Chapter 148: Minor Anomalies
The arrival of the Metropolitan Police Department cast a tense shadow over Sakuraaki High’s festival preparations. Beyond carting off a despondent Shibao and his delinquent crew, the police assembled all students for inspection, uncovering a few third-years with marked hand-backs—contacts of Shibao’s group. After hours of work, they escorted everyone away.
Before leaving, Tohsaka bowed deeply to Kamihara Shinji, gratitude evident. “By the way, Kamihara-san, since you’re a monitor with your own group, want to join our loose monitors’ chat?”
“No problem. I could use some allies,” Kamihara replied, not declining.
His earlier talk with Tohsaka revealed that group-leading monitors rarely interacted with the Special Division, a natural divide stemming from their desire to keep rule-based items secret. Such monitors, inherently distrustful, sought safety in numbers. Kamihara had suspected they’d have private networks, and now it was confirmed. Online chats risked Special Division surveillance, but he doubted they’d bother.
Kamihara added Tohsaka’s contact on his phone. “I’ll check with the group leader,” Tohsaka said.
“Alright.”
Minutes later, Tohsaka exhaled. “You’re in.”
Kamihara joined a small chat group, Guardians of Light and Shadow, with just over thirty members. Messages flooded in:
Yakuman: No newbies in six months! Welcome! Wanna join my Mahjong-sha?
TotalYakuman: Gotta say, Mahjong-sha’s Tokyo’s strongest. Anyone disagree?
Turnaround: Welcome! Newbie, set your nickname to your codename.
Starshine: Tohsaka, snagging a newbie? Nice work.
Tohsaka: Yakuman, he’s got his own group and is a leader. Why join your Mahjong-sha? And stop hyping your one-man group with alts!
Firefly: We believe you’re the mahjong champ, though.
During Kamihara’s nickname change, a lively minority welcomed him. The small group buzzed like a crowd of hundreds. Not wanting to seem aloof, he typed:
Ghost: Hey, everyone. I’m a monitor less than a month in, still green. Please guide me moving forward.
Yakuman: G-Ghost?! (shock)
Starshine: Hiss…
Turnaround: Hiss!
Maid: Hiss…
Tyrant: ?
Paladin: Hiss!?
May: ??
Shura: ?
Snowflake: Hiss…
Ghost: Hiss
Thinking it was a welcome ritual, Kamihara joined the “hiss” trend, only to look up and see Tohsaka staring, stunned. “What’s up?”
“You… you’re Ghost?” Tohsaka stammered. “The new death-substitute monitor?”
“Yeah.”
“The one who used Hell Girl to kill the Evil Neighbor and just restricted the Human Body Hospital anomaly?”
“How’d you know? I reported Human Body Hospital this morning,” Kamihara said, puzzled.
“Yakuman, the group leader, told us this morning,” Tohsaka explained, sensing Kamihara’s irritation. “He’s tight with some Special Division monitors. He plays mahjong with them and gets the scoop.”
That explained it. Kamihara’s expression softened. Akane had mentioned that joining the Special Division granted priority intel, like Human Body Hospital’s details, shared with their monitors post-report. Yakuman, chummy with them, relayed news to the group.
Tohsaka clarified the group’s shock: Kamihara was Tokyo’s third death-substitute monitor. Within monitor circles, his feats—killing the Evil Neighbor via Hell Girl and restricting Human Body Hospital—were legendary. That morning, the group had debated his prowess, awed that a rookie resolved two anomaly cases alone in a month, a feat unmatched by Special Division or independent monitors, who typically left containment to think tanks.
“No big deal,” Kamihara said, confused. “Don’t you all investigate one anomaly a year?”
“It’s… different,” Tohsaka said with a wry smile, realizing Kamihara’s ignorance. “We handle minor anomalies.”
“Minor anomalies?” Kamihara’s mouth twitched. Anomalies had sizes?
“Minor anomalies are low-risk,” Tohsaka explained. “Killing rules usually mean certain death, but with minor anomalies, ‘death’ can mean natural death.”
Kamihara froze at the novel concept. “If killing rules are lethal, why do so many avoid the Special Division despite its perks?” Tohsaka prompted gently. “Their rotation system assigns terrifying anomalies.”
Kamihara glanced at the ♀ mark on his hand. “This anomaly you’re investigating—it’s a minor anomaly?”
“If I’m right, yes,” Tohsaka said, slightly embarrassed. “The hand mark is the Gender-Swapper’s brand, likely lifelong until natural death, when it consumes your soul.”
Tohsaka eyed Kamihara enviously, understanding his calm. As a death-substitute monitor, Kamihara could sacrifice a life to revert, unfazed by the swap.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 149: Kamihara Shinji’s Partner Standards
After talking with Tohsaka, Kamihara didn’t join him at the police department. The anomaly wasn’t his case. The concept of minor anomalies opened a new perspective. He’d assumed all anomalies, like the Evil Neighbor, killed indiscriminately. His Special Division briefings and encounters reinforced this. Now, Tohsaka revealed minor anomalies—quirky rules that delayed death, consuming souls only at natural death.
The Gender-Swapper’s rule spread via skin contact, potentially infecting exponentially: one to ten, ten to a hundred. “Feels scarier than the Evil Neighbor,” Kamihara mused. Matsunai-san took days to kill in apartments, but this anomaly, non-lethal yet unchecked, could plunge society into gender chaos, completing its rule in a century.
He hoped Tohsaka would wrap up soon, urging the Special Division to contain it—a gender-mixed world was daunting. Kamihara emailed Chihaya Mashiro, explaining the earlier urgency. At home, anxious, Mashiro sighed in relief but gasped at the Gender-Swapper. “Turning male? That’s horrifying!” She replied, “President, I’m skipping school for a few days.”
“No problem,” Kamihara assured, understanding her fear. A male transformation would shatter her, lacking a monitor’s resilience.
As he pocketed his phone, Mashiro emailed again: “President, one question.”
“Go ahead.”
“If someone has no heart, will they die?”
Kamihara’s face tightened, mind racing. He replied swiftly, “Of course not.”
“I knew it! Saw online that no heart means death—scared me silly,” Mashiro responded, relieved, hand on her chest, feeling no pulse. She’d grown used to it, believing humans didn’t need hearts. Kamihara’s confirmation eased her.
Kamihara’s expression grew grave. Investigating Human Body Hospital (Heart), he’d found Mashiro’s diary in the bottom heart door, proof she’d entered it. Her survival meant those without hearts didn’t die there. Mashiro, heartless, had escaped.
Her missing third-year middle school memories made questioning futile. Suddenly, it clicked—why Mashiro transferred to Sakuraaki High. She’d claimed her fate coin deemed it Tokyo’s safest place, but Kamihara found it dubious. His notebook’s information depth was vast, beyond the coin’s 30-day limit.
Now, he understood. Mashiro’s vague query about safety, post-heart loss and cognitive alteration six months prior, led the coin to prioritize self-preservation, pointing to Sakuraaki’s Ghost-sha. Without a heart, illness meant instant death. Joining Ghost-sha, Mashiro’s spiritual power reached stage two, bolstering her health, reducing risks.
Kamihara’s containment of Human Body Hospital (Heart) coincided with Mashiro’s question about heartless survival. His answer was obvious. Knowing she lacked a heart, Mashiro could die learning the truth online, yet trusted him over rumors. As long as he claimed heartlessness was safe, she’d dismiss contrary claims, loyal to her president.
Sorting this, Kamihara marveled at the fate coin’s intricate chain, though it wasn’t omnipotent—her life now hinged on his words. Resolving this doubt, he checked his phone, curious about Guardians of Light and Shadow. Knowing only Special Division monitors, this group unveiled independent ones, revealing the world’s fuller face.
The chat buzzed, his entry sparking debate. Per Tohsaka, he was a big shot in monitor circles, his mystique fueling discussion. Smirking at “mysterious,” he saw it as his short tenure. Opting for silence to maintain awe, he avoided trouble. Friend requests poured in, including Yakuman’s. He declined most but accepted Yakuman’s, the group’s seventh leader and a founding member, likely skilled to survive years.
“Big shot, you finally added me! o(╥﹏╥)o” Yakuman sent a link.
Kamihara asked, “What’s this?”
“Minor anomaly auction site,” Yakuman replied. “A monitor with an info-based rule item runs it, detecting minor anomalies periodically and auctioning their locations. Independent monitors need to meet Special Division quotas, so buying locations is practical.”
Kamihara nodded. Minor anomalies, less deadly but quirky, were preferable to terrifying ones. “Does the auction include details beyond location?”
“Nope,” Yakuman confirmed.
As expected—detailed info wouldn’t need auctioning. “Thanks,” Kamihara said, appreciating Yakuman’s friendliness.
“No biggie, you’d find out eventually,” Yakuman typed, shifting gears. “Also, my friend runs a reiryoku arena. Wanna invest? As a death-substitute monitor, just join—no work needed, 50% shares.”
“Reiryoku arena?”
“Like a gladiator arena, but with captured grudges fighting. High society bets on them.”
Kamihara, speechless, admired their creativity. Independent monitors, despite stage-three power, were reined in by the Special Division to prevent chaos. Gray-area ventures, like this, were overlooked. “I’ve got Spirit-Exorcism Net for cash,” Kamihara said, noting Yakuman’s knack as a monitor broker.
Spirit-Exorcism Net? Yakuman, surprised, hadn’t heard of it but didn’t pry, sending a shy emoji. “Thanks for not brushing me off, big shot. Need anything, I’ll spill for a small fee.”
“Deal,” Kamihara agreed. More allies meant more paths, especially as a circle newbie.
He returned to his club, planning to write the next urban legend, but paused, caught in the Gender-Swapper’s rule. A few days’ rest seemed wise. Relaxed, he grew curious about his female form, even planning photos for keepsakes. If lonely, he’d set his partner standards by his transformed looks—only those matching his female self would qualify.
(End of Chapter)
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