Chapter Sixty-One: Masaba Eikens’s Counterattack

When Chen Zi’ang arrived at the conference room, he saw that his colleagues from Section Six were gathered in small groups, barely half of them present. This was unsurprising, given that the Public Security Bureau of Arctic City was located in the most bustling commercial district—Shinjuku. Who could afford a place near their workplace? Everyone lived in Sanhe, or perhaps Gunma, and since today was Saturday and not a workday, just getting the call and riding the light rail over took ages. Their absence was understandable.

What was truly odd was the presence of so many “others” in the room. Representatives from unofficial agencies specializing in the supernatural, the heads of the three largest detective firms—Yuan Yu Guang, Fujiwara Asuka—and, of course, the familiar Ashiya Yuu, stood by the window, conversing with measured restraint.

Deputy Section Chief Saki Ken, Section Chief Takahashi Junjie, Bureau Chief Baba Yongjian, Headquarters Director Matsuo Hisura, and an unfamiliar man who looked distinctly military were clustered around the command screen, engaged in heated discussion.

Chen Zi’ang glanced at the screen and was silently shocked. The city map was dotted with clusters of red, each representing an anomaly—at least twenty by rough count. The districts of Ping’an, Sanhe, Shinjuku, Gunma, Akita, Jinchuan, Guangyuan… Of the city’s sixteen administrative divisions, only the remotest—Izumo and Chiba—were untouched by anomalies; the rest had three or four red dots each.

“The suppression of anomalies will be handled by us,” the military man said. “We’ll take care of personnel deployment, but you’ll need to manage public opinion and memory cleansing.”

Matsuo Hisura looked at Baba Yongjian, and seeing his subordinate hesitate to pledge immediate assurance, realized there must be insurmountable difficulties.

“In Section Six, we say, ‘The real work begins only after the anomaly ends,’” Section Chief Takahashi Junjie spoke up for the Bureau Chief. “In truth, suppressing the anomaly is merely the simplest step in the entire crisis response.”

“Afterward, the investigation of risk points, control of public opinion, and memory cleansing of those involved—each of these tasks, individually, requires far more resources and manpower than suppressing the anomaly itself.”

“I understand,” the military man replied. “That’s the very reason Section Six exists, isn’t it? If all that was needed was to physically destroy monsters, any one of my men could do it.”

“Suppression will be handed to the Countermeasures Commando,” Matsuo Hisura, the highest-ranking present, decided. “For public opinion, we’ll initiate a national emergency, impose a temporary ‘pre-approval before publication’ system for all media, ensuring no contaminated information spreads online.”

“Risk point investigations and memory cleansing—Baba, report.”

“Yes,” Baba Yongjian responded instantly. “Investigating risk points means that while anomalies are suppressed on the surface, hidden threats may remain—uncaught monsters, residual sources of contamination.”

“Section Six is understaffed, so we’ll need help from unofficial exorcism agencies. We’ve invited the heads of the three largest detective firms specializing in private supernatural cases, and the legal department is drafting temporary employment contracts.”

“Additionally, Daiming Temple, Guozang Temple, Kamakura Temple, as well as Izumo Shrine and Chiba Shrine—these five religious organizations have verbally authorized support, willing to send monks and shrine maidens to assist.”

“Verbal authorization isn’t enough,” Matsuo Hisura said swiftly. “Draft contracts like with the detective firms, so they can sign and confidentiality procedures are upheld. What about memory cleansing?”

“That’s handled by the Intelligence Division, but since Division Chief Suikaze Riu is unconscious, efficiency is somewhat affected. However, as we’ll soon move into public opinion control, even if memory cleansing is delayed, contamination spread will be limited. We’ll manage the risk…”

He spoke confidently before the senior leaders, expounding on macro strategy with remarkable eloquence—who would imagine that, in practice, this Bureau Chief was utterly clueless?

While the leaders held their private meeting, Section Six colleagues huddled in the corner, listening in, lacking opportunity to speak and not daring to leave, only quietly playing with their phones.

“What are you discussing?” Chen Zi’ang, who was naturally part of the work group chat, soon discovered they were energetically chatting away.

“Old Chen’s here!” Lu Yunfeng immediately messaged in the group, then privately inquired, “How are you so calm?”

“No use getting anxious,” Chen Zi’ang replied. “Look at the screen—twenty anomalies, and how many of us? We can’t be everywhere at once, Comrade Lu.”

“That’s not the issue,” Lu Yunfeng typed rapidly. “Don’t you see what the big fool is planning?”

“He wants to use this opportunity to outsource operations and get rid of us full-time staff!”

Chen Zi’ang: ???

“That can’t be right.” He pondered a moment, then typed, “Where did you hear that?”

“Ha, the outsourced people are standing by the window enjoying the show. Ask them yourself. Isn’t that Ashiya Yuu someone you know?”

Chen Zi’ang was startled and quickly messaged Ashiya Yuu.

“It’s true,” Ashiya replied. “Your Bureau Chief, Baba Yongjian, is planning to switch to a channel platform.”

“Channel platform?” Chen Zi’ang asked, puzzled.

“Exactly,” Ashiya explained. “Section Six has a limited roster and generally high-quality agents, so you’re suited for tough, high-risk anomalies, like those involving deities.”

“But how many divine descent rituals happen a year? Most anomalies are simple cases—someone accidentally sees contaminated information, or runs into a low-level monster on the street. Not difficult, just time-consuming, needing someone to handle them.”

“So Baba Yongjian approached us and other industry peers, saying future cases would be sourced by the Public Security Bureau, hiring us at set rates to handle daily incidents.”

“In effect, it becomes a platform that collects cases and distributes them to us.”

Chen Zi’ang read this in silence, feeling a profound sense of absurdity well up in his chest.

Section Six… becoming a channel platform?

He instinctively wanted to reject the idea, but reason told him it was likely to become reality. Section Six’s chronic understaffing had been manageable in peaceful times, but now, with Nishikawa Mihui targeting them, the flaw was glaring.

Baba Yongjian was using this crisis to convince senior leadership to bring in private agencies to handle anomalies. Though it seemed to solve the manpower shortage, it was actually eroding the very foundation of Section Six’s agents.

After all, in the bureaucracy, “jurisdiction” depends on having cases to handle. If a department has nothing to do… it’s retirement, it’s exile!

Once private agencies are brought in and take most of the anomalies, how much influence would Section Six’s agents retain?

Take the last suspension incident, for example: with no manpower constraints, Baba Yongjian could freely wield authority to torment any subordinate.

Don’t agree? He’ll find fault and suspend you.

Don’t want to work? Fine, leave.

He’ll tell you: if you don’t do it, plenty of others will!