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Fujiwara Che finished his morning routine by running on the treadmill in his home gym for half an hour, then took a shower and enjoyed breakfast while casually browsing through his iPad.
Today was the first day of classes at Tokyo University, and Fujiwara didn't want to be late.
After finishing breakfast, he put on a simple and comfortable set of casual clothes, tucked his trusty M9 pistol into his pocket, and double-checked the security systems in his house before heading out.
The collaboration between CIA Director Spencer and the "Black Organization" had left Fujiwara feeling deeply dissatisfied.
This move might have exposed his identity—and as a covert operative, exposure would severely limit his ability to carry out missions effectively.
With age, it was inevitable that he would eventually transition from fieldwork to management within the CIA. For someone in a managerial role, maintaining complete secrecy wasn't as critical—but for now, this development posed more risks than benefits.
Fortunately, Fujiwara had acquired advanced technology akin to the "Mission: Impossible" series' mask-making tech. With these masks, he could assume different identities during operations—a factor that no one would anticipate. In some ways, this gave him even greater flexibility for future missions.
"My identity might be compromised. The Black Organization has significant influence in Japan—could they keep monitoring me?"
"No, they wouldn't dare. They're not foolish enough to risk antagonizing me given my counter-surveillance skills. If I detected any surveillance, I'd immediately suspect them."
"Given my status as both a top CIA operative and Spencer's adopted son, during this honeymoon period of cooperation with the CIA, the Black Organization wouldn't dare target me directly—at least not yet."
Although logic supported this conclusion, Fujiwara remained cautious about his home security.
Even though there were no secret documents or classified materials stored in his house—he kept everything memorized—he disliked the idea of intruders entering his personal space.
With multiple layers of high-tech security measures in place, even someone like Gin would find it nearly impossible to breach. Only after ensuring that his home was secure did Fujiwara finally leave.
University life was vastly different from high school. There were no assigned seats, and learning became far more flexible.
The courses offered by the "School of Political Science and International Relations" weren't particularly numerous but still provided a decent workload.
From Monday to Friday, the schedule wasn't packed, leaving Fujiwara with plenty of free time.
On the first day of classes, Fujiwara carried a messenger bag and drove his Porsche Panamera to Tokyo University, settling into the spacious classroom.
Since none of the professors were familiar yet, the first day mainly involved introductions rather than diving into important course content.
As a representative of the freshman class, Fujiwara already had a bit of a reputation within the university.
Both faculty members and fellow students recognized him.
Being an adept CIA operative skilled in navigating interpersonal relationships, Fujiwara effortlessly maintained a balanced rapport with everyone around him.
Though he didn't live on campus and lacked roommates—making it easier to drift apart from classmates—his social finesse allowed him to maintain just the right level of distance. He neither appeared overly close to anyone nor seemed distant, skillfully managing all connections.
"Fujiwara, don't you live off-campus?"
"Yeah, my place is pretty close to school, and honestly, living at home is way more comfortable."
"That's too bad. Guess we can't hang out with you easily."
"How so? Just ping me in the Line group whenever you guys plan something."
"Hey, let's grab lunch together!"
"Sure!"
"…"
As Japan's top academic institution, Tokyo University boasted excellent cafeteria food at reasonable prices.
In college, dorm life often led male students to gather among themselves, while female students formed their own groups.
At the dining table, Fujiwara chatted casually with a few male classmates.
All freshmen, regardless of whether they attended Tokyo University or not, shared common interests when it came to women and gaming.
"Man, there's this idol scandal recently—I spent a ton of money going to her concerts and handshake events, only to find out she got an abortion!"
"You shouldn't chase those adult idols; who knows what they're really like behind closed doors. Why not go for idol bands made up of middle school or high school girls? Now those are pure and wholesome."
"Exactly! Idol bands are super popular these days. And get this—the families of those middle school and high school girls aren't ordinary either."
"There are even some true 'young ladies' in those bands—gorgeous, elegant, and classy. Hooking up with one could set you for life."
"We're Tokyo University students, after all—we've got our advantages."
"So how about we check out a live performance sometime?"
"No problem!"
"…"
Fujiwara listened silently to their conversation.
It was clear that the trend of idol bands had taken off in Japan—a topic even Eri Kisaki had mentioned in passing.
Just then, his phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, it was none other than Eri Kisaki herself.
"Hello, Ms. Kisaki?"
"Fujiwara-kun, do you have a moment?"
"I'm having lunch right now, but I'm free. What's up?"
"Well, I've finalized negotiations regarding the transfer rights for that shop in Ikebukuro and conducted some investigations. I need you to come in person for the final discussion."
Pausing briefly, Eri added with a playful tone, "…Also, I owe you a meal. Let's settle that tonight. My daughter will join us too."
"Last time we talked, you mentioned being interested in karate. My daughter won the Kanto regional championship in the national tournament. I think you two will have plenty to talk about."
Fujiwara responded, slightly surprised, "Ms. Kisaki, you work fast."
Eri chuckled humorously, "With the amount of money my client is paying, I'd feel guilty if I dragged my feet."
"Alright, see you this afternoon."
Fujiwara thought for a moment—he only had one class in the afternoon, so he could head over afterward.
"Okay, I'll send you the address. Just come straight here."
After hanging up, Fujiwara suddenly realized he'd forgotten something.
Ah, yes—it was also the first day of club activities. Looks like he'd have to skip them. Sorry, Yoko Yukinoshita.
Speak of the devil—just as he thought that, Yoko Yukinoshita walked into the cafeteria.