Chapter 112: Well Played, Special Division
At eight p.m., after a quick bath, Kamihara Shinji donned pajamas lent by Chihaya Masato. The oversized clothes fit his 183 cm frame comfortably. Drying his hair, he headed toward the guest room, aware that a stranger staying overnight might unsettle the Chihaya family, even if they’d insisted he stay.
“Kamihara-san,” Masato called as he passed the living room.
“What’s up?”
“Is this…” Masato hesitated, pointing at the TV news, “what your booklet calls an anomaly?”
The Chihaya family—Masato, Rinako, and Mashiro—sat on the sofa, eyes fixed on the broadcast. Kamihara followed Masato’s gaze.
Tokyo TV was airing a breaking news segment. Kamihara’s eyes narrowed at the footage—a scene of Ghost Calls killing, broadcast publicly. Wasn’t the Special Division worried about sparking mass panic?
But as he watched, his brow furrowed. The footage depicted Ghost Calls’ murders, yet it differed. The anomaly’s rule targeted robbers and kidnappers with phones, triggering death upon hearing New Beginning’s melody, regardless of the phone’s location. Victims suffered inescapable, gruesome deaths, tormented by eerie melodies emanating from within. The broadcast showed the victims’ agony but omitted the internal music, sanitizing the horror.
The scene shifted to the studio, where a solemn host addressed an elderly man with white hair. “Professor Ono, what do you believe caused such deaths?”
“It’s New Beginning circulating online,” Professor Ono said gravely, his wrinkled forehead deepening the oppressive mood. “Initially, we thought hackers turned this instrumental into a network virus, infiltrating phones. But the melody contains guided hypnosis.”
“Guided hypnosis?” the host echoed.
“Exactly,” Ono nodded. “Novels and films exaggerate hypnosis, but it requires specific conditions. The altered New Beginning meets these. Some infamous songs, when heard in certain emotional states, drive listeners to death. Originally uplifting, this song’s twisted version is unnatural. Our lab tested it yesterday—prolonged exposure caused physical pain, a hallmark of guided hypnosis. Had we not intervened, the listener might have died from agony. Clearly, criminals are using this song to sow chaos.”
The host shivered theatrically, taking a deep breath. “Professor Ono, what’s the solution?”
“Recall!” Ono declared sternly. “Destroy all affected phones. Some people’s psyches are fragile, easily swayed by the melody. Most have stronger resilience, unaffected initially, but prolonged exposure will cause issues. I urge everyone not to toy with their lives—stop downloading New Beginning online.”
The host and Ono continued discussing the song’s dangers. Kamihara recognized this as the Special Division’s handiwork. With numerous deaths in Shikoku, concealment was impossible, so they used TV to disclose a curated version. The edited footage stirred unease but fell short of panic, a balance Ono masterfully struck.
Recalling phones? A massive undertaking, but Kamihara saw its merit as a containment strategy. By publicizing the song’s risks, downloads would plummet, even if it lingered online. Recovering most affected phones would curb Ghost Calls’ impact. Even if its killing zone spread nationwide, casualties would be minimal.
Well played, Special Division.
The Chihayas watched with trepidation, their minds reeling from the augmented booklet’s revelations about anomalies. Without the doll incident priming them, Masato and Rinako might have despaired. Mashiro, usually timid and meek, absorbed the booklet’s information with surprising calm.
“Uncle, you’re right,” Kamihara said, meeting Masato’s gaze without concealment. “This is an anomaly codenamed Ghost Calls, currently confined to Shikoku. We don’t know when it’ll complete its rules and spread across Japan. The Special Division’s investigation shows it targets phone-owning robbers and kidnappers, but I advise you to avoid phones entirely. Tablets, too—any music-playing device.”
“What about tablets?” Masato asked.
“Anything that plays music, avoid,” Kamihara said gravely. “This is about your lives. Take it seriously.”
He avoided reassurances like, “You’re not robbers, so you’re safe,” maintaining his serious persona. Masato and Rinako nodded somberly. Mashiro glanced worriedly at her father, whose job relied on his phone. As a student with few friends, she could forgo hers easily.
Offering no comfort, Kamihara claimed exhaustion and retired. In the pristine guest room, he touched the pendant at his neck, summoning a notebook. Flipping to the fourth urban legend—Ghost Calls—he marked its influence to encompass all of Japan without hesitation.
The TV broadcast revealed the Special Division’s unprecedented caution, unsettling him. Expanding Kaoru’s (the anomaly’s creator) influence now would harvest legend points, giving him leverage against both wild anomalies and the Special Division’s resources.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 113: The Think Tank’s Three Solutions
A pigeon soared through the night, wings flapping. Gliding down, it passed through the Special Division’s entrance, landing on the reception desk. Operating 365 days a year, the division’s front desk ran 24/7 with rotating staff. Since Ghost Calls emerged, the division banned phone communications, confiscating all monitors’ specialized devices. Tablets and similar electronics were discouraged, though the choice was left to individuals. Most monitors, valuing their lives, complied readily.
As the pigeon landed, the receptionist swiftly untied its note. Reading it, her expression shifted. She rose to alert upstairs, but a cacophony interrupted—flap, flap, flap. A single pigeon’s wings were loud; a flock’s combined clamor forced her to cover her ears. Staring outside, she gaped. Countless pigeons descended, flooding the entrance, filling the spacious lobby with cooing.
“This…” Trained to stay composed, she suppressed her shock. Before she could move, a voice called, “What’s happening?”
The commotion had drawn the division’s occupants. Red Sound, living at headquarters and bored, was first downstairs. Seeing the pigeon swarm, he grinned in disbelief. Two or three other monitors followed, equally stunned. Few monitors stayed long-term—presence meant missions, so only a handful lingered.
Kimura Kohei descended via elevator, his eyes narrowing at the pigeons. “Notify the nearby security team to assist,” he ordered calmly. Previously, notifications used phones; now, pigeon post sufficed.
Fifteen minutes later, security personnel arrived, clearing the pigeons. Clerks recorded messages from each pigeon’s note. Kimura, back in his upstairs office, grasped the situation: Ghost Calls had completed a rule, expanding its influence across Japan.
This gave him a headache. Hell Girl inquiries were pending, Shikoku faced Ghost Calls, and now, in mere days, it had evolved. Compared to Hell Girl, Ghost Calls was far deadlier—not even in the same league. If its rules completed further, humanity might face annihilation.
Soon, compiled reports landed on Kimura’s desk. He scanned them:
Shinjuku Ward, alley near Garden Bar: Knife-wielding robber found dead, gruesome and bizarre. Confirmed as Ghost Calls.
Reality show Truth Seekers: Host visits popular idol, discovers home invasion. Robber dead, death bizarre. Confirmed as Ghost Calls.
All Sanmon Group members dead. Confirmed as Ghost Calls.
Meguro Ward: Dine-and-dash patron killed by Ghost Calls.
Special Division monitor, codename Scissors, dead. Investigation reveals Scissors participated in a kidnapping ten years ago. Rule-based item recovered.
A monitor’s death jolted Kimura. Despite warnings that Ghost Calls targeted robbers and kidnappers, some ignored caution, banking on luck. He snorted, reviewing the reports, awaiting further updates.
A knock came. “Come in.”
“Chief, we’ve confirmed,” a middle-aged man reported, catching his breath. “After extensive trials, Ghost Calls still exclusively kills robbers and kidnappers.”
Kimura frowned. “It expanded its range, so it completed a rule. Even a minor change is significant. Keep testing.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Convene the think tank for a video conference to devise solutions. Report decisions directly to me.”
“Understood.”
That Ghost Calls still targeted only robbers and kidnappers relieved Kimura. If the rule had shifted to kill anyone using a phone, ordinary people would be defenseless. Half an hour later, the think tank proposed three solutions.
“First, as previously discussed, recall phones storing New Beginning,” the aide began.
Kimura stayed silent, signaling to continue. He doubted its feasibility—Ghost Calls’ rapid nationwide spread suggested swift rule completions. Recalling all affected phones was a colossal task, unachievable in days. Still, it could complement other strategies.
“Second, borrow the rule-based item Transparent Scissors from Ronin.”
“Transparent Scissors?” Kimura prompted.
“It cuts invisible things, including sound,” the aide explained. “Ronin recently acquired it, unused. We can borrow it, letting ordinary agents sever Ghost Calls’ influence.”
Kimura nodded. Monitors held at least one rule-based item, and those acquired independently weren’t surrendered to the division. Often, the division learned of them only if monitors disclosed them.
“Third, the think tank’s top recommendation: use the Sound Extinction Horn from Room 12.”
At this, Kimura’s tapping fingers paused. After a long moment, he sighed. “Start with borrowing Ronin’s Transparent Scissors.”
(End of Chapter)
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