Chapter 120: Hirata's World (Part 8)
Chapter 120: Hirata’s World (Part 8)
“Who are you?” The face in the mirror actually spoke to Feng Bu Jue, asking, “I don’t recognize you.”
“Who I am doesn’t matter,” Feng Bu Jue replied, his gaze sharp. “What matters is—who are you?”
“I’m obviously Hirata Shūichi.” The other man responded.
“No, you’re not. You’re just someone who looks like him.” Feng Bu Jue said, his tone firm. “Stop pretending. I know there’s another personality inside this body. No one knows you exist—neither Hirata, nor Gao Cang, nor even Watanabe and Kira. You were the one who orchestrated that case fifteen years ago.”
“Hmph… Ha… Hahahaha!” The man burst into cold laughter. “Regardless of who you are, you’re far shrewder than that fool.”
“You can call me Mr. F.” Feng Bu Jue offered.
“Then you can call me Hirata Shūichi.” The man countered.
“If you’re truly Hirata Shūichi, then who’s the madman rotting in prison for fifteen years?” Feng Bu Jue pressed.
“That’s just another fool with the same name. Nothing more.” The other shrugged.
“I see…” Feng Bu Jue said, then tossed a baited question. “Tell me, when exactly did you two part ways?”
“Ever since graduation.” The man replied.
“Hmph… I get it now.” Feng Bu Jue smirked. “To make conversation easier, how about I call you ‘Hirata’ and the fool ‘Xiu Yi’?”
“Call us whatever you like.” Hirata shrugged again.
“After graduating from Kyoto University, you, Hirata, aimed for a big city, while Xiu Yi insisted on returning to his hometown’s settlement. Am I right?” Feng Bu Jue asked.
“You’re putting it far too lightly…” The Hirata in the mirror sneered cruelly. “That fool turned down a chance to work in Tokyo and even broke up with Miss Mekako—a daughter of a major conglomerate’s chairman. Countless men would’ve killed for that opportunity…
Then he returned to his hometown’s settlement, married his childhood sweetheart, and settled for a menial job at some obscure company. Look where that got him! Haruko, that harlot, betrayed him with Fukui, and yet Xiu Yi kept grinding himself to dust at work, only for his company to collapse because of some greedy scumbag. My six years… my entire future… all buried under that fool’s foolish choices.”
“I see…” Feng Bu Jue nodded. “So after graduation, Xiu Yi made a painful life decision, splitting you two into separate personalities. Xiu Yi was a kind, honest man—choosing to return home and marry his love. But you, Hirata, were ambitious, capable, ruthless, and cold. Yet in the end, you lost to Xiu Yi.
Until November 24, 1990. Six years later, when you overheard your colleagues’ conversation in the restroom, you shattered. That’s when you seized control of the body.”
“Spot on, Mr. F.” Hirata replied.
“You hated Xiu Yi—his choices, his nature, his destruction of your future.” Feng Bu Jue continued. “You wanted revenge. Total, irreversible destruction of his life. And as an educated, capable, and cold-hearted man, you far outclassed Xiu Yi in committing crimes. Killing Fukui alone wasn’t enough… Given the case’s nature, Xiu Yi’s sentence for murdering Fukui would’ve been light. His colleagues, even Haruko, would’ve testified for leniency. Perhaps he’d have served a few years and walked free.
But you? You took it further. First, you killed a police officer, then used his gun to kill Fukui. That way, Xiu Yi would have no escape.
Hmph… You were clever. Killing a cop made sense logically—even if Xiu Yi didn’t remember, the evidence would silence him. Had you randomly killed a passerby, the motiveless, memory-less Xiu Yi might’ve been diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, allowing his murder of Fukui to be dismissed as a mental illness.”
Feng Bu Jue exhaled sharply. “Hmph… That’s why calculating minds scare me.” He shuddered. “If I were handling this case, on November 25th, I’d have first brought the burial tools to the planned crime scene—the Ruins of the Old Home, wrecked by the typhoon—perfect choice.
You knew the area well. Whether day or night, even if a familiar face saw you there, you could easily fabricate an excuse to be nearby.
By nightfall, you’d lure a patrolling officer—one carrying a sidearm—to the ruins with some lie, ambush him, and bury the body. You never meant to hide it long—just until Fukui was dead. You never expected the authorities to ignore that land for years, letting the corpse rot for seven years before discovery.”
“Hm? Did you deduce all that?” Hirata asked.
“Indeed. I should’ve figured it out earlier, but I didn’t know of your existence at first.” Feng Bu Jue replied. “Xiu Yi would never do this. He’s far beneath you. Even if he wanted to steal the gun, he’d never kill for it. At most, he’d plan to knock someone out from behind—hoping to keep things quiet until Fukui’s death.” His eyes glinted with a sly smile. “But you, Hirata? Once I assumed you were the culprit, this deduction was inevitable.”
“Hmph… Then guess what came next.” Hirata said.
“That part’s simple.” Feng Bu Jue smirked. “When you controlled the body, Xiu Yi had no memory of it. On the afternoon of the 26th, you knew Haruko had left to meet Fukui. So you slipped a piece of paper with ‘Rookubanchō 4-5’ written on it into Xiu Yi’s pocket, along with the handgun, and headed to Fukui’s western mansion. Then you handed control back to Xiu Yi.
He’d awaken confused, find the gun in his pocket, panic, and see the paper. Dazed, he’d stumble to Fukui’s mansion, reach the second floor, and catch them in the act. Fukui, the arrogant fool, would’ve stormed at Xiu Yi, shouting, trying to drive him out.
Anger, pain, confusion—or perhaps a psychological trigger you implanted—would’ve sent Xiu Yi’s mind reeling. Drawing the gun and firing was inevitable. That was your trap.
Thus, Xiu Yi gained his second memory fragment. And shortly after he pulled the trigger… you took over again, proceeding to the next step…”
(End of Chapter)
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