"Hey, how about we go for a few drinks..."

  My well-intentioned invitation has not even left the tip of my tongue when the other party evaporates completely. Karasu dissolves into the night like a wisp of black smoke, leaving me standing forlornly in the empty station with my mouth still half-open.

  "Tch, what a heartless jerk," I mutter, my tail drooping dejectedly. After all, it has been a long time since the two of us had the chance to "coordinate operations" (albeit reluctantly), so I thought he would respect our old camaraderie enough to sit down for a drink and a chat. The disappointment creeps into my mind, but it is quickly crushed by the pile of overwhelming work.

  Wasting no more time, I immediately send the extracted video file to Alethea. Attached is a triple-encrypted note: "CONFIDENTIAL - INTERNAL CIRCULATION ONLY (Team 7 & Director Ariel). Absolutely do not share indiscriminately."

  Hopefully, that rock-hard head of hers can filter out some valuable information from the chaotic memories of that monster.

  I also do not forget to reopen the chat window freshly "unclogged" with Karasu, typing a quick warning:

  ItsukiK: "About that video, remember this well: Only discuss it with those you would trust with your life. Don't be foolish and report it recklessly, or you might follow in the footsteps of Mr. Ogawa."

  Having sent it, I exhale sharply, dragging my feet to the cold waiting bench of the station and flopping down. Limbs weary, I lean my head against the wall, closing my eyes to rest my spirit a bit while waiting for a response.

  Ting!

  Less than two minutes later, Alethea replies. Her work speed is truly terrifying.

  Alethea: "Goods received. But bad news for you, kiddo: Analyzing the identity of the mysterious man in the Teke Teke's memory is an impossible mission at this moment. He covers his face, disturbs his aura, and most importantly, to cross-reference with the Japanese Citizen Database requires high-level access from Takama-ga-hara's server."

  I grimace, typing back: "Then just ask them to grant access? We are cooperating on the investigation."

  Alethea: "Too naive, darling. There is a mole over there, remember? Sending a request to access sensitive data now is no different from announcing, 'I am here in the bushes.'"

  Truly a dilemma. The administrative firewall and suspicion are blocking every path.

  "So we have to go back to the old trough: Playing manual detective,"

  Although Ogawa is dead and his soul destroyed, his "digital footprint" in the Mundane Realm cannot be erased overnight. Modern humans live two lives: one real and one virtual. Sometimes the virtual life contains more truth than the real person.

  Alethea: "I have zoned it. Ogawa was human, so his activity outside of work hours revolved only around regular social media platforms and forums... As for the specialized Solak account for work, it lies under the strict control of Takama-ga-hara; we have no door to touch it."

  A "genius" (or lazy) idea sparks in my mind.

  ItsukiK: "How about... I just brazenly go over there and ask for the password and access rights to his social media accounts? Using the excuse of serving the joint investigation?"

  The message is barely sent when Alethea immediately replies with a series of "angry" icons.

  Alethea: "Is your brain for decoration?! I told you to avoid 'startling the viper in the grass'! Suddenly asking for the victim's personal account password is no different from screaming to the whole world: 'Hey, I suspect there is evidence of your crimes in this guy's device, let me see'? Think of another way!"

  I pout, retracting my tail. Being scolded is something I am used to, but thinking of another way is... truly tiring.

  Honestly, I am not exactly a tech connoisseur. But what is so hard about searching for information on human social media?

  Looking up a victim's account is fundamentally extremely simple; I just need to activate the "Public Data Tracking" feature on Solak, entering the name: Takeshi Ogawa.

  In a blink, the screen returns 14,502 matching accounts.

  I slide my finger, scrolling down the list as long as a Kitchen God's report. Takeshi Ogawa is a bodybuilder. Takeshi Ogawa is an elementary student who loves Kamen Rider. Takeshi Ogawa is a British Shorthair cat with 50,000 followers.

  Absolutely none of the accounts belong to a middle-aged software engineer with a haggard face.

  "I am truly an idiot," I scratch my head, my ears drooping to cover my eyes in shame.

  Why did I forget the immutable rule of social media? What crazy person uses their real name and real photo to discuss mysterious spiritual matters online? Instead of his birth name, that Ogawa guy could totally be hiding under "edgy teen" nicknames like CodeMaster_99, Night_Ghost_Hunter, or worse, Lonely_Kitten.

  Finding a virtual nickname in that sea of data is harder than finding a black hair on this fox body.

  "Alright, change tactics," I exhale, turning off the useless screen. "If the virtual road is blocked, I take the land route. Sometimes, the most manual way is the most effective way."

  Gakai might be a cruel genius, a master soul manipulator, but he has a fatal weakness—the arrogance that every god suffers from. That guy might destroy the victim's soul to silence them from The Nexus, but he certainly would not bother with the human police fumbling around the crime scene.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  I reopen the file that Takama-ga-hara published (reluctantly) in the internal bulletin. Takeshi Ogawa's home address lies in the suburbs of Tokyo, a quiet residential area for the middle class.

  I teleport there, hiding myself on the branch of an old oak tree in front of the unfortunate Sensitive's gate.

  The spacious two-story house is now surrounded by the police's yellow DO NOT CROSS tape. An atmosphere of mourning covers every brick, every blade of grass.

  Through the living room window, I see a middle-aged woman—Ogawa's wife—sitting blankly on the sofa, her eyes puffy and red. Beside her are two children, a boy and a girl, hugging their mother tightly, their faces filled with bewilderment and fear. They are too young to understand why their father "fell asleep" forever right at his work desk like that.

  But there is no time to gossip about other people's family matters. My gaze now focuses only on the police inspectors walking around inside the house.

  They are rummaging, taking notes, and taking photos in helplessness and confusion. Of course; how can forensics explain a death by "Soul Destruction"? In mortal eyes, this case is no different from a black swan of the criminal world.

  "Find anything?" An old inspector asks, holding an unlit cigarette.

  "No signs of forced entry, sir," the young officer replies, his white-gloved hands carefully placing a laptop and a mobile phone into an evidence bag. "But we have seized all of the victim's electronic devices to take back to the technical lab. Hopefully, we will find clues in the communication history or emails."

  Bingo.

  Here is the truth. Ogawa's personal computer and phone. Gakai surely would not expect a god like me to lower myself to investigate a mortal's social media account. The digital information, the clues Ogawa left behind, must still lie scattered somewhere on the human Internet.

  The crime scene remains bustling in the fake atmosphere of mourning, but fortunately, no one here possesses yin-yang eyes or any spiritual ability to see a fox standing with arms crossed leaning against the wall.

  I scan the crowd of police, choosing a very young inspector, fresh-faced and seemingly an obedient rookie.

  "Borrowing your brain for a bit, kid."

  I snap my fingers lightly. An invisible stream of spiritual energy invades his frontal lobe. The young officer's eyes glaze over for a split second then return to normal, but now, his mouth lies under my control.

  He turns to the old inspector standing smoking nearby, asking in a timid tone:

  "Sir... earlier when questioning Mrs. Ogawa, did she declare the passwords for the social media accounts? I... accidentally missed writing them down."

  The old inspector exhales a ring of smoke, narrowing his eyes at his subordinate. "What is wrong with you? Weren't you the one taking notes? The wife declared absolutely everything. This Mr. Ogawa truly was... tsk, a man so afraid of his wife. Even the password to a secret forum was handed over to her."

  Holy cow.

  I almost laugh out loud. Handing over all personal passwords to his wife? This is truly the highest realm of enlightenment that a free god like me cannot possibly comprehend.

  I control the officer to scratch his head, laughing awkwardly: "Yes... because I accidentally forgot completely. Could you... remind me, sir?"

  The old man sighs, pointing at the leather-bound notebook sitting proudly in the rookie's left hand.

  "Are you feverish? The evidence notebook is right in your hand! Open it and look!"

  What the hell.

  I can feel my face heating up. It turns out that black notebook he has been holding this whole time is the "Holy Grail" containing all the digital secrets of the victim. Yet I kept making him ask around like a fool.

  Seeing his subordinate standing there looking dumbfounded, limbs clumsy, the old inspector starts to get suspicious. He steps closer, his voice hardening: "Hey Yamada, you are very strange today. Did you eat something wrong? Or is it..."

  Sensing something wrong, the old man's eyes begin to shine with the scrutinizing look of an old wolf catching a strange scent. Cannot be exposed. I decide to use the "Act Dangerous" card to distract him.

  I control Yamada to look up, staring distantly into the void (actually looking at the chandelier), his voice suddenly becoming deep and philosophical:

  "It's nothing, sir. It's just... Do you see anything in this chaotic mess? Does the real culprit... lie within the limited understanding of us humans? Or are we just ants trying to decode the footprints of an invisible giant?"

  The old inspector freezes, the cigarette almost falling from his mouth. "Huh? What the hell are you saying?"

  "Ah... Sorry sir, I was delirious. It's nothing."

  While the old man is still confused, wondering if his soldier is overly obsessed with detective novels, I quickly control Yamada's hands to flip open the notebook.

  Click. Click. Click.

  The phone camera works at full capacity, capturing every page of scrawled handwriting containing dozens of accounts and passwords of all kinds.

  After returning control of the body to the poor police officer (who will surely have a very confusing evening), I decide not to linger any longer. The longer I stay, the deeper I get involved, the easier it is for these innocent mortals to fall into the sights of that crazy Gakai.

  But the feeling of unease keeps slithering into my mind like a venomous snake. This World 1031... it is best not to stay alone for too long; I should go back first.

  At this moment, the Diplomatic Relation Team's workspace is as empty as a deserted temple. It makes sense; all the massive, difficult tasks that Boss Ariel assigned specifically to me, I have "generously" shared with my trusted juniors. By now, they are probably burying their faces in solving the mess in Southeast Asia and China.

  "Sorry, darlings, I am shouldering the responsibility of protecting universal peace," I console myself, flopping down onto the chair in front of the high-end hologram system.

  I begin logging into Ogawa's social media accounts using the passwords I just "borrowed."

  His nickname is exactly as I predicted, reeking of nostalgic old people: "Mujō" (Impermanence).

  Spying on someone else's social media account is more tiring than I thought. Scrolling through thousands of messages yields absolutely nothing unusual.

  "Darling, I'll be late tonight, don't wait for dinner."

  "Happy birthday, daddy loves you."

  "Hey, the code from yesterday has a bug, fix it."

  All are ordinary conversations, boring and harmless to the point of disappointment. A model man, loving his wife and children, devoted to his work. A perfect cover, or simply he truly lived two completely separate lives.

  Just as I intend to turn off the computer to buy some drinks, my finger pauses at the Group Activity History section.

  About three months ago (according to World 1031 time), Ogawa joined a closed group on social media, a group with an extremely typical name: "Miraculous Dharma & The Tranquility Of The Soul."

  It sounds like a cultivation group, sharing life philosophies, or simply a place where ladies wish each other a good morning with lotus pictures. The number of members is not large, only about a few hundred people.

  But my fox instinct tells me something smells fishy here. A dry tech engineer, working for Takama-ga-hara (which follows Shinto), suddenly joining an online Buddhist group?

  I click on the "Group Info Edit History" section. A feature few people notice, but digging it up reveals a bunch of interesting things.

  The text that appears makes my hair stand on end.

  [Date Changed: XX/XX/XXXX]

  [Old Name: The Society of Those Who Want to Die]

  [New Name: Miraculous Dharma & The Tranquility Of The Soul]