He's completely cut me off. I am dead.
It was over. The Prime Minister's connection had been abruptly severed. Perhaps realizing his absolute predicament of being trapped like a beast in a cage, Spencer suddenly calmed down.
Even the frantic speed of his car gradually decreased. He didn't know if Atsuomi Ayanokoji had a shred of conscience left, or if the Prime Minister was simply too busy protecting his own political survival to care.
It didn't matter. Spencer didn't care about Atsuomi's life or death either. It was just a pity for the British Empire…
He stopped the car.
Spencer pulled the folding laptop from the passenger seat. His eyes were filled with extremely complicated emotions as he stroked the cold metal containing the experimental data that could have made Great Britain great again.
He got out of the car. It was already late into the night. In his aimless, panicked flight, Spencer had arrived at an abandoned park in the middle of nowhere.
He walked to a rusted bench, sat down, and slowly lit a cigarette. He gripped the laptop tightly against his chest, his face completely expressionless.
A moment later, headlights swept across the park.
From the unmarked police cars that had been merely tailing him—waiting for him to run out of options—several silent, elite officers stepped out. Among them were Inspector Juzo Megure and Detective Wataru Takagi.
Holding his Black Crow, Megure shook his head.
He felt genuine admiration for the blond foreigner sitting on the bench. Spencer was a true patriot to his homeland. It was a pity. The more Megure admired his loyalty, the more certain it was that the man had to die. If Spencer didn't die tonight, Megure could never find peace, and Japan would be compromised.
In the end, Spencer was just a pawn. A pawn used in the deadly game between the Metropolitan Police Department and the Black Organization.
Both sides had tacitly agreed to let Spencer obtain the data. The Black Organization wanted to use Spencer to expose the MPD's tracking capabilities, while the MPD used Spencer as bait to trace the Black Organization's abandoned assets.
But regardless of who won that shadow war, one thing was absolutely certain: the secrets of the Supernatural Realm must not fall into the hands of foreign powers. It had to be kept a secret for as long as possible.
Megure walked over. He used to smoke heavily but had quit years ago. Now, facing a man he genuinely admired, he felt compelled to share a final moment of solidarity.
"Mr. Spencer," Megure said quietly. "Could you let me see that computer? You know it never belonged to you."
"Sure."
Spencer knew it wouldn't matter whether he handed it over or fought. The Japanese authorities' research and integration of the supernatural was clearly far more advanced than the shadow organization's. Exhaling a thick puff of smoke, Spencer possessed a calm, dignified acceptance of his death.
He handed the laptop over. "How do you plan to deal with that monster in Daikanyama?"
"...Hmm. Perhaps we are also having a headache over how to clean that up," Megure replied vaguely.
"Heh, fine. Don't tell me then," Spencer smiled tiredly. "I just feel profound regret that I cannot do one last thing for Great Britain."
"Hang in there, Mr. Spencer. The log says you're immortal for seven days, right?" Takagi muttered.
Immortal? Spencer looked at the younger detective. "Is that curse actually useful to your Metropolitan Police Department?"
"Hmm, it's useless," Takagi answered bluntly.
Lord Mizunotsuki had once told them that lower-level mystery must always yield to higher-level mystery. The MPD's Yang-infused Black Crows were more than enough to handle a botched, self-taught curse, as long as they didn't act recklessly.
Furthermore, with a literal God standing above them, who would dare to cause trouble? Lord Mizunotsuki treated his chosen enforcers well. The finest artifacts and cultivation methods were distributed to the MPD first. Why would they ever betray him?
Megure chuckled helplessly, feeling a little sentimental today. He was getting old for this.
"Please wait," Spencer said softly. "May I ask one last question?"
"Please, go ahead."
Spencer's eyes were extremely fervent at this final moment. He needed to know the truth before he died. "The stone tablet in Daikanyama... what does it mean that 'They've always been there'?"
"The literal meaning," Takagi answered smoothly. "In the spaces unseen by mortals, there exists an almost endless array of 'creatures' from the underworld, dancing alongside humanity since the dawn of time."
"Enough said, Takagi," Megure barked, glaring at the talkative detective. He was still too young, wanting to flaunt their terrifying knowledge in front of outsiders.
Looking back at the calm, defeated Spencer, Megure couldn't help but sigh. He waved his hand to his tactical squad and turned his back on the British diplomat.
Let him have some dignity.
Death was inevitable. But a gruesome death would be difficult to explain to the British Embassy. He couldn't expect the politicians to settle an international incident with a simple dogeza (kneeling apology).
A chilling glint flashed in Megure's eyes. The MPD had finally risen to absolute supremacy. Perhaps Megure was soft-hearted and unable to bear spilling the blood of the innocent, and perhaps he deeply abhorred executing a fellow patriot.
But as the old saying goes: Their heroes are my enemies. On this matter, defending the Gods of Japan, Megure would never be soft-hearted.
Tokyo: The Prime Minister's Office
It was late at night.
Minister Daigo Fujiwara discreetly withdrew from the office, closing the heavy oak doors to let the farcical scene of a father bidding farewell to his son unfold in private.
But Kiyotaka Ayanokoji didn't see it as a farce. He saw it as liberation. Because he was finally free. Utterly free.
"Father, as you can see, you have lost," Kiyotaka stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "And there is absolutely no chance for you to rise again."
"…This is illogical. Overthrowing me right now does not serve the major factions' interests," Atsuomi Ayanokoji replied grimly.
He pulled out his concealed emergency communicator, showing it to his son. The light was dead.
Atsuomi had already mentally conceded defeat because his enemies had gone too far. They had actually dared to install military-grade signal jamming directly inside the Prime Minister's secure headquarters. This couldn't have been done by just the Fujiwara family. They didn't have the capability or the clearance. It could only mean that the vast majority of Japan's powerful figures—the MPD, the top Zaibatsu, the elite bureaucrats—were completely united against him.
He couldn't understand it. What are they doing?
"No, this purge is very much in their absolute interest," Kiyotaka corrected him. "In fact, your weaknesses in secular politics were almost invisible. You were a perfect Prime Minister. But you made one fatal mistake."
"What mistake?" Atsuomi demanded.
"Making friends with a foreigner."
"Spencer…" Atsuomi murmured, his tone filled with gritted teeth and sudden, venomous hatred.
Damn it! So it was that British bastard! Atsuomi thought he was a completely innocent victim of Spencer's recklessness!
"There's a flaw in your logic," Atsuomi countered sharply. "Even if Spencer did something foolish, it's impossible for the Fujiwaras, the Zaibatsu, and the Police to instantly unite to commit such a heinous act against the State. What exactly did Spencer do to trigger this?"
Kiyotaka looked at his father, his golden eyes unblinking. "...Father, do you believe in Gods and Buddhas?"
Gods? Gods and Buddhas!?
Atsuomi's expression froze for a fraction of a second before his eyes widened in absolute shock.
This is impossible!!
No... wait. If... assuming they really exist, then the entire country's sudden, unified actions make perfect sense.
"...Is it real?" Atsuomi asked, his voice cracking for the first time in his life.
"Yes."
For a long moment, Atsuomi was completely dazed. He unconsciously slumped back into his luxurious leather chair, the fight draining from his body.
It's true...
What a magnificent, absurd reality...
No wonder he was implicated so swiftly by merely associating with Spencer. With Atsuomi's wavering stance and history of using Western backing, the shadow factions naturally assumed he intended to "leak" the Supernatural to the West. If the Prime Minister of Japan endorsed the existence of the occult to the British Empire, the foreign powers would have no choice but to believe it and invade Japan's secrets.
He had become a threat to the Gods themselves.
Finally, Atsuomi looked at his masterpiece—Kiyotaka—with an inscrutable expression.
"You really are heartless."
Having learned all of this, Kiyotaka had absolutely no intention of leaving his father a way out. He had used the Gods to checkmate his creator.
"...I learned it from you," Kiyotaka replied coldly.
Atsuomi let out a heavy, shuddering sigh. He was unwilling. He was deeply, profoundly unwilling to lose his power.
But as he looked out the window at the Tokyo skyline, a strange sense of awe washed over him.
Gods and Buddhas. Real, existing Gods and Buddhas.
How terrifying... how magnificent... this country truly is...
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