Chapter Thirteen: The Face of the Metropolitan Police Department

In May, Tokyo was draped in a continuous drizzle. Amid flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder, Muneyuki Uesugi returned to his apartment after a full day’s work. The fine raindrops tapped softly against the transparent glass window, tracing countless delicate patterns down the pane like a translucent chessboard.

The city beneath the rain wore a unique kind of beauty. Though Muneyuki’s assessment was that it could not compare to the exquisite charm of sitting in a stone garden theater in southern China during a rain shower, listening to Kunqu and Wu opera, it was still a pleasure of a somewhat lesser degree.

Tokyo on a normal day was a cacophony of bustling traffic and hurried footsteps, a chaotic symphony of life in relentless competition. Pedestrians flowed ceaselessly, lively yet indifferent. Except for a handful of tourists, most passersby never paused, at most casting fleeting glances at anything unusual.

This city was indeed noisy, yet profoundly cold.

But under the veil of rain, the city underwent a subtle transformation. The clamor was drowned beneath the persistent patter of raindrops, bringing a certain tranquility. And perhaps because of the rainy season, the coldness between people softened slightly; the usually crowded streets and avenues seemed more spacious and fluid, washed clean by the rain.

“Behold the present time, fine rain endless, May indeed,” Uesugi murmured, reciting a waka by the famous Sengoku period BBQ master Akechi Mitsuhide, raising his right hand.

After a week or two of experimentation, he had roughly grasped the enhancement the Aizen Myo’o manifestation bestowed upon him.

His appearance grew more imposing and charismatic; his speech became more compelling and persuasive. The Myo’o manifestation granted Muneyuki Uesugi an undeniable aura of formidable power, as if he himself were the guardian deity seated on a throne, and no heretic could evade his third eye.

“I still need more spirit,” Uesugi muttered to himself.

His spirit was still insufficient. He needed to infuse more essence into the manifestation, to continue improving himself, to strengthen his supernatural abilities, and to show everyone that he was no mere plaything to be kicked around.

He needed the kesa—a monk’s robe—that would prove his own worth.

After a while, his phone rang. Uesugi glanced at the contact name.

Kansai, Rinka.

He answered, listening to the apology on the other end. After a long pause, he sighed, “I see. I understand.”

“That girl from Kansai has grown up, hasn’t she?”

“Alright, I accept. This is my final wish—be happy, okay?”

“Huh? Wait, I mean…”

Uesugi ignored the other’s protests, ended the call immediately, and casually added the number to his blacklist.

Women were not lacking in his life. Just as he was acquainted with several women, she too had chosen multiple prospects in Tokyo—perhaps feeling Uesugi lacked the resources to help her establish herself, or maybe better options had arisen. It was perfectly normal if one party wished to end things, and Uesugi never minded.

He hadn’t transmigrated here to become a monk! Besides, Japanese Buddhism had no taboos against drinking, eating meat, marrying, or having children. Generations of head priests passed their roles from father to son or uncle to nephew.

He instinctively scrolled through his contacts. When his finger paused above the name of a young woman from Hokkaido, currently studying at Musashino University, he was about to tap it.

But just then, a call came in, faster than his finger could move.

Otsuka Police Station, Naoki Tanaka.

Old Tanaka?

Uesugi almost forgot Tanaka’s full name was Naoki. He had always called him “Old Tanaka,” and seeing the name now felt strange.

“Hello? Got work?” Uesugi gazed at the gloomy sky, his tone tinged with excitement. “What is it this time?”

“What what?” Tanaka’s lazy voice came through. “Hey, little bro Uesugi, a few of us from the Criminal Division are having a dinner. You coming?”

“Not an autopsy?” Uesugi felt a little disappointed. Without a case, where would he get the spirit he needed? Where would his activity funds come from?

“No corpses to examine... Anyway, if you want to come, leave now. The dinner is at...” Tanaka recited the address. “Everyone wants to properly thank you. Chief Sudo and Kuwahara are here too.”

The head of the Otsuka Police Station’s Criminal Division was Chief Sudo, holding the rank of police inspector. If one paid attention, this guy had never once appeared in person.

The reason was simple: at local police stations, an inspector could serve as the head of an entire division. The real investigators were the sergeants and assistant inspectors, who handled cases on the ground. Inspectors mostly stayed in offices and only intervened in major cases.

However, when it came to serious crime, local branches lacked the authority, ability, or will to handle them. Their only option was to report to the Metropolitan Police Department, which would dispatch its elite Investigation Section 1 team, led by inspectors responsible for major cases.

After some thought, Uesugi decided it was best to go, to meet more people. The spirit he craved still depended on their help.

The dinner was at “KAKA Residence,” specializing in Japanese-style Okonomiyaki. The smoky, bustling establishment required guests to remove their shoes at the door. Under warm amber lighting, patrons sat around a tatami-lined counter with iron griddles. The soft rain outside mingled with the sizzling sounds inside, creating a unique charm.

“Hey, little bro Uesugi, over here!” As soon as Uesugi entered, Tanaka called out. He quickly made his way to the gathering—a familiar Tanaka, the young sergeant Kuwahara with his pockmarked face, and a middle-aged man.

The middle-aged man looked younger than Tanaka, probably in his early forties, tall and sturdy, with full features and bright eyes. A deep cleft ran down his rounded chin. He stuffed food into his large face with gusto.

This was evidently Chief Sudo.

Uesugi nicknamed him “Sudo Butt.”

Who else but a man whose chin looked like a backside?

Excellent. Tanaka Old Tanaka, Kuwahara Pockface, and Sudo Butt!

The Otsuka Criminal Division was truly a breeding ground for talent—what a joyous occasion!

“Oh, you must be little bro Uesugi, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Sudo,” the chief waved warmly and gestured for him to sit beside him. Then he ordered to the proprietress: “One mixed okonomiyaki, one scallion pancake, one modern style okonomiyaki. Those two each want a rice plate, and I’ll have fried noodles.”

“Little bro Uesugi, whatever you want, order freely. The chief’s treating tonight,” Tanaka said bluntly. “He even wants to thank you!”

Japan’s senior-junior hierarchy was steeped in feudal remnants. Seniors wielded absolute authority over juniors. Uesugi often grumbled about this, especially in surgery, where senior doctors loved to say, “Are you questioning a senior’s diagnosis?”

Once uttered, to avoid challenging the entire hospital or medical field, one had to bow their head.

But compared to Koreans, the Japanese senpai-kohai system retained some Confucian virtues: seniors enjoyed privileges but were also obliged to support and mentor juniors. In some situations, seniors protected juniors and spoke up for them. Social gatherings were generally hosted by seniors.

For example, Senpai Morishita from Etajima would harshly bully you, assaulting you mentally and physically, mocking you verbally, yet also cover you with a blanket, lead the charge in battle to protect juniors, pay for outings, and introduce you to a noble’s daughter if you were single.

Korean superiors only wanted you dead.

That said, Korean officers like Park Kaka and Jeon Sojang were considered genuine heirs of Japanese senpai traditions. Follow them loyally, and you’d be well taken care of—a feast with the big brothers.

“I’ll have salted grilled cartilage, ginger pork, beef fried udon, and a bottle of Coca-Cola,” Uesugi casually ordered without hesitation. “Cold.”

Worth noting: in Japan, Coca-Cola dominates the carbonated beverage market. Pepsi is only distributed under Suntory’s agency.

Uesugi approved, thinking only heretics preferred Pepsi.

“Cheers!”

Soon the dishes arrived. The three officers and one forensic doctor raised their glasses.

“Really, truly, we must thank you, little bro Uesugi,” the men said. After a few bites and two beers, the mood warmed. Chief Sudo personally poured Uesugi a cup of shochu. “Yesterday, the Metropolitan Police Department awarded us. The entire Criminal Division, especially the three of us, received commendations!”

“That’s right. Thanks to our effective casework, three cases from April to May were solved within a day,” Sergeant Kuwahara nodded excitedly. “The higher-ups praised our performance.”

“No wonder—we four are just too strong!” Tanaka boasted, raising his arm. “To five days paid leave, cheers!”

“Cheers,” Uesugi raised his mug, calm and detached.

The Criminal Division’s chief, sergeant, and members who handled those cases were granted five days of paid vacation.

“I don’t even remember when I last had a break,” Kuwahara began. “Always busy, busy, so tired~”

“Hah, that’s tired? Youngsters have no idea. When I was young, I chased criminals nonstop for a whole month. The apartment manager thought I was dead since the meters hadn’t moved!” Tanaka chuckled, patting his junior’s shoulder. “Can your current workload compare to ours?”

“Exactly,” Sudo Butt said, pulling Uesugi closer. “Look at little bro Uesugi—handling corpses, working overtime on payday, never a complaint. That’s how young men should be.”

“Enough already. No matter how hard we try at local stations, we can’t match the Metropolitan Police Department,” Kuwahara sighed. “They just sit in offices and get promoted regularly. Me? I pray to reach assistant inspector before fifty. Amitabha, Amitabha, Namu Hachiman Daibosatsu!”

“Well, on-scene duties and admin work differ. If you’re capable, you’d be at the Metropolitan Police Department, not stuck at a local branch,” Sudo Butt dismissed Kuwahara’s gloom. “Since you’re here, cheer up, damn it!”

“Chief, do you know much about the Metropolitan Police Department?” Uesugi asked, intrigued.

“I know a bit,” Sudo Butt perked up. “Recently, another batch of senior officers is being transferred out.”

In the police world, all elites gathered at the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department and the Osaka Prefectural Police, especially Tokyo, home to the real cream of the crop. No one wanted to leave Sakurada Gate—the headquarters.

“Why?” Uesugi inquired.

“Simple. The previous police commissioner, Shirouma, finished his term. The next commissioner is Watanabe Eiji, deputy commissioner of the National Police Agency. Watanabe comes from the Criminal Division, so a personnel reshuffle is inevitable,” Sudo Butt nodded. “He’s a strong figure in criminal investigation, having served as head of Investigation Section 1, Criminal Division Chief at the Metropolitan Police Department, Director of Criminal Affairs at the National Police Agency, and now deputy commissioner.”

Watanabe Eiji? Uesugi recalled hearing the name.

Ah yes, the elite who attended an event hosted by his father and was among the few Section 1 chiefs who personally examined crime scenes.

“That’s right, him,” Sudo Butt smiled broadly. “This time, the criminal faction has won!”

“Wait! Wait! What do you mean by ‘criminal faction’?” Uesugi quickly signaled for him to slow down.

“Oh, you don’t know?” Sudo Butt realized. “Let me explain.”

“The police commissioner is the highest-ranking officer in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, at the apex of the 60,000-police hierarchy in Tokyo. Even in the entire police system, only the National Police Agency Commissioner ranks higher. However, since the agency commissioner is a political appointee from the Cabinet, the police commissioner is effectively the ultimate rank among the 380,000 police officers.”

“This position is usually held by one of three factions: the criminal faction—those from investigation backgrounds; the public security faction—intelligence specialists; and lastly, the ‘government puppets’—those without police experience appointed directly as commissioner,” Sudo Butt summarized. “Watanabe is from the criminal faction, so our Criminal Division has better promotion prospects for the next two and a half years, while other factions will see many transfers.”

“Do transferred elites ever return to the Metropolitan Police Department?” Uesugi understood.

“Rarely. Once transferred to local branches, it’s basically career death,” Tanaka said, eating a large piece of pork with lettuce and shochu. “Unless you perform major deeds and get special appointments. Who’d risk appointing a failure?”

“Tanaka!” Sudo Butt suddenly realized he had said too much. He didn’t know why but felt that Uesugi’s speech was so infectious and charismatic he couldn’t resist answering his questions. He quickly changed the subject. “By the way, Watanabe, soon to be commissioner, has a stunningly beautiful daughter. A real beauty, even those of us not at the Metropolitan Police Department know that.”

“Yeah, they call her the ‘Face of the Metropolitan Police Department.’ Chief, did you meet her at headquarters?” Kuwahara grinned mischievously.

“Tch, I’m already a father of two,” Sudo Butt shook his head, then suddenly remembered something. “Hey, Tanaka, Watanabe has only one daughter, just like you. And he’s only three years older than you—just over fifty.”

“Well, having one daughter is all you two have in common!” Tanaka narrowed his eyes. “His father was president of the National Railways, his uncle a Minister of Health and Welfare. You think you compare? Among us, only little bro Uesugi, from a noble family, has a chance!”

“Face of the Metropolitan Police Department?” Uesugi’s expression remained unchanged. “What’s her name?”

“Watanabe Minami, Section 1 of Personnel, police inspector.”

Watanabe Minami?

The name felt familiar—as if he had heard it from his mother.

Could the main family possibly have some connection to her?