Teaching Kendo in Tokyo 1980

Back to the present—

Kazuma, still carrying the lingering thrill of battle, followed Detective Shiratori's instructions and headed for the iron door.

By now, his emotions had mostly settled, and much of the adrenaline from the fight had already worn off.

Then a thought suddenly struck him.

—I've got to sing a victory tune, or I won't be able to fully convert all that combat experience into actual skill levels!

After tonight's battle, how could he not sing? If he didn't, how much valuable experience would go to waste?

No, absolutely not. I have to sing. And I have to start right now!

As for what to sing—Kazuma didn't hesitate in the slightest.

Hadn't Detective Shiratori just mentioned "self-defense"? The scene was practically identical to the finale of Manhunt, the film that had popularized the legal term "self-defense" across Japan in Kazuma's previous life.

Given that, wasn't this the perfect moment for Manhunt's iconic theme—La Ya La?

The timing couldn't have been better. The climactic battle was over. The problems—at least for now—were resolved.

A La Ya La was perfectly fitting.

And so Kazuma began.

And sure enough, as soon as he started humming, his mood lifted. His steps grew lighter. The taste of victory filled the air.

Immersed in the afterglow of triumph, Kazuma practically floated down the corridor.

Around him, the nearby officers exchanged puzzled glances as Kazuma suddenly broke into song.

One officer murmured softly, "Isn't that from a Ken Takakura movie?"

Immediately, his colleague hushed him, worried that the comment might spoil the boss's—meaning Kazuma's—mood.

Detective Shiratori and Detective Takayama exchanged a glance.

"What's with the humming?" Takayama whispered.

"Looks like he's in high spirits. Just going with it," Shiratori replied.

"After a life-or-death fight like that? If it were me, I'd be shaking so badly I couldn't even hold a glass of water."

"Don't judge this kind of anomaly by our standards," Shiratori said knowingly. "Ever read Water Margin? A true hero can slaughter enemies in the morning and feast on meat and wine in the afternoon."

"A real hero, huh..." Takayama clicked his tongue. "He hasn't even turned eighteen yet."

"In the Sengoku era, many samurai were riding into battle by fourteen. What's so strange about this?" Shiratori glanced toward Kazuma, who was now approaching the iron door. "Heroes often emerge young."

Takayama added wryly, "Like that old saying—'If only my son were like Sun Quan.'"

"That's from Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Takayama-kun. Doesn't quite fit here."

(In Japan, Romance of the Three Kingdoms is simply called Sangokushi.)

Takayama shrugged. "It just sounded good. I don't know Chinese."

He glanced again at Kazuma, now pulling open the iron door, and muttered, "A boy hero, huh. And he wants to go to Todai and join the MPD? At this rate, he might be my superior before I retire..."

"Very possible. But I won't have to worry about it—just a few more years and I'm out," Shiratori said, patting Takayama's shoulder. "You'll be the one holding the fort then."

Humming La Ya La, Kazuma stepped through the iron door and down the fire escape, his pace growing lighter with each step.

Music really did have a way of lifting one's spirits—proof positive.

On his way down, he passed several groups of officers. Each time they heard the melody, they turned curiously to look—then quickly averted their gazes once they saw it was Kazuma.

Kazuma sighed inwardly. You guys are police officers, you know. Do you really have to be this wary of a high schooler?

Still, he wasn't about to worry about them. He was busy humming away, soaking up all that combat experience.

Sure, he'd won today. But who knew what might come tomorrow? There could easily be some reckless yakuza eager to take down the "new legend" and boost their own reputation.

Better absorb as much combat experience as possible now!

Kazuma kept humming as he passed by the officers.

Even though he wasn't deliberately listening in, their whispered comments still reached his ears.

"That's him. The yakuza inside said it was like he was possessed by a demon."

"I heard someone say it was like Fudō Myōō himself had descended."

Kazuma almost wanted to shout, 'I'm a dragon, damn it!'—but he couldn't bear to interrupt his humming. Experience points were at stake!

And so he continued, humming as casually as if he were out for a stroll, making his way to the first floor.

There, a respectful officer presented him with a large black umbrella.

Kazuma finally paused his humming. "No need. I'm already soaked. Oh, by the way, there should be a straw hat I left here—my grandfather's keepsake. Please make sure it's returned to me once the evidence processing is done."

"Understood. I'll inform the inspector," the young officer said, giving Kazuma a crisp salute before turning away with the umbrella.

Kazuma resumed humming and circled around what used to be the Tsuda-gumi office—or rather, what was formerly the Tsuda-gumi office. It no longer existed.

Reaching the roadside, Kazuma spotted a dense crowd of yakuza gathered across the street.

None of them carried umbrellas, standing tall and unwavering in the downpour.

At the very front stood Nishiyama Heita, his gaze fixed on Kazuma.

Kazuma met his gaze—still humming La Ya La without missing a beat.

Nishiyama Heita silently observed the battered figure of Kiryu Kazuma in his torn kendo uniform, deeply moved.

The sword wounds etched across Kazuma's body spoke of a life-or-death struggle. The Tsuda-gumi officers and grunts had clearly been fighting to kill him.

Emerging from such a battle with only a few injuries proved Kazuma's extraordinary strength.

Nishiyama Heita had witnessed the tragic ends of many fierce yakuza fighters—most overwhelmed by sheer numbers and felled in endless skirmishes.

In his entire career, he'd only seen two people achieve the legendary feat of single-handedly dismantling a yakuza group. Now, Kazuma was the third.

And here he was—relaxed, casually humming the theme from a Ken Takakura blockbuster, as if he'd just taken a pleasant after-dinner stroll.

"Of course," Nishiyama thought. "For a dragon, dismantling a third-tier group like the Tsuda-gumi is nothing more than an evening workout."

With that thought, Nishiyama Heita lowered his head, bowed deeply—ninety degrees—toward Kazuma.

Kazuma blinked in surprise as Nishiyama Heita bowed to him.

What the heck? Are they about to swear loyalty or something?

No, wait... if this were a movie like Fight Back to School, wouldn't they be calling me "Grandpa" right about now?

Though startled, Kazuma didn't let it break his rhythm. He kept humming—after all, every bit of experience counted.

Behind Nishiyama Heita, the assembled yakuza seemed equally shocked by their boss's action—but quickly followed suit, bowing in unison toward Kazuma.

More than thirty yakuza bent ninety degrees in the pouring rain—a sight as dramatic as it was surreal.

At that moment, a salaryman stumbled onto the scene, tie wrapped around his head, clearly drunk. One look at the tableau and he sobered instantly, panicking and fleeing in the opposite direction—leaving his umbrella behind.

Kazuma glanced at the bowing yakuza. If I don't say something, this could really get misunderstood...

Finally, he paused his humming and called out clearly, "No need to bow to me. I didn't kill Tsuda Masaaki—Detective Shiratori acted in lawful self-defense. I will not become a yakuza."

Nishiyama Heita straightened, his expression one of disbelief. "You didn't kill him?"

"I already said—Detective Shiratori acted in self-defense. Sorry to disappoint." Kazuma paused, then added evenly, "But since I did take out the Tsuda-gumi for you, that bow? I'll gladly accept."

(End of Chapter)