As soon as Tsuda Masaaki heard the report, he frowned. "Refused? This kid's pretty stubborn. Did beating Nishiyama Heita inflate his ego?"
Ōta Jūzō asked, "What should we do next?"
"Hmm… Let's crash another truck into their place." Tsuda Masaaki waved his hand. "We can afford to earn a little less—give Chairman Satō of the Transport Association a bigger cut. This job needs to be finished our way before the next executive meeting, even if we don't make a yen off it. Understood?"
"Got it. I'll call Chairman Satō right away," Shin'nosuke said eagerly. "Should we do it tonight?"
"Are you stupid?" Tsuda Masaaki grabbed the paperweight from the table and chucked it at him. "What if someone gets killed? Then it'll cost us big time!"
An accident with fatalities was a whole different matter from one without.
"Same as today. Wait until the Kiryu siblings leave for school, then hit their house."
"Understood."
Without another word, Shin'nosuke left.
Technically, there was a phone on the third floor, but it was reserved for internal yakuza calls—some companies and organizations didn't want their records showing calls from a number flagged as a "yakuza office line" by the police.
The Maebashi Transport Industry Association was one such group.
That's why Shin'nosuke had to go out and use a public phone to call Chairman Satō.
After he left, Ōta Jūzō spoke up. "Actually, I've arranged a little extra entertainment for the Kiryu siblings."
"So long as it's not some blunt-force stunt," Tsuda Masaaki said. "What'd you plan?"
"I…" Ōta Jūzō lowered his voice and explained.
When he finished, Tsuda Masaaki burst into laughter. "Not bad, not bad! After all, we're yakuza—we're supposed to be the bad guys. It's only right to throw in some dirty tricks!"
At that moment, Kazuma was sitting in the dojo, attempting to meditate.
But his mind refused to settle—his head was full of chaos.
He'd already found a clear path to getting stronger thanks to the system. If he just had another month… no, even just two more weeks, he could systematically boost his skills through dojo challenges by two or three points.
At that level, he could handle the lower-tier yakuza purely with martial strength.
And once the yakuza couldn't pressure them anymore, Sumitomo Construction would have to come back to the negotiating table.
After all, no matter how much land Sumitomo bought in the area, they couldn't proceed with development if the Kiryu lot remained unsold—unless they wanted a luxury residential zone with an old dojo in the middle.
It was the ideal path. Complicated in execution, sure, but still a path.
Solve the money problem, focus on studying, ace the Todai entrance exams, maybe fall in love—and perhaps even win the national kendo championship.
His bright, exciting new life was right there, just about to begin!
But thinking of this only made Kazuma seethe. He slammed his fist into his thigh—pain shot straight through his skull.
Just then, he heard Chiyoko scream from the front entryway.
Kazuma jolted to his feet and sprinted toward the玄関 (genkan).
Chiyoko was wearing a raincoat, cleaning debris from the doorway. But now some foul-smelling, sticky substance had been dumped all over her.
A honey wagon had pulled up outside. The driver had just gotten out, looking apologetic. "I'm so sorry, young lady! Something went wrong with the equipment! Are you alright?"
Chiyoko stood silently in the downpour for a few seconds. Then, without a word or glance at Kazuma, she dashed past him toward the bathroom.
The stench was so awful Kazuma barely resisted the urge to recoil.
But in that brief moment, he'd seen clearly: Chiyoko's lovely face, lips, and the delicate collarbone peeking from her raincoat were all smeared with foul black sludge.
Fury surged through Kazuma. He stormed forward and grabbed the driver by the collar. "You bastard!"
"It wasn't on purpose! I'll pay, I'll pay! This wallet holds my whole month's wages! Please, don't hit me! I have a wife and kids to support!"
The driver immediately dropped to his knees, holding his wallet overhead like a soldier surrendering.
Kazuma punched him hard, sending the man tumbling backward. Then he picked up the wallet.
But there was barely any cash inside. And while Kazuma was distracted, the driver scrambled back into the truck and sped off.
"You bastard!" Kazuma shouted after him.
From a distance, the driver yelled back, "Enjoy your bath while you can! Tomorrow, you won't even have a bathroom left!"
Kazuma hurled the wallet to the ground, ignoring the soaked bills, and ran back inside.
Chiyoko's wet, foul-smelling footprints trailed down the hallway.
Carefully avoiding them, Kazuma reached the bathroom door, about to speak—but stopped.
Over the sound of the shower, he heard quiet sobbing.
A young girl, in the prime of her life, covered in filth… Of course she was devastated.
Kazuma stood there, listening to the water and her sobs, feeling wretched.
Wordlessly, he turned and went back to the dojo.
The storm raged outside. Thunder roared. The cherry tree stood tall in the courtyard.
As Kazuma listened to the downpour and gazed at the tree, his inner rage began to shift.
He was furious—yet inside, he felt an eerie calm, like a windless lake.
He realized, with cold clarity, that he had no choices left.
Enduring it? Swallowing his pride? That was out of the question. As long as he lived, he would never make that choice.
As long as he lived, he would never bow to the yakuza or to Sumitomo.
He was out of options.
And at that moment, Kazuma made his decision.
Foolish? Maybe.
A death wish? Perhaps.
But a man must face such a moment at least once.
He returned to the changing room and donned his wide-sleeved kendo training kimono.
This time, he knew exactly how strong the enemy was—strong and many, on their home turf.
He doubted he'd make it back alive.
But if there was even a one-in-ten-thousand chance… he'd prepare thoroughly.
After dressing, he gathered the wooden swords Chiyoko had found earlier, bundled them in cloth, and slung them over his back.
Eighteen wooden swords. He could break plenty of yakuza bones before running out.
Standing before the mirror, Kazuma thought wryly: Almost looks like a samurai.
But… something was missing.
Then he noticed Grandpa Kiryu's straw kasa hat hanging on the wall.
Kazuma fetched it and placed it on his head.
Now, in the mirror, a lone samurai from a taiga drama stared back.
Taking a deep breath, he adjusted the bundle on his shoulders.
Then he stepped into the dojo's center, facing the great cherry tree beyond the door.
"I never got to test what offerings under you would do," he murmured. "A shame… You truly are a beautiful tree."
The rain answered in torrents.
Kazuma gave a rueful shake of his head at his sudden sentimentality.
He left the dojo, glanced toward the bathroom.
In that instant, an image came to mind—Japan's beloved comedy series Otoko wa Tsurai yo, and its hapless hero Tora-san.
Tora-san had little talent, drifting from place to place doing odd jobs. He worried constantly about his sister Sakura, but was powerless to help her.
That's why, in the series' theme song, he sang:
"My sister who can't marry while I'm here—someday you'll be proud of your foolish brother…"
That lyric resonated with Kazuma's heart.
Forgive me, sister. I may be leaving you alone in this cruel world.
He spoke the words inwardly, then headed for the玄関.
Though the entryway had been wrecked in the crash, the phone nearby still worked.
Kazuma picked up the receiver and dialed the number Detective Shiratori had left.
"Tokyo Metropolitan Police, may I ask who you're calling for?"
"I'd like to speak with Detective Shiratori," Kazuma replied calmly.
"He's out on a case. Might return later or go straight home. Can I take a message?"
"Tell him—there's a lead on the Tsuda-gumi's crimes. If he heads to their office right now, he might catch something."
My body… should count as evidence, right?
Ignoring the operator's polite offer to take his number, Kazuma hung up.
He stepped through the shattered front gate into the street.
He already knew where the Tsuda-gumi office was. Nishiyama Heita had warned him that Tsuda-gumi might be next—Kazuma had done his homework.
Though he'd never been there since crossing over, the original Kazuma had roamed this area often. His mind mapped the route like a GPS.
Walking steadily through the storm, rain pattering on his kasa, Kazuma thought:
Three weeks ago, I was an outsider, barely blending into this world.
Two weeks ago, I found my sister's stubbornness about the dojo annoying.
Before crossing over, I figured I'd play it safe and lie low in this new life.
But now here I am, marching to my death. Anyone watching would think I was some heroic fool.
He smiled bitterly and pressed on through the rain.
Suddenly, a roadside Jizō statue came into view.
In the dark, its red scarf looked unnaturally vivid.
Kazuma didn't slow down. As he passed, he glanced at the rain-washed stone face.
Legend said Jizō guided lost souls to the afterlife.
"Here to greet me?" Kazuma whispered. "Sorry—I still have unfinished business."
The statue remained silent, as stone must. It merely watched, as it had witnessed countless men march to their deaths before.
At last, Kazuma reached the Tsuda-gumi office.
A three-story building. The nearby utility box seemed faulty—sparks flickered, making the interior lights unstable.
Standing in the rain, Kazuma wondered if he should recite something.
One figure came to mind.
A man who had just unified his clan and quelled internal strife. He had acquired the game-changing foreign weapon—the arquebus—and was forming gun squads. Everything was falling into place.
Then news came of a powerful enemy on the march.
All his plans and ambitions were suddenly in jeopardy.
Yet he gathered his limited forces and launched a desperate attack.
Before marching, he performed a Noh dance—creating a legend in Japanese history.
His name: Oda Nobunaga.
Kazuma imagined Nobunaga must have felt just as he did now.
Just a little more time, and everything would've worked out.
Just a little more…
But the enemy had ruined it all.
"Fifty years in the life of man," Kazuma whispered, drawing his first wooden sword. "A fleeting dream—who among us can live forever?"
Thunder rumbled. Lightning lit the world like day.
Just then, a burly yakuza threw open the office door.
"The hell're you doing?! Get away from our office! Scram!"
Kazuma said nothing—just shifted into a Gatotsu stance.
"Huh?" The thug blinked. "Do you even know where you are? You wanna die—"
Kazuma moved.
A blur in the rain. The wooden blade sliced through the storm, forming a shimmering arc.
The sword tip struck the yakuza's chest crest—splitting it clean in half.
The thug flew backward, smashing through the glass door.
Shards rained down, sending the doorframe and the yakuza crashing into the sofa inside—flattening several more thugs.
Kazuma's wooden sword snapped. Without hesitation, he hurled the broken blade into a stunned yakuza's face and smoothly drew his second sword.
He roared:
"Rishin-ryū Shihan-dai—
Kiryu Kazuma—
Has arrived!"
(End of Chapter)