Crimson Moon Publishing. In the past ten years, it has expanded massively, monopolising the light literature market in East Asia, with its tentacles digging deep into the European and North American markets thanks to fan translations. It has build its reputation on high quality isekai, or different world novels; novels about people whom are transported to another world, usually after their death; and because of which, the company is generally called Isekai Inc. Crimson Moon’s novels are renowned for their real characters, interesting and believable worlds and the twists of their stories; in such a way that it is impossible for the authors to be so consistent. Something was fishy in Isekai Inc., and someone needed to find out. This five part series will dig deep into the dirty truth of Isekai Inc. through my five year deep cover investigation. Starting at the very bottom of the organisation, I worked my way up through the organisation and finally found the truth. I shall publish this exposé in five parts to show the world that this is no mere publishing company; but rather a global criminal enterprise with sinister plots for the future of this world and its people.

***

The full moon lit the empty car park of a Lawson's convenience store on the road to Nagano. This is where my first lead took me, to a convenience store in rural Japan, where I would meet my first contact, and my way into the organisation. It was 4am when he came, his nondescript, unmarked, white truck pulling into the car park. As I saw him exit the cabin, I noticed that he, like his truck, was very nondescript. A white tee-shirt with no markings, plain unbranded jeans and a face that you could not pick out of a crowd, he was the very image of nondescript. I guess, that’s why he made the perfect assassin. I only ever knew his code name—Truck-kun. When I was talking to a colleague after the fact, she laughed and said that he didn’t get the reference. Very dull, and very focused on his job, that was Truck-kun. He walked into the convenience store while giving me a look that seemed to say ‘follow’. Following him in as he made his way to the bento section, I walked and retrieved a can of hot coffee. No matter how many times I come here, the fact they sell hot coffee in a can always shocks me. As I followed behind him to the register, he spoke in what seemed to be perfect English, with a bit of a British accent, ‘you must be the new gal,’ he gazed at me up and down, ‘you definitely don’t look like the type. Too easy to pick out of a crowd.’
It was true, why would a white, Caucasian female dare become an assassin in East Asia of all places? Though I had my alibi, ‘The company is looking to expand into the North American market and they sent me here to learn from the best.’
Paying for the bento, he grunted and gestured me to follow. I quickly paid for my drink and chased him out the store, ‘well all you need to know is you have to follow the schedule. Be at the right place at the right time and do what they tell you to do. As long as you remember that, you should do fine,’ he opened the door to the cabin of his light truck and said, ‘well, get in.’
Following him in, I notice the truck is spotless. I’ve known a lot of truckers in my time, and this must be the cleanest one I have seen. As I sipped my coffee and gazed at the moon, he ate his bento, an eye on his phone. It was close to half an hour before the email came through. I had long finished my coffee, while he was still picking at his bento. He reached over to his phone and opened the email, ‘We have three today, newbie. Two in Tokyo and one in Chiba. While the schedule is pretty full at least they’re all in the general area.’
As we drove down the highway to Tokyo, he filled me in on some of his previous work, ‘Sometimes I’ve had one in Tokyo in the morning, one in Nagoya in the Afternoon and another in Tokyo for the evening. Its tough meeting those deadlines, sometimes I wonder who comes up with these schedules.’
I gazed at the changing scenery as the sun rose, bringing brightness to this day that would change me forever, ‘have you ever wondered why?’ I asked.
He was quiet for a moment as he pondered the question; after a while, he spoke, ‘Sometimes,’ he paused, trying to think of the right words, ‘sometimes its best not to know. It makes things harder. It always seems to be the same sort of person. A looser, a non-achiever, never someone I would have hit before I started with the company. If I start wondering why then it would stop making sense.’
He rolled down the window and lit a cigarette, drawing deeply in the smoke before breathing it out the window. Without turning to me, he said, ‘It’s your first day, but I am the sort of person who believes in practical experience. The Chiba job, that's yours.’
A shiver went down my spine as he said it, I knew after today, I could never go back. Even after I finished, I would have to live with what I’ve done. These thoughts muddled my mind as we entered the outer suburbs, slowly making our way to the first target. The GPS with the coordinates beeped, as be pulled into a narrow alleyway between two houses. The morning fog was deep, meaning we were close to the river. Putting on a set of work gloves, he pulled out a toolbox from the back of his seat. Opening it, I noticed an electric screwdriver, a collection of knives, and tens of licence plates, each for a different location. As he pulled the electric screwdriver and a Saitama plate from his box, he said, ‘get out. In the back of the truck are some Lawson’s decals. Apply them to the truck while I fix the plates. We need to be at our target in 15 minutes, so don’t dawdle.’
I nodded somewhat numbly as I opened the back of the truck and found a collection of neatly ordered decals and covers. It was easy to find the Lawson’s items, and within five minutes, the decals were on the doors of the truck and the plates were on. Glancing at both the GPS and the clock, I could see him take a deep breath, and as the clock slowly ticked down towards the scheduled time, 7:46:29am, he slowly started the truck and pulled out of the alley. As he sped up and the clock slowly ticked down, he said to me, ‘Timing is critical. In my last job, it was being clean that was important,’ he continued driving as the clock ticked, 7:46:20, 7:46:21, 7:46:22, ‘but here, it is if you can keep the schedule. If you can,’ as the clock ticked over to 7:46:29, a loud thump was heard as the truck slammed into a young male crossing the road, ‘you can get away without ever being caught,’ he pulled over to the side of the road, his nondescript face slowly showing feigned panic.
Me though, I was shocked. My hands were shaking as I started to feel dizzy. I had just participated in a premeditated murder, and now, now we were pretending it was an accident? I looked in the side mirror at the corpse that was once a child. I later learned that his name was Yoshiro Yuki, a 16 year old hikineet who was living off his parents inheritance. Rarely leaving home, on this day he needed to go pick up his little sister from her friends place. It was the first time he left his home in over a year. But that was something I learned later. I didn’t know it at the time.
After the police had taken the statements and Truck-kun had agreed to attend the police station at a later date, we slowly moved off to the next location, ‘I don’t know why,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘so long as I follow the schedule, nothing bad happens.’ as we entered the urban areas around Shinjuku he sighed and continued, ‘Actually, I don’t like it that much, back in Afghanistan, there was a certain level of skill needed. You needed to be perfect to make the hit and get out safely, it was like an art. This,’ he took his hands off the wheel and made a wide gesture, ‘this is like a colouring book. No skill required, just colour where they tell you and everything works out.’
He was quiet after that for a while, as he found a park on a side street lined by restaurants and nightclubs, ‘get out and take of the decals and change the plates to something else,’ he pulled out his toolbox and shoved it on my lap, before he pulled out a long, serrated combat knife from the top draw of the toolbox. Putting a bandanna over his face and gazing at his watch, he said, ‘you have 20 minutes. I will do this one alone. Make sure the truck is clean by the time I get back.’
Twenty minutes later, he returned to the truck, blood splatters all over his clothes. He ripped off his tee-shirt showing a fabulous set of abs and muscles and pulled out another from a backpack he stored behind his seat. Plain white, just as before. I had already ‘cleaned’ the truck, and before long, we were on the expressway, heading to Chiba. I later learned that the man who was stabbed was a regular businessman, the same you would see anywhere. He protected his kohai’s girl and took the knife instead of her. But rather, he was the target.
Truck-kun sighed as we drove down the expressway, nearing the final target, ‘the first one is always the hardest’ he said, eyes fixed on the road, ‘Yamamoto Sakura, aged 16. She has been hospitalised since she was young,’ as we waited at traffic lights, he took off his watch and handed it to me, ‘The hit is, go to her room in the hospital, and at exactly 4:34:21, inject her IV with this fluid,’ he handed a case to me before the lights changed green; opening it I found a long steel syringe, with a green liquid inside ‘remember, keep to the schedule and you will be fine,’ he finished as we pulled up to the loading bay of the hospital. Stunned, I stumbled out of the truck, ‘There is a nurses uniform in the back. Get changed. You have ten minutes!’
Ten minutes later, I was walking through the corridors looking for room 302. That was the room she had been in for the past 10 years, all alone, abandoned by her family with only books to keep her company. I stood at the door of the room and a tear dripped down my eyes. I looked down at my watch and saw the time tick over to 4;34:00. I took a deep breath and walked in the room.
‘You are new’ a clear voice spoke to me in Japanese. Thankfully I understand the language, ‘such a pretty onee-san, why are you crying?’
‘I am here to change your IV, Sakura-chan’ I replied back. While I understand the language, I cannot speak it fluently. I looked down at his watch as tears trickled down my face, ‘Sakura-chan, everything will be all right’ I placed the needle in the IV tube, as his clock struck 4:34:21. Pushing in the plunger, I looked at her clear, innocent face as the poison entered her body, ‘Onee-san...’ she struggled to say as the poison took effect, ‘why?’
Unable to face her pure eyes, I turned, sobbing into my arm, I said ‘I hope your isekai is much better than this one.’ I didn’t look and see what happened, I rushed out of the room crying my heart out. That day changed me. I sat in Truck-kun’s truck, unable to dry my eyes. The serious assassin patted my back in an effort to calm me, ‘The first one is always the hardest,’ he said, ‘it will get easier.’
I hate to say it but it did. But even to this day, I still see her pure eyes, looking at me with a sense of betrayal, an innocent girl murdered at the behest of Isekai Inc. I will remember her for as long as I live, and maybe I will have the chance to read her novel. I only hope her new life is better than her last.