Ten minutes into the new friend's house, nothing happens.
Twenty minutes into the new friend's house, nothing happened.
On the 30th minute of entering my new friend's house, in the quiet of the night, there was a sound in the lower part of the apartment.
The noise was from the first floor, very small, the sound of a number of people walking and talking, first from the left side of the first floor, then spreading to the right side and up to the second floor.
There seemed to be some kind of emergency that required door-to-door knocking.
Ichijō Mirai patiently listens to the rat-like movements, his brows spreading in satisfaction, "The locator can only locate a simple position, it can't be pinpointed to the meter, let alone the height."
"There's no listener."
"Very good."
And best of all, "It's a good habit to refuse cameras, after all, they intrude on the privacy of us ordinary citizens of Tokyo, don't they?"
He kindly explains to the homeowner his inclination to reject the cameras, "The right to privacy starts with every citizen."
Japan was a somewhat pleasant place for criminals, perhaps it could be called something else: Home sweet home for criminals.
It's a good home that offers all sorts of facilities for family members, such as an identity policy that is so imperfect that it can be exploited to obtain reasonable proof of registration and a bright identity, such as a two-way street in which the police and the citizens tacitly agree that autopsies are disrespectful to the dead, and that even in the case of a homicide, the probability is that there will not be an autopsy.
And because every citizen is so concerned about his or her right to privacy, camera coverage is about as low as autopsy rates, and most of the stores on the street are unmonitored, as are many apartments.
So the police who are searching now can't access the cameras at all, so they have to knock on doors and ask questions.
It's pathetic.
But the homeowner feels even more sorry for himself.
Sitting on the edge of the couch, he didn't need to look around to see the cell phone on the table, its screen displaying a series of black letters, at the top of which was a phrase he didn't understand: [5, Have fun training as a police cadet.]
Every kana, every symbol, the homeowner knew, but together, he suddenly couldn't read the words, and had been staring blankly since he had accidentally scanned the words on his cell phone.
Of course, the bigger reason was that he didn't dare to look up at Ichijō Mirai or the rest of the words on the cell phone's screen, which read.
[Your current identity is: Home Invasion Robber.]
[A month ago, you broke into an apartment, blackmailed and killed the owner, who was single and didn't live with his parents, so the police didn't file a case until ten days later, when a neighbor called the police due to the overpowering odor...]
[Due to the nature of the crime, the police will increase their efforts to arrest you.]
This is the identity of the criminal that Ichijō Mirai drew during his special training.
Most of the uninformed police, unaware of the Academy's outrageous training, would actually consider him a murderer who had committed a home invasion.
Not only the police, but the homeowner looked at it left and right and felt that the words on it were a prediction of his own fate.
All he could do was stare straight up at the top of the cold handwriting, try to stop his brain from auto-playing his own rotten and smelly scene, try to puzzle over the words 'Have a good training session', and pretend that he had been eaten by a zombie and had lost his brain.
Ichijō Mirai knocked on the coffee table, a friendly reminder, "I'm talking to you, my friend."
The homeowner shivered and immediately and brainlessly agreed: "You're right!"
"I mean," Ichijō Mirai was patient, his tone very gentle, more so than he had been with Rum, "there are police checking door-to-door for escaped criminals."
He inquired, "What about your attitude?"
Rum was Rum, incapable of being a member of the codename, even higher than Ichijō Mirai.
The owner of the house is the owner of the house, incapable of being a good boy, and his status is still low enough to look like he's being a good boy with his tail tucked between his legs, which is a little bit more pleasing to the eye.
Most importantly, he's smart.
Hearing Ichijō Mirai's words, the landlord didn't hesitate to take on the attitude of an uneducated victim: "You're my friend!"
"Today is the day of the release of the new game, and because of your high gaming skills, I asked you repeatedly to come to my house and play the game with me, and you agreed to do it after repeated refusals, all at my request!"
He squeezed out a smile that was theoretically a smile, but just looked inexplicably like he was crying, "I'll tell the police so, please don't worry, I will never say anything I shouldn't, and I will never reveal your whereabouts."
Looking scared.
Ichijō Mirai thought for a moment and reassured, "Did I just push too hard? I'm sorry, I didn't realize you couldn't talk, I was just a bit upset because I didn't hear an answer, and I accidentally increased my force."
And then a second reassurance, "You saw the message on the cell phone, right? Don't worry, that's not true, I haven't robbed and killed anyone in my house, how could I do such a thing, you can tell, can't you?"
"After all, I've been very polite since we met."
And a third consolation, "Look, the first line of the burglary was 'have fun training as a police cadet', but I'm actually a police cadet training for urban survival, and I'm currently trying to escape from the police by disguising myself as a criminal."
"Friends trust each other, don't they," he reached out, and stroked the homeowner's shaggy head, rather amiably, "My friend, I'm telling the truth,"
"Do you believe me?"
As a friend, the homeowner, of course, was the first to respond, "I believe it!"
He believed to the point of tears, "So you are a police officer sir, it is my misunderstanding, please rest assured, I grew up admiring the police, will certainly actively help you get rid of the pursuit of colleagues."
"I'm very good at talking, I know what kind of words should come out of my mouth!"
...And it's really good at talking.
Ichijō Mirai touched the homeowner's head again, "What's your name?"
He waited that -0.01 seconds to show his respect for his friend, waiting for his friend's answer, but unfortunately didn't wait for an answer, so he regrettably went on to say, "Inuo, I guess."
"We're friends, and friends have to call each other names, so I'll call you Inuo."
Inuo homeowner was really good at talking, not even hesitating for a second, as if she didn't need to go through her brain at all, but only needed to honor her heart of wanting to live, "Yes, my lord."
What's 'Inuo'? A dog's tail. What is man's friend? A dog.
The homeowner felt it was a fittingly pinched response, comparable to a wagging tail.
Ichijō Mirai:"..."
"I'm training for urban survival," he stroked Inuo's head gently, soothing the adorable friend, "It's training, so I can't really break the law, I just have to find some friends to help me."
There are no clear criteria for five stars.
When it comes to breaking the law, Ichijō Mirai doesn't even have to use his brain, and it only takes him half an hour to impress the whole of Tokyo.
But not breaking the law was a bit of a challenge for Ichijō Mirai, even more so than the filing restrictions.
But the first few training sessions had already given a direction: 'We are a team'.
'All academy students survived, and no one was caught' sounded like a bonus point for the game.
Ichijō Mirai is going to try for the whole group first, saying, "Not only to help me survive the police chase, but also to help my classmates."
"You can do that, can't you?"
The homeowner extracted the point: there was a group of criminals similar to Ichijō Mirai on the loose in Tokyo.
He blacked out.
...
Tokyo, uh, seems, maybe, possibly, a little dangerous.