Teaching Kendo in Tokyo 1980

Kazuma shot an exasperated look at Chiyoko, who was currently giggling to herself.

But after an entire day of tension, it was understandable that Chiyoko would want to unwind a little now.

Glancing over at the yakuza still posturing outside, Kazuma sighed. "Fine. If you guys want to wait here for your… what was it, your chairman? Whatever. If your chairman wants to come, let him. The police are filing a medical leave request for me anyway, since I was injured helping stop a crime. I won't need to go to school until after Golden Week."

"Huh?" Chiyoko blinked.

"Oh—forgot to mention. They're filing leave for you too, since you're taking care of your injured brother," Kazuma explained.

"The officers are really considerate, aren't they?" Chiyoko remarked.

Kazuma just shrugged and tugged her toward the house. "Come on, let's leave them to it."

"Is this really okay? Shouldn't we at least invite them inside? If they stay out here, they'll scare the neighbors tomorrow morning…"

Kazuma glanced back at the yakuza standing guard and shook his head. "Nope. If we let them in, it'll really look bad."

Besides, the house probably couldn't fit them all—they'd end up packed in the courtyard anyway.

Leading his sister toward the house, Kazuma paused after a few steps and turned back. "If anyone's thirsty, there's water in the garden. Help yourselves."

Technically, tap water in Japan was safe to drink.

Bandō called back, "Ossu! Got it! Leave it to us!"

Kazuma didn't even bother correcting the phrase—it did sound a bit too friendly, but whatever. A little bad reputation might actually be useful someday.

Frankly, he was exhausted. Between today's exertions and blood loss from his injury, his body was completely spent.

All he wanted now was a good night's sleep.

Chiyoko followed him reluctantly, still glancing worriedly at the yakuza outside. She clearly didn't want to cause trouble for the neighbors.

But there wasn't much she could do to send them away either.

And so, the night passed. The sun rose.

A familiar figure pedaled down the street—young Junta, delivering newspapers as usual to earn pocket money.

Just one more month of deliveries and he'd finally be able to buy the remote-controlled car he'd been dreaming about! Thinking of that prize, he pumped his legs harder.

Turning onto the next street, he reached for the largest delivery on his route—one for the sprawling Kiryu property. He was ready to toss it expertly into their yard… but the sight ahead made him slam on the brakes.

The bicycle tires screeched against the pavement.

Feet skidding to stop the bike, Junta stared open-mouthed.

In front of the dojo, rows of yakuza stood silently facing each other, the air between them practically crackling with tension.

Some had been there so long that dew had formed on their clothing.

They looked like stone guardians, statues posted at the dojo gates, their presence utterly overwhelming.

Before Junta could even react, a deep voice called out beside him: "Hey, kid. You need something?"

Junta turned—and nearly wet himself.

A burly, scar-faced man in dark sunglasses was looming over him with what he could only describe as a "kindly" expression.

Gathering the last of his courage, Junta stammered, "I-I'm delivering… th-the paper… for this house."

"Oh, I see. I'll take it." The scarred man snatched the newspaper from him. "Don't be scared, kid. We're just shooting a movie."

Movie, my foot, Junta thought. Where's the camera?

But he didn't dare say it out loud. He just nodded quickly, hopped back on his bike, and pedaled away at full speed.

At school later, Junta had a brand-new story to impress his friends with. He was already imagining how cool he'd look telling it in front of Ayumi, the girl he secretly liked.

Grinning, he shook off his earlier fright.

As he rode away, a woman's startled scream echoed from behind. Probably a housewife heading to the early market, he guessed.

Not my problem. Just need to get far away from there.

Meanwhile, Sakata Shinsaku walked back over to Nishiyama Heita, carrying the newspaper he'd just taken from the delivery boy.

He righted the mailbox that had been knocked over during yesterday's car crash, secured it firmly in the ground, and slipped the newspaper inside.

Then he turned to Nishiyama Heita.

"Nishiyama-san," Sakata began, his tone now very different from the 'kind' voice he'd used with the boy—proof that he had been genuinely gentle earlier. "Standing here like this isn't ideal. We've already frightened quite a few locals. If this continues, we'll be disrupting the neighborhood's daily life. Surely that goes against the teachings of your benefactor, Kazama-san?"

"My, my. I didn't think even you remembered Kazama-san's teachings," Nishiyama Heita retorted with a cold smile. "And your attitude just now toward that boy didn't exactly match the infamous 'White Peak Tiger' who carved a bloody path with a steel pipe."

"I've always liked children," Sakata replied smoothly. "In every sense."

Nishiyama Heita let out a sharp laugh. "If you ever fall, I'll be sure to celebrate with some Matsusaka beef."

"Don't act like you're some saint yourself. Haven't you and your boss Kazama done your share of dirty work?" Sakata adjusted his sunglasses. "We're all destined for the lowest depths of hell. No need to look down on each other—why not get along?"

Nishiyama didn't argue.

Because he couldn't.

In this world, 'good' yakuza only existed in movies and TV dramas—usually ones funded by companies with yakuza ties.

He knew that one day, divine retribution would catch up to him.

But until that day, he would keep climbing. He would not stop.

Resolving himself anew, Nishiyama Heita continued the silent standoff with Sakata Shinsaku.

At the same time, in Tokyo's Chiyoda Ward—the headquarters of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.

Even after working late into the night, Detective Shiratori had arrived at Investigation Division 4 bright and early.

At this time, the Fourth Division was still part of the Criminal Affairs Bureau, responsible for combating organized crime. It wouldn't become an independent "Organized Crime Countermeasures Bureau" for another twenty years.

From the moment he entered the building, Shiratori could feel eyes on him.

The stares grew even stronger as he reached the floor for the Criminal Affairs Bureau.

By the time he walked into the Division 4 office, everyone had stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him.

Soon, even detectives from Divisions 1, 2, and 3 were crowding the doorway to get a look.

Shiratori's partner, Detective Takayama, was the first to start clapping.

At first, it was scattered applause. Then the entire office broke into thunderous applause.

The Division 4 chief emerged from his office, holding a cup of coffee, and walked straight over to Shiratori, handing it to him.

"Good work, Shiratori-kun," the younger chief said warmly, in the tone of a superior praising a subordinate.

Shiratori smiled and raised the coffee cup in acknowledgment to the room.

The chief waited for the applause to die down before speaking. "After this, please stop by the bureau chief's office."

Shiratori simply nodded.

(End of Chapter)