61: The Foot I Couldn't Step On (2)

"If I pull that switch, I wonder if the device will even move."

"Wouldn't it be faster to just pull ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it and see?"

The two-player co-op puzzle game Fall Over, which Mary and Sae had started together, was by now settling into the middle-to-late stretch of the run. The controls had been strangely floaty and hard to get a feel for, but the two of them had adapted somehow or other, muddling through the gimmicks and pushing the stage along.

"When I give the signal, we pull at the same time. Yeah?"

"Yes. I'll be ready."

Two levers were mounted beside a contraption that looked impressively like a real machine. Each one bore an ornament, red on one and blue on the other — a gimmick they had seen any number of times already, the kind that only worked if both were pulled together.

"One, two!"

"Hup—!"

The moment they set the machine going, a saw blade spinning at high speed shot out of its upper housing. It ricocheted off the walls this way and that, and then it severed the cable of the mirror ball hanging from the ceiling.

The power died. Every gaudy light in the building went dark at once, and the mirror ball, robbed of its glow, dropped and hit with a heavy thud.

"Ah. We can use this to hold down that button from earlier."

Mary rolled it over to a spot she had noted before, where a large red button was set into the floor. A person could have stood on it and held it down themselves, but they could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hardly stay planted there the whole time. The moment she set the ball onto the button, the door across the way slid open.

"Speaking of which, seeing that mirror ball reminded me."

"Of what?"

"Mary-unnie, we went to karaoke together not that long ago, didn't we?"

"Ah. Right, we did."

A topic they had agreed beforehand to bring up at some reasonable point on today's stream. So we're doing this now, are we, Mary murmured to herself. Well, they had reached the hour when puzzle gimmicks alone were liable to bore the viewers. They could hardly keep up a lively comic back-and-forth every single second.

"Hm? What's this about, you ask? Well, you see—"

"...This really has fish-type anomaly genes mixed in, doesn't it?"

From the passenger seat, a man muttered, fluttering a printed photograph. Coarse hair had been forced back with pomade into a slicked all-back, and a slightly vicious face, set on a bear of a frame, gave off a considerable pressure.

"That isn't a line you ought to be delivering with that face, senpai."

The woman at the wheel said it as she eased them through a turn. Her hair was tied back neatly, and her impression was so grave that jokes didn't look likely to land on her either. Even so, the stiff image the two of them shared was its own kind of advantage in their work.

"What's wrong with how I look."

"You look like you'd have the average petty crook turning himself in in tears."

Criminal Investigation Bureau, Third Investigative Division, Sixth Section, Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. That was their posting.

"Even so, I look a lot tamer than this photo, don't I?"

"Well... isn't that a matter of perspective."

"Hey now, no bad-faith dragging. A face like this could stand even with Saint Bartholomew. How am I anywhere near that level."

They were also state-certified handlers of anomaly cases, under the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications.

Special Disaster Countermeasures Officers of the Disaster Prevention Division, Civil Protection and Disaster Management Department, Fire and Disaster Management Agency of Japan — known, for short, as the Onmyoryo.

In short, they were something like the guardians of the hidden world.

"Setting that aside, how did this job end up coming all the way to us? If no incident has actually occurred, it would normally be the Church's jurisdiction."

The Roman Catholic Church. A worldwide religious body, and also a worldwide organization for answering anomalies. That institution, with its long history and tradition, had of course worked its way into most countries... but the role it performed differed somewhat from nation to nation. The tendency stood out especially in the East, outside the old Christian cultural sphere. Even among the immediate neighbors — Korea, China, and Japan — the structures showed differences large and small. Each had settled into its present form at the end of a tug-of-war between the outside organization and the domestic government.

In Japan's case, the split had the Church chiefly in charge of prevention and the government chiefly in charge of response. It was only a rough division, of course, and they answered flexibly as the need arose... This time, however, there was nothing of an incident about it. It was a simple inquiry into a person. Find out whether this man was connected to anomalies, and if so, how deeply. That was the cooperation Han Seoyeon had requested of the Onmyoryo.

"It's a simple inquiry, so if anything, she doesn't trust the Japanese Church with it."

As if they had hammered the presumption of guilt straight into the confession of faith, the Catholic Church in Japan was uniquely severe toward anomalies. The share of holy knights who would wreck you first, unless your innocence was certain, ran considerably high.

"This man is the president of the company where an acquaintance of Bartholomew works."

A plea to be careful, so the company didn't end up rocked by it. The man grumbled to that effect.

"An acquaintance... ah. Would that be the VIP from the official notice that came down a little while ago?"

"Yeah. Ninomae Hitomi."

He said it while turning back over the personal file he had seen not long ago.

"So what that means is, Anathema Production sits under the protection of both Bartholomew and the Hyakurenno family at once. The inquiry has to be careful. Understood?"

"Hmm... I can see why we'd have to ask around carefully even if it were only the Hyakurenno Group. But however much of an Apostle she may be, does one lone holy knight really get placed on the same line?"

"...How did you even get into the Onmyoryo?"

At the woman's puzzled question, he let out a sigh.

"Probably because I fight well?"

"Damn it. This is why even the special recruits need to sit a written exam."

A personality test, too, if possible. Thinking of a senior who pressed drinks on him whenever the chance arose, the man added it under his breath.

"You know the Papal Special Measures?"

"When a given government decides it can't cope, they square up and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dispatch holy knights. That was it, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. A Seal-class measure means throwing Gravekeepers in at squad strength, or planting a single Apostle and leaving them there. A Flute-class measure goes further — practically dispatching an army, or else sending more than one Apostle..."

The man went on, folding his spread fingers back down one by one.

"Is there a step above that?"

She asked it after confirming that one finger was still held out.

"There is. It's called a Bowl-class measure. ...Ah, right turn up there."

He continued, straightening a body tilted by the turn's inertia.

"When you get to the point of 'yeah, this really isn't going to work,' you set it off and sweep everything clean without a thought for the damage around you."

"...Just hearing about it is dreadful."

"That woman is the core of one of those scorched-earth operations."

The Bowl-class measure, Armata Strigoi. An immortal army, brought to completion by ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠drawing on miracles of every kind to their limit. Personnel are never spent. Supply is never cut. No obstacle can bar the way. A march of death.

"And that's setting aside the other miracles — the infinite resupply and all the rest. The measure itself can be stood up by this generation's Bartholomew alone, inefficient as that would be. You follow?"

"So..."

"That woman has the quiet backing of some of the anomalies living in this country. Picture it. A legion of anomalies that comes back without end, unless you burn them down to ash."

They were not even a single species. Which was to say they did not so much as share a common weakness.

"On raw danger alone, she's above Hyakurennomiya. At least that side can only bring its power to bear if society is still standing."

If one asked which was the more capable, one would still have to give it to Hyakurenno. But they could not bring down a country — not a developed nation, at any rate, in a twenty-first century where the world was bound together as one. What shone in a moment like that was simple, unambiguous force.

"...Isn't our assignment more dangerous than I thought?"

"We just have to keep from touching their mood. Just don't cross them."

A screech of brakes. A sedan stopped in front of a building. The man pulled on his coat and got out. The wind was cold. Behind him came the footsteps of his junior, who had killed the engine and stepped out after him.

"More to the point, why isn't she coming herself? Even granting she doesn't trust the Church, Bartholomew could just move in person."

"Exam period, she says."

"Ah."

Nothing to be done about that. She nodded.

Once they stepped inside the building, the reception desk was the first thing to catch the eye. Well. VTuber agency or whatever else it called itself, it was still a kind of talent agency, so the sight was not a strange one.

"What brings you he—"

"Assistant Inspector Koube Yosei, Third Investigative Division, Metropolitan Police Department."

He strode up to the desk and held out the police notebook he had drawn from his pocket.

"I've come to see Mr. Nakabashi Gyokichi, as an important person of interest in a case. I believe we were expected."

"Uh, th-that's..."

A grim, thickset policeman turning up to look into a case had, even so, been outside what she expected. The woman who appeared to be staff trembled in the eyes.

"—I'm right here."

But before any answer could come back from the woman, another voice cut in.

He turned his head toward the source, and there stood a man gaunt to an uncanny degree, hunched where he stood. His height only threw the pole-thin body into sharper relief. Cheekbones jutted out, and eyes even larger jutted further still. The mouth was strangely huge, and the head was bald besides. The skin, too, was pale to an eerie degree, so that he felt less like a human being than like something more profane.

An air, in short, as if undead blood and Innsmouth blood had been stirred together half and half. Enough that even Koube, who had seen no small number of anomalies, felt the pressure before he could help it.

"I am Nakabashi Gyokichi, representative of Anathema Production."

The president put on a baleful smile and offered his hand. The fingers were very long, and very skeletal.

"For the record, I am a pure-blooded human. No one believes me at first."

"Is that so...?"

Koube Yosei took the handshake with a reluctant look. The moment they met face to face, the man's own mouth had made it certain he was a denizen of the hidden world — and yet what Koube had just heard was more absurd than even that.