Tokyo: Rabbit Officer and Her Evil Partner
Chapter 46 He Died Because of Me

Chapter 46: Chapter 46 He Died Because of Me

As evening approached, the sun was setting, and the small inn became lively.

The students of Class A finally arrived at the resting place. They were as joyful as if they were celebrating the New Year, playfully jostling each other as they entered the hot springs, unwilling to come out. The innkeeper was all smiles, surprised by the brisk business at the start of the tourist season, convinced that this year would be a profitable one.

Fushimi Roku was awakened by the lively noise from downstairs. He had just about slept enough, and as he stretched and sat up, he felt sore all over, thinking it was indeed less comfortable to sleep on tatami than on a bed.

As he lifted his head, he saw Minamoto Tamako curled up in the far corner of the kotatsu, looking guilty as if she had done something wrong.

Fushimi Roku was pondering what on earth she was up to, and before he could ask, someone suddenly knocked on the door: "Is Tamako here?"

Minamoto Tamako got a fright. She hurriedly ducked under the kotatsu, her voice muffled as she said, "Not here, not here!"

Fushimi Roku was puzzled. He lifted the blanket, only to see Minamoto Tamako in a dogeza position underneath, her face buried in her arms, curling up tightly: "What mischievous thing have you done?"

"Shh!" Minamoto Tamako raised her finger, signaling Fushimi Roku to keep quiet.

Oblivious, he got up and opened the door.

Shirata Masahiro, wearing a yukata and with a cigarette in his mouth, stood outside rubbing his hands and stamping his feet, evidently not yet feeling warmed up. He had just called the police school, and they had sent a bus to pick everyone up. Meanwhile, there were some things he wanted to discuss with the two students.

Seeing Fushimi Roku open the door, he raised an eyebrow in surprise but said nothing, just marveled inwardly at how nice it was to be young; despite working diligently for ten years, others couldn’t compare to this guy who effortlessly got involved with the daughter of the Police Chief...

"Is it convenient to have a word?" Shirata Masahiro glanced inside the room: "Hope I’m not disturbing?"

Fushimi Roku could tell from his expression that he had misunderstood something. Trying to explain might only complicate things, so he decided it was best to be straightforward and invited him in: "No problem, please come in."

The room was warm, without any peculiar smells.

Shirata Masahiro glanced around, spotting Minamoto Tamako peeking her head around the edge of the kotatsu, who quickly withdrew when someone came in.

He sat cross-legged on the tatami, coughed lightly, about to speak but then fell silent again.

Fushimi Roku asked him, prompting Shirata Masahiro to finally open his mouth with a serious expression: "There are some things that are really hard to say..."

"Hmm."

Fushimi Roku didn’t hurry him, as he sat by the kotatsu peeling an orange. Minamoto Tamako peered through the gaps in the kotatsu, silently urging Instructor Shirota to leave quickly.

The cigarette between his fingers burned slowly, with ashes falling onto the tatami. Shirata Masahiro came back to his senses, pulling three items from his yukata pocket and placing them on the floor.

A bullet encrusted with green rust, a rusty police pistol, and an old black notebook.

"Eh?!"

Minamoto Tamako exclaimed in surprise, suddenly raising her head and hitting the table. The kotatsu jostled, and Fushimi Roku’s elbow was knocked, causing the freshly peeled orange to slip from his hand and roll onto the tatami.

Minamoto Tamako ignored her headache, crawling quickly on all fours like a hamster, and stared closely at the bullet on the ground, her eyes crossing: "C-could it be... this is the bullet from the skeleton? But why? Instructor Shirota, why did you steal it?"

Shirata Masahiro gave a bitter smile, his stern face finally showing a hint of vulnerability.

He took a deep breath, speaking with difficulty as he exhaled smoke: "Actually, I knew him..."

"Eh eh eh!!!"

Minamoto Tamako jerked her head up, eyes widening, thinking no way? Could it be that Instructor Shirota also has a murder history? Was her police school journey actually guided by two murderer instructors?!

Her exaggerated reaction forced Shirata Masahiro to explain: "It’s not what you think; he wasn’t killed by me..."

He paused, finally spitting out the words stuck in his throat: "But he died because of me."

"What do you mean?" Minamoto Tamako looked puzzled.

Fushimi Roku leaned against the kotatsu again, this time peeling another orange. Listening to confessions needs snacks; after all, enjoying a mystery movie with some nibbles is the proper way!

"His name was Natsume Shiro," Shirata Masahiro said softly, unburdening his long-held secrets: "He once owned an izakaya."

Minamoto Tamako recalled something, about to speak, but Shirata Masahiro continued: "About eight years ago, Natsume Shiro found his memory drastically declining, often forgetting what he was doing, even forgetting to claim winnings at the horse racing track."

"His family took him to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease... more commonly known as senile dementia."

"He started to forget things, people, meals, and even how to speak. His children worked away from home long-term, so every time he went missing, it was up to me to find him."

"Back then, I was just a small town patrol officer. My daily work consisted of helping find lost cats and dogs or sending Mr. Shiro back home whenever he wandered away."

"I was bored with the mundane work and determined to apply for the Criminal Police Department. But every time I was studying, residents would report ’Mr. Natsume is missing again’... so I had to put aside my lessons and look for him all over town."

"One day, he told me he wanted to go hiking. I didn’t understand and didn’t take it seriously. Later I found out he had mentioned the same to his family, who also didn’t give it much thought."

"As time passed, he became more confused, remembering less and less."

"After I became a criminal police officer, I occasionally returned to town to see him, and he was still muttering ’climb the mountain, climb the mountain’... his family couldn’t understand why he suddenly wanted to hike all the time."

"Until one day, he vanished into the mountains. My police pistol disappeared along with him."

Shirata Masahiro bowed his head in anguish, unable to hide the bitterness on his face: "How stupid, right? I actually got my gun stolen by a dementia patient."

The electric kotatsu made a crackling sound as the cigarette burned out to a butt, trembling in his fingertips.

The room fell into silence.

After a while, Minamoto Tamako broke the silence first: "But why would he steal a gun to the mountain to commit suicide?"

Shirata Masahiro lit a cigarette again, as if unburdening himself: "For so many years, I didn’t understand either and even resented Natsume Shiro. But later, I figured it out. It was all my fault. I don’t want students to make the same mistakes, so I organized this graduation exam."

"If he were still alive, he should be 76 years old now, right?"

"As if by fate, I encountered his remains in the mountains. Mr. Shiro left behind a diary. After reading it, I decided to confess the truth to you."