Ayase Apartment, Morimoto Family.

Aozawa rode the elevator to the sixth floor, walked to door 601, and turned the door handle, saying, "Chitose, I'm back."

In the kitchen, BEEP. The induction cooker turned off.

Morimoto Chiyoda turned around, her forehead faintly covered in a layer of sweat, and smiled. "Go wash your hands and let's eat."

Aozawa closed the door behind him and approached, asking, "What's for dinner today?"

"I made your favorite braised pork."

"Then I'll have to have a good taste."

Aozawa's eyes sparkled. He didn't like plain fatty meat at all, finding it too greasy. But braised pork and pork with preserved vegetables were different—fatty but not greasy, tender and fragrant. Such fatty meat was worth tasting.

"I've worked up quite a sweat making this, so even if it's not delicious, you have to finish it," Chiyoda threatened, deliberately adopting a very stern attitude. "If you dare say a single bad word about it, you'll get a taste of the Tyrant Iron Fist!"

"Wow, that's terrifying! Then I must finish it all."

Aozawa answered with a grin. He washed his hands, dried them with a tissue from nearby, and sat on a high stool. A fragrant bowl of rice was already before him.

Her hands, pale and delicate as jade, were visible at the edge of the bowl. Looking up, the floral pattern on her blouse seemed to warp, the small flowers becoming large, as if distorted by some violent, twisting force of space-time.

Aozawa reached out to rescue it, but Chiyoda intercepted him in advance, giving him a glare. "Behave yourself and eat."

"Okay."

Aozawa shrugged and picked up a piece of braised pork. He took a bite; the fatty meat seemed to melt in his mouth. "Chitose, your cooking skills are getting better and better! Keep it up. If you ever quit the Police Department, you could open a restaurant. I've even thought of a name for it: Witch's Charm Café."

"Are you itching for a slap?"

There wasn't the slightest hint of humor in Chiyoda's sultry voice—a clear sign she might be ready to strike.

Aozawa immediately sat up straight and laughed. "No, let me get you a piece of braised pork. It'll nourish you, help you keep developing. We can't have the future kids going hungry, can we?"

"No dish is tasty enough to shut you up," Chiyoda said, glancing at him. A slight smile touched her lips as she looked at the braised pork Aozawa had placed in her bowl.

The gesture of serving her food itself was an attempt to please her.

Sometimes, all she wanted was the attitude.

After a hearty dinner, Morimoto Chiyoda began to clear the dishes from the table, dumping some leftovers into the trash.

Aozawa leaned over and said, "Chitose, give me some pocket money. I want to buy something to eat."

He was to accompany Iroha on Saturday night to explore a burnt-out factory, and they would want something to eat before parting ways afterwards. On Sunday, he was treating Hojo Shouko to lunch, which couldn't be too modest.

These things cost money. Asking for a large sum of pocket money all at once later would be more difficult. He decided to ask for pocket money in advance, saving it up bit by bit.

"How much do you need?"

"Not much, just ten thousand Yen."

"Okay."

Chiyoda didn't ask for the reason. She could guess what it was anyway; nine times out of ten, Aozawa wanted the money to go on dates with other girls his age. In this respect, she wouldn't cut corners on the budget.

"Be careful when you're out and about; Tokyo has been a bit unsafe recently."

"What's unsafe about it?"

Aozawa looked surprised. He knew Dio's troublemaking wasn't new, so he wondered why Chitose felt the need to warn him now.

"I've received news that some dangerous individuals have come to Tokyo recently. If you see any unusual foreigners or distinctively dressed Japanese, it's best to avoid them and not try to act like a hero."

Anything related to Dio was of particular concern to the special investigation team. Disturbed by the death of Sumitomo Taisei, Iwasaki and others altered their original plans and adopted a different strategy that caused quite a stir in Japan. This also caught the attention of intelligence agencies from other countries who weren't yet aware that Dio was a superpower user. But when powerful entities like the six major conglomerates, Phoenix Academy, the Metropolitan Police Department, the Public Security Intelligence Agency, and the CIA took action, other intelligence agencies were bound to notice. Unless they were completely inept, they would want to investigate the reasons behind these operations.

The situation in Tokyo was set to become increasingly complicated. In such a volatile environment, deaths would likely become commonplace.

"Don't worry, I always try to win people over with virtue and won't get into conflicts with them," Aozawa readily agreed. He knew he had to say this, or it would be very difficult to get permission to leave the house for a run.

Chiyoda gave him a sidelong glance and spoke seriously, "Don't you dare lie to me."

"Look into my eyes; they are filled with innocence," Aozawa looked up and blinked, trying to portray harmlessness.

Chiyoda tapped his forehead with her index finger. "Your eyes are full of mischief, more like it. I wonder how many girls you will have to deceive before you're content."

"That's unjust! I never deceive girls; I'm sincere in everything I do."

"I know, sincerely deceiving us, right?" Chiyoda retorted irritably. She pulled out a ten thousand Yen note and slapped it against his face. "Get lost already! Just seeing you annoys me."

The ten thousand Yen note brushed his cheek. Aozawa snatched it up and chuckled, "Alright, I'm off!"

His exaggerated expression made Chiyoda laugh. As she watched him leave the house, she began her own workout. The recent changes in the situation had sparked a desire in her to become stronger; only then could she better protect herself and Aozawa. As for capturing Dio, she wasn't forcing the issue. She just wanted to meet Dio and ask if a superpower user could see souls.

Only someone like Emily would be wholly preoccupied with arresting a superpower user, but such a task clearly surpassed ordinary human capabilities. Morimoto Chiyoda didn't like doing things beyond her capabilities. Those actions, aside from causing herself anxiety, yielded nothing.

HUFF. PUFF.

Aozawa sprinted to the small park, gasping for air. He felt that the fatigue in his body wasn't as intense as at the start; he should be able to increase the intensity again.

If only there were some superpower that could enhance the body. Fist-to-flesh combat, now that's a man's true romance.

Aozawa thought this, then quickly dismissed the idea. But to wish for a superpower to enhance one's body, especially one that didn't even exist yet, was undoubtedly a sign of weak willpower. He was using superpowers, not relying on them. This distinction had to be clear.

Aozawa took a deep breath, crouched down, and touched the ground with his right hand, employing his catalyst sensing ability.

In an instant, his viewpoint soared upward. From this god-like perspective, he saw the full panorama of the park. It was very quiet, and no outsiders were in sight.

Aozawa stood up and strode into the grove. Using Schrodinger's Cat, his body gradually became semi-transparent.

Before he left the house, Morimoto Chiyoda had repeatedly instructed him to identify any persons of interest that night, particularly any suspicious foreigners who might appear.

With a thought, he made himself appear above Shinjuku.

At night, Shinjuku glowed like a multicolored gem, radiating a vibrant splendor. Shinjuku Station was especially crowded, evoking the image of an opened can of sardines. It seemed as if all the pedestrians on the street were squeezed together.

Aozawa floated in the air for a while before quickly drifting down to approach the surface of a building, touching it with his right hand. He began searching within a one-kilometer radius using his catalyst sensing ability.

The neon lights at night were captivating.

Hazama Michio strolled along Shinjuku Street, his interest piqued by Sunaga Takashi. When he became interested, he felt like killing. So, he decided to kill someone tonight.

But he couldn't just choose anyone at random. To cool down his excited interest, he had to kill someone whose death would leave him feeling satisfied. And to meet that condition, it definitely couldn't be an ordinary person; those were too unchallenging to kill. He wanted to kill someone who had received special training, someone with a solid foundation in combat.

Like, for instance, a student from a sword dojo.

Hazama Michio stopped walking and tilted back his head. The sign for Northern Star Swordsmanship hung above the entrance to the Sword Dojo.

While searching online for Tokyo sword dojos, he had stumbled upon Northern Star Swordsmanship. Reminded of past memories, he'd lingered on its page, only to discover that the instructor there was an old acquaintance. Since graduating from high school, he had forgotten how long it had been since he had seen his former rival.

To think that person had become an instructor at Northern Star Swordsmanship! He had returned to Tokyo after such a long absence. How could he not pay a visit to an old friend? He hoped not to be disappointed.

Hazama Michio walked into the entrance of Northern Star Swordsmanship.

The receptionist, a woman who looked to be in her early twenties, wore a brightly colored kimono. She greeted him with a smile, "Hello, are you interested in learning Sword Dao?"

Hazama Michio looked at the receptionist and also smiled, saying, "Miss, guess whether the sword at my waist is sharpened or not?"

The receptionist glanced at him. Judging by his attire, this man seemed to be the type who enjoyed role-playing. He appeared to be over thirty, yet still so childlike.

"Sir, the sword you're carrying is sharp."

Although the receptionist said this, she didn't actually believe the sword was sharp. However, it didn't seem appropriate to burst the bubble of a grown man still playing dress-up by telling him his sword wasn't actually sharpened.

"You guessed right," Hazama Michio clapped his hands, his smile growing even wider. "Then let me give you a little reward."

This older guy is pretty sleazy, the receptionist thought, but her sweet smile didn't falter. "In that case, how about signing up for a Sword Dojo membership card? If you sign up now, there's a discount on the monthly card. We offer one-on-one guidance from a professional Sword Dao instructor, guaranteeing you'll be formally initiated within a month."

"Not necessary." Hazama Michio shrugged, his casual smile suddenly turning bloodthirsty. His right hand grasped the hilt, slowly drawing the sword at his waist, inch by inch.

The cold blade reflected the light, emanating a charm unique to cold steel. The edge of the blade, in particular, seemed especially sharp.

A faint sense of unease prickled the receptionist, but she didn't panic. This is Japan, after all, she thought. Incidents of knife violence are rare here.

"Sir."

"My name is Hazama Michio." As he said this, he brought the sword down in a swift, powerful slash.