After wrapping up the discussion about the new school, Kamishima asked about Ma En's life over the past two days. Ma En didn't have much to report. He hadn't fully adjusted yet, but he hadn't run into any real inconveniences either. For someone like him, as long as he had a room of his own and could manage three meals a day, his needs were essentially met. He didn't chase gourmet food, didn't care about fashion, didn't want a bigger apartment, didn't aspire to career advancement, and didn't follow celebrities.

What he wanted was a job — one that came with a convenient, stable status. He'd considered worst-case scenarios back in the homeland, but conditions in Japan had turned out better than his initial projections. Proof enough that the interpersonal networks he'd spent time and energy cultivating over the years hadn't gone to waste.

A formal job meant not worrying about money or identity. That principle held in virtually every country on earth.

True, in modern society no activity existed in isolation from money. But for the things Ma En pursued, funding was never the most important factor.

He was satisfied with his current life. There was a "fresh start" quality to it. He didn't hide this optimism, and he trusted that Kamishima could sense it.

Still — though his own affairs had nothing worth mentioning, everything running along an acceptable track — he did give a limited report on certain Room 4 discoveries. The suspicious neighbors. Sanchoumoku Park.

"Nothing further from the police?"

"There's only so much I can do. I'm a real estate broker at the end of the day, not someone inside the police system." Kamishima's voice was perfectly even, signaling to Ma En that he wouldn't be pulling any more strings. Whether Kamishima was truly just a "real estate broker" was a question that didn't need pursuing at this point. Everyone had secrets. A contact man like Kamishima would have more than most. Ma En could smell the familiar scent on him.

As things stood, Kamishima was his sole and relatively close link to Red Party International. That also meant they were looking at things from different angles, and the degree of assistance offered was entirely at Kamishima's discretion. The man undoubtedly had his own calculations.

Honestly, Ma En didn't fully trust him. To put it more bluntly: this relationship of incomplete trust was something the other side had deliberately engineered. Between the two of them ran an ambiguous line.

A Party member flagged on the re-review list, arriving in a foreign country — even operating under the banner of an International Party Member and enjoying certain conveniences, the arrangement concealed plenty of instabilities. Red Party International covered all of Asia and Australia, with branches across Europe and the Americas. The world's largest party. But its internal complexity was also without equal.

Conducting cross-border operations as an International Party Member — Ma En had seen his share of case studies. They proved the same point again and again: trust your comrades, but never trust them completely. Finding the balance within that contradiction was the real key to surviving abroad.

Whether in daily life or work, whether through ordinary dealings or the resolution of covert problems, relying on local Party comrades was unavoidable. But lean too heavily, and you'd drag yourself into unnecessary trouble. Getting killed wasn't out of the question.

Even the homeland's postal system, when expanding operations overseas, couldn't guarantee that its own people wouldn't stumble into these pitfalls. Neither the post office's institutional backing nor the weight of the state could ensure that when things went wrong, someone would be pulled out in time. He'd watched it happen — comrades who got careless, blundered into disputes they had no business touching, and died deaths nobody could explain.

Ma En had always been clear-eyed about this. Still, before he'd left for Japan, colleagues who knew his plans had offered advice — some openly, some in veiled terms: Japan's peace was the peace of ordinary citizens. After securing a strong start, he should consider abandoning his Party membership entirely. Become a regular person. With his abilities, he could easily excel in some unremarkable industry and live out his days in comfort and security.

But Ma En hadn't left the post office and crossed the sea to live a comfortable life. A person who pursued the bizarre, once they truly encountered it, became a fugitive who could never stop running.

And for a fugitive, the identity and capabilities Kamishima displayed should always be treated with suspicion.

On the matter of Room 4, Kamishima certainly knew more than he'd shared. Even if he didn't, he had ways of finding out. Ma En believed the man's current response was proof enough: on this issue, there was no room left to negotiate. Because the matter had likely reached a level that even Kamishima had to be cautious about — political factors, for instance.

Factors that go all the way to the top?

The thought surfaced unbidden. But it tracked: the existing intelligence pointed to problems within Bunkyo District's police system. If the rot went down to the rank and file, that was a serious matter. Knowing the Red Party's usual approach, they'd likely move to purge directly — which meant there was no place in it for an International Party Member with an unstable status like his. No — more than that. He absolutely could not get involved. Otherwise he'd become a pawn to be discarded at convenience.

Then again, judging from Kamishima's demeanor, the situation wasn't quite that dire.

"Is a senior officer in the district police involved?" Ma En said it bluntly, out of nowhere, his eyes locked on Kamishima's.

Kamishima's gaze didn't waver. The same practiced steadiness Ma En recognized from his former colleagues. The smile on his face hadn't changed once since the conversation began. Calm. Warm.

"...Ma-san, that's not a question you should be asking." The words sounded like a reprimand, but carried the undertone of a hint.

"Forgive me." Ma En sat straight, inclining his head slightly.

"Ma-san is truly fascinating. Only two days and you're already starting to smell like a local." Kamishima reached into his suit jacket, drew a business card from the inner pocket, and slid it across to Ma En. "I think Ma-san is ready to meet this person now. Seeing what Ma-san has become, I'm sure he'll be pleased."

Ma En picked up the card. Like the last one, it bore only a name and a phone number: Matsuzaemon.

"Matsuzaemon-san was formerly a senior official at the Tokyo Metropolitan Office, handling foreigner naturalization affairs. He ran into some problems, however, and was reassigned to Bunkyo District. He's currently a Superintendent." Kamishima delivered the introduction evenly, but without even a surface layer of respect.

The hint was loud enough to hear from across the room. Ma En was certain: Matsuzaemon had problems. But how deep they ran — why someone of Kamishima's position would need to circle around and approach an International Party Member like Ma En, doing so with all this evasion and suggestion — that could only be guessed at through experience.

One thing was clear, though. Official channels couldn't touch Matsuzaemon for the time being. The man had no criminal evidence against him, at least not legally, and politically he hadn't exposed a weakness large enough to exploit. "Superintendent" was a senior rank in Japan's system. Whatever level Matsuzaemon had held at the Metropolitan Office, being posted as a Superintendent in Bunkyo District was a distinctly lateral move — neither a promotion nor a clear demotion.

From Kamishima's tone, the transfer carried a whiff of punishment. But to call it purely punitive would be going too far.

Ma En caught the faint, familiar scent of a conspiracy.

Like sedating a patient before the surgery. Bunkyo District — he's being contained here, isn't he?

In all seriousness, Ma En understood perfectly well that the Room 4 situation — even setting the bizarre aside — had already moved beyond the bounds of safe involvement. It was exactly the kind of problem his former colleagues would say you should walk away from if you could. But precisely because it involved Room 4, and the neighbor friend he'd just met, letting it go would only leave Ma En more unsettled, not less.

He had to get involved. There was no getting around it. The decision came fast.

"Kamishima-san... this is no way to treat a friend." Ma En said it plainly, but still placed the business card carefully to the side.

"If Ma En-san wishes to withdraw, I won't attempt to stop you." Kamishima said it smoothly. But Ma En knew better than to take that at face value.

The man had clearly planned ahead. Whether Ma En pressed forward or stopped here, he'd already been folded into the contingency map.

"I may not know much about the situation, but I'm sure Matsuzaemon-san will tell you more. He is, after all, the local Superintendent — whereas I'm just a real estate broker." Kamishima saw that Ma En had no intention of backing out. The smile that never changed remained in place. "Ma-san — it's precisely because you're a friend that I'm going out of my way to meet your needs. If you want off the re-review list, this is an opportunity. You know as well as I do: someone in your position, to earn back trust, has to produce results that stand out."

Ma En's face went still. His finger tapped against the glass surface of the coffee table — tap, tap, tap. For a long stretch, the living room held nothing but that sound. Their breathing had gone too quiet to hear.

In truth, Ma En had already decided. The deliberation was theater — performed for an audience of one. Kamishima showed no sign of pressing him. Even in the silence, his expression didn't shift. Certain jobs were best handled by an International Party Member — he was firm on that point. This Ma En was the most suitable candidate he'd found. He'd conducted extensive exchanges with the Mainland and obtained remarkably detailed files. The young man's experience, his capabilities, his status, and his own inclinations — applied to this situation, they were a stroke of perfect timing.

He'd never once worried that the other party would walk away. Of course, as Ma En suspected, he'd prepared alternative plans as a precaution. But the odds of activating them, in his estimation, sat below one in ten.

"I understand." Sure enough, Ma En spoke the words Kamishima most wanted to hear. "I'll find a time to pay Matsuzaemon-san a visit."

"Then I'll leave everything in your hands." Kamishima stood and made his farewell. "I wish Ma-san success in obtaining what he's looking for. I'll be heading out of the area on business tonight, so I may be unreachable for a while."

Ma En nodded and walked him to the door. He understood the subtext clearly enough, and it didn't surprise him. Perhaps Kamishima was more than a "real estate broker." But the word broker — intermediary — fit him like a glove.

Ma En didn't fault Kamishima's handling of the situation. If anything, though the full picture remained hidden — and maybe he'd never collect every piece of the puzzle, even by the end — this style of operating was hardly unfamiliar.

What caught him slightly off guard was the scale of what Room 4 had entangled. The people involved, the problems at play — all of it was bigger than he'd anticipated. This was no ordinary urban legend anymore. The bizarre and the brutally real were woven together, and the outline of the whole affair had long since left "beginner village" territory.

Originally, he'd assumed the thorniest thing awaiting him in Japan would be the Seven Transmutations of the Profound Mystery Records in his possession, with Room 4 serving as little more than a side dish. Clearly, he'd miscalculated.

The Seven Transmutations was perhaps the deeper mystery, but it wasn't the most urgent. Understanding it would be a long-term project. Room 4, on the other hand, bore directly and concretely on his daily life going forward.

Even so, Ma En felt no tension, no resentment. He was no longer at the post office. He could move entirely at his own pace. To other people, the situation Kamishima had implied would seem grave enough — an ordinary person might even develop a sense of victimhood. But Ma En had no such reaction.

On this matter alone, the constraints he faced were actually far lighter than those he'd worked under at the post office.

He gathered the documents, credentials, and business cards from the coffee table and filed each one where it belonged. Then he pulled out the books from the bookshop and the materials Asuka had given him, and resumed consolidating intelligence on Room 4. He wrote down every name connected to the Room 4 Ghost Story that he'd encountered over these past days, and sketched a simple relationship diagram. The connections on that diagram were still deeply fragmented — obviously missing a central node. He made guesses at what that node might be, but whether those guesses held would depend on whatever intelligence came next.

He didn't spend long on Room 4. No restlessness, no urge to rush out and confront the suspicious figures circling his life. August was still a long way off. In his planning, tomorrow's interview with Katsura Masakazu-sensei was the thing that mattered most right now.