Tokyo: My Superpower Refreshes Every Week

Yasuda Masao was eighty-one years old.

He had taken over the reins of power from his father at the age of twenty-six and had been in politics for many years. It couldn't be said that he dominated it single-handedly.

However, he was undeniably a major figure in Japan's political arena, one who could command the wind and summon the rain. The only people in the country who could make him lose face were a few top-tier leaders and financial conglomerates.

Their status in both political and business circles was second to none.

Yasuda Masao had no complaints about those individuals.

That was the nature of politics: those with higher status and greater power spoke with words that carried more weight.

Yasuda Masao had grown accustomed to this rule, so he bore no grudge against those who caused him setbacks.

At most, when angered, he would curse a few times in private to vent, seldom considering taking action.

But Dio? What was he?

A sneaking murderer, an insignificant nobody, daring to disrupt the World True Love and Peace Church under his protection.

This had forced him to urgently find a replacement for Sato Kiyoki.

It was a capital offense.

Kakuta Makoto, Yasuda Masao's confidant in the Republic Party, knew his master's temper well. He bowed his head and said, "I'm very sorry, but we haven't yet found any trace of Dio in the underworld. There has also been no news from the special investigation team."

Yasuda Masao squinted, each wrinkle on his face looking as if carved by an axe and exuding a metallic coldness. "Kakuta," he said, "you've been with me for some time, and there are some things I'd rather not say too harshly.

"You haven't found him. Is it because you haven't been trying hard enough?"

Sweat beaded on Kakuta Makoto's forehead as he replied softly, "Yes, I will redouble my efforts and find Dio's whereabouts as soon as possible!"

"Good. I won't hinder your work any longer. You may go."

Yasuda Masao waved his hand.

In his view, with his influence in both legitimate and underworld circles, finding someone like Dio shouldn't be difficult.

Furthermore, to capture Dio, he hadn't hesitated to make concessions, expanding the special investigation team and bringing in elite police officers from local precincts.

Granting the team the authority to act as they saw fit should have made it impossible for there to be no news at all.

If there truly was no news, it meant those under him weren't trying hard enough, that they were neglecting his orders. Yasuda Masao considered this possibility.

The shelf life of power required constant vigilance. It was all too easy to risk it expiring if one wasn't careful. He contemplated this.

His empty cup was refilled by Haga Koumei.

The simple action brought Yasuda Masao back to his senses. He glanced at her as she poured his drink.

Her innocent-looking face bloomed with a sweet smile, her eyes exuding warmth, as if deeply concerned for him.

Yasuda Masao backhanded her across the face, shouting, "Insolent! Who gave you permission to touch my cup?"

With that, he splashed the wine from the cup onto her face, his voice cold. "It seems you're desperate to relieve yourself, holding it in until you can't even think straight."

"I'm terribly sorry, Master," Haga Koumei apologized quickly, without a hint of hesitation, and with considerable effort, lifted her right thigh.

Whether she needed to or not, if the Master said she did, then she did.

With her efforts, a few intermittent trickles landed on the courtyard outside the corridor.

Yasuda Masao nodded in satisfaction.

He was no longer young and had long lost interest in women sexually.

Mainly, his body lacked its former vigor; he couldn't perform anymore.

However, he still liked young girls—their soft skin, their appearance.

He enjoyed even more making them submit before his power.

Doing so allowed him to feel the vitality characteristic of youth.

"Such enviable skin!"

Yasuda Masao pinched Haga Koumei's face. The soft touch reminded him of strawberry daifuku.

Her tender pink lips were like jelly; even her saliva lacked the foul odor common to the saliva of old people.

This was the youth that power could not bring.

With this thought, Yasuda Masao withdrew his hand from Haga Koumei's mouth and slapped her fair face, saying angrily, "Why can a bitch like you possess youth?

"While people like me, with noble bloodlines, can only watch as our skin wrinkles."

"Master isn't old at all. Master is very young," Haga Koumei said, her cheeks bearing two bright red handprints. She was accustomed to it, however, and still managed a fawning smile.

Her dignity and pride were reserved for those netizens.

Before this old man, Haga Koumei could only submit, abandoning everything to ensure her life of wealth and luxury.

As long as she could live in a mansion, drive luxury cars, and enjoy life to the fullest, Haga Koumei could bear the lack of dignity. She had no regrets about her choice.

...

An old man's energy simply couldn't compare to that of the young.

Yasuda Masao often reminisced about his younger self, when he would work until one or two in the morning, handling all sorts of affairs.

Now, he never went to bed later than eight o'clock.

Many matters had to be handed over to his eldest son.

For Yasuda Masao, preserving his health had become the most important thing in life. Only by staying alive could he enjoy his overwhelming power.

He led Haga Koumei back to the bedroom.

It was a large room facing a courtyard, featuring Japanese-style sliding doors.

Guards in black stood stationed outside.

Yasuda Masao opened the door, revealing tatami mats inside. In the center lay a huge, soft comforter.

Sleeping there were more than a dozen women.

There were women in their forties, so well-maintained they looked to be in their early thirties, young women in their twenties, and even a few girls as young as a few years old.

Yasuda Masao knew this clearly because they were all his daughters-in-law, granddaughters-in-law, and great-granddaughters.

He didn't lay hands on them.

But when Yasuda Masao went to sleep, he would always have them come over to warm his bed.

In the Yasuda family, Yasuda Masao was like an Emperor, wielding absolute power.

He didn't allow anyone to defy his will; even his own sons and grandsons had to display absolute obedience.

Anyone who disobeyed was seen as challenging his authority as head of the family.

And dominating the women of the family was one way he demonstrated his power.

Yasuda Masao put down the leash. "All of you, leave now," he said.

"Yes, sir," they answered respectfully, slowly emerging from the comforter, careful not to let the warmth escape.

Their smooth, bare skin felt a slight chill in the room.

Yasuda Masao stood at the door, watching them get dressed, his aged cheeks showing a hint of sickly satisfaction.

This was the power he possessed.

If he wanted to, he could do anything.

The world's morals and ethics, in the face of power, were like paper windows—easily punctured.

Yasuda Masao had them leave and then shut the sliding door. The bedroom fell into a soft dimness.

He walked towards the comforter.

Haga Koumei crawled into a corner and curled up.

At night, whenever the old man needed to relieve himself, it was her time to work.

A toilet couldn't be placed inside the room due to potential odors; using her stomach was the safest way to dispose of it.

Yasuda Masao lifted the comforter and crawled in, but was startled to find a tall, imposing figure silhouetted against the Japanese sliding door.

Simultaneously, another figure, who should have been standing guard, crumpled and fell in the corridor outside.