19. The Line of Defense Must Allow for a Counterattack

One of the biggest misconceptions of my youth was my belief in the status quo. Despite having experienced more in my nearly thirty years of life than an average middle-class Japanese person would in seventy-five, this dangerous illusion has persisted.

Whenever my life reaches an outwardly stable equilibrium, my subconscious convinces me that nothing significant will happen anymore. I stop operating in a survival mode and fully surrender to the routine.

Many people do the same. But my routine has a unique trait. I minimize social interactions to the bare necessities. I don't make acquaintances beyond those required for my job. I engage with others only as much as needed to maintain my functional presence in the society.

Even the marriage didn't change this fundamentally. Yukino Yukinoshita differs greatly from me in her approach to people, yet she is also a loner. She can put on a smile when social norms demand it, but she only truly smiles at me, Yuigahama, Komachi, and cats. Our social circle remained virtually unchanged after the wedding.

This trait of mine resulted in a disproportionately weak informal network for someone of my social standing. It was sufficient for professional purposes — tracking down petty criminals in Nishi-Chiba was exactly what it was designed for — but for unconventional tasks, it was useless.

When the gears of justice began creaking in reverse, I needed a criminal defense attorney, someone capable of protecting a police officer from the allegations of abuse of power. Their fees had to be within my budget, and, most importantly, they couldn't be on the Yakuza's payroll. Katagiri-sama could have helped verify that last part, but before verifying, I first had to find the right person. Yeah, sure. That would have been harder than finding logic in Nokotan's actions.

I informed Yukino immediately. Unfortunately, she couldn't defend me herself. There was a slight chance that she might face charges as well. My wife solved the problem with a single phone call. Within half an hour, we had a recommendation for a Tokyo-based lawyer willing to take on my potential case under acceptable terms.

"How did you pull this rabbit from a hat, Yukino?"

"Boss promised to send me the care packages in prison. Instead, I asked her to find a lawyer for one very dear but completely incompetent-at-adulting police officer. She made a call, and voilà."

"At least with my 108 adulting skills, I know how not to get lost in a shopping mall."

"If I weren't so magnanimous, you'd be sleeping on the couch for that remark."

"Better on the couch with you than in a bed without you, my wife."

After exchanging our usual mix of teasing and affection, we arranged a face-to-face meeting with the lawyer. He worked in Tokyo, but for someone from Chiba, that was practically the next neighborhood over.

Tada, the lawyer, was the kind of person I have instinctively disliked since childhood. A few years older than Yukino and me, self-assured, with an easygoing smile. People call them charismatic — they exude an inner strength, drawing others in and achieving success through it. Exactly the qualities a good lawyer needs.

You might say I just described my wife. She, too, is confident, charismatic, and a successful lawyer. Here's a little secret: in high school, Yukino was on two pages in my "People I Dream of Killing" list. It took over six months for my hostility to evolve into the kind of feeling that survived a decade-long separation.

Yukino and Tada quickly discussed the potential charges, evidence, and risks. He didn't even flinch at the mention of Kuronaga-gumi.

"The construction business attracts organized crime like honey attracts bees. I've dealt with the consequences of their meddling before. But an attempt to discredit a developer in such a convoluted way? That's a new one."

"Tada-san, and you're still willing to take this case despite the modest pay?" I clarified. Yukino shot me a disapproving look but stayed silent.

"My wife asked me to help a relative. She's a corporate lawyer at her father's hospital, or else she'd have taken this fight herself."

"You're married to someone from the Yukinoshita family?"

"No, my wife is Takasu-san's second cousin. They only met a few years ago, but Kouko doesn't do half-measures. Eiither you don't exist to her, or she'll turn the world upside down for you," the lawyer smiled.

We exchanged necessary contact information. I memorized Tada's phone number immediately. You never know when an unfortunate incident, like a conveniently "damaged" phone during an arrest, might make it impossible to access stored contacts. I also knew Yukino's and Komachi's numbers by heart.

Yukino also warned her sister. Haruno promised to inform their father so he could prepare for any accusations. We exchanged glances. The eldest Yukinoshita daughter was exactly the kind of messenger you wouldn't mind sending with the bad news.

Unfortunately, I needed the lawyer's help much sooner than expected. A few days later, the prosecution formally charged me. According to them, I had obtained evidence of my future father-in-law's alleged crime but tried to discredit it. They claimed I altered the evidence to make it appear falsified, then forwarded it to myself and faked a conversation with Kobayashi.

The evidence was flimsy. Tada looked at the prosecutors as if they were amateurs and assured me he'd get an acquittal. More importantly, though, I was suspended from duty. I heard whispers that Marimoto initially aimed to have me detained but toned down after a discussion with the city's police bosses. I'd have to thank Chief Tsurumi for that later.

I lost my status. My access to both the official and unofficial police intelligence networks was gone. I had no real friends in the department, and those colleagues who might have helped before out of politeness or professional obligations had no reason to associate with an outcast.

I handle social isolation just fine. Besides, I still had the only person that mattered. I wasn't worried about my reputation — it had been at the bottom of the Mariana Trench since my teenage years. But I had lost my tools of the trade precisely when the risk of an attack on the Yukinoshita family had skyrocketed. I wouldn't have cared much under normal circumstances, but Yukino still carried her maiden name. Even after marrying me, she remained a part of their clan. The Yakuza and their corporate puppets still had the means to harm her. And I couldn't allow that.

For the first time in years, I had a lot of free time and could spend it in relative comfort. "Relative" because our household income had taken a serious hit. Yukino earned well, but my detective's salary had been a solid contribution to our budget. Breaking my old lease without paying a massive penalty and losing my deposit was impossible, but I managed to sublet the place. Finally, we were living together full-time.

A week after my suspension, I was sitting in our living room, scouring the internet for publicly available information that might shed light on our enemies. Rumors, gossip, crazy conspiracy theories, anything. Hana, gracing her new tenant with her presence, dozed on my lap. My tea was getting cold. But I couldn't focus on the tedious, poorly written, endless blog post on Ameba about land distribution issues in Chiba. Something nagged at my mind.

I closed my laptop, carefully placed the cat on the couch, and, after a moment's thought, stepped outside. It was a pleasant autumn day — cloudy, but not too cold, and no rain. I wandered aimlessly.

Then, I overheard a loud phone conversation. A middle-aged man in a sharp suit was yelling into his phone, oblivious to those around him.

"This was supposed to be quiet! We wouldn't have even had to pay severance. But no, this idiot got some dumb bloggers to feel sorry for him, and now they made a damn documentary! Four million views in a week! And I have no idea how many of those were our partners watching! Wakatake backed out of a seventeen million deal, Shinwa put their Akikaze project on hold. All because of some video!"

Clearly, shame wasn't enough of a deterrent for this man. Usually, people like him learn their lessons from a good labor lawyer, like my wife. But this time, he had been put in his place by video bloggers. Maybe the right kind of exposure was exactly the tool we needed to turn the tide.