Tokyo Exorcism Diary

“Well, well, Brother Kumamoto, this little white girl sure looks nice. Once we get the money, are we really letting her go?”

On the third floor of an abandoned building, a wiry young man with dyed blond hair twirled a butterfly knife in his hand. His lecherous gaze fixed on Liz, who was bound to a concrete pillar. He chuckled, “Wouldn’t that be such a waste?”

“Cut it out, you disgusting pervert.” The woman from the couple who had kidnapped Liz shot the blond youth a frosty glare. “If you want to die, fine, but don’t drag us down with you.”

The blond sneered and turned to the woman. “At this point, you can’t honestly believe you’ll walk away clean, do you? Sure, you had your reasons—kidnaping people to pay for your deadbeat old man’s medical bills. But do you think the cops will care? Don’t kid yourself, Yoshida. We’re too far in to back out now.”

“You—!” Yoshida’s eyes flared with rage.

“Let it go, Seiko,” her boyfriend interjected. Perhaps wary of the blond’s temper, he pulled her arm gently, frowning. “He’s not worth it.”

“That’s enough. All of you, shut up.” The deep voice came from a burly man seated nearby, casually fiddling with his phone. The blond had referred to him as “Brother Kumamoto.” His voice carried a subtle menace, and if Hoshino Gen were present, he would instantly recognize it as the same voice from the phone call earlier.

Kumamoto’s gaze settled on Liz, bound beside him. Despite her precarious situation, the girl hadn’t uttered a single cry. Her small mouth was pressed into a stubborn line, and her expression radiated defiance. With a smirk, Kumamoto remarked, “This kid doesn’t seem like someone from an ordinary family. Monkey, you really caught a big fish this time.”

Under Kumamoto’s piercing stare, Liz’s defiance only grew. She knew she was kidnapped and likely facing death. Was she scared? Terrified. The fear was suffocating, almost unbearable. But she also knew crying wouldn’t help. It might even make things worse.

Despite the fiery pain from the slap she’d taken earlier—her left cheek still burning—she refused to cry. She wasn’t some naive little girl. Growing up in a family like hers, innocence wasn’t exactly a virtue.

Even so, she understood that holding back tears wouldn’t save her. Her fate was out of her hands. All she could do was silently pray her aunt and uncle’s influence in Tokyo was strong enough, that the police here were competent. She didn’t want her life to end before she even reached double digits.

On the other side of the room, the blond—called “Monkey”—laughed at Kumamoto’s comment. “Well then, isn’t that perfect? A big payday before we leave the country. Brother Kumamoto, once we get the two million dollars, how much should we ask for next?”

“No rush. We’ll talk after we get the first payment.” Kumamoto stood, stretching his arms. His joints cracked loudly, a sound like popping corn. But then, his brow furrowed. “It’s been a few minutes, and there’s no word from Big Dog. Monkey, check on him.”

Monkey shrugged and pulled out his phone. Dialing quickly, he barked into the receiver, “Big Dog, are you dead or something? Brother Kumamoto told you to keep an eye on the rooftop. What the hell are you doing? Report back!”

Instead of a reply, the sound of something heavy dragging across the floor came through the speaker.

Monkey frowned. “Big Dog?”

No response.

“Big Dog, are you dead?!”

Still no answer.

“What’s going on?” Kumamoto’s expression darkened as he turned to Monkey.

Monkey scowled. “Brother Kumamoto, Big Dog isn’t responding.”

Just then, the dragging noise from the phone echoed through the hall.

Everyone turned toward the source of the sound.

Moments later, a figure completely out of place in the grimy, dilapidated surroundings stepped into view—a young man. In his right hand, he held a wooden stick and a phone; in his left, he dragged an unconscious, lanky man. Around the man’s neck hung a pair of military binoculars. It was unmistakably “Big Dog,” the one tasked with scouting the perimeter.

Hoshino Gen flung Big Dog’s limp body forward. The dull thud of flesh and bone hitting concrete snapped everyone out of their stupor.

Kumamoto’s instincts kicked in immediately. He scanned the room, then rushed to the window. After confirming there were no police surrounding the building, his tension eased slightly.

A sinister grin spread across his face. “Well, aren’t you the cocky one. Finding this place is impressive, but coming here alone? Not so much. I’ve always said anime poisons minds—kids trying to be heroes usually meet a bad end.”

He turned to Monkey. “Didn’t you want to make more money? Go ahead. Just don’t kill him.”

“Ha!” Monkey cackled maniacally, twirling his butterfly knife as he closed in on Hoshino Gen. He moved like a predator toying with prey.

But then—

“AAAAAHHH!!!” A bloodcurdling scream erupted from Monkey. He stared in horror at his mangled arm, which was now entirely severed. Blood gushed as the dismembered limb rolled across the floor.

In the blink of an eye, Hoshino Gen, who had been several meters away, was suddenly right in front of him. The wooden stick in Gen’s hand—ordinary at first glance—had shattered Monkey’s arm. Yet, if one looked closely, faint wisps of icy mist emanated from it.

Monkey collapsed, writhing and screaming in agony. His cries only ceased when Hoshino Gen stepped over him, pressed a foot to his throat, and with a sickening “crack,” silenced him permanently.

The hall fell into a dead silence.

Kumamoto’s expression froze completely. Yoshida Seiko and her boyfriend were pale with terror, and Liz, still tied to the pillar, hadn’t even processed what had just happened.