As a Police Officer, I'm Always Worrying About Something - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Seven Years Before the Ke Yuan

After the incident at the beach was resolved, summer vacation continued smoothly. Chinna had a restful break and moved up to her third year of high school.

Since she had transferred from China at age ten, she had skipped a grade.

Later, Chinna was admitted to the Faculty of Law at the University of Tokyo. Over three years, she grew close with two striking classmates who’d later be familiar names in the story—cool-headed detective Miwako Sato and cheerful traffic officer Yumi Miyamoto.

“Hey, hey, Miwako, Chinna, wanna go out?” Yumi asked, arms stretched across her desk in boredom.

“Wanna swing by the police academy?” Miwako tilted her head. “I’ve kind of wanted to check it out.”

“Huh?” Chinna looked surprised. “So you want to be a police officer, Miwako?”

“I didn’t tell you?” Miwako turned to her. “My dad used to be one.”

“Now that you mention it, I don’t think we’ve ever asked what your parents do,” Yumi said, changing the subject.

“My parents run a company,” Chinna said. “Nothing that well known, though.”

“Whaaat?!” That genuinely shocked both Miwako and Yumi. But since Chinna didn’t want to name the company, they didn’t press her.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about becoming a police officer too,” Chinna said, resting her chin on her hand. “It’s one of the most stable jobs out there.”

“Seriously?!” Yumi jumped on the topic. “You want to be a cop—for that reason? I thought you’d inherit the company!”

“I wouldn’t know how to run it. What if I bankrupt it?” Chinna shrugged. “Being a cop sounds pretty good.” (Though what she didn’t say was, ‘all you have to do is point a finger and arrest the criminal sobbing on their knees.‘)

“Ugh! You both want to do it now?” Yumi groaned. “Fine. I’ll take the exam too!”

“But Yumi,” Chinna said while gathering her things—they were already heading out, “won’t the criminal investigations division be too intense for you?”

“Huh?” Yumi paused. “I was planning to join the traffic department.”

“Oh!” Chinna knocked her fist into her palm. “Great idea. I’ll go to traffic too!”

“You’re the last person who should say that,” Miwako muttered with a deadpan look. “You’re always helping the Metropolitan Police with cases.”

“Exactly,”Yumi added. “That chubby Inspector Megure’s probably got you lined up for Investigation Division One already.”

While chatting, the three of them passed the police academy. Miwako stopped, her eyes fixed on a white Mazda RX-7 parked at the gate.

She reached out and brushed the car gently.

“Miwako, don’t touch it,” Yumi quickly pulled her hand down. “You’ll get in trouble.”

“Hey! You three college girls over there! Don’t put your filthy hands on that car!” a voice shouted from a distance.

Chinna turned around to see a guy in a police academy uniform with curly black hair glaring at them. She had been about to apologize, but after hearing that tone, her sarcasm kicked in: “What, is this some kind of sacred car? Was it just assembled and the screws aren’t tight yet, so it’ll fall apart if we touch it?”

“Huh?!” the curly-haired guy’s voice practically shot into the sky. “We just finished fixing it! How could it fall apart from a single touch?!”

“Alright, alright. A police officer shouldn’t be yelling at civilians,” said another guy with medium-length hair, walking over and pushing the curly-haired one aside. “Sorry about that, ladies.”

Chinna, ready with a comeback, eased up when she heard the apology. “No big deal. I was out of line too.”

“No worries,” Miwako and Yumi chimed in.

Then a tall, buzz-cut guy jogged over, yelling, “Hey, leave it! The ceremony’s about to start!”

Another classmate caught up and added, “We’ve only got ten minutes!”

The four quickly disappeared inside the gates. The last to pass was a guy with blond hair and dark skin. He didn’t look fully Japanese, more like a mixed-race student. His striking appearance left a strong impression on Chinna.

He stopped briefly and said, “Are you girls looking to become police officers too?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “Today’s our graduation. If you’re serious, come inside. As long as you carry honor and a sense of duty—commit to protecting the people of this country.”

Then he jogged after his classmates.

His words stuck with Chinna. ‘Protect the people… of this country?’

“Miwako, what’s up with that car?” Chinna asked, remembering the look on her friend’s face earlier.

“It’s nothing…” Miwako said quietly, still staring at the car. “It just looks a lot like my dads’.”

“Oh, is your dad here on business at the academy?” Chinna asked innocently. “Should we go say hi?”

Yumi was about to stop her but hesitated and let her hand drop.

“No need for that,” Miwako snapped out of it. “My dad passed away in the line of duty twelve years ago. Saying hi to him now might give someone a heart attack.”

“Ah… I’m sorry,” Chinna murmured clearly unaware of her friend’s painful past.

At the time she read the manga, she’d only gotten as far as Vermouth’s introduction.

“It’s fine,” Miwako said with a wave of her hand. “Before he passed, my dad was chasing a suspect. I remember he kept calling out something that sounded like “‘Shuushirou.’”

“Wait a second!”Chinna suddenly paused in her tracks. “I know that case, it was all over the papers back then. The ‘Shuushirou’ case, right? I think there’s still about two years left before it hits the statute of limitations.”

“With just that phrase, a ten-second video, and a raincoat to go on, it’s no wonder they couldn’t nail the guy,” Yumi added thoughtfully, now that the topic was open.

“Actually,” Miwako turned around, “there was a fourth clue. My dad wrote three suspicious katakana letters in his notebook: K-A-N O.”

“‘KAN O’…?” Chinna murmured, unsure of what it meant. Her Japanese wasn’t strong enough to piece it together.

As they walked, Miwako explained that she used to stare at those letters so much as a kid, she began thinking: if anyone ever figured out what they meant, she’d grant them a wish.

“Shuushirou… shuu… shiro… ji… jishu shiro…” Chinna mumbled to herself, trying out different pronunciations.

“Miwako! Yumi!” Chinna suddenly called out, as if something had clicked. “What if your dad wasn’t saying ‘shuu shiro’ but ‘jishu shiro’ instead?”

“Huh?” The other two hadn’t caught on yet, but Chinna was already excitedly theorizing.

“If he said ‘jishu shiro,’ it would mean ‘turn yourself in,’ right?” Chinna tilted her head. “That would mean the culprit was someone he knew. And maybe ‘KAN O’ was some kind of code between acquaintances.”

She grabbed both Miwako and Yumi by the arms, excited. “Let’s go talk to Inspector Megure and look at the case file!”

Then she paused. “Or maybe we should start by looking into your dad’s old friends?” Turning to Miwako, she asked, “Do you remember who they were?”

Miwako finally caught up. “You mean… you think you’ve figured out who the killer is?”

“Not exactly,” Chinna admitted. “But ‘shuushirou’ and ‘jishu shiro’ are only a syllable apart. I figured it was worth a shot.”

“She’s right, they’re almost identical,” Yumi agreed, thoughtful now. “Okay then! Let’s solve this mystery for Miwako’s sake!”

“Let’s start with your dad’s friends,” Chinna said, looking to Miwako. “Can you remember who they were?”

“It’s been a while,” Miwako said. “But I do remember that four people always visit my dad’s grave every year.”

“Maybe we can call them and ask if they remember anything about ‘KAN O,’” Yumi suggested.

“Perfect,” Chinna said, pulling a phone from her bag. “I brought my mobile. Miwako, do you remember their numbers?”

Miwako shook her head. “No, but if I call my mom, she might know.”

She took Chinna’s phone and called home. Eventually, she got the numbers of her father’s four friends.

“Three men and one woman?” Chinna looked at the names and numbers on the paper. “Let’s call the woman first. It might be easier to talk to her… right?”

Seeing Chinna’s uncertain expression, Miwako chuckled. “Actually, all four of them are easy to talk to. But since you said so, let’s start with Miss Kamitori Chouko.”

The call connected quickly. Chinna and Yumi listened nervously from the side.

“Hello, Aunt Kamitori? It’s me, Miwako Sato. Yes, yes…” Miwako chatted with her for a bit. “Have you ever heard of ‘KAN O’? Huh? I see. Thank you, I understand.”

As soon as she hung up, she noticed two eager faces leaning in.

“Aunt Kamitori said,” Miwako began, pausing to steady her emotions, “that Uncle Shuuji Kano… in high school, my dad gave him a nickname. But she can’t remember if it was ‘KAN O’ or just ‘KA O.’”

Chinna and Yumi’s eyes widened. Chinna’s gut told her this was the lead they needed.

“The police have been tracking the stolen money for years,” Chinna said, resting her chin on her hand. “If the robber used it, they’d be caught. So the money must still be with the suspect.”

“If we find that money, we can confirm it,” Yumi added. “We could pretend to visit,” Miwako said, now calm again. “But we don’t have a warrant, so we can’t search thoroughly.”

“In that case, I know someone who could help,” Chinna said with a wink. “An eleven-year-old can get away with being a little nosy, right?”

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Before arriving at the agreed location, Chinna had already explained the situation to Shinichi.

Even though he was only eleven, the precocious Shinichi clearly knew how to snoop around.

After the visit, Shinichi handed Miwako a bundle of yen wrapped in a handkerchief.

The case was resolved smoothly. Once Shuuji Kano learned the stolen money had been found, he didn’t even try to deny it—he confessed right away.

Watching Miwako slam the table in anger and accidentally crack it, Chinna figured part of the reason he confessed was because Miwako was in the room.

With the man responsible for her father’s death finally caught, Miwako was in high spirits. She asked Chinna and Yumi what they wanted, ready to fulfill her promise.

Chinna said all she wanted was a barbecue. Yumi agreed.

Fueled by grilled meat and beer, Miwako finally let out all her pent-up emotions—and left behind a pile of crushed soda cans.