Chapter Twenty-Eight: Entering the Pavilion and the Situation in Fukushima

Back at the dojo, Taisuke Ze was bustling about.

“Brother Shirodo, would you like some water?”

“Brother Shirodo, do you want something to eat?”

He had bought a pile of snacks on the way and was now eagerly offering them to Shirodo Kyo. Whenever Shirodo looked at him with an amused glance, Ze simply scratched his head awkwardly, smiling sheepishly without saying a word.

Shirodo was tempted to point out that he was only sixteen years old, but judging by Ze’s demeanor, he doubted the man would believe him, and even if he did, he wouldn’t care. So he didn’t bother to correct him.

Shirodo certainly understood the motives behind Ze’s attentiveness. After all, what male creature wouldn’t yearn for pure strength after witnessing it firsthand? When he was young, that same longing burned in his own heart.

“Enough, Ze—”

“Just call me Taisuke!”

Shirodo opened his mouth wordlessly.

“All right, Taisuke. I know what you’re after, and I know today’s events have left a mark on you. But let me be clear: in this world, it’s always the martial artist who is formidable, not the style itself. So…”

Shirodo grabbed Taisuke’s shoulders and turned him around, facing the busy kitchen.

“There’s no need to cling to me. There, in the kitchen,” Shirodo pointed, “is the sole heir of a family of kendo masters who run this dojo!”

“Oh, that’s too sly, Kyo!” Saeko poked her head out of the kitchen. “Recruiting students for a dojo managed by just one university student isn’t exactly something that’ll earn you gratitude!”

“We’re still protecting him because of the Tokyo Electric incident! If he gets stronger, it’ll save us some trouble, won’t it?”

After all, I’m not the one teaching! (The plan is flawless!)

At that moment, Taisuke’s eyes lit up with sudden understanding. He strode to the kitchen door, bowed deeply at ninety degrees, and spoke solemnly.

“Miss Busujima, please tell me the tuition rates for this dojo.”

Saeko patted her forehead adorably. What a hassle. She’d forgotten the dojo’s sign was still up. The question was straightforward, and there was no reasonable way to refuse.

“Sigh… Since the successor for the next generation has already been decided, the dojo only teaches the commonly practiced Shinkage-ryu Kendo. Of course, the fees are standard for the market. Is that acceptable?”

Still holding a spoon, Saeko’s expression was resigned. When she mentioned “next-generation successor,” her cheeks flushed slightly, and she cast a furtive glance at Shirodo.

Shirodo, meanwhile, leisurely munched on snacks.

“No problem! Absolutely no problem!” Taisuke maintained his deep bow, his voice trembling with excitement.

It didn’t matter what was taught—not really. As Brother Shirodo said, the truly formidable are always the martial artists themselves. Take his old gang, for example: there was a burly, white-haired guy, also trained in competitive karate, who could single-handedly knock out everyone in the clubhouse.

The gulf between people was clear as day.

Here, the male owner was at the level of sword and spear mastery, and the female owner was of uncertain rank but definitely beyond imagination. Taisuke was confident that, surrounded by such power, even the common Shinkage-ryu would transform him entirely.

Lunch was soon ready.

Having learned from experience, Taisuke didn’t let Shirodo’s voracious appetite intimidate him into losing his own. Only when Shirodo’s most ferocious eating subsided did the table regain its calm.

At the table, still basking in the euphoria of his successful apprenticeship, Taisuke suddenly seemed to remember something. He hesitated, glancing at Shirodo now and then.

“Um… Brother Shirodo.”

“?” Shirodo glanced at him sideways, chewing a piece of braised meat.

“Has there been any news… from my hometown?”

“Gulp.” Shirodo paused, swallowed his food, and looked at him seriously.

“I always thought delinquents didn’t care about their families. But it seems you were determined to return to a normal life when I found you… All right, I’ll contact Yagami after lunch.”

“Bang!”

The blond, having picked up some yakuza etiquette from somewhere, pressed his hands to the table and slammed his forehead down so hard the tableware jumped two centimeters.

“Thank you so much!”

~~~~~~

Fukushima Prefecture, the streets near the nuclear power plant.

“Bang!”

Seiji Kaiten, clothes in disarray, landed a straight punch on a yakuza’s face.

A few pallid teeth flew out of the man’s mouth, carried by blood. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed, unconscious.

“Huff—Aron, I’m at my limit—huff—looks like this is the last hassle I can shield you from.”

Kaiten rested his hands on his knees, breathing hard and glaring ahead.

Around him lay a ring of yakuza thugs who’d come looking for trouble.

Outside the battle circle, Takashi Yagami clenched his fists tightly.

His gaze, along with Kaiten’s, was locked on the figures ahead.

There, five police officers who had surrounded the two from the start stood watching, arms folded, as if enjoying the show.

Now, as Kaiten felled the yakuza single-handedly, those officers slowly closed in.

The lead officer, cigarette dangling from his lips, laughed as he walked.

“What a headache! You punks just can’t settle down, can you? Can’t you sympathize with the difficulties of the Fukushima Police Department? You’re being detained for brawling in the street!”

The five officers strode through the groaning yakuza as if stepping over garbage, not sparing them a glance, heading straight for Kaiten and Yagami.

They grabbed Kaiten’s hands, still braced on his knees, and with a click, slapped on a pair of handcuffs.

Though tall and strong, Kaiten was spent and stumbled as they hauled him up.

“Ugh—you bastards…!”

“Bang—”

The lead officer, cigarette still dangling, didn’t wait for Kaiten to finish his curse. He turned and slammed Kaiten’s head against the wall.

“Resisting arrest? Your detention just got extended. Hold him tight, he’s a dangerous one!”

He signaled the others to restrain Kaiten, then freed his hands and strolled over to Yagami.

Yagami stared him down.

But through the haze of cigarette smoke, he could only see eyes filled with the mocking malice of a cat toying with a mouse.

“Officer, I didn’t raise a hand—just a bystander watching the commotion. Since the department’s so ‘hard up,’ you surely don’t need to detain an extra person, do you?”

Yagami tried to steady his voice, but the anger burning in his chest made it tremble.

The officer’s reply was as theatrical as a stage actor’s—he spread his arms, feigning confusion.

“How could you think such a thing?! We would never trouble an innocent bystander. You are, of course, free to move about in our beautiful, clean city—that’s your right.”

He spoke while stepping closer, posture righteous, pledging noble intent. As if, in one moment, someone might infringe upon Yagami’s rights, and in the next, he, avatar of justice, would leap to defend them.

But when his lips drew close to Yagami’s ear, his tone turned icy.

“We wouldn’t use such childish tricks against a licensed lawyer, Mr. Yagami. But… consider this a friendly warning. You’ve already lost half your people…”

He flicked his cigarette between Kaiten and Yagami.

“Right?”

Then he stepped back, plastered on a smile once more.

“In any case, do your best to uncover the truth. That’s advice from a veteran Fukushima officer! Move out.”

The officers escorted Kaiten to the police car parked by the roadside.

Meanwhile, the lead officer, with utter disregard for Yagami, stripped off his police jacket and tossed it in a trash bin.

Underneath, the light fabric of his shirt caught the sunlight, revealing a vicious yakuza tattoo.

Behind him, Yagami’s eyes dropped, fists clenched tight.