Chapter 4 - Kagurazaka

As the sky darkened, I made my way to the kōban to switch shifts with Hayato. It was around 8 PM, time to start the festival patrol with Takeda who, of course, was not thrilled to see me.

My arrival meant he’d have to finally get off his ass and do some work.

I slid open the kōban door. The familiar click of the old clock on the wall greeted me, along with the faint scent of instant ramen.

Hayato was scribbling something down at the desk, his uniform jacket draped over the back of his chair. Takeda, as always, sat with a cigarette between his lips, eyes half-lidded, watching a small moth circling around the ceiling light.

“Evenin’,” I said, hanging up my coat.

“You’re late,” Takeda muttered without checking the time.

“I’m literally two minutes early.”

Hayato looked up. “Oh, Sora-san! You just missed the guy who thought he was a reincarnation of Susanoo.”

I blinked. “What, again?”

“He had a wooden stick he was calling Ame-no-Habakiri. Said he was hunting ‘serpent spirits’ hiding in the drainage canals.”

Takeda didn’t even glance up from his magazine. “I told him if he swung that thing near the farmers again, I’d show him divine punishment.”

Hayato grinned as he stood and stretched. “Filed the report under ‘delusional but harmless.’

“What an odd encounter.” I sighed.

Hayato nodded. “He kept insisting this village was cursed too.”

Tadashi flicked ash into the tray. “Better get used to it. Festival always brings out the weird ones.”

I sat down, reaching for the leftover manju Takeda had abandoned on the desk. "You really shouldn’t smoke in here."

Takeda took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaled slowly, and muttered, "Then go arrest me."

Hayato stretched his arms, grinning. "Welp, I better get ready for the festival."

I shook my head with a smirk. "Just don’t get too drunk on amazake and end up face-down in a pond."

Hayato laughed. "No promises!"

Takeda grumbled, picking up his flashlight. "Tch… every damn year…"

I grabbed my cap from the hook and followed Takeda out toward the patrol car. The night air was warm and thick with the smell of grilled corn and charcoal.

“See ya Hayato.”

He started the engine, and we pulled away. The road was lined with lanterns, and ahead, we could hear laughter drifting from the festival.

The patrol car slowed to a stop near the edge of the shrine path.

The area was alive with color and movement — paper lanterns swayed gently above the crowd, casting a soft orange glow across the stalls.

Children ran by in yukata, clutching bags with festival souvenirs and kitsune masks. The smell of grilled squid, yakisoba, and sweet soy sauce hung in the warm summer air.

Takeda stepped out and stretched, squinting at the crowd. “Alright. Let’s just keep an eye out for drunkards and punks. Don’t get too excited.”

I scanned the scene. There were the usual food stalls — takoyaki, yakitori, grilled corn.

But also Goldfish scooping stalls with little plastic bowls and fluttering fish and mask vendors selling fox and tengu masks hanging from a wire.

At the far end, the main shrine stage had a small crowd forming — local performers were setting up. Looked like it’d be the traditional kagura dance.

Takeda muttered something about checking the sake stall first and walked away.

I spotted Yuki and Hina trying their luck at the fish-scooping stall.

“Damn it!! This game has to be rigged somehow. Stupid goldfish,” Yuki pouted.

“Oi.”

She looked up, and her eyes lit up like lanterns. “Yukiiin~ reporting for duty!” She said with a salute. “Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol, Officer Kuroda?”

“I am patrolling. There were reports about potential animal abuse to goldfish ‘round here.”

“What?! If anything, the fish are abusing me,” she shot back, glaring at the goldfish tub like it had personally offended her.

“Catch any bad guys yet?” Hina asked.

“Nope. But I am making sure no one’s smuggling illegal goldfish.”

They both laughed. Hina held up her scooper, still dry. “I haven’t tried yet. Yuki-neesan’s scaring them off.”

“Hey!” Yuki snapped, pouting as she adjusted her grip on the fragile paper scoop. "It's these fish! They're too fast!"

Hina smirked, twirling her scooper between her fingers. "Excuses, excuses. Watch and learn, big sis."

With exaggerated confidence, she lowered her hand into the water, eyes locked on a goldfish drifting lazily near the surface.

For a moment, it looked like she had it—then, in a blink, the paper tore, the fish darted away, and Hina was left holding a soggy frame.

“Wow.”

Before I could reply further, Arima stumbled over, arms straining under the weight of several overstuffed bags.

"S-Sora… you’re here!" he panted, clearly struggling.

I raised an eyebrow. "Jeez, Arima. You didn’t strike me as the hoarding type."

"I-I’m not… Y-your wife and H-Hinacchi made me…"

I smirked, and just as I was about to make fun of him, Takeda came stomping over. Without a word, he grabbed my sleeve and pulled me aside.

"We’ve got patrols to do," Takeda muttered flatly.

Sigh

"Duty calls. See you guys later."

As I turned to leave, Arima’s voice rang out in pure desperation.

"Wait—n- no, sora… don’t leave… sigh…me…"

“Figures. A full patrol shift during the matsuri,” Takeda grumbled, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Too many people. Too much noise.”

He snorted, clearly annoyed. At this point, he was just being a drama queen. I sometimes wondered what had made him this grumpy, was it just age? Lack of friends? Or perhaps something else-

“Oi, Sora-kun.”

“Yeah?”

“You go patrol Furumura. I’ve got enough on my plate here, and I don’t need extra work babysitting you. Tch.”

“Right… Guess I’ll check the shrine road too.”

“Whatever. Just radio in if you find something worth waking me up over.”