The next day, I confirmed that the videos of the factory explosion and the terrorist incident had indeed been deleted. This meant that the person named Yagi really was the one who had uploaded them.

Later, at 4 PM as promised, Mr. Yagi arrived in a car to pick me up. I wasn’t familiar with cars, but this one looked quite rare and expensive.

"By the way, I noticed that the videos had been deleted. Thank you very much."

"No, I’m the one who should apologize. While other videos will likely surface, I’ll ensure they’re all deleted as well. Rest assured."

Wow, is that even possible?

The car eventually entered the underground parking lot of a massive luxury apartment complex located some distance from my home. Was this really an apartment? It was enormous. I hadn’t known such luxurious buildings existed in Japan.

There was a reception desk, and the staff looked more like hotel employees. I’d never seen a place like this before. Just how old was Mr. Yagi to be living here?

"Mr. Yagi, you seem very young. How old are you?"

"I just turned 20 this year. My sister Fuka is 12, so there’s quite an age gap between us."

Twenty years old? So he really was as young as he looked. Even so, being able to live in a place like this must mean his work is exceptionally lucrative. Wait a second—he just pressed the button for the top floor! The rent for a penthouse in a building like this must be astronomical...

Click.

"I'm home! Fuka, I’ve brought Mr. Tachihara!"

There was only one door on the top floor. Did that mean the entire floor belonged to him? A complete floor in a building like this? Talk about extravagant.

The layout itself was on another level compared to a normal apartment. Everything was spacious—unnecessarily so. Even the entrance was absurdly wide. Just the hallway alone was larger than an entire unit in my family’s apartment complex.

As I was mentally comparing this to my modest lifestyle, a girl came out from one of the rooms. She was a cute girl with a black ponytail.

"N-Nice to meet you! I’m Fuka Yagi. Thank you so much for saving me!"

She bowed deeply. What a polite young girl. Are all elementary school kids this well-mannered these days?

"Nice to meet you. I’m Masayoshi Tachihara. Honestly, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, so you don’t need to feel too indebted to me."

"No! My brother told me that, despite being hit by such a large car, I came away with hardly any injuries thanks to you. Oh, and to avoid confusion with my brother, please just call me Fuka!"

That made sense. Her brother’s name was Mamoru, if I recalled correctly.

"All right, nice to meet you, Fuka-chan. You can call me Tachihara or Masayoshi, whichever you prefer."

"Okay! Then I’ll call you Masayoshi-oniisan!"

"Oniisan," huh? That felt a little ticklish somehow.

By this point, it seemed safe to lower my guard. Ever since leaving the house, I had been using my detection skill, but no cars were tailing us, and there were only these two people in the apartment.

There was a small chance Mamoru’s story was all fabricated and that they had used the girl’s photo as bait to lure me into a trap.

"Standing around in the entrance isn’t ideal. Please, come inside."

"Thank you. Pardon my intrusion."

Whoa... This is incredible.

The room I was shown to resembled a hotel suite. First of all, it was massive. The large open floor alone looked like it could fit dozens of people. There was a giant L-shaped sofa that seemed like it could seat ten, and in front of it was an enormous TV embedded in the wall. It must have been three times the size of the 32-inch TV we had at home.

Next to the sofa was a big table laden with light snacks, cakes, and other dishes. Even though it was a combination living and dining area, the space was vast. When did Japan become this much of a class-divided society?

"Mr. Tachihara, thank you so much for saving Fuka."

"Thank you very much!"

"I’m just glad Fuka-chan is safe."

We clinked glasses for a toast. Even the orange juice here was different from the kind I was used to. Instead of the kind that comes in cartons, this was a premium-looking blood orange juice in a fancy bottle.

The food and cakes were also impressive. This cake, in particular, was extraordinary. It was leagues above the typical few-hundred-yen cakes you’d find at an ordinary shop.

"Wow, everything is so delicious!"

"I’m glad you like it. It was worth putting in the effort to prepare."

Although we undoubtedly had plenty we wanted to say and ask each other, for now, I focused on enjoying the exquisite food and cakes.