Chapter 38: The Importance of Artistic Style

Miko Fujiwara gazed at the arrangement of police cars, certain that something was amiss.

It was common knowledge that police vehicles, for the sake of announcements and broadcasts, were usually equipped with loudspeakers capable of repeating pre-recorded messages. Now, the ten police cars stationed nearby were being calibrated for this very purpose.

The sun had long since set. Apart from the patches of road illuminated by streetlights, both sides of the highway lay shrouded in darkness—an eerie, unsettling gloom.

“This should do it,” Qiao Qiao declared, satisfied after inspecting the last vehicle. Under Chief Ito's command, the ten police cars began to move slowly down the road, occupying the length of the sealed-off stretch. At intervals of two kilometers, a car was stationed—each acting as a sentinel.

According to Miko Fujiwara and Masato Kōtoku's analysis, the Malicious Child had died in a car accident, thus its haunting grounds were the roads themselves. It would only appear near the highway. Therefore, Qiao Qiao had first suggested that Chief Ito use police cars to envelop the entire stretch within a controlled perimeter.

As for the exact boundaries…

“I asked Miko Asano from Atsuta Shrine to record the sound of a Kagura bell for us. While it may not be as effective as the original in dispelling vengeful spirits, it should suffice to provoke one,” Qiao Qiao explained.

Miko Fujiwara watched in bewilderment as Qiao Qiao pulled out his phone and sent the edited bell recording to Chief Ito’s computer, which was then distributed to the other police cars.

A Kagura bell recording by Ariko-chan? What kind of operation was this? Could a recorded bell sound actually be useful? Clearly, Miko Fujiwara had her own less-than-pleasant memories. At the first notes of the Kagura bell, she shuddered instinctively, as though some long-sealed switch had been flipped.

Now, all ten police cars stood ready. For the officers' safety, Masato Kōtoku had equipped each vehicle with a paper doll shikigami. The cross-shaped paper figures floated inside the cars, lending an air of supernatural strangeness—an uncanny, distinctly Japanese atmosphere. Qiao Qiao found himself reflecting on the importance of such aesthetics. Though Masato Kōtoku, in his blue-and-white shirt, appeared almost lackadaisical, the moment the shikigami emerged, his presence seemed to multiply, carrying an air of casual mastery that Qiao Qiao greatly admired.

On the other side, Miko Fujiwara withdrew something from her bag—a Japanese bow?

“As a shrine maiden, carrying a bow is perfectly normal,” she explained, noting Qiao Qiao’s curious expression. The weapon in her hand was a foldable composite bow—a sign, perhaps, that even shrine maidens had to move with the times. Qiao Qiao wondered idly if someone might one day invent an electronic instrument capable of reproducing the tone of a Kagura bell, sparing future shrine maidens the burden of so much equipment.

As for Qiao Qiao, his role was to cheer from the sidelines. With an official onmyoji from the Bureau of Onmyo Affairs and a fully certified shrine maiden from Tenmangu Shrine present, there was no need for a novice like him to step forward. Still, just in case, he found a moment to assemble his own weapon—a revolver, the only piece he’d brought, not expecting to need more for an exorcism that day. Its range was limited. While Masato Kōtoku and Miko Fujiwara confronted the Malicious Child, Qiao Qiao was to guard Chief Ito—a bodyguard, of sorts.

“Let’s begin,” said Chief Ito.

Everything was ready. Chief Ito spoke into his radio.

A faint crackle of static sounded.

On the first night of Golden Week, the clear, melodic chime of the Kagura bell echoed along the highway outside Suginami Ward, Tokyo.

...

In the Maldives, the sun had yet to set. Ariko Asano lay sunbathing on a beach chair, clad in a swimsuit, a tropical fruit drink in hand. She had barely taken a sip when she sneezed.

“Feeling chilly?” her mother asked.

“No, not at all,” Ariko replied, glancing eastward as if sensing something. What was her teacher doing now?

...

The bell’s chime was pure and soothing, as if part of some sacred ritual. Its power calmed the mind—an almost maternal comfort. The police officers, too, felt their anxieties melt away.

At that moment, a shout burst over the radio.

“Wha—! Third unit reporting—it's here, it’s here!”

Chief Ito immediately looked to the location of the third car, but Masato Kōtoku was faster. He sprinted forward, flanked by several white figures—slender foxes, known as kudagitsune, weaving through the wind to clear his path. Then a massive, faintly glowing fox emerged beneath him, and Masato vaulted onto its back, riding the wind.

“So cool!” Qiao Qiao exclaimed, longing for such a fantastical scene. At that speed, Masato arrived at the incident site in an instant.

There, a deathly pale child was trying to tear apart the shikigami. The Kagura bell’s chime only agitated it further. Standing atop the police car, it fixed Masato with a twisted grin.

“Big brother, let’s play a game,” it sneered.

In that instant, a flood of negative emotions surged into Masato’s mind—memories of family neglect, being sent to do menial work, being overshadowed by a prodigy of the main family, his innovations in shikigami manipulation ignored, everyone chanting the name Tsuchimikado while forgetting the Kōtoku and Kamo lineages that were the original bearers of Onmyodo.

For a split second, Masato faltered.

The Malicious Child vanished.

“Big brother, let’s play a game,” it called again, now reaching out to Masato from the air behind him, shadows twisting like tangible tentacles.

But in the next moment—a whistling arrow sliced between them. Spiritual energy rippled from its shaft, dissolving the spectral tendrils and clearing Masato’s mind.

The Malicious Child cocked its head, turning toward the source of the arrow.

Six kilometers away, Miko Fujiwara stood poised atop a police car, as still as a statue, her archer’s form unbroken.

“Incredible,” Qiao Qiao breathed in awe. To his limited military knowledge, the world’s longest sniper shot was just over three thousand meters—three kilometers. Yet Miko Fujiwara had struck the Malicious Child from six kilometers away. Was she even human?

He later learned that for a shrine maiden, accuracy was not a matter of distance. After thousands of repetitions, a shrine maiden could hit the target even with her eyes closed—a principle known as “true shooting always hits.” The arrow she had released was an arrow of spiritual power, with no corporeal form, shaped entirely by will. In such cases, it was not skill or sight that mattered, but the purity of one’s heart. If the heart’s eye could perceive the target, no matter how distant, the arrow would find its mark.

“Big sister, do you want to play too?” the Malicious Child called with a distant laugh, then vanished.

“Damn,” Masato muttered, perceiving its intent.

As a vengeful spirit bound to the road, the Malicious Child could move freely along it. In the blink of an eye, it appeared before Miko Fujiwara—barely two seconds had passed.

Unlike Masato, shrouded by shikigami, Miko Fujiwara was, in essence, just a vulnerable young woman. Ranged attackers were always the most fragile; even Qiao Qiao knew that much, and surely the Malicious Child did too.

In the nick of time, Fujiwara dodged backward, preparing to leap from the police car as she loosed a second arrow.

The instant it left the bow, it exploded in a dazzling wave of spiritual light, forcing the Malicious Child to dodge, barely avoiding the strike, and land on the ground—

Right in front of Qiao Qiao.

The opportunity was perfect, the target within his limited range. Acting almost on instinct, Qiao Qiao forgot his supporting role and drew his revolver.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang—

Five shots rang out in succession. The shattering bullets tore through the Malicious Child, scattering motes of light. The spirit vanished before it could utter a final confession—not that it was likely to repent, Qiao Qiao thought.

Suddenly, he became aware of the silence around him. Looking up, he saw that everyone, even Chief Ito, was staring at him—and at the enormous, long-barreled revolver in his hand.

“This isn’t anything suspicious,” Qiao Qiao said, holding up the gun in an attempt at explanation.