Tokyo: Rabbit Officer and Her Evil Partner
Chapter 89 - 11: Tail the Pastry Chef

Chapter 89: Chapter 11: Tail the Pastry Chef

Ten million.

Fushimi Roku finished counting, not a penny more, not a penny less, exactly ten million yen. He sealed the money tightly with plastic and stacked it neatly.

Where to hide it?

The police dormitory wasn’t large, and its simple structure meant colleagues occasionally dropped by. Changing the room’s structure would definitely attract Yuan’s attention.

So Fushimi Roku had been pondering this ever since he got the money, and cooking dinner on the third floor today was intentional; he had already decided where to hide the money.

That’s right, hiding it in the third-floor kitchen was the best option.

Minamoto Tamako had immense respect for her seniors, just like a first-grader would be too scared to go to the second-floor, she dared not easily trespass the ’seniors’ dwelling’ on the third floor either;

Moriyama Yasurou similarly avoided the third floor, harboring stereotypes about the two rough male officers’ living conditions, imagining the third floor was infested with roaches and rats. She would shout from the first floor if she needed anything;

Kazama Tatsuya and Watanabe Shun, although they lived on the third floor, as bachelors they never entered the kitchen, as evidenced by the dust on the stove. At most they’d use the microwave to heat a bento, even boiling water for instant noodles with an electric kettle; the kitchen was their overlooked ’dark under the lamp’ hiding spot.

As the only man in the Sugamo Station front Patrol House who cooked, Fushimi Roku’s frequent trips to the third-floor kitchen were entirely normal, weren’t they?

Moreover, he had observed the third-floor kitchen ceiling had a droppable integrated panel, perfect for stashing large amounts of cash discretely.

Fushimi Roku wiped the fingerprints off the bills and tape, placing them back on top of the wardrobe.

He sat by the door, waiting for over half an hour without hearing Watanabe Shun coming upstairs, wondering what the delay was with the clearing of dishes.

Could he still be drinking alone downstairs, not having his fill?

Fushimi Roku planned to pretend to help with clearing the dishes and go downstairs to see what on earth Watanabe Shun was up to.

He re-arranged the pen refill and paper scraps, stomped down the stairs, only to find the dishes half-cleared on the table, the main door ajar with a cold wind blowing in, and no sign of Watanabe Shun.

Where is he?

Standing at the Patrol House entrance with arms akimbo, Fushimi Roku looked around. The lights of the convenience store across the street were on. He crossed the road, asking if a slicked-back-haired officer had come to buy cigarettes, but the store clerk, with legs crossed, immersed in a manga, said no without looking up.

Weird.

He wondered what urgent matter called Watanabe Shun away, leaving dishes uncleaned and the door open, hurrying off like that...

Failing to solve the puzzle after brief pondering, Fushimi Roku decided to act as if nothing had happened. Hands in pockets, he hunched against the biting cold, crossing back to the Patrol House to stash the money in the kitchen.

After a few steps, his neck tingled, feeling someone watching him.

Without pausing, Fushimi Roku acted nonchalantly, continued forward, jogged all the way into the Patrol House, and closed the door behind him.

Then, he rushed to the second floor, observing the street through the window gap.

The temperature rapidly dropped tonight, leaving few people on the street. Occasionally a postman whizzed by on a bicycle, but Fushimi Roku didn’t see anyone lingering for surveillance.

An illusion?

Frowning, Fushimi Roku pondered a moment, grabbed his travel bag, took off his shoes, carefully ascended to the third floor, and climbed onto the stove to hide the money in the kitchen ceiling.

As long as the money wasn’t exposed in his room, he still had leeway to argue.

With one worry dispelled, Fushimi Roku returned to his room, put on his shoes again, descended the stairs, crossed the street into the convenience store.

"Welcome." The store clerk remained indifferent.

Fushimi Roku bought a cup noodle, got some hot water, and sat by the convenience store window, pretending to eat while observing passersby. That feeling of being watched lingered relentlessly.

He was sure someone was surveilling him and equally sure it wasn’t the clerk beside him.

Whoever it was, was like an invisible man, hidden in some corner of the street, persistently eyeing him.

"Tch, a master...," Fushimi Roku sighed. It had been long since he’d felt this prickling sensation.

In the past, if tracked, Fushimi Roku considered it as some obsessive admirer being taken by his charm, not delving deeply; but times were different now, he had something to hide, with a huge stash of illicit money at the Patrol House, making him jittery.

After all, he wasn’t a professional assassin or trained spy; his back-tracking ability remained at Tracking Skill Lv1, offering minimal effect—he could sense being watched but couldn’t pinpoint the observer.

Out of options, Fushimi Roku allocated emergency Skill Points to upgrade Tracking Skill.

Tracking Skill Lv1 → Lv2.

If this were an anime, golden experience bars would appear above his head with level-up effects, eyes ablaze with buffs, equipped with the same 3D analysis as a certain character, instantly locating the adversary’s hideout.

But in reality, Fushimi Roku slurped his instant noodles, looking sneaky, squinting out the window, surveying for quite some time before realizing where the prying eyes originated.

He wiped his mouth with a tissue, tossed the noodle cup into the trash, pushed open the convenience store door, and walked directly toward the street corner.

Next to the recyclable bin lay a heap of cardboard boxes. Fushimi Roku approached, stood nearby, and squatted down.

Moments later, the boxes swayed, turning direction.

Fushimi Roku peeled open a slit, spotting the girl curled up inside, and saw a pair of sparkling eyes.

"How did you get out?" he sighed, "Is the welfare institution so bad, or is someone bullying you again?"

The girl nestled inside the box was Taira Sakurako.

She blinked, turned her face away without responding.

Quite helpless, Fushimi Roku didn’t wish for further entanglement with Taira Sakurako, a witness too. He shut the cardboard box, intending to walk away as if seeing nothing.

After several steps, the rustle of the cardboard came from behind.

Turning back, Fushimi Roku saw Taira Sakurako had hoisted the cardboard box, following him. Upon his gaze, she recoiled on the spot.

He took a step, and Taira Sakurako followed two, clearly intending to trail him all the way to the Patrol House.

"What do you mean? Sticking to me?" Fushimi Roku asked.

Taira Sakurako remained silent, playing turtle in the box.

"Tch," Fushimi Roku hurried back to the Patrol House, and Taira Sakurako slipped in before the door closed. Through the cardboard slit, she watched Fushimi Roku pick up the phone, dialed quickly, seemingly calling the welfare department.

Taira Sakurako glanced around, found a ballpoint pen. She tugged at Fushimi Roku’s pant leg and, under his eyes, wrote a sentence on the cardboard.

"The slicked-back-haired guy got abducted."

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