The results of the comprehensive assessment were announced on a gloomy Friday afternoon.
There was no grand awards ceremony; this routine evaluation was just like a monthly exam.
The assessment results were simply printed and posted on the first floor lobby of the faculty building.
“No way…”
Kagegaya Tsubaki stood in front of the bulletin board, rubbing her eyes in disbelief, pointing at the name at the top of the list.
“C?! Seriously, a C Rank?!”
On that list sorted by rank, Kazama Yin’s name was conspicuously listed first, followed by a striking Chinese character—[C].
For a high school student who hadn’t even graduated yet to obtain a “C” rank was practically unheard of.
Below his name was Nakajima Nobuko, the current president of the Supernatural Club, ranked “D.”
Kagegaya Tsubaki and Hanyu Jinro’s names were squeezed together side by side, followed by the rating—Ji.
This was already extremely rare, because the difficulty of leveling up increased more and more.
Kagegaya Tsubaki looked toward Kazama Yin, who was leaning against a nearby pillar, showing no interest in the bulletin board.
Kazama Yin stared at the vibrating phone in his hand; the screen displayed the official appointment letter and permission unlock notification sent by the Management Department.
But there was no joy on his face.
He knew that kill wasn’t his own power.
“Let’s go.”
Kazama Yin put away his terminal, didn’t go celebrate with his classmates, and a faint smile appeared on his face: “There are still important things to do.”
…
Kazama Yin smiled too soon.
He thought the search journey would be a pleasant adventure.
But in reality, the next few days were tedious and full of frustration.
The list compiled by Hanyu Jinro was like an expired treasure map.
“Hello, are you Mr. Yamamoto? I’d like to ask about N years ago…”
“Beep—beep—”
“Get lost! Don’t bother me anymore!”
“Hanyu? Never heard of it. I only bought this house three years ago.”
“How did you know I got a Tokyo University Green Card?”
Most of the people involved were already unreachable—some had died in the war, others had disappeared without a trace.
And the few who could be contacted hung up the phone as if they’d been electrocuted as soon as they heard it was about police matters from “that period.”
Inside a fast food restaurant, Hanyu Jinro stared at the last remaining name on his tablet and let out a deep sigh.
“Total wipeout.”
He took off his glasses and tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose: “Only this last one is left.”
On the screen, that name shone alone.
Sato Aoi.
“But this name… the file only has the name, no address, no phone number, not even an age recorded.”
Hanyu Jinro smiled bitterly: “All I know is that it was a… victim? who had contact with my uncle back then.”
“The surname Sato is as common as convenience stores in Japan, and there must be at least eight thousand ‘Aoi’s out of ten thousand.”
Kagegaya Tsubaki bit her straw and said vaguely: “How do we find her? Should we check one by one at the Census Office?”
“With our current permissions, we can’t access such detailed records.”
Kazama Yin looked at the name, pondered for a moment, and said: “Since conventional methods won’t work, we’ll have to ask ‘higher-ups’ for help.”
“You mean…”
“Senior Jin Jing.”
…
People’s Alliance Party Headquarters.
The atmosphere here was even more oppressive than a hospital morgue.
Staff came and went with hurried steps, carrying pale, sleep-deprived faces, their arms full of stacks of documents, as if they might drop dead at their posts at any moment.
The three teenagers had just reached the door of the top-floor office when a figure blocked them.
“Stop, stop!”
Dubian held a phone in one hand, a folder tucked under her armpit, and the smell of energy drinks permeated the air around her.
When she saw the three high school students, her brows instantly knitted into a grimace.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“Senior Dubian, we have urgent business and wanted to ask Senior Jin Jing for help…”
Hanyu Jinro said with a smiling face.
“No time!”
Dubian refused flatly.
She pointed at the tightly closed office door behind her: “Senior Jin Jing has been working for two hundred hours straight. He finally managed to doze off on the sofa a moment ago!”
The three’s pupils shook—two hundred hours?
Dubian sighed, hung up the phone, and her tone softened slightly: “I know you’re also looking for Uncle Hanyu, but some things have priorities. You shouldn’t disturb Senior Jin Jing.”
“Then… who should we ask?”
Kagegaya Tsubaki asked quietly.
Dubian thought for a moment, her gaze drifting toward a certain direction outside the window.
“Go find that slacker.”
“Slacker?”
“Senior Yuki.”
Dubian pursed her lips: “After coming back, Senior Yuki said he was going back to ‘monitoring,’ but…”
“Anyway, you’ll understand when you visit him.”
…
Amuro Residence. When the three stood again in front of the modest one-story house, they felt the atmosphere had changed subtly once more.
“Meow~”
The door had barely opened a crack when a fluffy little head poked out.
It was a kitten only a few months old, with black-and-white markings like a little tuxedo, except a black patch on its face was slightly crooked, making it look a bit comical.
“Ah, careful not to step on it.”
Amuro Kaede, wearing an apron, opened the door with a smile and bent down to pick up the kitten trying to escape.
“This is…”
Kagegaya Tsubaki’s eyes lit up; girls always had no resistance to such fluffy creatures.
“Its name is Onigiri.”
Kaede scratched the kitten’s chin, and it purred contentedly: “My brother picked it up by the roadside a couple of days ago. It looked like it had been hit by a car and injured, but it’s almost recovered now.”
“Senior Yuki… picked up a cat?”
“My brother is in the backyard.”
Kaede pointed toward the back of the house, her eyes both tender and helpless: “He’s… busy.”
The three crossed the living room and came to the backyard.
The originally overgrown backyard had now been cleared into a large open space.
Under the setting sun, a man in an old T-shirt and loose sweatpants was wielding a hoe, turning over the soil.
His movements were rhythmic: the hoe fell, lifted black dirt, and then broke up the clods.
He was as focused as if performing some kind of meditation.
At his feet lay several packs of vegetable seeds bought from a home center: tomatoes, cucumbers, and eggplants.
“Um… Senior Yuki?” Hanyu Jinro called cautiously.
Yuki Asahi stopped, straightened up, and turned around. Seeing the three of them, he showed no surprise, only nodded lightly.
“You’re here.”
“Senior, are you…” Kagegaya Tsubaki stared at all the tools on the ground, dumbfounded.
“You could say I’m retiring to the countryside.”
“Growing vegetables.”
Yuki Asahi looked down at the freshly turned soil, seeming satisfied: “Vegetables are too expensive these days.”
“Vegetables…”
Kazama Yin’s mouth twitched. ‘For Senior Yuki to think vegetables are expensive… the economy must be in a collapse, right?’
“Is something up?”
Yuki Asahi walked over to a small faucet, turned it on, and washed the dirt off his hands, asking casually.
Hanyu Jinro stepped forward and spoke the name.
“We wanted to ask if you could use your network to help us find this person.”
“Sato Aoi…”
Yuki Asahi turned off the faucet, shook the water droplets from his hands, and repeated the name under his breath.
“Not ringing a bell.” He answered bluntly.
“But if it’s just checking on someone…” Yuki Asahi thought for a moment, “I can ask around for you.”
He didn’t ask who this person was, nor why they wanted to find her; he didn’t even show any extra curiosity.
That attitude was neither a refusal nor enthusiasm—more like casual indifference.
Like agreeing to take in a package for a neighbor.
“Write the name down for me.”
Yuki Asahi took the note from Hanyu, didn’t even look at it, and casually shoved it into his pants pocket.
“Thank you, Senior!” Hanyu Jinro quickly expressed his thanks, though he felt it was a bit strange.
Yuki Asahi didn’t rush them out, nor did he go back to hoeing.
His gaze fell on Kazama Yin, who was at the back.
“How is it?”
Kazama Yin subconsciously touched his left arm hanging in a sling and said, “It’s okay. The doctor says it’s recovering well.”
“I wasn’t asking about your bones.”
Yuki Asahi walked up to Kazama Yin. His body still carried the scent of soil, but the invisible pressure made Kazama Yin’s breath catch.
Yuki Asahi reached out his hand—not touching Kazama Yin, but stopping a few centimeters above his left arm.
“I’m asking about the one inside.”
“She… is still sleeping.” Kazama Yin lowered his head, his voice a little dry.
“Very quiet.”
Yuki Asahi was silent for a moment, then withdrew his hand and turned back to pick up the hoe.
“Grief takes time to digest—whether for a person or a ghost.”
Yuki Asahi swung the hoe, turning up fresh soil.
“No matter what was buried before, only by turning it over and letting it breathe can something new grow.”
Kazama Yin watched Yuki Asahi’s back, watched him swing the hoe mechanically and powerfully, one stroke after another.
“Yes, I understand.” Kazama Yin bowed deeply.
The other two listened to this conversation, utterly bewildered.
When the three teenagers walked out of the Amuro residence, the sun had completely set.
“Somehow…”
Kagegaya Tsubaki looked back at the house where a light had just turned on.
The kitten named Onigiri was lying on the windowsill, licking its paw.
“Senior Yuki has turned into an old man.”
…
Amuro Residence Backyard.
After the three had gone far, Yuki Asahi stopped his work, pulled the crumpled note from his pocket, and looked at the romanized name under the light shining from inside the house.
“Sato… Aoi…”
Yuki Asahi muttered it once.
If it was a common surname like Sato, finding someone would be quite troublesome.
He could ask through his connections—maybe a government official could help search—but according to Hanyu Jinro, this person’s life or death was unknown…
Life or death unknown meant dead.
He casually shoved the note back into his pocket, not taking it too seriously.
He took off his gloves, tossed them on the tool box, and turned his head toward the courtyard wall.
“Come out, Yue.”
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