Chapter 78: Professor Serizawa (Please keep reading!)

Due to the habits ingrained in him by his career as a detective, Yagami’s eyes, though seemingly unremarkable, ceaselessly observed every detail of the underground facility in which he and his colleagues were now imprisoned.

At the scholar’s question, Yagami lifted his gaze to meet the old man’s eyes. There was no panic or pleading in his look, despite his current predicament; rather, his eyes were clear and cool, exuding a steady calm.

“According to the laws of Hinomoto, you’re currently engaging in illegal armed activity and unlawful detention within national borders. I refuse to disclose any information to you.” Yagami spoke with the brash confidence of a young man well-versed in the law.

He was certainly no fool—he knew that any organization capable of assembling such a formidable armed force and employing advanced technology must surely have the complicity of the Hinomoto government. Only a fool would believe otherwise.

And for groups that operated through force, the deterrence of the law was, in most cases, so faint as to be almost nonexistent.

But so long as the conversation began without violence, it also implied that the interrogation would not so easily devolve into torture.

At such a moment, while the atmosphere remained relatively civil, it was the perfect opportunity to disrupt the other party’s line of questioning and prompt them to reveal more. To let such a chance slip by would be unworthy of his dual vocation as detective and attorney.

Even in the face of absolute adversity, Takayuki Yagami was never one to sit and await his fate.

Perhaps the scholar’s academic zeal had dulled his vigilance, or perhaps he simply saw no need to guard against a captive like Yagami.

The scholar tapped his finger on the surface of the table restraining Yagami. What had appeared to be an ordinary table instantly revealed a high-tech display.

With a swipe, a series of digital documents appeared before Yagami’s eyes.

“Ministry of the Environment, Ministry of Finance, Ministry of Foreign Affairs…” Yagami’s gaze swept across the document headings, and as he read the names of the agencies listed, his eyes widened in disbelief.

With the exception of the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology, and the Reconstruction Agency, every central administrative body of Hinomoto had signed a cooperation agreement on these documents!

This all but signified that the organization before him operated with absolute freedom within the administrative machinery of Hinomoto.

And as for the name signed on these documents—holding equal standing with the nation’s most powerful ministers—it was none other than Ichirou Serizawa.

Yagami pointed at the name glowing on the table’s display, and looked up at the scholar with a puzzled expression.

“Yes, that’s me,” the scholar nodded, but gave no sign of pride in seeing his name listed alongside Hinomoto’s top ministers. Instead, his manner was calm, with the unhurried confidence of an academic. “You may call me Professor Serizawa.”

“Serizawa? Professor? How is that possible?” Yagami could swear by the heavens, if this name had an English suffix like “General” or “Minister” rather than “Professor,” he wouldn’t have been surprised in the least.

But a Hinomoto national? And just a professor?

Had he lost his mind, or had the world gone insane?

“All right, Mr. Yagami.” Professor Serizawa pressed his hand to the table, and in an instant all the documents vanished, the table reverting to its innocuous state.

“You wanted some information, I’ve given it to you. In return, it’s your turn now.”

So, Serizawa Ichirou was not unaware of Yagami’s attempt to fish for information; it seemed the scholar’s aversion to violence had led him to opt for an exchange of intelligence.

Yagami pressed his lips together awkwardly. Even he felt embarrassed at having his intentions so openly exposed.

Knowing he could not refuse, Yagami recounted why he had come to Fukushima, how he’d confronted the Tooyama-gumi, his encounter with Joey Brody, and how he’d followed the trail of Serizawa’s research to begin his investigation—all of it, except for the role of Kyou Shirodo, which he reduced to that of a friend in Tokyo providing support.

Just like Seiichi Tsukumo, who offered technical assistance, these were peripheral figures.

“This matter? Have Mr. Zenel come over.” Having heard the story, Serizawa Ichirou beckoned to the white soldier standing behind him, whispered a few words, and then waited in silence.

In less than two minutes, a thick stack of paper documents was delivered to Serizawa by a white man in a suit, his large beer belly straining against his shirt.

“Hey, listen, Serizawa, I’m very sorry.” As Serizawa took the files and began flipping through them at speed, the man named Zenel apologized repeatedly, grumbling all the while.

“But who could have expected this? Who could have seen it coming? The illustrious Tokyo Electric Power Company! A giant enterprise with a long history and vast assets!”

“And yet their middle managers have absolutely no adaptability! None at all!”

“It was only a change in top management, and somehow—through some convoluted process—they managed to draw up this ludicrous contract, even under a mature compensation system!”

“I’ve asked around, and every department is shirking responsibility! Demanding that employees exposed to radiation pay five billion to the nuclear company? Even Katsumasa Hayami wouldn’t be that idiotic!”

“Calm down, Zenel.” Professor Serizawa flipped through the thick file, pinching the bridge of his nose with resignation. “They’re simply following the rules; hush money for irradiated employees falls under the realm of unspoken conventions.”

“Oh, wonderful! So the people of Hinomoto, who always pay such attention to ‘unspoken rules,’ just happened to ignore them this time?”

“After the change in upper management, the middle managers couldn’t discern the new attitude, didn’t dare make decisions on their own, nor did they dare ask their superiors and reveal their incompetence. So they simply followed the official procedures.”

At this, even Serizawa Ichirou was left speechless by the local penchant for inflexibility and aversion to open communication.

“All right, it’s no great matter.” Serizawa waved his hand. “Have the legal department revoke this contract, draft a supplemental compensation agreement, and deliver it to Mrs. Zenaga. That will settle the matter.”

A problem that could have left an ordinary person utterly desperate—trapped and powerless—was, in the hands of those with true authority, resolved with just a few words.

“Now then,” Serizawa tapped the cover of the file, “what about this Tooyama-gumi?”

“Well, you know how it is, Serizawa,” Mr. Zenel gestured to the soldier standing behind him. “We have all these fine fellows.”

The soldier in question clicked his weapon’s safety shut and stood at attention, the very picture of a disciplined, vigilant warrior.

Zenel smiled in satisfaction.

“So we’ve never thought much of the local gangs. Since we took over the Fukushima nuclear plant, only those mid-level managers whose job it was to liaise with the gangs have kept any contact with them.”

“Our core staff have never had the slightest interest in dealing with them.”

“So…” Serizawa spread his hands, frowning, “the gangsters saw the senior management ignoring them, the middle managers issuing harassing demands to the irradiated staff, and assumed we were about to lose control?”

“Maybe the undersea earthquake from a few days ago played a part too,” Zenel added shrewdly.

“Gangsters are always cowards,” Zenel smiled—his round belly and amiable manner made his laughter seem almost kindly. “Perhaps, for the sake of secrecy, we should simply wipe them all out first?”