Chapter 42: So Hard to Guess

Director Shirama’s face glowed with a flush of excitement, his joy unmistakable. The success of this experiment proved that humanity could control the extraordinary by its own means. How could technology, developed for so many years, fail to even qualify for stepping into the realm of the supernormal?

In the past, the Metropolitan Police Department and the Self-Defense Forces could only watch helplessly when confronted by those supernatural beings who appeared and vanished without a trace, whose individual strength overwhelmed entire armies, or whose methods were deceitful and inexplicable. They were powerless, unable even to shed a drop of saliva in retaliation.

The reason was simple: there was no equal power to counter them.

But now, the Metropolitan Police Department had finally succeeded in harnessing supernatural power.

This was a breakthrough from zero to one, an achievement of monumental significance—

Its invigorating effect brought a radiant glow to the faces of those furious over America’s unauthorized intrusion.

“Damn white savages, damn blacks, one day you’ll be forced to kneel and sing—”

“Our current technology can only grant ‘demonic power.’ The development of demon arts requires more individuals. Moreover, due to technical limitations, production is scarce, and cellular damage is nearly complete,” Dr. Hase delivered a cold splash of reality to the excited dignitaries, swiftly bringing them back from their fantasies.

Casually, he extended his hand to these high-ranking figures.

“If you want results, bring the materials quickly. Without the resources, how can we conduct proper research?”

As if delivering a double blessing, Chief Inspector Toyama sent good news from his end.

“America suffered a crushing defeat, not a single survivor. The ‘Spirit Binders’ have withdrawn.”

The smiles on everyone’s faces grew even brighter. Although they had yet to recruit the Spirit Binders, America’s losses filled them with sunshine.

Director Shirama breathed a sigh of relief. If America were allowed to seize the supernatural forces within the island nation, their own efforts would be in vain—they might as well commit ritual suicide to atone.

“I do not want any rumors about the Metropolitan Police Department’s acquisition of supernatural power to spread outside. If even a whisper leaks, the Police Department will pay a visit,” Director Shirama said gravely, his eyes narrowing with a predatory intensity.

The dignitaries’ previously fervent enthusiasm cooled, and they nodded in agreement.

“This is Japan’s treasure, the dawn of human evolution. Anyone who leaks this information will be opposing all of Japan. The Self-Defense Forces will mobilize fully to suppress it.”

“Likewise,” others echoed.

The matter of artificial supernatural power was of utmost importance. It was the key to whether Japan could emerge as a leading nation in the future and escape America’s control.

If America discovered this first and seized it by force, their research capabilities—bolstered by their massive population—would surely advance faster.

America boasted over 300 million people. Over time, thousands crossed its borders daily through illegal means, alongside immigrants and untracked individuals.

Yet the population remained at just over 300 million, failing even to grow naturally, fluctuating only slightly.

So where did these thousands of daily illegal immigrants and slum dwellers go? It was a mystery hard to guess.

Director Shirama neither managed nor wished to probe America’s affairs.

Drawing a deep breath, he gazed through the glass curtain at Yamashiro Tooru, standing still and awaiting the next order. His eyes grew resolute.

Japan’s future rests in my hands!

…

In a tidy room stood only two chairs and a wall-mounted screen, spotless and bare.

The door opened.

Yamashiro Tooru glanced slightly aside, watching Director Shirama stride in. His newly reconfigured mind automatically matched this figure.

Director Shirama—the Director of the Metropolitan Police Department, a true high-ranking figure, a man of great influence.

“Yamashiro-kun, how do you find adapting to this new body?” Director Shirama smiled warmly, extending his right hand.

“...Very well,” Yamashiro replied calmly after a moment of silence.

“Were you the one who ordered me brought out? What do you intend? I am a ‘criminal.’ You freed me and even gave me such power—aren’t you afraid others will come after you?”

“Releasing you was our decision,” Shirama said with a slight smile, revealing news that stunned Yamashiro.

He could not comprehend it. As a criminal who had assassinated the Prime Minister, anyone who offended these dignitaries’ authority should be dead without question. Why release him?

If it was for human experimentation, there were many stronger, more resolute candidates among Japan’s population. The elites already maintained suitable subjects. Why choose him?

“I know you have many questions now. Don’t rush. Let’s watch something first. Afterward, you will understand.”

Ignoring Yamashiro’s puzzlement, Shirama gestured for him to sit. In the dimming room, they silently watched the screen brighten as it displayed images.

Time passed like an orange cat—swift when feeding, slow when moving.

After a while, Yamashiro’s eyes shifted through confusion, shock, doubt, disbelief, calmness, and acceptance, ending with lingering astonishment as he looked at Shirama in the gradually brightening room.

“Those just now...”

“Are all true,” Shirama loosened his tie and turned his head, his gaze unshakable. “Now you understand, Yamashiro-kun. Japan, even the whole world, is undergoing tremendous change. I don’t know about other countries, but I do know that if this island nation wishes to preserve itself and even advance amid such upheaval, it needs more people like you.”

“Join us, Yamashiro-kun. You are a hero, an unquestionable hero!”

Shirama extended his invitation with sincerity and earnestness.

Previously, he had withheld this information from Yamashiro.

If he had not survived the agonies of the experiment, knowing more would have been mere comforting words before death.

But Yamashiro had passed through, now bearing Japan’s hope—supernatural hope.

“...But I am a criminal.”

“That does not matter. You are now a hero, and only a hero—the hero who will save this nation.”

A criminal?

Whose?

The former Prime Minister’s?

A bastard! A mere politician had plunged their hero into inner turmoil. How dare such a man call himself Japan’s Prime Minister!

Though they had not gone so far as to overturn the former Prime Minister’s ashes, for the sake of this first artificial supernormal, politicians could openly vent their disdain before Yamashiro, declaring they had long disliked that man. Yamashiro was truly a modern samurai, undertaking a solo mission to the capital—a model for all. They admired him.

Looking at the earnest Director Shirama, Yamashiro paused before speaking.

“I can accept guidance from the Metropolitan Police Department, but at critical moments, I will uphold my own sense of justice.”

“Of course. That is your right. Welcome to join us, Yamashiro-kun.”

Shirama rose, solemnly extending his right hand to Yamashiro.

Information about Yamashiro had long been public. His primary enemies were cults, which usually offered some leverage for the dignitaries. But now, at this pivotal moment, cults were of little consequence—if they weren’t merely cash cows, they were quietly pleased.

Moreover, several powerful figures known to have dubious ties with cults hastily severed them, posturing as sworn enemies of evil, while secretly venerating Japan’s local gods.

Before, without supernormals, standing with cults brought money.

Now that supernormals had appeared, who could say whether the gods might manifest?

With such intrigue, who could be sure when divine punishment might descend from the heavens?

Unaware of these twists and turns, Yamashiro casually asked, “How much supernatural power do we currently possess?”

“...”

…