Tsuda Masaaki returned to the office just in time to see Akidataya's delivery truck parked in the alley beside the building.
On the surface, Akidataya operated a food supply business—though it did genuinely distribute various food products. Mainly factory-processed, semi-finished ingredients: the kind you toss into machines, fry up, and voilà—instant "fast food."
Fast food chains were booming in Japan these days. Foreign newcomers like McDonald's and domestic players like Yoshinoya and Saizeriya were locked in fierce competition.
Both sides wanted customers to believe their food was lovingly prepared in-house, but in truth, much of it came from factories.
Only mass-produced semi-finished products could ensure consistent taste across the many locations of a franchise.
Akidataya's public-facing role was to discreetly deliver these factory-made products, disguised as fresh ingredients, to chain restaurant outlets—while keeping food journalists from catching them in the act. And if a journalist did manage to snap a photo, it was Akidataya's job to handle that, too.
As for Akidataya's real business—that was hidden among those crates of semi-finished goods.
When Tsuda Masaaki approached, the driver on duty simply nodded.
Seemed the goods had already been received by Tsuda-gumi's wakashu.
Without a word, Tsuda Masaaki entered the building and headed up to the third floor. After all, Akidataya's people didn't like dealing directly with clients any more than necessary.
Sure enough, on the third floor, the "merchandise" was already displayed neatly on the sword rack Tsuda had prepared in advance.
A yakuza office didn't have to display a sword. But if you had a famous blade prominently displayed, it instantly elevated the prestige of your organization.
It was the same reason you'd see calligraphy scrolls on the walls—an office without at least a few such displays was rare indeed.
Tsuda Masaaki walked up to the rack and picked up the tachi resting on it.
As he drew the sword, he felt a sudden chill sweep through the room.
But when he glanced at the window, it was tightly shut.
After the war, Japan had felled vast swaths of forest to rebuild cities devastated by "BBQ master LeMay"—that is, General Curtis LeMay of the U.S. Air Force. Later, in an effort to restore green space, Japan had imported many foreign tree species.
Those trees had now matured, and their pollen was everywhere.
By 1980, hay fever had become a serious issue for many Japanese.
That was why the windows stayed shut—opening them would leave everyone inside coughing and sneezing nonstop.
Which begged the question... where had that breeze come from?
Frowning, Tsuda glanced suspiciously at the ventilation fan on the wall.
In the end, he decided it must've been his imagination.
He fully drew the blade and admired its pattern in the morning light streaming through the window.
To be honest, Tsuda wasn't an expert on swords—he couldn't truly appreciate their supposed beauty. All he knew was that he'd paid a hefty sum for this "real blade."
Flipping the sword, he examined the inscription along its spine:
Bizen Osafune Ichimonji Masamune.
Though not a blade expert, Tsuda had studied the relevant lore—knowledge that could prove surprisingly useful in certain social circles.
In this inscription:
Bizen indicated the swordsmith's lineage: Bizen-den, one of Japan's Four Great Schools, alongside Mino-den, Sōshū-den, and Yamashiro-den.
Osafune was the blacksmith village where the blade was forged. In ancient Japan, people often used their village name as a clan name.
Ichimonji referred to the blade's style.
And Masamune was the name of the swordsmith himself.
To be named Masamune in such a village signified great prestige—typically, there would only be one Masamune at a time. When a more skilled blacksmith emerged, a formal name succession ceremony would be held under the elders' supervision.
Gazing at the inscription, Tsuda lifted his right hand and beckoned.
Shin'nosuke quickly stepped up. "What is it, Boss?"
Without warning, Tsuda grabbed Shin'nosuke's hair, yanked his head forward, and with a light sweep of the Bizen Osafune Ichimonji Masamune, lopped off a thick, clean chunk.
"My hair!" Shin'nosuke howled.
"Baka! Show some yakuza spirit—don't whimper like that!" barked Ōta Jūzō.
That said, he kept well out of range, worried Tsuda might go after his own thinning hair.
Grinning, Tsuda held the severed hair near the blade's edge and blew gently.
The strands parted effortlessly.
Tsuda smiled.
He wasn't a sword connoisseur—but this sharpness couldn't be faked.
Discarding the hair, he pulled out a handkerchief and carefully wiped the blade clean. Then he sheathed the sword and returned it to its stand.
"Good. A fine, genuine blade."
Clutching his mutilated hair, Shin'nosuke asked nervously, "Are we really gonna storm the Kiryu dojo with this sword?"
"Are you stupid?" Tsuda snapped. "President Shirahane clearly wants us to settle this without violence. If we charge in with swords and there's bloodshed, how would we be any better than low-grade yakuza like Nishiyama Heita?
President Shirahane wants to show the old-timers who survived the war that times have changed—that it's a new era."
Ōta Jūzō muttered, "But wasn't President Shirahane born before the war?"
"Don't nitpick!" Tsuda glared at him. "We're moving today. Make sure your men keep it smart. I don't want any screw-ups!"
"Understood. I'll see to it." Ōta bowed respectfully.
Back at his desk, Tsuda lit a cigarette, leaning back with an air of complete confidence.
Meanwhile, on Kazuma's side—
He'd spent the whole day on edge. Only when he saw Chiyoko safe and sound outside the gates of Etsukawa Girls' did he finally breathe a little easier.
But then he noticed Nanjo-san standing beside her.
Chiyoko was giving him a "I really did my best, please believe me!" kind of look.
Kazuma strode over, grabbed Chiyoko's hand, and started pulling her away—only for Nanjo-san to catch his other hand with surprising speed.
"Why are you running the moment you see me?"
Because I don't want you getting dragged into this mess, Ojou-sama!
But all Kazuma could do was stop and say solemnly, "I'm aiming for Todai. I need to focus on my studies—"
"We can study together! My tutor's a Todai associate professor. He can give you tips on what will be on the exam—it'll save you so much effort."
Kazuma was stunned. He nearly blurted out "Hey, could your family help deal with the yakuza too?"
But then he thought better of it. Sure, Nanjo-san had been charmed by his daring rescue the other day—but her family almost certainly wouldn't approve of this romance.
In Japan's rigid class system, her family might well pressure the yakuza to efficiently get rid of him.
So Kazuma forcibly pried her hand loose. "Sorry, Nanjo-san. You're a good person. I'm happy to spar and be friends—but we live in different worlds. There's no need to take it further. Goodbye."
And with that, he grabbed Chiyoko and hurried off.
Chiyoko whispered, "You could've just said you already have Mikako-neesan."
"If the yakuza catch wind of that, Mikako will get dragged into this mess too," Kazuma replied seriously. "This is our problem. We can't involve innocent people."
"Okay."
Chiyoko nodded.
Just like any other day, the siblings headed to the shopping street to buy groceries. But no sooner had they passed through the main gate than the fishmonger came running over.
"Oh no, you two just got back? Bad news! A big truck smashed into your house! Drunk driver, they said. You'd better go check it out!"
(End of Chapter)