The Tokyo police received a report today about a pervert tailing a middle school girl with the intent to assault her.
The moment the dispatcher heard that a crime involved a minor, they immediately sent the nearest patrol officers racing to the scene.
What kind of deranged creep would dare lay hands on the flowers of the nation's future?!
Unforgivable. Absolutely unforgivable!
But when the two officers burning with righteous fury arrived at the scene…
They fell silent.
Two adult men lay sprawled on the ground, barely clinging to consciousness, their bodies covered in blood.
The officers then turned their eyes toward the pair of students standing nearby.
The girl sat crouched by the roadside, a boy's school jacket draped over her shoulders. Her head hung low, her body trembling faintly—exactly the kind of vacant, broken state one would expect from a victim of such an assault.
The boy stepped forward before the officers could even ask."Officers, I'm the one who called it in."
"Are you two hurt?" one of the policemen asked immediately.
The boy shook his head. "We're fine."
"Tell me exactly what happened."
He nodded, beginning to explain in broad strokes. Meanwhile, the other officer knelt by the two adult men, checked their conditions, and radioed in for an ambulance.
A few minutes later—
The officer taking notes snapped his notebook shut."I've got the general picture. But those two men are in pretty bad shape. We'll need to clarify some things. You'll both have to come with us back to the station."
The officer who had examined the men's injuries returned. Seeing that the two were just students, his voice was gentler than his colleague's.
"This is just standard procedure. Don't worry. I can contact your parents right away. If everything checks out after a few questions, you'll be free to go home."
The boy bowed slightly. "Sorry for the trouble, officer."
With the boy supporting her, the girl slowly rose to her feet. She shook her head faintly."My family… isn't with me right now."
"Then I can get in touch with your school. What school are you from? What's your name?"
"Private Kawarane Middle School. Busujima Saeko."
By seven in the evening, inside a Tokyo police station—
Once again, Minamoto Senya carefully recounted everything he had witnessed: how the two adult men had tried to commit a crime, and how Saeko had fought back in self-defense.
Though his testimony was clearly subjective, it sounded remarkably objective to the officers' ears.
This time, unlike at the scene, the police pressed with far more questions.
Why was he leaving school so late?
How exactly did he realize someone was following Saeko?
Why didn't he call the police immediately?
The same went for Busujima Saeko.
Did she notice someone following her earlier?
Why had she walked down such a deserted road instead of taking her usual route home?
Why had she struck with such excessive force?
These were all routine questions. Collect the victim's account. Collect the witness's account. Reconstruct the events as clearly as possible to avoid any miscarriage of justice.
And under this detailed questioning—
Witness Minamoto Senya answered flawlessly, not a single gap to pick apart.
"Victim" Busujima Saeko, on the other hand, only hugged her own arm tightly, repeating over and over, "I was so scared… I didn't know what else to do…" She looked every bit the terrified girl who had barely escaped a nightmare.
Which, to be fair, she was. For a middle school girl, encountering something like this would almost certainly leave her shaken to the core.
And as for the boy—perhaps he had simply never imagined things would escalate so far. Forgetting to call the police right away wasn't exactly unthinkable.
By this point in the investigation—
The seasoned police officers already had a rough conclusion in mind.
Background checks had come in on the two hospitalized men.
Neither of them were upstanding citizens. Both had criminal records. Both with histories of similar offenses.
One had harassed a single woman living alone, even breaking into her home after stalking her—fortunately, a neighbor had called the police that time, landing him a prison sentence. He'd only been released a few months ago.
And now this.
The problem was…the injuries this time were severe.
One man had both a leg and a shoulder blade broken. Below the waist, his injuries were—well, let's just say his manhood was as good as gone.
The other's kneecap was shattered, his teeth littered the pavement, and his head was swollen like a balloon. Severe concussion. No one could say yet what long-term aftereffects he might suffer.
This was where things got tricky.
Calling it "self-defense" was…stretching it.
More accurately, this was "excessive defense."
But if they insisted on labeling it that—
Bang!
The vice principal who had accompanied the girl finally slammed the table, unable to take it any longer.
The officers' faces instantly soured.
Here we go again.
"The case is obvious! Those two perverts got what they deserved! Our students are the victims here, beyond any doubt!
Why are you interrogating these kids over and over like criminals? What are you trying to squeeze out of them?!
One of them is the top student in her grade! She earned a special scholarship directly from the principal and has her sights set on Todai!
The other? Champion of the Tokyo regional girls' kendo tournament! She's even been photographed with the mayor! A once-in-a-generation kendo prodigy, destined to carry forward our cultural tradition!
They are kind, diligent students—respected by their peers and beloved by their teachers!
And look at them now, terrified by your accusatory tone! What do you even think you're doing?! If you have questions, ask me instead!"
"..."
The officers exchanged pained looks. What's the point of asking you? You weren't even there.
Dealing with this middle-aged vice principal was agony.
Who knew if she had some personal grudge against the police or simply viewed every student as her own child?
The moment she arrived, she'd been picking at everything, sneering at their professionalism, one step away from calling them useless freeloaders burning through taxpayer yen.
And then there was the boy's family—
They had clearly been told it wasn't anything serious. Their son wasn't injured. He was only being questioned as a witness.
But his mother still rushed in bawling, dragging along two younger daughters with her.
His father arrived a little later, only for his wife to collapse against him, sobbing harder than ever.
This is a police station, not a yakuza den, the officers thought helplessly.
That woman was acting as if she'd suffered the gravest injustice of her life.
The originally orderly station now looked and sounded like a marketplace, all thanks to them.
And outside? A pack of tabloid reporters had gathered like vultures, ready to spin this into whatever "big scoop" would sell.
If this didn't get wrapped up soon, the reputation of the Tokyo police would be dragged through the mud yet again.
Finally, the police chief himself emerged and declared the matter closed.
"Alright. Busujima-san, don't worry. Your actions fall under legitimate self-defense. And Minamoto-kun, thank you for your assistance. You're free to go home—ah, wait. It's getting late. For safety, we'll have a patrol car drive you back."
Glancing at the paparazzi still buzzing just beyond the station doors, he hurriedly corrected himself.