This world is never short of people who deserve to die.
It only lacks a pair of eyes to find them.
Aozawa didn't have such keen eyes before, but now he did.
All I want to say is, "Drop dead, all of you!" he thought.
...
「Adachi District, Kita-Senju.」
Choosing to cause trouble in Adachi District every time might be somewhat inappropriate, Aozawa felt. But on second thought, this is Adachi District. It's known for its poor public safety and is one of the messier downtown districts. Some even consider it the worst area in the Tokyo 23 District. In such a place, it's quite normal for accidents to happen every day.
The night in Kita-Senju was tinged with an alluring neon glow. The majority of people on the streets were young, with college students making up a large portion of them. Kita-Senju thrived off its convenient transportation hub and the presence of universities, which attracted businessmen like vultures to carrion, contributing to the bustling scene.
His hands were in his jacket pockets as his eyes casually swept over his surroundings. The X-ray Ability activated, and to him, every person on the street appeared as if they were not wearing any clothes. The contents of their bags were naturally no secret to his eyes. He walked nonchalantly along the street and spotted familiar items inside someone's handbag.
Upon seeing those items, I've essentially sentenced this person to death, Aozawa thought. Anyone involved with this stuff isn't a good person, and such a substantial quantity clearly isn't intended for a single user. By my estimate, the items in the bag weigh around three to four kilograms. I don't know the exact price, but my rough estimate is at least three to four million Yen.
Aozawa looked at the owner of the handbag: a man in his thirties with a weathered face, an Asian countenance, but with dreadlocks.
This is the guy.
Aozawa increased his X-ray vision to see the man's heart.
Time stopped.
He muttered this to himself. It wouldn't have made a difference even if I hadn't, but I feel it adds to the atmosphere of using my superpower, so I'll sneakily utter the phrase to enhance the mood.
A grey filter covered the man's heart.
After Aozawa stopped his heart, the man's pupils rolled back, his legs gave out, and he collapsed on the ground, still clutching his handbag tightly.
Passersby all avoided him.
"What happened?" "Did he pass out drunk?" "Mind your own business."
The shoppers hustled and pulled each other along, swiftly bypassing the fallen man. No one was willing to step forward. Japanese society was very apathetic, even to the point of a distorted repression.
Aozawa turned and entered the nearby convenience store to buy orange juice. He drank while quietly observing the man on the ground, occasionally looking at his phone to note how long the man had been lying there.
According to a web search, if there's no emergency aid after the heart stops for six minutes, it's difficult to revive the person. Considering I've only stopped his heart's time, with a six-minute pause, there's a certain chance he could come back to life.
Aozawa purposely waited eleven minutes. During that time, a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered. They took photos of the fallen man to post on Twitter or send to friends, sharing the incident they had encountered while out.
He finished his juice and ended the time-stop.
The once-lively heart wanted to get pumped up again, but the surrounding organs indicated they couldn't.
The man's body twitched twice and then was still.
The wail of an ambulance siren arrived belatedly. It stopped by the roadside, and medical staff pushed through the crowd to reach the man. They first checked his eyes; his pupils were already those of a dead person. Breathing had stopped; there was no heartbeat.
"There's no saving him, he's already dead," the doctor said, shaking his head. It's our job to save people, but not if they're already dead. Since he's dead, we should call the Kita-Senju police station and have them get a forensic examiner to determine if there were any hidden circumstances surrounding the death.
Aozawa, clutching the empty can, turned and walked back.
...
「In Kita-Senju, at the Hot Love Paradise Bar.」
The boss of the Nippori Group, Yamamoto Kumaji, wore an apologetic expression as he bowed and said, "I'm really sorry. It looks like our men may have encountered traffic on the way. Please, just wait here a moment."
"No need, we're leaving."
The two guests didn't want to wait any longer. Being late to this kind of business means the other party isn't worth cooperating with, they thought.
"I deeply apologize."
Yamamoto Kumaji continued bowing and scraping. "I will surely punish that guy. Please give us another chance next time. As for the merchandise, I'll offer it to you at a 30% discount as a token of my apology."
"We'll see what our boss says."
The two left the bar through the back door, and the smile on Yamamoto Kumaji's face gradually vanished.
Since the downfall of the Misawa group, the largest organization in Adachi District, a power vacuum had emerged in the underworld. Various Violent Gangs all wanted a piece of the pie, and the Nippori Group was one of them. To seize the Misawa group's overseas channels, Yamamoto Kumaji had spent a large sum of money to bribe a colonel in U.S. Forces Japan, smoothing relations at all levels to get their help smuggling goods from California. In Japan's underworld, the smuggling channel via U.S. Forces Japan was both a well-concealed and widely known secret. Even the people at the Metropolitan Police Department knew about it, yet they had to pretend to be oblivious because U.S. Forces Japan enjoys certain privileges.
Their parcels were mailed through military channels. In name, Japanese customs had the right to inspect them. However, in reality, the Japanese government faced issues such as a declining birthrate, manpower shortages, outdated technology, and a lack of equipment updates, among other reasons. Therefore, not all parcels could be inspected. If something were to be uncovered, it would be quite embarrassing.
Every Violent Gang that dabbled in this knew that sourcing supplies from U.S. Forces Japan was the most reliable method. But who to approach—that was a problem perplexing many.
Yamamoto Kumaji, using his connections, had finally identified the person who interfaced with the Misawa group, and tonight was supposed to be their first transaction. But Nishioka Tofu was unexpectedly late, even though he had been told not to drink and to visit the custom stores less frequently.
Yamamoto Kumaji was furious.
A subordinate reminded him from behind, "Boss, Brother Nishioka still isn't answering his phone."
"Damn bastard!"
Yamamoto Kumaji suddenly slapped the subordinate across the face and roared, "Go to the Full Moon Custom Store, find that woman named Kobayashi, and drag that bastard Tofu out of her bed! Give him a beating!"
At this time, the only person who could make Nishioka Tofu late is that woman, Yamamoto Kumaji was certain.
"Yes, sir."
The subordinate bowed and hurried out.
Suddenly, several police cars blocked the exits at both ends of the alley. Yamamoto Kumaji's expression darkened as he watched an old acquaintance get out of a car, show his badge, and say, "Yamamoto Kumaji, there's a case we'd like you to come to the station to discuss."
"Get me a lawyer."
Yamamoto Kumaji was unflustered. Nishioka Tofu has likely run into trouble, he realized. But I trust his loyalty, and I'm not worried about betrayal, as long as he sticks to the story that he acted alone. Even if Nishioka ends up in jail, the Nippori Group will ensure his safety. On the other hand, if he talks, no one can guarantee Nishioka Tofu's life.