Chapter 1: Humiliating Submission to the Female Traffic Officer

“Stop~”

“Hello, please pull over. You were speeding just now, so three points will be deducted from your license.”

Yumi Miyamoto tapped on the car window, took out a pen, and started writing a ticket. As she was about to tear it off and hand it to the man inside, a 1,000-yen bill floated out from the window.

“Keep the change.”

With that, the man inside tried to roll up the window.

“Wait!” Yumi pressed her hand against the window, her gaze turning stern and unfriendly.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

Yumi Miyamoto said with a serious face, “I said three points off your driving license! Don’t think you can just bribe me and get away!”

Upon hearing Yumi’s words, Shoichi Sumitomo let out a small “oh” and took back the 1,000 yen from her hand.

“My license? I don’t have one of those,” Shoichi said casually as he tried to roll the window up again.

At this moment, Yumi had already started pulling at the car door. “Fine, then you’re driving without a license!”

Having been a traffic cop for so long, Yumi had never encountered such a brazen individual.

“What do you mean ‘without a license’? Why do you speak so rudely?” Shoichi replied unhappily. “I wanted to take the test, but they said I have a mental problem and wouldn’t let me. What else can I do?”

“Get out of the car!”

Yumi gripped Shoichi’s car door roughly.

Shoichi looked at his car with concern. “Could you be gentler? This is a car I just got; there might not be another one like it in all of Tokyo.”

“Got it?”

“Well, not exactly got it—more like found it.”

“Found? I think you mean stole,” Yumi said as she pulled out handcuffs.

This was no longer just about speeding.

Shoichi, annoyed by Yumi’s harsh words, retorted, “How dare you say I stole it? I saw the car all alone parked there, felt sorry for it being lonely, so I took it out for a walk.”

He was clearly a man with a car’s welfare at heart.

“Do you have a health insurance card?”

“What’s that?” Shoichi asked with a blank look.

“How about your Basic Resident Registration Card?”

“I’ve lived for nineteen years and never heard of any of those things,” Shoichi said.

Yumi pressed Shoichi against the car door and cuffed his hands behind his back.

Great, he was an undocumented resident too.

“Wait! Why do you smell like alcohol?” Yumi suddenly sniffed him.

Shoichi struggled and said, “I ate some chocolate with alcohol centers.”

“Really?”

“I’m honest, I swear.”

Yumi took out a small black electronic device and told Shoichi, “Blow into this.”

Obediently, Shoichi took a deep breath into the machine.

“Alcohol level exceeded the limit.”

“You’re lying!”

Shoichi became anxious. He knew very well whether he was over the limit or not. This cop was trying to twist the facts. Now that he was handcuffed, the next step would be to break him down, but Shoichi wasn’t going to give in to this wicked female officer.

Yumi said coldly, “Blow into it again.”

Shoichi took another deep breath.

“Alcohol level exceeded the limit.”

Shoichi snapped, “Are you not even going to pretend? I just breathed into that thing!”

Unexpectedly, I played you too. Let’s see how you explain this false accusation.

“Hmph!”

Yumi sneered, clipped the walkie-talkie to her waist, and mocked, “That’s a walkie-talkie! What? You haven’t even had a drink, and you can’t even tell a walkie-talkie apart?”

Surprise! I tricked you.

Shoichi fell silent.

“Aren’t you so honest?” Yumi taunted him.

Shoichi muttered, “Well, sometimes I like to tell small lies.”

“Hmph! Come with me to the station.”

Yumi dragged Shoichi toward her motorcycle, determined to take this one-in-a-lifetime troublemaker to the police station.

Shoichi struggled stubbornly, like a mule.

“Can’t I avoid going? My dad’s in there too; we don’t get along. If I go, we’ll fight,” Shoichi said.

Yumi frowned. “Your dad is a cop?”

How could a policeman’s son turn out like this? His father must be utterly incompetent.

“No, he’s in prison too,” Shoichi stammered.

If I end up there as well, father and son will be cellmates—how awkward.

Yumi’s lips twitched. Well, at least it’s a family tradition.

“Do you have any other guardians?”

“Yes, I have a distant aunt. Her business card is in my pocket,” Shoichi said.

Yumi reached to take the card.

“Not the jacket pocket, the back pocket,” Shoichi said.

Yumi expressionlessly reached into Shoichi’s back pocket.

Suddenly, Shoichi wriggled, “Hey! Why are you touching my butt!?”

“Behave!” Yumi snapped and gave him a sharp smack.

Shoichi looked humiliated, bullied by this wicked female traffic cop, but could only endure in silence.

Yumi helped Shoichi onto the motorcycle.

Speeding, driving without a license, drunk driving, car theft, undocumented resident, and his father is serving time in prison—the list of his misfortunes was stacked high.

Yumi Miyamoto had been a traffic cop for many years and had seen every kind of situation, but she had never come across someone like this.

…

At the police station, an older officer’s scalp tingled as he looked over the items taken from Shoichi.

For Yumi, it was enough to just bring Shoichi in, but this old officer had to deal with a more complicated mess.

From the documents and Shoichi’s statements, he learned some of Shoichi’s background.

He was of mixed Japanese and Chinese descent, held dual citizenship in the US and UK, graduated from Caltech at nineteen, and was employed by a major company in Japan.

That company was Sumitomo Bank, known as the “Zaibatsu Bank.”

Working in the zaibatsu’s exclusive vault, his connections and influence spoke volumes.

While in Europe, he joined vegetarian and environmental clubs and became an outstanding member.

During his studies in the US, he participated in many social practices and mingled with celebrities.

He was involved in movements such as Black Lives Matter, minority rights, and feminism, entangled with many people.

These connections were enough to make anyone’s scalp tingle. Moreover, Shoichi was still considered a minor in Japan—only nineteen, while adulthood begins at twenty there.

Among his documents was also a certificate of “mental abnormality.”

He was mentally ill!

How was he supposed to punish this person?

Probably, he could only keep Shoichi at the station for a few days, but countless people both domestic and abroad would come to accuse him. His trouble would be immense.

And that was only Shoichi’s personal trouble; his family background hadn’t even been touched upon.

He had already investigated Shoichi’s family, which was very powerful in Japan—far beyond what a low-ranking officer like himself could provoke.

Oh, no need to investigate much; the surname alone said it all.