As a Police Officer, I'm Always Worrying About Something - Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Three Years Before Ke Yuan

Life at the police academy passed quickly—before she knew it, Chinna had already been on the job for nearly three years.

Although she had aspired to join the traffic division, she ended up being assigned to the First Investigation Division. Chinna’s reaction: emotionally drained, unable to keep up with the grind. (￣(エ)￣)

During this time, she quickly became familiar with three of the department’s most prominent figures. When she first joined the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, she was mentored for a while by Wataru Date.

Thanks to her prior experience assisting with investigations, Chinna adapted quickly and was soon able to handle cases on her own.

Now, Wataru Date was mentoring a new officer named Wataru Takagi. Chinna knew of Officer Takagi after all, in the few episodes of *Detective Conan* she’d seen, he was the go-to guy who always answered questions.

After her shift, Chinna leisurely drove her little car back to her apartment.

Due to an incident a few years ago, her landlord had even lowered the rent, which convinced her to stay instead of moving into the police dorms.

Chinna twitched her ears, she thought she heard Yumi’s voice.

Sure enough, she soon spotted Yumi up ahead.

“Pull over, you jerk!”

Even from afar, Chinna noticed the car Yumi was chasing.

She was about to jump in and help—when she suddenly heard a sharp gunshot hidden beneath the chaos of blaring horns and sirens.

It wasn’t loud, but it was just barely masked by the honking and sirens.

Chinna’s pupils contracted. She shifted gears, reversed, and turned the car in one smooth motion. Before leaving, she called Yumi to report the gunshot and asked the traffic division to assist.

Watching the reckless driver being chased by patrol cars and about to turn into a narrow alley—the same one where Chinna had heard the shot—Yumi smirked, slammed the gas, and cut the car off before it could enter.

She threw her door open, slammed it shut, and pointed at the driver. “Out. License.”

Meanwhile, Chinna, who had faintly heard the gunshot, parked her car at the intersection. She picked up a brick from the roadside and quietly approached the corner.

Inside the alley, Hiromitsu Morofushi was crouched down, clutching his bleeding side and struggling for breath. He’d just fired his gun while trying to evade the Organization, choosing a location near a noisy street to mask the shot.

Fortunately, someone nearby had been street racing, and the honking had drowned out the shot. Otherwise, the police would’ve been swarming the area by now.

Sensing someone approaching from behind, Morofushi quickly stood up, raised his gun, and controlled his breathing.

They both stepped around the corner at the same time—Chinna holding a brick high in her hand. Morofushi’s mind, already strained from the chase, momentarily froze.

The moment Chinna saw him, she recognized him—those striking cat-like eyes. He was the boy sitting on the ambulance in that photo.

Back when she was partnered with Wataru Date, she had subtly mentioned seeing five people in that photo. Though Date hadn’t said anything, his expression had confirmed the identities of the other two.

Chinna dropped the brick and blurted out quickly, “We’ve met outside the police academy, three years ago. I even argued with Matsuda.”

Hearing Matsuda’s name, Morofushi recalled seeing a girl fighting with him outside the academy, but he didn’t lower his gun. He simply said, “Go. This has nothing to do with you.”

“I know who you are,” Chinna said. Instantly, his eyes darkened, and she quickly clarified, “I found an old article showing the five of you. You were tucked in a corner of the photo. I gave the paper to Instructor Onizuka.”

Before he could say a word, she continued, “I know Matsuda, Hagiwara, and Date-senpai. From what they’ve said in passing, I figured out what you do. I’m a police officer too. My car’s right up front—you can leave with me.”

Still unwilling to drag her into danger, Morofushi panted, “Forget it. This isn’t something you should be involved in. Go.”

Seeing that he had clearly let his guard down and realizing from his tone that he didn’t want to implicate her, Chinna didn’t hesitate. She knocked him out with a swift karate chop.

She hoisted Morofushi into her car, quickly cleaned up any traces using supplies from the vehicle, and drove toward her home.

‘If this undercover officer hadn’t let his guard down and wasn’t already losing bl00d, I might not have been able to get him out of there…’ Chinna thought as she dialed Jinpei Matsuda’s number. ‘I hope he won’t be mad at me.’

Just then, Matsuda picked up. “Bzzt… What is it? Bzzt…”

Chinna glanced at the unconscious man in her passenger seat but didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled over.

Hearing the static, Matsuda sensed something was wrong. “Where are you right now?” Chinna could even hear him getting dressed.

“I’m fine,” she said while checking Morofushi from head to toe, destroying the trackers hidden in his collar and sleeves. “Stay put at your apartment. Get Kenji over there too.”

Matsuda paused mid-change. Seeing Kenji Hagiwara beside him mouthing “What’s wrong?” he replied, “He’s right here.”

Restarting the car, Chinna asked, “Whose apartment are you in?”

Realizing that Morofushi’s trackers had already given away his location, Chinna abandoned the idea of taking him home and decided to bring him to Matsuda’s place instead.

“Mine,” Matsuda said, hanging his suit jacket back on the rack. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain in person,” Chinna said, weaving through side streets. “Not safe to talk over the phone.”

When she arrived outside Matsuda’s apartment building, she called again. Using the limited supplies in her car, she threw a trench coat over Morofushi, did some basic first aid, pulled a cap over his head, and added a mask.

Before Matsuda could speak, Chinna cut in. “Come downstairs and help me. I’ll explain everything upstairs. Check the apartment too and get a signal jammer ready.”

Matsuda and Hagiwara came down quickly. When they saw who was in the car, they didn’t say a word. Just silently pretended to help a drunk friend back home.

Chinna cleaned the bloodstains from her car and followed them upstairs.

Upstairs, Matsuda quickly cobbled together a small signal jammer. It wasn’t fancy, but it would hold for a while.

As soon as Chinna closed the apartment door behind her, Matsuda pointed at the man he’d laid on the floor. “Now will you tell us what’s going on?”

Chinna glanced at the still-unconscious Morofushi and raised an eyebrow. Instead of answering, she asked, “You two didn’t even check under the hat?”

She stepped forward, removed the baseball cap covering his face, and pulled off the mask.

Matsuda and Hagiwara followed her gaze—and saw their long-lost academy friend lying on the floor.

“Hiro!” Hagiwara was the first to react. Though he spoke softly, Chinna still heard him.

“So our undercover officer’s name is Hiro, huh?” Chinna shrugged. Before either of them could ask, she explained, “Long story short, I heard a gunshot on my way home. It was masked by honking, so if my hearing weren’t sharp, I might’ve missed it.”

She nodded toward Morofushi, now on the couch. “Don’t worry. Hiro here didn’t want to drag me into it and refused to come with me, so I knocked him out.”

Hagiwara finished checking him over. “There’s a graze on his abdomen, not huge, but it’s a bit deep. Chinna managed to stop the bleeding, but it still needs proper treatment.”

“I don’t have a medical kit at home,” Matsuda said, frowning. “And going out to buy one now might get us spotted.”

“I’ve got a first-aid kit at home—I’ll go get it.” Chinna twirled her car keys and headed for the door. “And since someone managed to plant a tracker on my car, I probably can’t use it anymore. I’ll take care of the car and the plates.”

“Chinna…” Hagiwara looked like he wanted to say something but stopped.

“It’s fine,” Chinna smiled. “I was getting tired of the Honda NSX anyway. Switching to a Nissan GTR doesn’t sound bad.”

Realizing she was trying to lighten the mood, Hagiwara let out a breath. “Thanks, Chinna. Once this guy wakes up, I’ll make sure he treats you to a big meal.”

“Great, I’ll be waiting.” Chinna opened the apartment door, avoided the surveillance cameras, retrieved the medical kit, disposed of the car, and then took a taxi to Matsuda’s place.

On the way, she called Yumi to let her know she was safe and said she’d misheard the gunshot. After all, the fewer people who knew about this, the better.

While Matsuda and Hagiwara were treating Morofushi’s wound, Chinna used Matsuda’s computer to log into the MPD’s internal system, deleted her license plate, and cleaned up as much surveillance footage as she could.

After carefully erasing traces of her access to the system, she shut the computer down.

By then, Morofushi had regained consciousness. His wide cat-like eyes were filled with confusion.

Maybe it was the bl00d loss, but his mind was foggy. He thought he was seeing his old academy classmates.

“Matsuda? Hagiwara? You guys… died too?” Morofushi asked in disbelief. “But I didn’t hear anything in the news…”

Because Morofushi was still injured, Matsuda clenched his fists but didn’t hit him, though the veins on his forehead were about to pop.

“Pfft.” Chinna couldn’t help but laugh. This undercover guy was just too cute.

Hearing her laugh, Morofushi finally snapped out of his shock and turned to her.

“Miss,” he said, recalling what happened before he passed out, “I ended up dragging you into this, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault…”

Seeing Matsuda barely holding it together and Hagiwara trying to keep him calm, Chinna kindly explained the situation.

“You’re not dead, Mr. Hiro.” She coughed twice, suppressing another laugh. “This is Matsuda’s apartment. I knocked you out and brought you here. Matsuda and Kenji treated your wound.”

Now fully awake, Morofushi chose to ignore his earlier outburst.

But under the intense glares of his two old friends, he held his ground. The consequence? No one would lend him a phone.

His own phone had been smashed by Chinna with two bricks and soaked in water—completely destroyed.

Feeling bad, Chinna lent him her own phone and explained that it had been modified (courtesy of Professor Agasa), so there was no need to worry about surveillance.

The signal jammer had already failed by the time Morofushi woke up, but the call still went through. Chinna even recognized the voice on the other end.

“Hello.” The voice was cold, cold enough to extinguish the warmth Chinna had felt earlier.

“It’s me… Amuro,” Morofushi said. “I’m fine. I’m with Matsuda and Hagiwara. A passing policewoman saved me.”

Chinna heard the person on the other end sigh in relief, though the tension in his voice remained. She could even faintly hear the sound of brakes.

“Is it safe?” Just those three words made Morofushi tense up again, despite being surrounded by friends.

—The policewoman who saved him didn’t know how dangerous the Organization was. What if she left behind a clue…

Judging from the question and Morofushi’s expression, Chinna jumped in.

“After I got you into the car, I cleaned up the scene. I found the trackers on the way to my place and destroyed them immediately. Before coming here, I took a few detours. The car and plates have been dealt with, and I deleted the surveillance footage.”

Neither Morofushi nor Rei Furuya (on the other end of the call) had expected the policewoman to be so thorough. Both were momentarily stunned.

“Oh, right,” Chinna added, “I deleted the surveillance and license plate data from the MPD system myself. I did my best to erase the traces, but if you know someone better with tech, it’s probably best to double-check.”

“Chinna’s always been careful,” Hagiwara said, finally relaxing after confirming his friend was okay.

“No argument there,” Matsuda muttered, finally calming down. He was already planning to beat Morofushi up once he recovered.

“Good. I’ll have Public Security delete the car model and plate number too,” said Furuya—no, Amuro—from the other end of the line.

Before Morofushi could speak, Chinna quickly provided the info: “Shinagawa 599 19-28, silver Honda NSX.”

“I’ve got sharp hearing. I didn’t mean to overhear,” she said, blinking at the stunned Morofushi.

Even Amuro on the other end was briefly thrown off, wondering if this was some kind of test from the Organization. But hearing the familiar tone of his old friend, he chose to trust Morofushi’s judgment.

“I’ve noted it. I’ll have Public Security erase it. Don’t go back to the MPD for now—stay with Matsuda.” With that, Amuro hung up.

“But…” Morofushi didn’t even finish his sentence before the call ended.

“I heard someone call him Bourbon,” Chinna said, seeing Morofushi’s dazed expression. “Maybe someone was looking for him?”

Realizing they couldn’t talk further, Morofushi returned the phone and resigned himself to staying with his old friends for now.

Seeing the dark looks on their faces, he swallowed hard. This wasn’t going to end well.

“Uh… this gentleman…” Hagiwara hesitated, not knowing what alias his friend was using.

“Rikukawa Hikaru. Just call me Rikukawa,” Morofushi answered immediately.

“Well then, Mr. Rikukawa, until you’re healed, lunch is on you,” Hagiwara said with a cheerful smile.

Matsuda, worried he might forget, pointed to himself, then Hagiwara, then Chinna. “Three meals. Until you’re better. And once you are—just wait. You and that blond bastard both.”

“I’ll pass,” Chinna waved. “I can bring my own lunch.”

“This lady…” Rikukawa looked at Chinna, unsure how to address her.

“Fujimine Chinna. Just call me Chinna,” she said, realizing she hadn’t introduced herself. “First Investigation Division, Violent Crimes Section 3.”

“Miss Chinna, you probably won’t be able to return to your apartment for a while. To make up for the trouble, please let me handle your meals,” Rikukawa said sincerely.

“Huh?” Chinna exclaimed. “It’s that serious? I can’t even go home?”

“Yes,” Rikukawa lowered his head, clearly upset. “I’m really sorry for dragging you into this.”

“It’s fine,” Chinna waved it off. “I’ll just rent the apartment below Matsuda’s. Let’s cancel the old one.”

“We can’t cancel it,” Rikukawa said, even more guilty. “If we do, the Organization might trace it.”

“No worries,” Chinna said, forcing a calm smile even though she was panicking inside. “I’ve got money. Doesn’t matter if I cancel or not.”

“You guys keep chatting,” she said, slipping on her shoes. “I’m going to rent a place and pick up some essentials. If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.”

Hagiwara gave her an “OK” sign. Matsuda lazily grunted in acknowledgment.

And just like that, Morofushi temporarily moved in with Matsuda, while Chinna relocated to the apartment downstairs.