Chapter 118: Kaoru Contained
As evening approached, Kamihara Shinji escorted Chihaya Masato home. Declining a dinner invitation, he returned to his own place, his expression tinged with disappointment. An afternoon of investigation yielded no critical clues about Saikyo Daisuke’s death. He was certain it wasn’t a natural death—something else was at play.
If it was an anomaly, the lack of even a single lead left him grasping at straws, even with his skills. His only hunch was that it might not be an anomaly but a rule-based item. Saikyo died without any anomalous aura, suggesting someone used such an item to kill remotely. He’d tasked Metropolitan Police officers with checking if Saikyo had recently offended anyone, but the investigation found Saikyo to be amicable and well-liked, with no apparent enemies. The mystery deepened.
“I’m back,” Kamihara said habitually, opening his door. Inside, he heard Takanotsume Kaoru scolding Small Eye.
“Small Eye, how are you so dense? I’ve taught you forever, and you still can’t say my name!”
“Repeat after me: Takanotsume Kaoru.”
“Mommy…”
“Ugh, hopeless!”
“Fine, big brother’s home. Watch your cartoons.” Kaoru’s voice then chimed in his ear. “Big brother, why didn’t you come home yesterday?”
“You’re too loud,” Kamihara said flatly. “I’m considering moving out.”
“No way…” Kaoru’s voice turned plaintive. “It’s not my fault! I’ve become my own song. All I can do is make noise to feel alive. Is my singing that bad?”
“Speaking of sound, I just felt like my body was cut in two, my voice all choppy… so scary. But it fixed itself quick.”
Kamihara smiled at Kaoru’s bewildered words. The Special Division had clearly acted—he’d sensed it through his notebook. It wasn’t Kaoru’s death but her rule being severed in half. A bisected Kaoru could still kill, but surviving half her melody meant survival. Surprised, he’d promptly completed her rule, costing 300,000 legend points. He didn’t know what rule-based item the division used, but his reinforcement rendered it moot. Their item was likely now useless.
“Go play with Small Eye. I’m cooking.”
“Can I sing while you cook?”
“Want to be locked up again?”
“Fine…” Kaoru sulked off.
In the kitchen, hearing Kaoru pester Small Eye, Kamihara chuckled. Despite griping about her noise, her chatter made the house feel alive. Minutes later, engrossed in rinsing rice, he didn’t notice Kaoru’s voice vanish. His phone rang—Chihaya Masato.
“Uncle, what’s up?”
“Shinji, are you home?”
“Yeah.”
“Turn on NHK. Something’s happened in Osaka—check if it’s another anomaly.”
Kamihara stifled a laugh. Since reading the booklet, Masato had grown paranoid, especially after Saikyo’s death. “Alright, I’ll check.”
Setting aside the rice pot, he washed his hands and entered the living room. “Small Eye, where’s Kaoru?”
“Mommy.”
Kamihara grabbed the remote, smiling. Small Eye said Kaoru went silent after speaking. Even she got tired of talking, it seemed. “I’ll check the news.”
Small Eye didn’t mind Mommy watching news. Kamihara tuned to NHK, freezing as the screen showed a Metropolitan Police press conference. A reporter was mid-question.
“Director Yasuda, just now, something bizarre happened in Osaka’s Kamagasaki,” the reporter said clearly. “For one minute, the entire area went silent—no sound at all. Afterward, many lost their voices permanently. Any comment from the police?”
“That’s unrelated to this conference,” Director Yasuda replied, straightening. “But we’re investigating. Results should come tomorrow. It just happened—expecting answers in ten minutes is unreasonable.”
Reporters nodded. Kamagasaki’s oddity reached them via multiple channels, but the police were preoccupied with New Beginning’s terror incidents, not side issues. They’d do better asking Osaka’s police.
Another reporter spoke. “Director Yasuda, has the New Beginning terror case been resolved?”
“Of course,” Yasuda smiled. “This conference means we’ve handled it.”
Kamihara, on the sofa, frowned. Resolved? “Kaoru,” he called. No reply. His heart sank—trouble? No, the notebook would’ve alerted him to her death. Opening it to Ghost Calls’ main page, he tapped. “Kaoru?” Still nothing. Flipping to the sub-page, he saw the once-rapidly growing page count frozen. His face tightened.
Kaoru wasn’t dead. When Little Ai died, her main page tore apart; Kaoru’s remained intact. A realization hit: she was contained. Only containment explained this.
How was she contained?
His phone rang—Aoji. “Why the call?” Kamihara teased. “And you’re brave, using a phone.”
Aoji sounded upbeat. “Got word Ghost Calls is contained.”
“Contained?” Kamihara feigned surprise. “How?”
“The Special Division has a rule-based item that counters Ghost Calls perfectly,” Aoji explained. “The Sound Extinction Horn. It absorbs all sound in an area, but the cost is steep—10,000 random people in that region lose their voices forever, becoming mute.”
Kamihara inhaled sharply. “That’s a brutal price.”
“It’s a niche item, useless normally,” Aoji said. “Ghost Calls just gave it a purpose.”
Kamihara gave a wry smile. Kaoru had bad luck. “Come eat,” Aoji urged. “Red Sound’s nagging. He’s off to die tomorrow, so tonight’s a farewell dinner.”
Sighing inwardly, Kamihara kept his tone light. “Be right there.”
Hanging up, he grabbed the notebook, trying to complete Kaoru’s rule to free her. A message appeared: [Legend Points Insufficient].
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 119: Exorcism Net
On the train, Kamihara Shinji closed his eyes, resting. His destination: the Special Division, at Red Sound’s invitation. Per Red Sound, past midnight, he’d “summon magic”—er, Hell Girl. So, he rallied everyone for a meal, boasting the division’s top-tier chefs. But dining at the Special Division, no matter how delicious, left a bitter taste.
Aoji called Red Sound’s antics deliberate. At the station, Aoji waved Kamihara over. Kamihara slid into the passenger seat. “Why not get a car?”
“Don’t you need to be eighteen for a license?”
Aoji laughed. “True, but you’re a monitor. Even at ten, you could drive.”
“Poor,” Kamihara said, the real reason.
Aoji stopped the car, scribbling a URL on paper and handing it over. Kamihara eyed it curiously. “It’s Exorcism Net, launched days ago by top conglomerates, with the think tank’s backing,” Aoji said, smiling. “It’s a platform for tycoons to post grudge-related tasks. Grudges are common, lethal to rich and poor alike. Wealthy folks buy grudge-detection gear from the Special Division, then post tasks when they find one.”
“Before, tycoons had monitors’ contacts, calling for help. But most monitors aren’t strapped for cash. Unless they’re spendthrifts, they ignore pleas.”
Kamihara nodded, understanding. Wealth couldn’t save you from grudges, and the rich, fearing death, birthed this site. The Special Division’s cleanup crews were too small to handle all grudges quickly, so tycoons needed monitors. But monitors, often short-lived, didn’t care for money and acted on whim. Angering one risked death—hence conglomerates’ deference to monitors. Lives were dust to them.
Kamihara pocketed the URL, short on cash lately. His novel aimed to hone storytelling and earn money, but Exorcism Net promised easier funds. Aoji drove them to the Special Division, Kamihara’s second visit.
“You guys are too relaxed,” Kamihara said, spotting Red Sound lounging on a deckchair at the entrance, moon-gazing. Another man stood nearby, guzzling from a bottle, sighing contentedly. “Aoji, still kicking?”
Aoji ignored him. The man eyed Kamihara. “You’re Ghost?”
“And you are?”
“Ronin.”
“Ronin? Just a drunk,” Red Sound scoffed, standing and pulling Kamihara inside. “Let’s eat. These two are the lowest-tier monitors. Only those with death-substitution powers are elite.”
His words stirred ire. Aoji and Ronin, already at odds, grumbled. At the restaurant, several monitors sat, including Hachiman and others stationed long-term. Red Sound introduced them, and Kamihara exchanged business cards.
His gaze fell on a wall screen. “What’s this?”
“Footage of yesterday’s Ghost Calls containment,” Red Sound said, signaling for food. “You haven’t seen it. I’ll replay it.”
No one objected. Kamihara didn’t know he was somewhat famous here. Many monitors wanted to meet him, not just for his death-substitution but for investigating two anomalies, even killing Bad Neighbor via Hell Girl’s rules. A rookie with such feats was remarkable. Most monitors studied killing patterns, leaving containment to the think tank. Footage from Mizuho Apartments, showing Kamihara’s soul torn repeatedly without breaking, earned awe. Befriending a death-substitution monitor was strategic—future aid for a price. Aoji’s help stemmed from this.
The group chatted, relaxed. Ghost Calls had paralyzed the division, banning phones and electronics, fostering despair of a primitive life. Kamihara watched the footage: the Sound Extinction Horn blew, and the drone captured Kamagasaki’s clamor vanishing, the area dead silent for a minute before partial recovery.
He understood Kaoru’s containment. Her Japan-wide range meant her rule operated everywhere, processing multiple robbers and kidnappers per second. Each melody was her essence, so restricting one contained the whole, like his containment of Your Turn. “Kamagasaki’s 10,000 mutes—can they hide that?” he asked.
“No worries,” Ronin said, hiccupping. “In days, the police will say terrorists poisoned the water, damaging vocal cords.”
“Enough,” Red Sound said, ushering them to the table. “I’m dying at midnight. Can’t you comfort me?”
Reminded of Red Sound’s farewell, they dropped anomaly talk, diving into food and drink.
(End of Chapter)
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