Chapter Sixteen: Cleverness Backfires

September 24th marked the one-week anniversary of Ishikawa’s appointment.

After four morning meetings and inspecting various departments during the day, Ishikawa had met nearly every officer in the precinct.

He had a solid grasp of the basic profiles of the officers—who had potential and which departments they suited best.

However, transferring personnel always required a rationale. After all, this was real work, not a game; arbitrary reassignments could breed discontent or dampen morale.

Thus, Ishikawa refrained from rash moves for the time being, especially since most officers were currently positioned where they could still grow and contribute.

His role as chief, directly responsible for managing hundreds, had given him new insights.

It was entirely different from his previous frontline section chief position.

As chief, Ishikawa realized that personal ability wasn’t the key most of the time.

If a police dog failed, the chief wouldn’t just jump in to sniff himself; if precinct officers lagged in martial arts training, the chief wouldn’t simply step up and fight.

Though such actions might solve immediate problems, they offered no real help to the precinct’s overall functioning.

---

Early that morning, at the Mihana Fifth District police box, Kawai stood nervously on guard.

Nearby, Fujii Seiko noticed her tense demeanor and asked, “Hmm? Kawai, why so formal today?”

“Chief Fujii, you should get ready too... judging by the time, the chief will be running by soon!” Kawai said anxiously.

Indeed, the chief ran past here every day.

On Wednesday morning, Kawai was startled—just after six, a “huge black shadow” swept past the police box, clearly unusual. Having just finished her night shift, she half-feared a supernatural occurrence.

Later at the morning meeting, colleagues mentioned that many police boxes had witnessed the same.

Furthermore...

They soon figured out what that “thing” was.

Slow-motion footage revealed it was the chief running at high speed!

At first, everyone was puzzled, but after exchanging information, the local patrol officers concluded it wasn’t “the chief rushing past my police box,” but rather “the chief jogging through the entire Mihana district early every morning.”

Why the impression of “speeding,” then?

They pieced together the chief’s route and found that within roughly one hour and ten minutes, he ran a winding path through all seventeen police boxes in Mihana district—about 30 kilometers in total.

In other words, discounting time spent waiting at traffic lights with high knees in place, the chief was jogging at around 30 km/h.

To him, this wasn’t “speeding” but a steady morning jog—just “a bit fast,” which appeared as “speeding” to others.

(In reality, a marathon of 42 km has a world record of just over two hours; given the world in this story features slightly enhanced physiques, Ishikawa running 30 km in an hour is quite reasonable.)

After this discovery, the police boxes in Mihana grew nervous—this meant the new chief effectively “inspected” their posts daily.

Ishikawa himself, however, didn’t overthink it.

---

Mostly, it was for training.

After all, his Level 10 Constitution corresponded roughly to the human limit for someone weighing 159 kg. Injuries could temporarily lower his constitution, and if he neglected daily physical upkeep, he wouldn’t maintain that peak state.

He had to exercise regularly to keep his body in shape.

If he indulged recklessly every day, his physique would decline—a scientifically sound system that didn’t lock the body into a fixed state.

Especially since he’d been hospitalized for a month recently and had some excess fat to burn off.

He just hadn’t expected his “little morning routine” would send the precinct’s patrol officers into a frenzy.

But that was nothing unusual.

Ishikawa’s route planning also reflected his desire to inspect Mihana district.

Patrolling was the best way to improve local security.

Though patrol officers were grassroots, they were vital—the foundation of public safety.

So Ishikawa was essentially patrolling the patrollers every day.

Because the “30 km/h chief” ran past every police box each morning, enthusiasm across the precinct increased. Even the patrol officers couldn’t complain about attending daily morning meetings—after all, the chief ran past all boxes before hosting the meeting at the precinct.

Yet, Fujii said to Kawai, “It’s Saturday today; the chief probably won’t come, right?”

“Huh? Doesn’t the chief run every morning? Would he skip it on his day off?” Kawai was surprised and a little envious—senior officers had real days off!

“No, I heard from Minamoto that he and Yamada are helping the chief move today... and early in the morning,” Fujii recalled.

Indeed, Ishikawa was moving house today.

Previously, Ishikawa had lived in the Metropolitan Police dormitory. Though once a police inspector and section chief, he’d never started a family or needed to move out, and the dormitory was convenient for commuting.

But now that his office had moved to Mihana Precinct, living at the Metropolitan Police dormitory wasn’t inconvenient but not ideal. After all, Minato Ward and Chiyoda Ward, where the Metropolitan Police was located, were adjacent but not close—and he still needed to run every morning.

“Huh? Minamoto and Yamada... so eager to improve themselves?” Kawai made a strange face.

Minamoto Seiji and Fujii Seiko were both “Inspection Chiefs,” while Yamada was Kawai’s peer “Inspector,” though with more years of service. Kawai respectfully called Minamoto and Fujii “Chief” but referred to Yamada as “Senior.”

Kawai thought it odd that Minamoto and Yamada, who often complained about lack of rest and missing sleep for several nights monitoring cases, were now voluntarily helping the chief move on a day off.

Wasn’t that “improving oneself”?

“Improving? You’re overestimating those two idiots,” Fujii rolled her eyes.

“Huh?” Kawai was taken aback.

“Did you forget what day it is? Make sure to rest when you can; later you have to go to the precinct’s martial arts hall,” Fujii reminded her.

“Martial arts hall... ah! Today is... ahhh...” Kawai’s energy drained.

After her night shift, she would have to attend the weekly “Arrest Technique Training.”

---

“In the civil service, the police system is probably the least humane!” Kawai grumbled about the police’s demands.

Suddenly, she realized, “Ah! I get it... Minamoto and Yamada are using helping the chief move as an excuse to dodge training! How cunning!”

Indeed, with that excuse, Deputy Chief Murasaki wouldn’t say a word.

---

Two hours later, at the Kage Mihana Apartments.

Minamoto and Yamada had finished helping the chief with his luggage and were now drinking beverages in Ishikawa’s new place.

Ishikawa had hesitated over whether to move directly into the precinct dormitory.

After all, he was alone, and living in the dormitory would be convenient.

But on reflection, as a Police Superintendent and precinct chief, even if he didn’t care about appearances, living in the dormitory could make young officers uncomfortable.

Getting a moment’s rest only to have the chief “upstairs, downstairs, or next door” would be hellish.

With his rank and position, his income was substantial enough to rent a high-end apartment.

He hadn’t been too picky, since he barely remembered specifics about Conan, and anyway, in Mihana Town, with so many notorious residences, it made little difference where he lived.

He chose the Kage Mihana Apartments, a pleasant residential area not far from the precinct.

Of course, it was rented—not buying was out of the question. Real estate prices in East Metropolis were sky-high, and even with a loan as a senior officer, buying a house in a district riddled with infamous residences was a recipe for financial disaster.

“Phew! All done, let’s go!” Ishikawa said after moving the last of his belongings.

“Huh? Chief, any more luggage?” Minamoto was surprised.

“No, the move is complete. Thank you both... perfect timing—we can head to arrest technique training now!” Ishikawa declared matter-of-factly.

Minamoto and Yamada exchanged bewildered looks.

“Ch-chief... you’re going to... arrest technique training too?” Minamoto was frozen.

“Yes, I’m here to properly coach you all today! Hahaha...” Ishikawa laughed.

Minamoto and Yamada were speechless.

Though they’d just helped the chief move, with the chief himself attending arrest technique training, what could they say?

On the way back to the precinct, Ishikawa again felt the cramped discomfort of the standard Wind Sweet police cruiser.

He had already scolded Minamoto and Yamada for bringing the official car to help with his move.

Now, as they all rode together, Ishikawa struggled to fold himself into the back seat.

Unfortunately, local precincts didn’t have other police car models, so Ishikawa resolved to look into buying a larger vehicle when he had time—he couldn’t keep curling up like this in the Wind Sweet forever.