"A man at Tokyo Women's University?" Fang Zuo, in the passenger seat, turned his head to look at Sakura Kuri driving.
With her jacket off, she wore only a white blouse. The purple bra beneath hinted at a deep cleavage, nearly as ample as Shiraishi Nagimitsu's.
"Faculty?" Fang Zuo asked, his gaze lingering.
"No, service staff." Sakura stared intently at the road ahead, her voice tight.
Suddenly, she sensed a peculiar tingling warmth deep within her body.
As an onmyōji, her sensitivity was magnitudes higher than normal. It was him. His gaze acted like a magnetic field, pulling her awareness like iron filings—focusing it, intensifying it wherever his eyes roved. She could feel the tingling shift along her skin, tracking his visual path.
"What are you looking at?" she snapped.
"Oh, got it." Fang Zuo's attention drifted to the hem of her regulation skirt, riding higher. The gun holster strapped to her thigh. The garter straps of her black stockings bit into soft flesh, highlighting the paler skin above.
A blush bloomed on Sakura's cheeks. The tingling had moved.
"Focus... on... the case," she commanded, her voice betraying an unnatural tremor. She squeezed her thighs together.
The car jerked to a halt.
Can't handle the pressure? Fang Zuo smirked internally. So sensitive. His gaze, even without spirit power projection, carried innate yang essence.
Sakura took a deep breath, restarted the car. Fang Zuo kept his eyes firmly on the road ahead. No more teasing. Wouldn't do for a nascent soul elder to die in a car crash – even if he wouldn't actually die, the embarrassment...
"Did they translate the black bible?"
"Just started. The Arabic experts say the structure is archaic and deliberately obscure," Sakura replied, her voice regaining its coolness. "They managed basic sections – most of it is standard scripture, easy to translate."
"The crucial parts are the first few pages. But they seem... damaged."
"In the previous case, we found a hidden room. With an identical bible inside."
"Identical?" Fang Zuo couldn't help but glance at Sakura's full, damp-looking lips.
"Eyes front!" Sakura hissed, swallowing hard, teeth digging into her lower lip.
"I'll wash my hands thoroughly later," Fang Zuo offered placatingly.
"Baka! Who cares about your hands?"
"Fine. I won't wash them."
"Dame!"
"...So thirteen cases, potentially thirteen bibles?"
"Dame! Dame! Dame! I don't want to hear it!"
"And what if there are thirteen more after that?"
"FUJINO!!!"
The crime scene: Tokyo Women's University, International Studies Department – not far from Chiyoda. Students here were predominantly from high-society families.
The scene: the rooftop of the women's apartment building.
Floodlights illuminated the area.
A pentagram, identical to the one in the Oda residence, was drawn on the concrete.
Chalk outlines marked two bodies within it.
Large, dark stains of dried blood spread outwards.
The bodies had already been moved for forensic examination.
"Who were they?" Fang Zuo asked.
"One student, 20 years old. One male security guard, 42. They... engaged in intercourse before death. Both stabbed. No clear signs of a third party so far."
"This is likely the primary scene. A knife found here bore both their fingerprints. Security footage shows no other entries or exits."
"Initial police assessment is a suicide pact. But my divination detected a residue of a third presence here. I just can't pinpoint how they left."
"Fortunately, school is out. So this hasn't become a huge scandal."
"If it leaked? Students would be terrified to return."
"School starts soon. The administration demands a swift resolution."
Sakura handed Fang Zuo several crime scene photos. Since the bible incident, she felt an unsettling reliance on him. A blind faith that unnerved her.
"Hmm." Fang Zuo stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"See anything?" Sakura leaned in, hopeful.
"The student isn't very attractive."
"That's not what I meant!" Sakura snatched the photos back. "Use your... whatever it is you do!"
"Show me your divination," Fang Zuo countered. "Never seen it."
"Sensō-ji arts aren't parlor tricks!" Sakura glared.
"Then I'm going home to sleep."
Just this once... Sensei wouldn't scold me... would she? Sakura felt her principles crumbling.
She hitched up the hem of her skirt on her left leg. Strapped high on her thigh was a slender leather case, bound tightly with crimson cord. She untied it, retrieving an ancient calligraphy brush.
Chanting under her breath, she sketched symbols in the air:
"Rin! Pyō! Tō! Sha! Kai! Jin! Retsu! Zai! Zen!"
Fang Zuo rolled his eyes. "Even the sacred syllables are wrong. No wonder the island never masters the true path."
Sakura finished chanting, held the brush aloft, then bowed deeply at 90 degrees.
"Humbly beseech you, Master Senyuu Issenhō!"
"It has a name?" Fang Zuo raised an eyebrow.
"Of course! He's a venerated Spirit Calligrapher enshrined at Sensō-ji! An honored ancestor!"
The brush landed on the concrete...
...and promptly fell over, inert.
"Master must be... indisposed today." Sakura offered an awkward smile.
"You worship a corrupted spirit propped up by incense fumes? No wonder it ignores you." Fang Zuo strode forward, kicked the brush sharply. It sailed through the air, slammed against the wall, and clattered back to the rooftop.
"FUJINO!" Sakura gasped, hand over her mouth. "You've angered him! Misfortune will—"
"Three seconds," Fang Zuo declared, lifting a hand. A faint wisp of golden light coiled around his index finger. "Trace the third presence. Or I devour you."
The brush instantly snapped upright. It skittered across the rooftop towards the safety railing.
Sakura jumped. She followed it to the edge, leaning over the railing to peer down.
"Nothing... I see nothing."
The night wind caught her skirt, pressing the thin fabric against the taut curve of her buttocks.
Peach ripeness may tempt, but green peaches offer resistance.
"Look to your right," Fang Zuo nudged. "Rappel lines."
Sakura turned. Rope, expertly knotted and anchored to a metal strut of the railing – nearly invisible unless specifically searched for.
She understood. The killer descended via ropes to a lower floor, then cut them from below.
Phone calls. Forensics summoned.
"Who are you?" Sakura murmured after hanging up, her voice a complex mix of frustration and reluctant awe. "Fujino... I can no longer see you clearly."
"Me?" Fang Zuo smirked. He delivered a resounding spank to the exact apex of her curved backside.
Frightening resilience. The impact reverberated painfully up his wrist.
Ignoring her shocked gasp, he waved dismissively. "Heading home. Dead tired." He started walking towards the stairs. "Expense the cab fare back."
Stepping out of Tokyo Women's University, the clock struck 11 PM. Fang Zuo hesitated for a second.
His memories of Fujino Gen's rented apartment: cramped, filthy.
The Shiraishi residence it was. For now, two arms would suffice.
Ding-dong.
The intercom crackled. "Fujino-kun? All locks are open. Come in." Shiraishi Nagimitsu's voice.
He pushed open the main gate, crossed the courtyard, opened the inner door.
Darkness inside.
On a nearby sofa, Oda Yui slept deeply, soft snores escaping her.
Shiraishi Nagimitsu knelt on the floor near the entrance, clad only in a loosely tied yukata. Her hair was elaborately styled in a married woman's chignon.
She immediately seized Fang Zuo's legs the moment he entered, pressing her face against his thighs, rubbing feverishly.
"The whole time," she breathed, her voice a damp whisper against the fabric. "I waited... only for you."