A completely new work in the beloved 2000s light novel series, "Inukkami!" Keita and Yoko continue their chaotic yet cheerful life together, but as spiritual mediums, they have completely become relics of the past and are fading from the world's memory. However, they suddenly find themselves caught up in a battle between a visiting American President and the world's most dangerous spiritualist, who is targeting the President's life. Can Keita, who has become a "person of the past," manage to reg
Shin Inukkami! ~Master of the Highest Edition~ - Puppeteer's Interlude 1
~The Puppeteer's Interlude~
What he could do was truly a modest thing.
But at the same time, having realized its terrifying potential, the psychic withdrew from the world and began living alone deep in the mountains of Alabama. However, one evening in a light drizzle, the worst possible person came to visit, and stripped him of the pride and dignity he had protected for so many years—along with his supernatural ability—all at once.
He remembered the familiar mail carrier ringing the doorbell, opening the door, and exchanging greetings.
The next thing he knew, he was on an international flight headed for Japan. A shadow-like presence hovered constantly at his side, telling him various things.
According to it, he was now to use his long-concealed ability to kill the forty-sixth President of the United States, Davis White.
For whatever reason, the shadow explained in considerable detail the connection between Davis White and himself, but he could not tell whether the shadow was a real person or merely a voice echoing inside his own head.
Everything was hazy, proceeding as though in a dream.
Or perhaps like a puppet pulled by strings.
After arriving in Japan, he passed through several modes of transportation before finally reaching a certain memorial park. Trains and taxis aside, when he was transported in a police car at the end, even in his puppet state he felt a clear chill of dread at what it meant.
The uniformed officers in the driver's and passenger's seats did not say a single word, but he could tell plainly that they had become puppets just like him.
He went with the two officers to a corner of the park. Perhaps because it was late at night, they encountered no one—though it was also possible that anyone who might have come near had already been manipulated and cleared away in advance.
One of the officers drew a handgun from the holster at his hip and handed it to him. He was a pacifist to the point of cowardice and had no idea how to fire a gun, but his body moved on its own.
He raised the weapon and fired.
He pulled the trigger at empty air.
He was a gentle man and had fundamentally disapproved of the hawkish White, but he loved the country of America.
He had visited Japan many times as well and was fond of it. To be complicit in an act that would destroy the future and friendly relations of both nations was so abhorrent he wanted to scream and weep—yet the reality of him activated his ability without so much as a change in expression.
The direction in which the bullet was fired glowed faintly pale blue for an instant, and a small popping sound could be heard, just barely.
He could not see it, but the bullet had vanished from the present.
Only for very small objects—the ability to send such an object to any point in the future. That was his power.
He understood intuitively. The bullet had flown precisely three weeks, sixteen hours, fourteen minutes, and fifteen seconds into the future.
The shadow told him.
At that exact moment, the President would be sitting in this very spot.
With despair, the psychic understood. Puppets had already infiltrated the Japanese government and the SP as well. The departments coordinating the ceremony and the security personnel decided everything from the President's route to his standing position to where he would sit.
The President's movements could all be determined in advance.
Fire the bullet ahead of time, and simply place the President there.
Horrific, ruthless rationality.
No one could stop this assassination now. Three weeks from now, the President would without fail be shot from the past.
A lethal, unavoidable death blow.
It had already been fired.
Then his body moved on its own again. He raised the handgun and pressed it against his own temple.
He understood well enough.
Now that the plan was complete, his existence was nothing but an obstacle.
The shadow told him that his corpse and the blood that would soon splatter would be cleaned up without a trace by these officers.
That he need not worry.
(Ah, someone—)
At the moment he pulled the trigger, at the very brink of death, the psychic returned to himself for just an instant and wept.
A single tear fell.
(Save the President. And this—)
In that instant, his consciousness fell into eternal darkness.
—monster.
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