Chapter Nine: The Distant Mountain Sect

Having finally regained her composure, Saeko Busujima rose from the floor, smoothing out her disheveled yukata. Whether intentionally or not, after the entire garment was carefully arranged, only the neckline remained slightly loose.

Restored to her serene and dignified self, the violet-haired beauty gracefully walked to the side of Kagami Hakudo, pressing down on his hands as he tidied up the dinnerware.

“I was too impatient just now. This amount of late-night snack probably didn’t fill you up, did it? Would you like something extra?”

“You still have classes tomorrow, right? You only got into Tokyo University by winning the Jade Dragon Banner. If making midnight snacks leaves you exhausted and unable to keep up in class, I’d feel terribly guilty.”

Kagami Hakudo, indeed, wasn’t full, but he feigned concern for his senior’s academic progress.

“......”

Saeko’s Yamato Nadeshiko smile faltered for a fraction of a second, barely noticeable.

“A genius who’s just one exam away from direct admission to Tokyo University says such things—there’s really no way to retort… But please don’t worry. Thanks to your sparring, I now carry some weight even in the Tokyo University Kendo Club.”

So, there's no need to worry about her studies, is that it?

Kagami Hakudo smiled, savoring the lingering taste of fried pork cutlet on his lips and tongue. He pressed his hands together in a gesture of gratitude before Saeko.

“Then I’ll leave it in your hands.”

~~~~~~

Fukushima Prefecture, Toyama Residence.

The yakuza—or rather, the extreme path—was a legitimate enterprise in Japan.

As the headquarters of the Toyama Group, the dominant force in Fukushima Prefecture, it was also the mansion of its leader, Hideki Toyama.

Spanning over two hectares, the traditional Japanese courtyard, even with Fukushima’s low land prices, stood out as a striking architectural complex.

“Thunk—”

In the dry landscape garden, the shishi-odoshi, filled with water, struck a stone and bounced back, startling the black-suited man sprawled motionless on the gravel path. He broke out in a cold sweat and shouted,

“Boss, that’s the whole story!”

Within Fukushima’s yakuza circles, this black-suited man carried many intimidating nicknames—“The Demon of Toyama,” “Fukushima’s Mad Dragon,” and so on.

Having clawed his way up from the bottom, he now commanded a subordinate organization under the Toyama Group, becoming a group leader himself.

He was the epitome of what could be called the ideal form within the extreme path. Yet here, his role was merely that of a messenger between Hideki Toyama and his many subordinates.

The man he reported to—a stocky elder in a kimono, muscles bulging beneath the fabric—sat beside the koi pond, idly holding a handful of fish feed.

“Is that so? Myoshou is dead, then...

A fool who, after learning a few tricks and gathering some followers, thought himself important—not only lost his life, but dragged down the newly established ‘Red Sand’ as well. His death is of no consequence.”

The black-suited man dared not lift his head, but his eyes brimmed with terror.

“They say even a tiger won’t eat its own cubs, yet… he doesn’t care even when his only child dies!”

“What are the others saying?”

The elder absentmindedly rubbed the fish feed between his hands, as if casually inquiring.

The black-suited man cautiously ventured,

“The brothers below are all indignant. They say not only did that kid refuse to become your adopted son seven years ago, but now he’s killed Young Master Myoshou. Everyone’s clamoring to go to Tokyo themselves, to take his head and wash away the shame, to avenge the young master. What do you think...?”

“Indignant? They’re just putting on a show for me!”

The black-suited man dared not respond.

The elder scattered the remaining fish feed, and the brilliant, large koi swarmed over it—just like those subordinates who believed they could touch the heir’s seat.

“Relay my orders. No one is to make a move.”

Unable to discern any emotion in the elder’s tone, the black-suited man dared not look up, swallowing hard.

“...Understood.”

“And another thing.”

Hideki Toyama’s voice abruptly shifted, murderous intent spilling from his pale lips like a drawn blade.

“Send someone to the Wu Clan and place an order. Bring me that brat’s head!”

The black-suited man was startled.

“Alan, a year ago when that brat left home for Tokyo, the two of us went to pick him up, remember?”

“...Yes.”

How could he forget? When the infamous yakuza boss visited, the eyes of the elderly couple held only the boy.

As the boy bowed in thanks for their years of care, the caution and relief in their gaze was almost palpable.

If it had been a story of a delinquent abusing his foster parents, it wouldn’t have mattered; such “evil” wouldn’t even be worth gossip in the extreme path.

But the black-suited man, with his years of experience, could vouch that the couple bore no signs of mistreatment. On the contrary, their standard of living was the best in the community.

Years ago, when he investigated Kagami Hakudo’s background, that family could barely scrape by!

In that moment, even the black-suited man felt indignant at the foster parents’ attitude toward the boy.

Yet when the boy, expressionless, rode in the same car with him...

Having risen from the underworld’s depths and personally marked with the Toyama crest by the boss, he understood what the couple felt.

Even a rabbit, when sitting beside a tiger that harbors no murderous intent, would still tremble with fear, wishing for death.

“So now, go to the Wu Clan!”

Hideki Toyama’s tone turned ferocious, the fish feed in his fingers now scattering as powder.

“For someone like Kagami Hakudo, when you act, it must be life or death!”

“What era do you think this is? Still dreaming of knives and guns.” The elder brushed the remnants of fish feed from his hands. “Did you think I wanted to adopt that kid because he was a good fighter?”

“What I valued was his relentless spirit, that readiness to face death at any moment—that obsession!”

“This is the age of technology. Being able to fight means nothing.”

Sweat pouring, the black-suited man hurriedly retreated.