The Battle of Bun’ei. Chapter Eight

In the gleaming, glass-and-steel hive of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, the Fraud and Cybercrime Department was already buzzing before the head of the division, Inspector Sakamoto, had even finished his first cup of coffee.

He stepped out of the elevator, bracing himself for the usual morning routine of paperwork, complaints, and the occasional junior officer who still thought “phishing” involved a rod and a river.

But today, the usual hum was replaced by a cacophony of laughter and shouts. A knot of detectives was crowded around a computer screen, jostling for a better view, some doubled over, others wiping tears from their eyes.

Sakamoto frowned. “What kind of circus do you have here? This is a police station, not a comedy club!”

One of the younger officers, still giggling, turned and saluted. “Sir, the circus isn’t here—it’s in the village of Higashikuma!”

“Higashikuma?” Sakamoto repeated, already regretting it.

“Yes, sir! You have to see this!” The officer clicked play on a video, and the screen filled with images of shivering villagers in plastic armor, waving fake swords, slipping on the ice, and occasionally falling into a lake with the grace of a sack of potatoes. In the background, a rotund man in a rice cooker helmet—presumably the mayor—bellowed about samurai valor while a group of musicians played what sounded suspiciously like the theme from Super Mario Bros.

The room erupted in fresh laughter.

Sakamoto pinched the bridge of his nose. “And what, exactly, does this have to do with cybercrime?”

Another detective, barely containing his mirth, explained, “Sir, the mayor of Higashikuma has been stealing government subsidies for years, faking reports about their New Year’s festival. But when he found out that Saudi tourists were coming, he actually tried to hold the festival for real. Paid for everything with the money he’d stolen. The villagers got drunk, pretended to be samurai and Mongols, and then—get this—jumped into a frozen lake.”

“Drunk farmers dressed as samurai and Mongols! Half of them fell into the lake before the fake battle even started!” His subordinates started telling him non-stop. “The mayor’s mistress, she just crashed in first! Totally drunk!”

Sakamoto stared at them. “You’re telling me the mayor spent his own stolen money to cover up his own fraud?”

“Yes, sir! But that’s not the best part.” The detective clicked to the next video: grainy security footage of the mayor, wild-eyed, discovering his safe was empty, and then collapsing in a heap while a group of musicians looked on, baffled.

“In the morning, it turned out all the mayor’s money—his crypto wallet, the municipality’s funds—had vanished. All his money is gone! Gone. Poof.”

Sakamoto’s eyes narrowed. “And who did this? And who, pray tell, perpetrated this remarkably efficient act of poetic justice?””

The room fell silent for a moment.

Another officer, pointing at the screen, offered, “Probably the secretary, Chief. Miss Ayumi Sato. She was a non-local, only been there a few months. Very beautiful, apparently. And she disappeared with the Saudis this morning. Saw them off at the helicopter pad herself.”

“A secretary, you say?” Sakamoto strode over, a flicker of professional interest finally sparking in his weary brain. “Show me a photo. Or video. Anything.”

The officer clicked, and a crisp image of Ayumi Sato, elegant and poised even in the grainy CCTV footage, appeared on the large monitor. Sakamoto stared. His eyes, usually impassive, widened. A low, strangled gasp escaped his lips. He clutched his head, the sudden onset of a migraine threatening to split his skull clean in two.

“You… you imbeciles!” he roared, his voice laced with a raw despair that silenced the entire division. “What idiots you are! This is not some provincial secretary who ran off with a few stolen yen! This is Miyako Ikeda! We’ve been looking for her for the second year! After she robbed the BytNext crypto exchange for billions and then vanished after hitting a couple of high-value financial funds in Minato! She’s been right under your collective, incompetent noses, masquerading as a village secretary, only to pull off another heist by walking straight out the front door!”

The Cybercrime and Fraud Division stared at the screen, then at their incandescent chief, then back at the image of the beautiful, serene woman who had so effortlessly bamboozled not only a crooked mayor but also an entire, seemingly sophisticated police force. The silence that followed was so profound, one could almost hear the sound of a billion yen vanishing into thin air.

“Get me a car,” he muttered. “And someone bring me a strong coffee. We’re going to Higashikuma.”

to be continued…