006. The Cat, the Witch, and the Expired Grim Reaper

Spring is the season for reunions.

In the monotonous, almost dull routine of daily life, cherry trees quietly sprout new branches and buds, while couples lean wearily on park benches under a cool, clear sky. The wind stretches the clouds into slender shapes, like cobwebs hanging from old roof beams, slowly enveloping hands that struggle to intertwine, tightening and entwining in a fleeting encounter.

Tokyo’s special police force officer, who prides himself on being an ordinary human, gazed at the seemingly delusional young girl before him. The thought of having to bring her back to headquarters and report made him silently mourn the afternoon break he was about to sacrifice—especially considering the strict rules of the S.T.F., which meant he would most likely be working overtime…

All his admiration for the world’s beauty was drowned out by the bitter frustration of a corporate drone.

The girl, dressed as a witch, named Sakura Hiiragi, wanted to greet Toru Anritsu, but noticing his irritated and gloomy expression, she quietly withdrew her outstretched hand and watched him with a mixture of concern and puzzlement. She could not fathom how he felt at that moment.

And perhaps it was better that way.

After all, a mere middle schooler could never grasp the burdens of an elite corporate soldier.

This was a uniquely urban sorrow, buried deep within the clamor of the city’s working class.

Every day began with a seven o’clock alarm, followed by a pretense of cycling through the bustling streets. Meals were hurriedly eaten in the cafeteria, and after work, leisure was limited to the sauna or an izakaya; if not, it was returning to “Night Moon,” watching television while brewing coffee for solitary amusement.

He still remembered himself, freshly graduated from university, once full of ambition and dreams of making a mark within the S.T.F. stage. But fate had other plans—he lost the final interview to a prodigious monk training at Asakusa Temple and was reluctantly dispatched to the Kyushu branch.

Two years of steady work on Kyushu Island had ground down all his dreams and aspirations.

Such is the nature of work—it strips away the vibrant colors of youthful passion, rendering one dull and ordinary, a cog better suited to the machinery of the city.

Yet becoming a cog has its merits: one can adapt to the monotonous grind without the bruises of failure, driven by pressures from all directions to make each day at least appear meaningful.

Still, in the quiet depths of night, Toru would seek a catalyst to change his repetitive existence.

All he got in return was the morning alarm on his phone…

Life numbingly wedged between work and social obligations, ideals dissolving amid beer cans scattered on the floor.

In his dimly lit rented room, without electricity to save power, only the faint glow of a burning cigarette butt awaited an endless, unseen journey.

After two years of swallowing life whole, a turning point finally arrived.

The executive unit of S.T.F. headquarters had a vacancy.

Toru Anritsu, having dealt with yokai for two years in Kyushu, was the top candidate.

He had thought this was the dawn of something wonderful.

But the overtime culture in Tokyo was even more extreme than in Kyushu.

After just a month working in the metropolis he longed for, Toru’s dwindling ambition was all but extinguished.

…

If only the “Grim Reaper” could be controlled.

This thought had crossed Toru’s mind more than once while preparing his battle gear that morning.

If there were any turning points in his life, it would be this mysterious, inexplicable urban legend that had once been intertwined with his very being.

According to internal intelligence shared within the bureau, the “Grim Reaper” was classified as a level nine threat.

Level nine meant “a severe threat to national security, possessing the power to easily annihilate modern military forces.”

In the intelligence dossier, only one other being shared this level: the Asama deity residing at the shrine on Mount Fuji, who also served as the S.T.F.’s historical advisor.

This ranking had been bestowed personally by the Asama deity, for even the deity could not ascertain the “Grim Reaper’s” method of killing based on the crime scenes.

Thus, it was clear—the “Grim Reaper” wielded the power to directly command life and death.

But on second thought, such an embodiment of collective fear of death, born from the subconscious, could never be controlled by a single human will.

As Toru hesitated, wondering how to convince the Hiiragi heiress to leave with him, the little witch standing before him seemed to have completely run out of patience in less than a minute.

Almost startled, Toru watched as Sakura Hiiragi took a step closer, the pointed tip of her large witch’s hat nearly poking his chin.

“Miss Hiiragi?”

“Mr. Anritsu, you’ve forgotten again,” the girl said, her voice tinged with hurt and disappointment.

Toru thought: It must be the “memory wipe” again. Since she forgot that part, she must have seen the “Grim Reaper” before.

In other words…

She, like Margaret, knew his weakness.

Now, that was troubling.

Toru feared he might not be able to complete the secret mission assigned by Mr. Kirishima…

Oh well, today was yet another day farther from promotion and raise.

More likely… a deduction from his salary.

It was painful to think about, but compared to being hunted down and losing the right to a normal life, a small pay cut was trivial.

Whether he resisted or not, once the “Grim Reaper’s” identity was exposed, Toru could no longer continue as a human.

He powered off his phone. “Miss Hiiragi, would you like to sit with me at a café?”

Since she knew the secret of the “Grim Reaper,” their relationship was one of mutual familiarity. There was no need for the polished, diplomatic niceties of the workplace.

Pretending was exhausting.

In a tone bordering on irreverent for a genius of a prestigious Onmyoji family meeting for the first time, he said:

“Although S.T.F. wants me to bring you to headquarters, I don’t plan to let you meet them just yet.”

Toru was always skilled at leveraging his advantages and intelligence to solve problems.

That was the key to making it all the way to the S.T.F.’s final interview stage.

Having endured a month tormented by the “Grim Reaper,” now that he was free, he intended to make full use of its remaining influence.

Hearing his words, Sakura Hiiragi neither got angry nor embarrassed—she simply followed him step by step.

From the lightness of her footsteps, it seemed she was quite happy.

The cherry blossoms in Sakurakami Town were nowhere near blooming.

Most branches were still bare, sparsely dotted with green.

…

2:31 P.M.

In a secluded corner of the sunken plaza.

Toru Anritsu gripped the cold metal door handle and pushed open the frosted glass door.

“Margaret?”

He cautiously called out to the “Nekomata” residing in the café.

Saying “residing” wasn't quite accurate—it was more that Toru deliberately restricted its range of movement.

He couldn’t just let it roam freely and risk revealing his secret.

But Margaret had no intention of leaving the café; she seemed almost afraid of some dangerous enemy lurking outside, unwilling to approach the windows or display any of her yokai abilities.

Margaret was napping on the counter opposite the door, responding listlessly, “Toru, what’s up?”

Then she blinked her dark emerald eyes, which looked so deep green in daylight, and caught sight of Sakura Hiiragi behind Toru…

Her half-closed cat eyes suddenly widened in alarm. Her fur bristled, back arched, ears flattened like airplane wings, she swayed side to side, flicking her tail…

“Ha~!” A faint, delicate hissing sound clearly echoed inside the cramped café.

Toru thought it was Margaret hissing, but looking closer, he saw the black cat frantically wagging two tails, shrinking her head in terror, and backing up as if about to topple off the counter.

Only then did he realize—it wasn’t the cat hissing, it was a person.

The little witch hiding behind Toru raised her hands, curled her fingers, and bared her teeth at Margaret.

Of course, such an exaggerated gesture and expression on her did not intimidate anyone.

It was more likely to be found endearing.

“Shoo, shoo, get her away! Toru! Please get her away!” came Margaret’s tearful scream from the counter edge.

Sakura Hiiragi’s cute imitation of a hissing kitten almost made Toru waver, but to Margaret, it must have seemed like a giant predator a hundred times her size roaring.

Hearing the cat yokai’s desperate cries, Sakura Hiiragi ceased her antics and quietly observed Toru’s expression.

He noticed her repeated unusual behavior since they first met. “You care about what I think?”

She nodded vigorously. “Because… Mr. Anritsu, you are very scary.”

“You must mean the urban legend called the ‘Grim Reaper.’ It no longer exists.”

Sakura’s expression turned unusually shocked. She stared intensely past Toru, then looked at him again—he genuinely had no memory of it. Suddenly, she pulled the brim of her witch hat down to cover half her face, cupped her mouth with her small hands, and dared not say another word.