At 9:34 PM, in the Koibuchi district, 3-chome, Inage Ward, Sunshine Garden Apartments — very close to the station.
Most of the buildings in this simple residential area were already old, but due to their location, the rent was still quite high.
Sunshine Garden Apartments — the name sounded nice, but in reality, it was an old six-story building.
The white paint on the exterior walls had yellowed and faded over time, and the walls were covered with cracks and peeling patterns from years of wind and rain.
Two streetlights on either side of the road were already broken, and the few in the middle barely held on, flickering on and off, their dim yellow glow illuminating the entire street in patches.
Renji surveyed the area, not understanding why the landlord didn’t renovate it to get more rent.
Renji noticed that several buttons on the intercom at the stairwell entrance were broken, and a few dusty bicycles were crooked in the bike shed in front of the building.
One of the chains was broken, hanging on the ground like a dead snake.
The main feature — or drawback — of this residential building was that it became unbearably quiet at night.
Most residents were single people working at nearby factories and logistics centers, leaving early and returning late, with almost no interaction with their neighbors.
Even before arriving, Renji had already searched online for a lot of information about the Sunshine Garden Apartments at 3-chome in the Inage Ward, and even knew how many rooms were still unrented.
At this moment, Renji stood in a dark corner next to the building, already wearing his Ghostface mask.
Renji’s gaze fell on the window on the fourth floor of the building across from him, where the light was on.
The curtains were tightly drawn, but judging by the light seeping through the gaps, it seemed to be the living room.
In Renji’s eyes, this apartment had almost no security; it was full of vulnerabilities.
Looking at the room with the light on, Renji lifted his steps slightly and headed toward the building.
The entrance to the residential building was a glass sliding door.
The door closer on the door frame had probably been broken for a long time, and the door was always slightly ajar, so anyone could open it.
Unless something serious happened, the landlord probably wouldn’t want to fix it.
The walls were covered with faded notices, garbage sorting announcements, property payment notifications, and community activity posters from three years ago — the corners of the paper were curled up.
Renji gently pushed the slightly ajar glass door and entered the hallway, his steps landing on the polished terrazzo floor, barely making a sound.
Renji glanced at the floor sign, then headed straight for the stairs, deciding not to use the elevator.
Besides, for someone with superhuman physical abilities, climbing four floors wasn’t even enough to warm up.
The voice-activated lights in the hallway were all old-fashioned.
When they turned on, they emitted a buzzing electrical sound, and the light was so dim that it felt like you hadn’t woken up yet.
The voice-activated light in the stairwell turned on as Renji stepped onto the first step.
The dim yellow light stretched his shadow long, and only when he reached the platform at the corner between the third and fourth floors did he finally stop.
On the corner wall stood a gray iron door, painted red with the words “Electric Meter — Keep Out, Unauthorized Persons.”
The door lock was an old-fashioned cylinder lock, with rust on the cylinder from years of use.
Renji crouched down and pulled out a lock-picking tool from his pocket.
With his Artisan skill, picking the lock was as easy as breathing.
The touch of his fingers automatically nudged each pin inside the cylinder.
With a soft “click,” the iron door creaked open.
While opening the lock, Renji also noticed that the meter box had been opened and closed frequently, as evidenced by the web-like scratches under the keyhole.
This was because the key had been tested and repeatedly adjusted for angle when inserted, leaving these radial scratches.
This wasn’t something a regular meter reading worker would do — someone was constantly fiddling with this door.
Obviously, the power tripping and cutting off in this building was no rare occurrence.
Inside the meter box, six rows of meters and circuit breakers were neatly arranged, each with a handwritten room number.
Renji quickly found the row marked “403,” placed his finger on the main breaker handle, and pulled out his phone to check the time.
9:37 PM.
Renji’s plan for dealing with Ooka was actually very similar to his plan for Tobe.
In such apartment buildings with weak management and poor security, cutting the power was often the simplest and most practical method.
If it were a luxury studio like Yukino Yukinoshita’s, ordinary methods just wouldn’t work.
Renji sharply pressed the power switch for room 403, and with a soft “click,” the room on the west side of the fourth floor instantly went silent.
The refrigerator in room 403 stopped humming, the indicator light on the router went out, and the beam of light seeping through the door gap also disappeared.
Having done all this, Renji didn’t close the meter box.
He just shut it briefly, then quietly retreated into the shadow of the stairwell, leaning against the wall.
The voice-activated light in the hallway also went out.
The moment the power was cut, since the hallway light and the interior lights were connected to the same wiring, the entire fourth-floor corridor fell into complete darkness, with only a faint moonlight seeping through the small window at the end of the stairs.
This left Renji in a state of near invisibility.
About two minutes later, the door to room 403 finally opened slowly.
Ooka poked half his body out of the door, holding his phone.
The phone’s flashlight cast a pale beam of light into the dark hallway.
He was wearing just a loose sports T-shirt, shorts, slippers, and his hair was already dry.
The sudden power outage was a bit annoying to him, and he kept muttering to himself as the flashlight flickered in the hallway.
“Seriously… It tripped again…”
Ooka’s voice sounded especially clear in the empty hallway.
He shone the phone’s flashlight to the end of the corridor, then up to the ceiling light.
After confirming that it wasn’t his problem, he sighed helplessly, slipped on his slippers, and headed toward the meter box in the stairwell.
He remembered the location of the meter box.
Like everyone living in this old apartment, he had encountered such trips far too often.
Except for the first time he moved in, he didn’t even feel nervous about it anymore.
The flashlight flickered on the stairwell wall, illuminating the faded notices and water stains.
Ooka approached the corner platform, and the flashlight beam shone on the slightly ajar meter box.
Looking at the slightly open meter box, Ooka was momentarily stunned, but then didn’t pay much attention, assuming someone had just forgotten to close it properly.
“Well. Saves me from having to ask the building manager for the keys.”
Muttering to himself, Ooka opened the meter box door, pointed his phone inside, and found that his own circuit breaker had tripped.
“Strange. How did it jump down on its own?”