# 610
**Chapter 611: Yuzuri Nana’s Predicament**
“Who took her?”
“Looks like a few thugs. They were loitering outside the shrine, then…”
Illusory Pupil recounted everything the security camera had captured. The footage was grainy, and some events happened too far from the lens, but it roughly reconstructed what had occurred.
“After they grabbed the girl, they drove to the western outskirts. Few cameras cover that area, and I ran out of time—I lost them.”
For Illusory Pupil, scouring the city for Yuzuri Nana in mere seconds, piecing together what happened, and tailing them all the way west was already his limit. If he could maintain his ability a little longer, he could have narrowed the search further.
Lin Qiye’s face darkened as he listened.
“Got it.” He nodded, then turned to Hongyan. “Head to the last spot they were seen in the west; we’ll sweep from there.”
…
Warehouse.
Yuzuri Nana lay slumped in a tiny storeroom corner, wrists bound behind her, body mottled with livid bruises.
In the darkness she endured the pain while studying her surroundings.
From the clutter, it had to be an abandoned manager’s office—cramped, rust-eaten racks along both walls, veiled in cobwebs and dust. No windows, only a couple of half-rotted cartons left behind.
She drew a slow breath, curled up, and inched toward the iron door.
Pressing her ear to the cold metal, she held her breath and listened.
Distant laughter and curses drifted in—three or four voices, probably stationed at the main entrance on orders from Iwamai Yusuke. They sounded far away.
After a moment’s hesitation she opened her mouth and spat out a wad of pink bubble-gum—two pieces chewed into one. Twisting, she caught it with her bound hands, split the sticky mass, and extracted a short craft-knife blade.
Pinching the blade delicately, she leaned against the wall, eyes on the door, and began sawing at the coarse rope.
This wasn’t her first abduction—she’d been taken twice before. The first time, Iwamai’s men had simply marched her here; too scared to resist, she’d listened as he produced an IOU and demanded her father’s debt be repaid. He gave her a deadline and released her.
Back home, she’d hunted for money and for a new place to stay—her address was blown, and they would come again. She feared nothing for herself, but Grandma Tsuru was old; the fright could kill her. After hiding the old woman behind a shipping container, Yuzuri Nana returned home and rifled every drawer for valuables—nothing.
Then the thugs burst in a second time, turned the house upside down, dragged her off, and beat her when she still had nothing. Since then she’d never gone back; she and Grandma Tsuru lived like rats, dodging every shadow.
Yet they found her again—only now she was ready.
At the shrine kiosk she’d spent her last fifteen hundred yen on four lollipops, five black raincoats, a bag of extra-hot chili powder, two sticks of gum, and one craft blade. The candy and raincoats were misdirection for an escape; the chili, gum, and blade were insurance. She was already using them.
Ropes finally parted, she stood, stole to the door.
The warehouse had only one exit—the main gate. She would have to bolt when the men slackened at nightfall.
Her hope died fast.
Outside, Iwamai Yusuke’s voice rang out, drawing closer.
“Drag her out. This time I’ll make her talk!” Ice-cold.
Yuzuri Nana’s heart lurched. Panic flared. She scanned the dim room—if he found her free, another beating and tighter bonds would follow. This was her last chance.
Her eyes glinted in the dark.
The door opened; pitch black inside. Iwamai stepped in—and a carton slammed over his head!
Something rammed him, darted out, and slammed the door shut, trapping him inside.
Yanking the box away, still blind from the light outside, he cursed and fumbled for the handle.
In a tattered black sakura kimono, Yuzuri Nana sprinted for the main gate. The thugs froze, then a roar erupted behind her:
“Let me out! No—stop her first!”
They charged. She was small, quick; she slipped past two, snatched a bottle, smashed it across the last man’s forehead. Blood spurted; he screamed, clutching his brow.
She burst outside—freedom inches away—when the storeroom door flew off its hinges!
Face twisted, Iwamai leveled a revolver, black muzzle tracking her fleeing form.
Bang—!!
A muzzle-flash seared the air, the crack echoing across the sky.