Chapter 7: A Young Man of Courage and Righteousness

Qiao Qiao completed his commission and boarded the last subway train, heading home. As for the massive revolver, it had already been disassembled into its individual parts. In this country, although it was legal to carry firearms after passing the required examinations—and Qiao Qiao, thanks to the Exorcists Association, also possessed a gun permit—casually brandishing such an item was still highly inappropriate and easily misunderstood.

Therefore, Qiao Qiao usually carried only the parts, assembling them upon arrival at his destination, and disassembling them afterward.

The subway was nearly empty; it was well past the hour when good children should be home. The nights in Tokyo were anything but quiet—under the neon lights, the city shimmered in a cacophony of colors, enticing people with endless temptations.

But on the last train, there were indeed very few passengers.

For instance, in the car where Qiao Qiao sat, there was only a drunken woman opposite him, and two delinquent youths with fashionable clothes and dyed hair.

Qiao Qiao held a paperback, absorbed in his studies.

The woman seemed truly intoxicated; tear stains still marked her face. She leaned against the bench, eyes closed, as if already asleep. Even through her clothes, it was clear she had a fine figure and was very young—perhaps just past twenty, likely a newcomer to the workforce. Whether she was heartbroken or had suffered injustice at work was anyone's guess.

The two delinquents shot Qiao Qiao a glance. Seeing that he paid them no mind, they mustered their courage and sat beside the woman.

“Miss, are you all right?” one with yellow hair gently patted the young woman, rousing her a little. She irritably waved him off.

“You’re really drunk,” said his companion, a red-haired youth who stood and touched her cheek.

Though their words feigned concern, their faces betrayed barely suppressed grins.

“Miss, how old are you? Which station are you getting off at?”

“It’s not safe to go home alone so late,” one said.

“That’s right, why don’t we take you home?” the yellow-haired youth suggested, grabbing her arm and easily pulling her to her feet.

“Leave me alone… go away…” the woman mumbled, her words slurred and weak, unable to resist as they took advantage.

At that moment, the subway arrived at a station. The two delinquents exchanged glances and, dragging the woman, stepped off the train.

Qiao Qiao lifted his head slightly, watching them lead her away.

It was already deep into the night, and this was the last train.

He paused in silence.

The warning light for closing doors lit up.

He sighed. Just before the doors slid shut, Qiao Qiao slipped out of the car.

……

Yui Kishikawa’s head was spinning with dizziness.

It was the first time in her life she had gotten drunk.

Two weeks ago, her boyfriend of three years had broken up with her, claiming she’d neglected him since starting work. Of course, that very afternoon, she saw him walking hand in hand with a strange girl on the street—perhaps just a coincidence.

Love is not the entirety of life.

Yui did not cry.

A week ago, a critical mistake occurred in her department’s project. Although Yui’s portion was flawless, the girl responsible for the error happened to be in an ambiguous relationship with their supervisor, so in the end, Yui took the blame.

She was reprimanded by the company, while the true culprit remained unscathed.

Such things were common at work. Endure, and the hardship would eventually pass.

Yui did not cry.

The day before yesterday, her aunt called from her hometown: her father had died of a heart attack. Yui’s mother had passed away early, and her father’s health had been failing for the past two years. He always hoped she would return home soon, but she longed for life in Tokyo and never agreed.

The sudden tragedy didn’t crush her. She worked overtime to finish her tasks, took leave from the company, and returned home to arrange her father’s funeral.

Through all these successive hardships, Yui did not shed a single tear.

But today, on her last day at the office before her leave, Yui poured herself a cup of hot water for coffee in the break room. On the way back to her desk, a colleague accidentally bumped into her.

Scalding coffee splashed, burning her hand. The entire cup crashed to the floor.

That cup had been a prize from her high school club’s championship—a reminder of her proudest days.

It had been with her for six years.

Now, shattered to pieces.

Yui broke down in tears.

She sobbed uncontrollably, drawing the attention of the entire office.

Her colleagues could not understand why.

She had remained stoic through all those tribulations, yet the breaking of a cup made her crumble.

No one realized that Yui’s tears were not for this trivial mishap.

Rather—

Why, when life had already become so hard, could she not even retain the tiniest scrap of happiness?

After enduring so much pain, why must she be tormented by such a small thing?

Could she not be allowed even one final beautiful dream?

After work, instead of packing for home as she should have, Yui had, almost as if possessed, wandered into an izakaya she usually avoided.

She drank glass after glass.

Alcohol numbed her senses, letting her forget all her troubles.

She felt light, as if she might float away at any moment.

But soon, a piercing headache assailed her, and her consciousness grew hazy.

When she came to, she found herself being half-dragged down the street by two strangers.

“...What do you want…” she asked in a drunken slur.

“We’re taking you somewhere fun,” answered the yellow-haired youth at her side, his hands roving in ways that made Yui deeply uncomfortable.

As she tried to struggle free, the delinquents suddenly halted.

Yui managed to raise her eyes and saw, under the streetlight at the center of the empty road, a young man standing there.

She had never seen him before.

He wore a dark suit jacket, long sleeves, and a school uniform, carrying a bag—a typical high school student.

The red-haired youth recognized Qiao Qiao. Surprised, he found the boy’s reckless courage amusing. What made him think he could play the hero?

“That lady doesn’t seem willing to go with you,” Qiao Qiao said, his shadow stretched long by the lamplight.

“Stay out of this,” spat the yellow-haired delinquent, clicking his tongue.

The two set Yui against a lamppost and moved toward Qiao Qiao.

Yui wanted to stop them, but she was powerless.

She could only watch as the two delinquents closed in—and then—

She could hardly believe her eyes.

The exchange ended in an instant. It could hardly be called a fight.

She saw Qiao Qiao draw a massive revolver from his schoolbag.

Bang, bang, bang—

Three shots struck the red-haired youth in the chest.

Bang, bang, bang—

Three more hit the yellow-haired one.

Both collapsed, writhing in pain.

Yui saw no blood, only something bouncing off their bodies—it appeared to be rubber bullets.

Qiao Qiao did not stop there. With practiced care, he reloaded the revolver and fired six more shots at each of them.

When they were finally unable to move, he bound their groaning bodies to a nearby guardrail with nylon ties.

Yui was certain she must be dreaming.

She saw the boy walk toward her, only to turn back halfway to check the ties again, reinforcing them.

Then he approached Yui, gently lifting her into his arms.

Was this a princess carry?

Just before losing consciousness, Yui found herself wondering inexplicably about this.