Chapter Forty-Four: The Majestic Aura of Luna Palace's Suzuna

Masaba Eikensuke appeared to be a base and contemptible man, yet in truth he possessed the two innate gifts of an island bureaucrat: the first, to fawn upon superiors and bully subordinates; the second, to be endlessly flexible and adaptable. His obsequiousness toward those above him knew no bounds—so much so that there was a rumor in the Public Security Bureau: a certain committee bigwig went on a business trip, and his wife wanted to travel to Zhongnan City with her friends but was worried about leaving their child unattended at home.

Here comes the most legendary part: back when Masaba was still just a deputy director, he took the initiative each evening after work to go to the bigwig’s house, clean, do household chores, change the baby’s diapers, and feed it—serving as a maternity nurse for a whole week.

In a sense, there was a reason this man could rise to become the bureau chief—he was not without his merits.

His bullying of subordinates was equally exaggerated. People called him “Masaba the Moron” because he utterly lacked understanding of frontline work and, more importantly, did not care in the slightest. When conducting performance reviews, he looked only at faction, not at seniority, and certainly not at ability.

Public security officers were considered civil servants. Although promotions followed the seniority system, year-end bonuses were distributed according to performance, the original intent being to discourage laziness by offering financial incentives.

But performance ratings were entirely at the whim of leadership. Under someone like Masaba, who cared nothing for actual work, those under him inevitably suffered.

Take, for instance, Inspector Majima Miya, whom Masaba himself had handpicked; her performance rating was always top-tier, and she took home double the year-end bonus. The most absurd example occurred two years ago: Majima was found to be pregnant in March, left work an hour early every day, took full maternity leave, and yet still received the highest rating at year’s end. Colleagues joked privately that her “work highlight was bearing Masaba’s child.”

That same year, former First Investigation Division Chief Matsumoto Yanpei always rushed to the front lines, far exceeding his peers in workload—even missing his own child’s birth to chase down a criminal—yet was rated only average, falling below Majima.

Chief Matsumoto stormed to Masaba for an explanation. According to colleagues waiting outside the office, Masaba silenced him with just three sentences:

First: “I don’t care about your work results.”
Second: “How can you be sure Majima’s work isn’t superior to yours?”
Third: “Stop comparing yourself to others. Where is your own innovation? What’s the point of merely piling up hours?”

Three blows, each a direct hit, each worthy of the annals of bureaucracy. Matsumoto, ashamed, left with his bonus and resigned on the spot.

Thus, while Masaba might not be an excellent civil servant, he was certainly an outstanding bureaucrat. Whether making his superiors beam with delight or reducing his subordinates to utter humiliation, nothing could stump him.

Now, he was about to attempt a new feat: apologizing to a subordinate he had wronged.

Meanwhile, tourists in Hishi-mura were gradually sensing that something was amiss.

All at once, the grocer, the restaurant owner, the proprietress of the hot springs inn—everyone vanished without a trace.

Only two people truly knew what had happened: Chen Ziang and Suzuna Tsukimi, who had lived through it.

Hishi-mura had long been abandoned, left to the elderly, the weak, and the infirm. Its sudden burst of vitality was entirely due to the witch Nishikawa Mie, who had filled the town with hordes of ghouls disguised as humans, seizing it for herself.

Chen Ziang and Suzuna Tsukimi, deep in the mine’s ossuary, lured these ghouls in and then summoned the Nightmares to slaughter them, breaking the illusion cloaking Hishi-mura for good.

Back at the inn, Rio Kazekaze sneezed violently, casting a resentful look at Chen Ziang, who lay unconscious on the bed, and at Suzuna Tsukimi, who nursed him.

When the two had returned, they found her collapsed on the inn’s floor. For reasons unknown, Nishikawa Mie had not killed her, but neither had she shown mercy by turning up the heat at night; so Rio had simply caught a chill lying there.

Of course, compared to Chen Ziang—whose mind had been ravaged by exposure to too many eldritch horrors and who now suffered spiritual contamination—a mere cold was a stroke of luck.

Suzuna Tsukimi stayed by Chen Ziang’s side, watching him frown in pain. Though her heart ached, she was powerless.

Others might misunderstand "heightened spiritual perception," but she knew it was, in essence, a higher-level evolution—beneficial for her senior. After all, consider the King of Ghouls: a mere glance from a distant dimension nearly killed Chen Ziang outright. If not for the intervention of the Lord of the Abyssal Deep, he would never have survived.

Once involved with the occult world, one must pursue evolution and transcendence; otherwise, one is doomed to become a sacrificial lamb. Even those still ignorant of the occult survive only because the gods have not spared them a glance among the countless planes of existence.

In this vast and unfathomable universe, to simply survive is no small matter.

The path of evolution she herself had trodden—she must walk it again in this life.

Seeing Chen Ziang still in agony, Suzuna Tsukimi removed the towel from his forehead, washed it in cold water, and reapplied it, hoping to ease his suffering.

Rio Kazekaze watched all this, feeling she was force-fed a mouthful of icy dog food—she had to look away and focus on writing the incident report instead.

After all, “when an anomaly ends, the work has only just begun.”

Just then, the phone on the nightstand rang.

Suzuna Tsukimi glanced at the screen, sneered, and answered.

“Hello, is this Chen Ziang?” came Masaba Eikensuke’s enthusiastic voice.

“It’s me,” replied Suzuna Tsukimi, utterly without emotion.

“Oh, Suzuna!” Masaba’s tone did not change, his mask unbroken. “You and Chen Ziang have had two or three days’ rest now. Isn’t it about time to return to work?”

“Really?” Suzuna Tsukimi retorted with mockery. “Boss, were we given a break? I seem to recall we were suspended.”

“Of course not,” Masaba replied instantly with a laugh. “Suspension goes on your record. You and Chen Ziang have no such record. Even if you had been suspended, there’d have to be a reason, wouldn’t there? Neither of you did anything wrong—Chen Ziang is our star agent. Why would the bureau ever really suspend you?”

In truth, it had all been a coincidence: when Suzuna Tsukimi had stormed into the director’s office and berated Masaba, he’d lost face and impulsively suspended her. Later, he regretted it—after all, Suzuna was the daughter of Tsukimi Seisho. Even if the diplomatic corps had no direct jurisdiction over public security, the Tsukimi family could easily pull strings with the committee and make his life difficult.

So, Masaba had never officially processed the suspension for either of them, leaving himself an escape route. Should Tsukimi Seisho ever take up the issue, at least he’d have an excuse.

Now that things had changed, Masaba hid all these calculations and insisted, “There was never any suspension—only leave.”

Yet, though young, Suzuna was clearly well-versed in such games and refused to be taken in, answering coldly:

“No suspension? What are you afraid of? That my father will get involved?”

“Director Masaba, let me be clear: I never told my father about the suspension. You need not be so paranoid, so anxious, nor worry that my senior still holds a grudge.”

“After all, you came to the bureau for career advancement, but my senior is here to fulfill his duty as a public security officer, to uphold the oath he made when he joined. Even if you suspend him on a trumped-up charge, his greatest regret isn’t losing his job but being unable to handle supernatural anomalies and protect the people.”

“In the end, you don’t really understand my senior, nor do you comprehend what it means to be a public security officer!”

“As for returning to work, he’ll consider it when he wakes up. Even if he’s willing to let things go, I’ll remind you of this—”

“If you choose to serve in public security, whether in work or in conduct, you must be worthy of the badge on your shoulder! If you think being a superior makes you inherently better, neglect your duties, and spend your days scheming, you’ll get what’s coming to you sooner or later!”

“If you don’t believe me, just wait and see!”