Hunting ‘Rat Man’: The Unbelievable Crimes of Tsutomu Miyazaki

Tsutomu Miyazaki: An Isolated Beginning

Tsutomu Miyazaki came into the world already marked as different. Born in Tokyo in the 1960s, he had a rare birth defect that fused the bones in his wrists together, preventing him from bending them upward. In most cases, a condition like this might not be life-altering. But in mid-century Japan, where disabilities were often hidden away in institutions, it set him apart in ways that went beyond the physical.

Miyazaki’s family had money and influence. Generations of his relatives had served on Istukaichi’s town council, and his parents owned the local newspaper, giving them significant sway in the community. That influence likely kept him out of an institution and in the family home.

That didn’t mean he was particularly seen in that home. His parents were busy—wrapped up in business, politics, and social obligations—so Tsutomu spent most of his childhood either alone or under the care of his aging grandfather. He didn’t seem to mind. Being at home was infinitely better than school, where his wrist condition made him an easy target. He couldn’t play the same games, couldn’t keep up in class, and kids—then, now, always—are merciless to anyone who stands out.

By the time he graduated high school, he had cemented himself as an underachiever, ranking 40th out of 56 students. His dream of becoming an English teacher never materialized—he couldn’t get into his preferred university. Instead, he pivoted to photography, a skill that could have been useful in his family’s newspaper business. But Tsutomu wanted no part of that legacy. His family expected him to follow tradition. He wanted to be left alone.

A Fractured Mind and a Series of Disappearances

Tsutomu Miyazaki wanted to be left alone. His family had other plans. As their only son, he was expected to follow tradition, take his place in the family business, and uphold the Miyazaki name. The only person who ever seemed to consider what he wanted was his grandfather. That, unfortunately, wouldn’t last.

In 1988, his grandfather passed away, and whatever sense of stability Tsutomu had unraveled. He withdrew even further, sinking into isolation and depression. In what can only be described as a desperate and deeply disturbed act of grief, he consumed part of his grandfather’s ashes. Whether this was some misguided attempt to stay connected or a sign of something far more concerning, it marked a turning point.

Shortly after, his behavior became more erratic. His younger sister caught him watching her through a crack in the door while she was showering. When she confronted him, he lashed out, attacking her. Their mother, already frustrated by his reclusive lifestyle, blamed his obsession with anime and demanded that he get a job. Instead of responding like any rational adult, he turned violent once again, attacking her too.

Then, the disappearances began.

For a town like Istukaichi, this was extremely unusual. Even today, it’s common for Japanese children to run errands alone at a young age. In the 1980s, in a place where neighbors knew and trusted one another, the idea that a child could simply vanish wasn’t something parents worried about. That was about to change.

The first to go was four-year-old Mari Konno. She had been playing at a friend’s house when she accepted a ride from a man she didn’t know was a predator. That man was Tsutomu Miyazaki.

He drove her out of town, parking his car in a secluded area. What happened next was horrific. Mari was murdered, and her body was left in a wooded area near his home. Weeks later, when decomposition made her remains easier to move, Miyazaki dismembered her, keeping her hands and feet as twisted souvenirs. The rest of her body was burned in his furnace.

Then, he sent her parents a package. Inside was a box containing some of her teeth, photos of her clothing, and a note that read:

“Mari. Bones. Cremated. Investigate. Prove.”

Was this his version of a confession? A taunt? Or was he daring the police to stop him before he did something worse?

A month later, he struck again. Seven-year-old Masami Yoshizawa was walking along a rural road when a car pulled up beside her. The man behind the wheel offered her a ride. She accepted.

Like Mari, she was taken to the same secluded location. Like Mari, she never made it home. Her remains were left under the bridge, but Miyazaki kept her clothes. Another trophy. Another sign that he wasn’t planning on stopping.

The Fall of Tsutomu Miyazaki: A Predator Caught

Two months after Masami Yoshizawa’s disappearance, Tsutomu Miyazaki struck again. This time, he didn’t bother with tricks or false kindness. Four-year-old Erika Namba was walking home from a friend’s house when Miyazaki pulled up beside her. He didn’t offer her a ride. He didn’t try to lure her in with a story. He grabbed her off the street and forced her into his car.

He drove to an empty parking lot, a place he knew would be deserted, and ordered her to undress. There was no hesitation, no slow build-up—just the full weight of his depravity on display. After he murdered her, he tied her hands and feet behind her back, covered her body with a bedsheet, and abandoned her in another parking lot.

Three days later, someone found Erika’s remains. Her parents were already living through a nightmare, but it wasn’t over. Days after she was discovered, they received a note in the mail—words cut from magazines and arranged into a chilling message:

“Erika. Cold. Cough. Throat. Rest. Death.”

It was meant to taunt them, to twist the knife in their already unbearable grief. It was also a warning. Miyazaki wasn’t finished.

Six months passed before he took another child. Five-year-old Ayako Nomoto was outside when he approached her and asked if he could take her picture. She agreed, unaware that she had just made a decision that would cost her life. She followed him to his car, and he killed her soon after.

Unlike his previous victims, he didn’t leave her remains in the open. He placed her body in the trunk and drove home, bringing her into his apartment as if she were just another possession. There, over the next two days, he continued his ritual of taking photographs and videos. Eventually, decomposition set in, and he knew he couldn’t keep her there any longer.

At first, he discarded her remains in separate locations around town, scattering evidence like it was garbage. But then, something changed. He decided he didn’t want anyone to find what was left of Ayako after all. He gathered her remains and placed them in his wardrobe, right beside Mari Konno’s hands and feet—his collection growing.

Miyazaki had already shown no remorse for what he had done. But in the weeks that followed, he took things even further. He later admitted to drinking blood from Ayako’s severed hands and even eating pieces of her remains. In his mind, this wasn’t just about control or power—it was about ownership.

He would often take the body parts he had kept and lay them out beside him at night. He didn’t just revisit his crimes in his mind; he physically returned to them, again and again, as if trying to relive the experience.

Then, a year after murdering Ayako, Miyazaki went hunting again.

He spotted two young girls playing in a park and managed to convince one of them to follow him. He had done this before—separate a child from their friends, lead them somewhere isolated, and make sure they never come back. But this time, there was a variable he hadn’t accounted for.

The girl’s father had been watching from a distance.

When the man saw his daughter with a stranger, something in him knew. He moved fast, running toward them, and caught Miyazaki in the act. Before Miyazaki had the chance to react, the father attacked him, beating him to the ground. Miyazaki scrambled away and ran, slipping from his grasp for the moment. But the father wasn’t done. He called the police.

Officers arrived at the park quickly, searching the area for the man described to them. Then, an hour later, Miyazaki did something so reckless it was almost unthinkable.

He went back.

He returned to the park to retrieve his car, completely unaware that police were still there. The girl’s father spotted him again and immediately pointed him out. This time, there was no escape. The officers arrested him on the spot.

The House of Horror

When police searched his home, they found something far worse than they had expected.

Miyazaki had documented everything. He had photographs and videotapes of his victims, cataloging his crimes in a way that suggested he had no real fear of being caught. But even more disturbingly, they found remains. The hands and feet of Mari Konno, along with other pieces of his victims, were hidden inside his wardrobe.

There was no question about who had been taking children from Istukaichi. The only question now was what to do with him.

The Trial of the ‘Otaku Killer’

The media wasted no time in branding him the “Otaku Killer”—a name that came from his obsession with horror manga and violent anime. Whether his interest in those things had any connection to his crimes is debatable, but it didn’t matter. He had already become a figure of public outrage.

In court, he tried to dodge responsibility. He claimed he wasn’t the one responsible for the murders—his alter ego, “Rat Man,” was. He leaned into the idea that he was mentally ill, playing up the possibility that he suffered from multiple personality disorder. For a while, it worked. Some experts hesitated, wondering if there was any truth to his claim.

The courts weren’t interested in his performance.

“The atrocious murder of four girls,” Chief Justice Tokiyasu Fujita later said, “to satisfy his sexual desire leaves no room for leniency.”

Miyazaki was sentenced to death.

In Japan, the wait between sentencing and execution is usually long. The average is about eight years, sometimes longer if the inmate appeals. Miyazaki tried. He appealed multiple times, but each time, the courts rejected him with remarkable speed.

Then, on June 17, 2008, it was over.

With no warning, Miyazaki was taken from his cell and hanged in a Tokyo prison. There was no media spectacle, no drawn-out legal battle. His life ended quietly, in stark contrast to the horror he had inflicted on so many others.