Chapter 2
If this were an ani or a doujin plot, after Sakurai Chizuru was pinned to the ground she'd feel her heart thud—how thrilling, never before had a man dared treat her like this—awakening so weird new kink and chasing Fushimi Shika like a lovesick maniac...
Reality check: Fushimi Shika was ordered to run twenty-five laps around the parade ground. No dinner till he finished.
Because you're not Ling Ran, He Chen, or Li Chu, that's why.
And that wasn't the end of it—Instructor Sakurai seed to have taken a personal dislike to him; he'd be wearing invisible tight shoes for the foreseeable future.
"After tuition and room-and-board, my balance is down to 150,000 yen. Who knows which precinct they'll dump in after graduation..."
"This system is useless. A law-abiding citizen like isn't about to start murdering people. A butter-gal-ga system would be way more practical—"
A-hem →_→!
Fushimi jogged, mind wandering.
By the ti he finished, the ss hall had closed.
The police academy kept a brutal schedule: even showers were capped at three minutes, all to drill ti discipline into cadets.
His stomach growled.
High-intensity cardio burns through glycogen like wildfire, doubling the hunger without doing real damage—exactly why "run plus starvation" is every instructor's favorite punishnt.
He gulped water, trying to trick his gut into feeling full.
Monts later the hunger pounced again.
Dragging his weary body back to the dorm, he regretted not packing instant noodles.
A small head popped out of the roadside bushes.
"Over here! Fushimi-kun, here!"
Under the dim streetlamp her eyes sparkled, pupils like gemstones catching the hazy light.
Minamoto Tamako—sa class, sa year. During practical training she'd sat beside him, whispering, "Whatever you do, don't freeze."
She crouched in the foliage, petite fra folded in on itself, two strands of hair sticking up like rabbit ears.
"Hungry?"
She waggled a paper bag. "I sneaked you so rice balls. Eat them here, don't let anyone see."
"It's you again..."
No surprise, just a throbbing headache.
Ever since orientation day Tamako had latched onto him.
The girl's intuition was scary, her curiosity worse—one glance at the "Cri Index" floating above her head and she'd grown suspicious.
"Fushimi-kun, what are you looking at?"
"Is there sothing on my head? Why that look?"
"Why do you keep staring at people's heads?"
For two weeks she'd cornered him every chance she got.
Lies, deflection, cover-ups—nothing worked; she'd see through them and double her curiosity, convinced "Classmate Fushimi must be hiding so unspeakable secret!"
The reason for his surprise: her Cri Index was an absurd 1 %.
Normal people hover between 10 % and 20 %.
Above 20 % you're a jerk; 30 % ans you've probably committed a cri; past 35 % you're a serious felon—the higher it goes, the heavier the "cri gold content."
So a guy like —jaywalking daily, scaring neighbor kids with monster faces, giving tourists wrong directions, hogging priority seats, squeezing instant noodles on weekends—should be downright evil, right? Ha! So far he'd never seen anyone break 40 %.
"Today I'm not here to interrogate you."
Tamako patted the grass, motioning him in. Starving, he obeyed.
Side by side in the bushes, he took the bag.
"Finally realized how annoying you are? Wow, the rice balls are still warm."
Tamako ignored the jab. "I want to talk about sothing else... Don't you think Instructor Sakurai's been acting strange?"
"She's always been a pervert." He spoke with his mouth full.
"Don't bad-mouth an instructor! And you really shouldn't have laid hands on her during practice."
Tamako scolded, then lowered her voice. "Haven't you heard? The class leader's been asking around—claims soone sent Instructor Sakurai an anonymous letter and he's helping her find the sender... What do you make of it?"
"Probably a love letter."
Given Sakurai's looks and temperant, plenty of guys would beg to be her lapdog.
"If it were a love letter, there'd be no need to investigate. Love letters have nas or at least a way to reply—otherwise what's the point? Besides, how did the sender slip the envelope into a private office unseen?"
Tamako gnawed on a translucent fingernail, voice hushed. "There's definitely a secret here."
Fushimi couldn't care less. He stuffed the last rice ball in his mouth and brushed off his pants to leave.
Tamako grabbed his cuff. "Just like that?"
"What else?"
"You planning to dine and dash?"
"How much? I'll pay—"
"I don't want money." She shook her head. "Help find out what's in that letter."
A system prompt popped up before his eyes.
[Cri Commission Triggered]
Details: Locate Sakurai Chizuru's anonymous letter
Reward: Level 1 Tracking Technique
Note: Follow-up quests locked
"There it is again," Tamako frowned, staring into his eyes. "Your gaze just went blank, like you're seeing sothing I can't. What are you looking at?"
"Nothing. Mosquito." He deflected.
"You're lying." She nailed it in a second.
Fushimi's scalp prickled. "Why ? Kawai's closer to you. Why not ask her instead? We're not even that tight."
"Kawai's a good girl; you're a bad one," Tamako said.
"What kind of logic is that? And I'm plenty nice!"
"I'm too scared to investigate alone and I can't break academy rules... so I need a— cough—hard man like you to take point." She forced the complint.
"A hard man can't be bought with three rice balls."
"Please, you're my only hope." She whispered, "I'll do your laundry for a week."
Fushimi wondered why she cared so much. Sakurai wasn't her relative; why dig like a cat with an obsessive curiosity?
He looked down. Tamako gazed up, eyes shining with plea.
"Just this once," he muttered.
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