The monster with 21 faces

In this article, we will examine a series of crimes that occurred in Japan during the 1980s, which were centered around the theft of candy. The story of the "Monster with 21 Faces" is a complex and intriguing one, which will be explored in detail. The introduction to this article is particularly well-written and professional and would be suitable for use in a highlight reel. The story itself is full of twists and turns and is sure to captivate readers. On March 18th, 1984, Kahatsu Isa Azaki, the head of the Japanese candy manufacturer Izaki Glico, was kidnapped from his home in Osaka by two armed assailants. A ransom note was subsequently delivered, demanding a large sum of money and gold in exchange for Azaki's safe return. The victim was in a vulnerable position at the time of the kidnapping, as he was taking a bath. The article goes on to discuss potential strategies for dealing with such a situation, including using bodily fluids as a weapon.

Subsequently, one would casually stride out of the window, which is typically Ryan-sized, and then proceed to jump out of it, resulting in being naked and potentially covered in urine. However, one would still manage to escape, which is not an uncommon occurrence. That concludes the Ryan Bergara guide to survival, which will be available for pre-order following this episode. Please follow the link in the description.

Two days later, before any ransom was paid, Izaki managed to escape. At least one account described his break for freedom in dramatic detail, stating that before dawn, the bound Izaki was able to work his ropes loose, break down a door of the isolated warehouse he was kept in, and find two railroad employees to help him contact the police. He was still wearing the clothes his assailants had given him. Unfortunately, Izaki had no knowledge of his captors' identities. Although their plan to ransom Izaki had failed, the perpetrators did not let that deter them for long. They subsequently demanded 480 thousand dollars, threatening to poison Glico candies with cyanide if their demands were not met. To add credibility to their threats, the group reportedly snuck into Glico headquarters to set some of their property on fire.

Despite a growing list of crimes, authorities were unable to identify those responsible for targeting Glico in the 1980s. This case stymied Japanese police, which was a relative rarity. To provide context, in 1983, Japanese police solved 97.1 percent of murder cases and 55.3 percent of deaths, compared to the US's 73.5 percent of murders and 17.3 percent of thefts. Failing to solve the Glico case was a black eye on the police's reputation. One newspaper, Yomiri, ran an editorial stating, "We do not recall a case in which criminals have made such fools of the police."

Over the next year and a half, the press received over 100 letters from the perpetrators, taunting the police and even attempting to assist them in their investigation. One of the letters began, "To the stupid police, are you idiots? What are you doing with so many people? If you were professionals, you would catch us because you guys have such a high handicap. We're going to give you some hints."

The letter proceeded to refute several theories, including the notion that the kidnapping was an inside job or that the owners of the warehouse from which Izaki escaped were involved. The letter writer also provided the police with additional clues, such as the color of the car used and the name of the grocery store where the perpetrators purchased their food. The letter continued with a statement that if the police were unable to apprehend the group with this information, they were merely wasting taxpayers' money. The letter also acknowledged the possibility of collateral victims in this situation. However, the group's subsequent letters continued to pour in, demonstrating their ability to capture the public's attention and manipulate the media to ensure their threats and crimes were widely reported. Critics at the time categorized their actions as "gek jo hansei" or "crime as theater." The letters often contained seemingly random details, such as the gate used to enter a factory or the model of typewriter used, but none of these clues led to any significant breakthroughs in the investigation. The evidence left behind at the crime scenes was either stolen or mass-produced, making it impossible to track down the group. One linguistic theory suggested that the dialect used in the letters pointed to someone from Osaka, but this did not aid in the apprehension of the perpetrators. By June, the group had begun referring to themselves as the "Monster with 21 Faces," a nod to a 1936 children's story by Japanese writer Edogawa Rampo entitled "The Mystery Man with the 20 Faces." It is worth noting that the name "Monster with 21 Faces" can also be translated as "Mystery Man with 21 Faces."

Let us review the tapes from the scene of the crime. There were some bystanders presents, but a group of 21 individuals stood together in a tight formation. It is unclear whether they were planning to commit a crime or engage in a flash mob. The enigmatic figure known as the "Mystery Man with 20 Faces" is a notorious thief who has been featured in the news frequently. He is known for his exceptional ability to disguise himself, making it difficult for law enforcement to apprehend him. The group targeting Glico has a peculiar modus operandi, as they always send a letter of warning before committing a crime. This suggests that they may not want to engage in an unfair battle or are attempting to demonstrate their skill. The police's effectiveness in apprehending criminals is commendable, and it serves as an inspiration for those who aspire to join law enforcement. Conversely, some individuals may be enticed to engage in criminal activities after reading such stories. This dichotomy highlights the eternal struggle between good and evil. In conclusion, we must continue to strive for justice and uphold the law, even in the face of adversity.

In September of 1984, Japanese confectioner Mori Naga and Company began receiving extortion letters demanding a payment of four hundred and ten thousand dollars, with unspecified consequences if the payment was not made. Despite the threats, Morinaga did not comply. On October 8th, Japanese newspapers received a letter stating, "To moms throughout Japan, in autumn when appetites are strong, sweets are really delicious. When you think sweets, no matter what you say, it's Morinaga. We've added some special flavor - the flavor of potassium cyanide. It's a little bitter, but it won't cause tooth decay. So buy the sweets for your kids. We've attached a notice on these bittersweets that they contain poison. We've put 20 boxes in stores from Hakata to Tokyo." Packages of cookies and candy with typewritten labels reading "Danger Cyanide" were found in grocery stores throughout Japan, with a total of 18 packages discovered and tested. Although not all the labeled packages were found to contain cyanide, at least one did contain enough to be lethal. Fortunately, due to the warnings, no one consumed any of the tainted candy. The letter warned that the next time, there would be 30 boxes and they would not be labeled.

It appears that we will not be discussing our favorite candies, as previously thought. We will be discussing a recent incident involving a terrorist group poisoning Nerds Ropes. Despite the potential danger, I am determined to stock up on these candies. Even if I were to be poisoned, I would consider it an occupational hazard. If I were to die from consuming a Nerds Rope, I would do so with a smile on my face. Even if I were to be strangled with a Nerds Rope, I would be slightly less sad about it.

However, it was stated that on the next occasion, there would be 30 boxes without labels for the following two weekends. It has been reported that approximately 40,000 officers were stationed at grocery stores throughout the country. Despite the stakeouts, no evidence was found to suggest that the group carried out their latest threat. Nevertheless, investigators did discover surveillance footage from October 7th, which showed a suspect with permed hair, glasses, and a baseball hat placing an item on a shelf where poisoned candy was later found. Unfortunately, the camera quality was poor, the lighting was inadequate, and the security tape had not been changed for over a year, resulting in a low-quality image. Images of this individual, known as "Bideo no Otoko" or "Video Man," were released to the public, but he was never apprehended. It is a creative name, and if we were to go all out, our superhero names could be Video Man, Content Boy, and Ghost Man.

However, I am unsure if they would call you that. Sometimes, when I become angry, my body shuts off, and that is what happened there. I was fortunate to have the function to reboot. The truth hurts. In addition to this grainy videotape, some phone calls were released to the public, which attempted to extort money and were purportedly made by the monster. Disturbingly, the voices on the tapes were not those of hardened gangsters, but of a woman and a child. At one point, the child is heard giving instructions to leave money "behind the seat of the bus stop bench." Although the phone recordings did not result in any arrests, they did provoke the public to reconsider who the monster could be. Can you imagine if you had a child who was playing with their toys, and you said, "It's time to go to bed, little shady," and then little Shaney looked up and said, "Give me all your money. Put it in a bag outside in the backyard, or you're a dead man"? Anyone under the age of 23 is considered a child to you, which is unsettling. Following the lead of the public, are you now reconsidering who this monster could be? In my mind, I am.

I am envisioning a highly professional and immaculate advertising agency, complete with a full staff, diligently discussing the progress on the latest police taunting letter and the recruitment of a child actor for the phone call. Imagine yourself as a new writer in the room, having just landed the job, and feeling the excitement and energy of the team as they brainstorm ideas, such as incorporating poison ivy into a ball pit. However, the team ultimately decides on a more far-reaching concept. Feeling uncomfortable with the direction of the project, one may choose to leave the agency by March of 1985.

A year after the first kidnapping, 31 food and candy companies had been harassed, and Japan's finest were still perplexed by the case. In some instances, companies being extorted would comply with the demands and provide the money, but the monster with 21 faces always refused to collect it, assuming that the police would be waiting for them. On one occasion, the group instructed representatives from Glico to wait for a phone call at a truck stop, but plainclothes policemen went instead, and no call was received. The next letter from the monster with 21 faces taunted the police, accusing them of being easily identifiable in their business suits. Despite the group's trash talk, they never received any of the money demanded.

On August 12, 1985, a year and a half after the first kidnapping, the monster with 21 faces sent their final letter, announcing their decision to cease their activities. According to Japan's national police agency, over 28,000 tips were received, and over 130,000 police officers were involved in the investigation. With a stack of letters, a list of crimes, and a humiliated police agency, it is time to examine the theories surrounding the identity of the monster with 21 faces.

One theory suggests that the monster with 21 faces was an inside job, and that Kahatsu-isa Izaki was involved from the beginning. This theory was popular at the start of the crime wave and was fueled by people's disbelief that Izaki was not involved.

At the onset of the crime wave, a theory gained popularity among the public, which appears to have stemmed from their disbelief that Azaki was able to escape his kidnappers. However, there has been no concrete evidence to substantiate this theory. While some may find it suspicious that Maury Naga's candy was poisoned while Glicose was only threatened, this does not necessarily cast doubt on the theory. It is worth noting that even though no cyanide was discovered in their products, Glico's business was significantly impacted by the entire ordeal. Following a public threat by the Monster with 21 Faces to poison Glico candy, all Glico products were removed from shelves, leading to the temporary shutdown of production and the layoff of two-thirds of their part-time employees.

It is unreasonable to assume that Azaki was involved in the crime simply because he managed to escape. The Monster with 21 Faces may not be considered violent criminals per se, and when they had a kidnapped person, they may have been unsure of what to do. It is possible that they tied their victims up with an extension cord or something similar. The notion that Glico was involved in the crime does not make sense, as they would not have started with their own companies and set their own production facility on fire. While it is possible that they did so to obscure their involvement, this would be an excessive measure.

Another theory posits that the Monster with 21 Faces was seeking revenge on Japan's food companies. Almost 30 years before the group sent their first letter in mid-1955, a stabilizing agent in Morinaga's produced dry milk accidentally contained the poison arsenic. By June 1956, over 12,000 infants had been injured, and 138 had died. Morinaga reached a settlement with the affected families.

In 1969, a report revealed that the survivors of the dry milk incident continued to suffer related ailments, causing distress to the families of the affected infants. By the time the monster with 21 faces began its campaign, the victims of the incident would have been almost 30 years old and potentially seeking revenge on the company that made their early years so difficult. However, this theory fails to account for why the entire industry was targeted instead of just Mori Naga, the company responsible for the incident.

If I had been poisoned by a company as a child and was now a man, I would also seek revenge. However, the motivation behind the monster with 21 faces' actions seems to be that of agents of chaos, making it less exciting to try and decipher their reasoning.

Our final and most plausible theory is that a man named Manabu Miyazaki was somehow involved in the November 1984 cyanide poisoning of confections, which showed that the monster with 21 faces meant business. The criminals demanded 100 million yen, and police surveilling the drop-off spotted a suspicious individual with box-like eyes and gave chase. Although the suspect managed to elude capture, police found the stolen car he had been driving, complete with a police scanner inside.

It is unclear why the police were unable to apprehend the suspect, but in January, authorities released a sketch of the fox-eyed man, leading to his identification as Manabu Miyazaki. The sketch was so accurate that even Miyazaki's own mother believed it was him.

The perpetrator behind the infamous "Man with 21 Faces" case remains unknown. One individual who was suspected of involvement was Miyazaki, the son of a Yakuza boss from Osaka.

Miyazaki had a history of criminal activity, including organizing anti-police actions during his time in college and being arrested multiple times. While it initially appeared that the police had made a breakthrough in the case, charges were never brought against Miyazaki due to a lack of hard evidence and a rock-solid alibi. Miyazaki went on to write a memoir detailing his life of crime, which was released shortly after the statute of limitations expired. The cover of the book featured a sketch of Miyazaki that had been released by the police during their search for him.

While Miyazaki confessed to other crimes in the book, he never admitted to any involvement in the "Man with 21 Faces" case. Despite this, the book was a commercial success, earning Miyazaki over 100 million yen. The failure to bring the perpetrator to justice was a source of humiliation for the police, and the case remains unsolved to this day.

Perhaps even 60 percent of the time, the monster with 21 faces managed to evade justice. Despite the expiration of the statute of limitations, no individual has come forward to confess to the crime. Unless the true perpetrator behind these heinous acts decides to reveal themselves, the identities of the monster with 21 faces will remain a mystery. Although no individuals were poisoned, the company's revenue suffered, resulting in job losses. These individuals, however, are not to be celebrated as heroes, and their actions are not to be endorsed. It is inappropriate to express admiration for the monster with 21 faces, and such sentiments are not in line with the values of this publication.