Tax Agency.”
“That’s the one. And based on your age and vibe, I was certain you were an MPD rookie. First, I reported to my boss: ‘It’s bad, there’s a cop on the scene.’ Then my boss contacted Kidera-san, and it turned out we were both right. There’s no point in hiding things anymore. Let’s share information.”
“I’m not evading taxes, by the way.”
“I know. I was just teasing you. Ah, that was fun. I’ve always wanted to use that Marusa notebook.”
“Did you use it for the first time today?”
“Yep. I’m the ‘Woman of Marusa.'”
The two entered a rental studio on the top floor of an audio specialty shop. Inside a recording room with a single grand piano, Kudo and Kidera were waiting.
“Kudo-san, why a piano?” Marina asked.
“Civilians don’t need to know. This is a police hideout.”
Seriously? This unremarkable rental studio is?
“Long time no see, Kudo-kun.”
“Hey, Alisa-chan. To think the Alisa Marina mentioned was actually you.”
“A twisted fate, isn’t it?”
Alisa and Kudo greeted each other with an almost an embrace.
“Now that the four of us are here, I’d love to throw a party, but let’s get straight to the point. Take a seat.”
Kudo began drawing a diagram on a whiteboard with musical staff lines.
“Let’s organize this. The flow of money for Yoichi Sasai’s family is as follows.
First, the Luise Group earns seed money through café management and adult entertainment.
Meanwhile, Sasai uses his puppet civic groups to incite residents. He stirs up opposition against commercial buildings, specifically adult entertainment buildings. The residents are introduced to Councilor Sasai by these civic groups.
Sasai then refers the residents to lawyers and national politicians under his influence.
The lawyers explain: ‘This lawsuit is difficult. Usually, a settlement is reached and the building is built anyway. But it’s worth trying. If you sue and reach a settlement, the settlement money covers your expenses. You won’t lose money, but the building will still go up.
However, if you reject the settlement and insist on stopping the construction, it’s a gamble. Nowadays,
developers are smart; they might sue you for ‘lost profits’ (damages). You’d need a top-tier legal team. Can you afford the litigation costs? Can you match the corporation’s financial power? If you lose, you’ll be stripped bare. So, I recommend a settlement. Let’s make the goal about how much settlement money you can get, rather than whether the building is built.'”
“This ‘lost profits’ angle is something my clients use when they go on the offensive. ‘It’s too noisy,’
‘Outsiders are intruding,’ ‘It ruins the beauty of the neighborhood,’ ‘Save the greenery,’ ‘Don’t steal the view.’ All very valid points. Completely valid. But if residents get too greedy and haughtily reject a settlement, the landowners and developers eventually snap.
Most residents are just jumping on the bandwagon because they think they can make a profit. They’re greedy. If they can get money, great. If they risk losing money, they chicken out. Those who don’t chicken out are usually just odd ideologues. In most cases, they’re not worth dealing with.
Then, just before it goes to trial, someone intervenes and closes the deal with a settlement. Money is paid from Luise to the residents as ‘nuisance fees’ or ‘settlement money,’ but most of it is swallowed up by the civic activists, lawyers, and politicians as ‘expenses’ and ‘success fees.’
Do you see? This is a form of indirect political contribution. From Luise to the politicians. And in exchange,
the politicians use their authority to grant permits for Luise.”
For some reason, Kudo played the intro to Beethoven’s “Für Elise” on the piano. He was making a pun on “Elise” and “Luise.” Marina watched him stroke the keys of the grand piano, thinking about how he had such elegant, unburdened fingers.
“I’d love to hear the whole thing, but let’s hurry. In all of this, Sasai hasn’t done anything illegal. He isn’t directly involved in any of it. The contributions to politicians and fees to lawyers are completely legal.
Flawless. It’s a business. A business. It’s the way they’ve chosen to survive. They use the income to fund the next venture. Even the police have nothing to complain about.
However, the fact that resident movements targeting the Luise Group happen so frequently, and that a settlement is reached every single time—and that the Luise Group grows every time a controversy erupts—is not a coincidence. When coincidences pile up, they become a necessity. I can only conclude that Sasai and Luise are running a ‘match-pump’ operation (a fake conflict).
But wait—is a match-pump even illegal? Which law does it violate? It’s cowardly, but is it fraud? I’m starting to get confused myself.
Money circulates around Sasai, but remarkably, none of it flows to him.
I’m starting to wonder if Sasai is actually a clean politician, and if my boss, Moriguchi, is the real villain.
Maybe I’m just trying to trip up a man of justice. Since no one is actually suffering a loss, maybe I’m the one being unreasonable. That’s how tight Sasai’s guard is.
It’s possible Sasai is just an agent. And as for the owner… it has to be the shareholders of Luise. Luise is a paper company; it has no substance. The shares are mostly held by an overseas syndicate. That syndicate also has no real identity. The enemy is invisible, but massive, with a global network and incredible intelligence. At least, that’s my gut feeling. It’s not like a traditional yakuza clan. It’s something more incomprehensible.
In rural prefectures, you still have those muddy brawls between yakuza and cops like in a Showa-era movie. But in the heart of Tokyo, that kind of violence has faded. It’s all a subterranean information war now.
While ordinary citizens are enjoying The Woman of Marusa or Detective Conan, Japan’s anti-social forces have evolved by merging with foreign powers. One look at crime statistics tells the story. Violent crimes like murder have plummeted. But intellectual crimes have increased, internationalized, and gone stealth.
And so, we can infer that Sasai receives his rewards from this nameless syndicate through routes we don’t know.”
“But if that’s true, the National Tax Agency can’t track those profits.”
“Exactly. The era of crashing through doors with Marusa badges and warrants, cutting chains with big shears, and hauling away boxes of secret ledgers in trucks is over. TV stations still want that imagery, but it doesn’t work anymore. If Sasai were hiding income from Luise, we could nab him instantly. But he isn’t doing any of that—Alisa-chan has done a thorough internal investigation.”
“Why were you infiltrating Luise, Alisa-san?”
“Me? Well, it started with an anonymous tip. That Luise was window-dressing its accounts. I looked into it, but couldn’t find much. However, it looked incredibly suspicious, so I decided to go under. The Marusa didn’t have a single person who could fit into a maid café. Luckily, an acquaintance of mine was there, and I was commissioned.”
“A ‘deemed civil servant’ appointment?”
“Something like that. I was bored, and it let me use my hobbies, so I took it.
And indeed, his management is too lucky. He expands his business one after another and turns a profit with a doubling game. The books are too perfect. It’s impossible. It’s actually suspicious. Normal managers are more haphazard. As Kudo-kun says, he must be rigging something. The president of Luise is clearly a figurehead; the actual manager, Catherine, is a complete mystery. At the very least, she’s not a regular employee.”
“Is it even possible to hide one’s identity in the era of the ‘My Number’ system?”
“Hmm. If you don’t use any administrative services—no social security, no tax filings, no driver’s license—and you don’t have a bank account or credit card… I guess it’s possible. Catherine’s nationality, real name, age,
income, and address are all unknown.”
“Can’t we just arrest her?”
“Sure, on a different charge. But a human rights lawyer would get her out on bail immediately,” Kudo interjected.
Alisa continued, “The rewards paid to Catherine from Luise are always on receipts addressed to ‘Catherine,’
signed ‘Catherine,’ for ‘consultation fees’ or ‘advisor fees.’ Paid in cash. No contract.”
“Isn’t that just ‘unaccounted-for funds’?”
“If you put it that way, most companies would be in trouble.”
“Doesn’t Luise have an obligation to report Catherine’s My Number to the tax office?”
“Well, they do,” Kudo cut in again, “but there’s no penalty for not doing it. If Catherine refuses to provide it,
the company just reports that she refused, and that’s the end of it. Catherine has an obligation to provide it,
but again, no penalty.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Since it’s personal information, the National Tax Agency can’t push too hard from a human rights perspective. In current Japan, if you can’t obtain the My Number, you just record the process of requesting it, and the payment report can be submitted without the number.”
“It’s a sieve.”
“Yeah. So Luise just pays the withholding income tax for Catherine. Catherine herself doesn’t file a tax return.
She pays zero direct taxes.”
“Isn’t that blatant tax evasion?”
“Only if we know her nationality and income,” Alisa added.
“I see. We don’t even know if she’s Japanese.”
“Exactly. The amount paid to Catherine as a formal reward is small, so the withholding tax is only about ten percent. Even if we hit Luise with additional taxes for secret funds, the amount wouldn’t be significant. It’s a weak lead. And since there was an anonymous tip, there are likely people trying to frame Catherine. They’re suspicious too. So, with insufficient evidence, it was almost time for me to withdraw.”
“So we’re at a dead end? We give up?”
“That’s for you to decide, Ms. Yamashita,” said Kidera, who had remained silent. “You’ve probably realized by now that your case was less of a ‘special mission’ and more of a ‘special exception.’ Putting you under a private eye like Kudo was essentially ‘external training’ in the form of undercover work. I didn’t think this was a massive case, and while I valued your potential, you were unpopular with the eterans. I couldn’t just assign you to the First Division.
Kudo enthusiastically volunteered to be your ‘mentor.’ He said, ‘If there’s a problem child, I’ll train her for free.’ He solves problems using a completely different logic and intuition than we ‘professionals’ do. We are always trying to learn and adopt new methods. I hoped you’d learn from him, experience the field, and come back a bit more worldly. Kudo’s results are recognized even by my subordinates, so I thought it would be an interesting experiment to let him judge your character.”
I knew Kudo had pulled strings for me, Marina thought, finally confirming it.
“Anyway, your personnel status was pending, but the National Tax Agency got involved. We cross-referenced our info, and some evidence started to surface. Now, unfortunately, we’ve gone too far to turn back. It turns out Kudo’s theories aren’t just tall tales.
Ms. Yamashita. As a pawn, you are completely unmarked. You’re a blank slate. Ms. Takenaka here is an extremely capable investigator, and she still hasn’t been suspected. If you’re motivated, you can continue. But think carefully. Depending on the situation, you might not be able to stop. You could stay undercover for ten years. By the time it ends, you’ll be in your mid-thirties. You might miss your chance for marriage. You might become a Rip Van Winkle. Wearing ‘two shoes’—one in the underworld and one in the police—is no easy feat. Are you still okay with this? You can quit now.”
“What do I have to do?”
“I don’t know. You wait for an opportunity. No matter how perfect the mastermind’s plan is, it’s still run by humans. With so many people involved, there will be those who betray their comrades out of spite, or clumsy fools who go rogue. We wait patiently for them to show their tails. And the longer you stay under, the more they trust you, and the more likely they are to slip up.”
“That’s right. Dive deep and stay quiet, Marina-chan,” Kudo added jokingly.
“Look at this. An original secret weapon from the First Division.”
Kidera opened a small suitcase.
“No way… is that a Beretta Pocket?”
“Impressive, Ms. Yamashita. It looks exactly like one.”
The Beretta Pocket was originally a zinc-alloy model gun made by the Saitama-based toy manufacturer MGC. For some reason, in the early 007 films, it appeared as James Bond’s favorite gun. MGC had gone out of business twenty years ago.
“Well-made, right? To anyone, it looks like a toy gun. But this is a wire-electrode needle injection type of stun gun disguised as a model gun. No one will suspect you of carrying it while cosplaying.”
“A Taser, then. A type of stun gun that fires a needle to shock the target from a distance.”
“Exactly. Forbidden in Japan, but sold normally in the US. Some police and military forces use them for riot control. It’s far more useful than a lady’s self-defense pistol.”
“What’s the range?”
“The wire extends up to ten meters. Practically, it’s effective up to five meters.”
Kidera placed the gun in his palm and offered it to Marina.
“Now, if you don’t want it, you can leave it here and go home. Then, go back to Fuchu starting tomorrow.”
“Who makes something like this? Imported? A major Japanese manufacturer? Or a craftsman in a small factory?”
Kidera grinned. “Like father, like son. There are plenty of people who love illegally modifying model guns more than anything. Some of them are incredibly skilled.”
“Can I try it?”
“Sure. It’s a beauty with a laser sight. If you hold the slide and rotate this hidden lever, the needle, the compressed air cartridge, and the laser sight deploy from the grip. In this state, you can replace the battery,
which looks like a magazine.”
“Wow.”
“You can fire as many times as you want if you replace the needles, cartridges, and battery, but you can’t fire in rapid succession.”
Marina held the gun horizontally at shoulder height.
“Don’t damage the walls or floor. They’ll never let me rent this studio again.”
“Then… can I shoot Kudo-san?”
“Stop joking. Fine, I’ll do it.”
Kudo took off his leather jacket and held it up like a matador.
“Shoot here. Go on.”
Marina aligned the laser with the jacket and fired a pair of electrode needles. The needles pierced straight through the leather.
What a wonderful gimmick. And it’s just for me. Hehe. She wondered if she should name it. Since it looked like a harpoon from a whaling ship, maybe “Morizo-kun”?
She replaced the gas cartridge and needle, slid the slide back, spun it with her finger, and tucked “Morizo-kun” into her garter belt holster.
“This looks interesting. Let’s do it.”