82: Chapter 82 The Incompetent Metropolitan Police Department

Tokyo's early morning, which should have been a bustling time of commuters rushing to work and breakfast stalls steaming, was filled with a suffocating sense of oppression on the streets today.

As the sky just began to brighten, the piercing sound of engines shattered the silence. Rows of US military armored vehicles drove along the main roads, their treads crushing the asphalt and leaving deep ruts, as if carving a mark of humiliation into the heart of the city.

Fully armed US soldiers jumped down from the armored vehicles, wearing steel helmets and bulletproof vests. The muzzles of their M4 rifles were pointed downward, yet they still exuded a cold, intimidating presence.

They patrolled the streets in groups of three, their gazes scanning the buildings and pedestrians on both sides with vigilance. The armored vehicles were parked at intersections, with the machine guns on their roofs silently pointed toward crowded areas.

"Maintaining public order"—this was the reason given by the US side, but in the eyes of every Japanese citizen, this was clearly a naked occupation.

On the streets of Shinjuku, a group of students in school uniforms holding signs that read "Oppose the US Military Presence" had just tried to step onto the street when they were blocked by two US soldiers.

"Back off! Get out of here!"

The soldier shouted in broken Japanese, slightly raising his gun, the muzzle pointed intentionally or unintentionally at the students' chests.

The students turned pale with fear, yet someone still mustered the courage to shout: "This is our country! By what right do you come here to flaunt your power?!"

"Bang!"

A soldier suddenly fired a shot into the air. The thunderous gunshot sent the students screaming and fleeing in all directions. The soldier put away his gun, a mocking smile curling at the corner of his mouth, as if enjoying the effect of his intimidation.

In a nearby cafe, several office workers watched this scene through the glass window, their fists clenched tightly, but no one dared to make a sound.

Their eyes were filled with anger and helplessness, and they could only silently drink the cold coffee in their cups, letting that sense of humiliation spread deep within their hearts.

On the rooftop of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department headquarters building, Police Superintendent General Hakuba and several senior police officers stood by the railing, silently watching the US soldiers patrolling the streets.

One officer couldn't help but curse: "Those bastards! They actually fired shots at students! Our police are right there, yet they dare to be this insolent!"

Chief of Police Hakuba didn't speak; he just took out his binoculars and looked at a street corner not far away—there, several US soldiers were pinning a middle-aged man who had been protesting to the ground, beating his back with the butts of their rifles, while the patrol officer responsible for that area stood nearby, head bowed, pretending not to see.

"Why don't they stop them?!" another officer roared.

"Stop them? How can they stop them?"

Chief of Police Hakuba lowered his binoculars, his voice raspy, "The Cabinet issued an order: no conflict with the US military is allowed. Anyone who dares to disobey the order will face this fate."

He pointed to a document on the table; it was a notice of dismissal for a patrol officer who had tried to stop the US military's violence.

Everyone fell silent. They were police officers, the guardians of urban order, yet now they had to watch helplessly as foreign troops committed violence on their own soil, and they were forced to remain silent. This feeling was more painful than being beaten or scolded.

"Chief, we can't just let it go like this!"

An old officer said with red eyes, "If this continues, the public will lose all hope!"

Chief of Police Hakuba took a deep breath, a trace of determination flashing in his eyes:

"Pass the word down: tell all police officers to maintain restraint and not to provoke the US military. But..."

He paused, his tone becoming firm, "If they harm innocent civilians, do your best to protect them, provided it doesn't trigger a large-scale conflict. If there's any trouble, I will take the responsibility."

This was the greatest resistance he could offer—within the framework of obeying orders, doing his best to protect his fellow countrymen.

In the parking lot of the Public Security Command Headquarters, Kazami Yuya and several trusted subordinates sat in a car, watching the US soldiers inspecting passing vehicles not far away.

A soldier deliberately threw a taxi driver's ID on the ground and stepped on it a few times. The driver dared not speak out despite his anger and could only squat on the ground to pick it up silently.

"Officer Kazami, are we really just going to watch?"

A team member asked, gritting his teeth, "If this continues, the reputation of our Public Security will be completely ruined!"

Kazami Yuya gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

The warning from the Chief Cabinet Secretary flashed through his mind: "Anyone who dares to cause trouble can just get out!" Also, the words Amuro Tooru said yesterday flashed through: "Maintain restraint, wait for the opportunity."

He knew what Amuro Tooru meant—a direct conflict with the US military right now would only worsen the situation and might even give the Cabinet an excuse to give up resistance entirely. But watching the scene before him, his rationality was almost overwhelmed by anger.

"Drive." Kazami Yuya suddenly said.

"Where to?" the team member asked.

"Let's go around to the various branch offices."

Kazami Yuya started the car, "Tell the people below to do their jobs well and protect the public, but... do not actively provoke the US military."

This was the most helpless order he could give.

The car slowly drove away from the headquarters. Kazami Yuya looked at the increasing number of US soldiers outside the window, at the shops with doors and windows tightly shut, and at the evasive gazes of the citizens; his heart ached as if it were being cut by a knife.

Passing by a park, he saw a group of children flying kites. A US military patrol passed by, and one of the soldiers suddenly picked up his gun, fired at the kite, and snapped the kite string. The children were terrified and started crying, but the soldiers left laughing loudly.

Kazami Yuya slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching against the ground.

He wanted to rush out, wanted to beat those soldiers up, wanted to tell them this was not a place for them to run wild.

But in the end, he let go of the gas, then pressed it again, and accelerated away. In the rearview mirror, the crying faces of the children grew smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing into the traffic.

"I'm sorry..." Kazami Yuya whispered, his voice filled with pain and self-reproach.

In a secret room at the Prime Ministers Official Residence, several core Cabinet members were gathered around a table for a meeting, the atmosphere eerie and oppressive.

Sitting at the head of the table was the Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry, who had recently become unusually active—he was one of the pawns secretly converted by Lin Long.

"Gentlemen,"

The Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry adjusted his glasses and said in a flat tone, "According to the latest report, since the US military moved in, large-scale protests on the streets have decreased by thirty percent. This shows that their 'deterrence' has been effective."

"Decreased? That's because the public is afraid of being beaten and arrested!"

A minister from the opposition party retorted angrily, "Just yesterday alone, over fifty citizens were injured by the US military, and twenty were arrested! This isn't maintaining order at all; this is tyranny!"

"But at least there haven't been any large-scale riots, have there?"

The Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry smiled slightly, "Compared to the previous missile attacks and terrorist activities, the current situation is much more stable. Our primary task is stability, isn't it?"

He took out a document and pushed it in front of everyone: "This is the draft agreement just sent over by the US side. They are willing to help us upgrade our security systems and will also provide a batch of counter-terrorism equipment. In exchange, they hope to establish two more temporary military strongholds around Tokyo."

"What?!" Everyone's expressions changed drastically, "They are pushing their luck!"

"This is also to better 'protect' us, isn't it?"

The Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry said with feigned innocence, "Besides, this equipment and technology will be very helpful for us to fight against the Black Organization and 'Joker'. Gentlemen might want to consider it."

He knew that many of the people present had intricate ties of interest with the US military. As long as enough bait was dangled, someone would surely be tempted.

Sure enough, the eyes of several ministers began to flicker. Although they didn't immediately declare their stance, they were clearly weighing the pros and cons.

The opposition minister watched this scene, his heart filled with despair. He knew that once this agreement was passed, the sovereignty of Japan would be further eroded, and they, these so-called Cabinet members, were nothing more than puppets of the US military and domestic vested interests.

"I object!" He stood up abruptly, "This agreement is a treaty of national betrayal! I will never sign it!"

The Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry looked at him, a cold smile curling at the corner of his mouth: "Minister Tanabe, you are old, perhaps a bit tired. Why don't you go back and rest first, and let us consider it properly." He gave a look to the guards at the door.

Two guards immediately stepped forward and grabbed Minister Tanabe's arms.

"What are you doing?! Let me go! I am a Cabinet Minister!" Minister Tanabe roared, struggling.

But his resistance was futile, and eventually, he was forcibly dragged out. Silence returned to the secret room, leaving only the chilling smile of the Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry.

In a hidden stronghold on the outskirts of Tokyo, Amuro Tooru was watching real-time surveillance footage of the streets on a computer screen.

On the screen, the violence of the US soldiers, the anger of the public, the silence of the police, the compromise of the Cabinet... scene after scene was clearly displayed before his eyes.

"Mr. Amuro, Officer Kazami sent word that the US military is in contact with some Cabinet members, seemingly wanting to expand their military presence," a subordinate reported.

Amuro Tooru didn't speak; he just clicked on another video file—the content was footage of the Minister of Economy secretly talking with the US Ambassador.

"There really is something fishy going on!" A cold light flashed in Amuro Tooru's eyes. He had long suspected there was a mole in the Cabinet, but he didn't expect it to be the Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry.

"Mr. Amuro, should we expose them?" the subordinate asked.

"It's not the time yet." Amuro Tooru shook his head, "Exposing them now would only make the Cabinet rely more on the US military, and would instead accelerate their cooperation."

He closed the video, his eyes becoming sharp: "Notify Kazami, tell him to keep a close eye on the movements of the Minister of Economy, Trade and Industry and collect evidence of his collusion with the enemy. Also, tell those forces that can still be mobilized to get ready."

"Get ready? Get ready for what?"

Amuro Tooru looked at the sky outside the window, a cold smile curling at the corner of his mouth: "Get ready to welcome a 'storm'. The more arrogant the US military is, the more the public's anger will accumulate. When this anger reaches its peak, all it will take is a small spark to ignite the entire Tokyo. And what we must do is... patiently wait for the opportunity."

On the streets of Tokyo, the US military patrols continued. Their armored vehicles crushed fallen leaves, leaving cold tracks behind; their laughter and shouts echoed through the streets, stinging the ears of every Japanese citizen.

The public's anger was like a volcano beneath the ground, accumulating energy beneath a silent exterior.

They no longer protested openly, but expressed their resistance in more silent ways—shops refused to sell goods to the US military, taxi drivers deliberately took detours when they saw US soldiers waving, and even the children learned to secretly throw stones at the US armored vehicles and then run away quickly.

No one knew how long this silent resistance would last, nor did anyone know when that underground volcano would erupt.

But everyone understood that when that day came, the entire Tokyo, and even the entire Japan, would face an unprecedented upheaval.

And at the center of this upheaval, Amuro Tooru, Lin Long, the Black Organization, the US military... all parties were secretly accumulating strength, waiting for their own opportunity.

The sky over Tokyo grew darker with thick clouds; a rainstorm was about to arrive.