Chapter 23
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: New Phase (2)
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A man with a torn mouth on one side, giving the impression of a mocking sneer, stood gazing into the mirror.
A neatly trimmed beard and a twisted scar formed a strange harmony. Sharp eyes and yellow hair slicked back in an undercut. Unlike Shinsuke, who wore star-shaped sunglasses, he favored a plain, ordinary pair.
His name was Inoue Saburo.
He had started out as a renowned yakuza blade-master in Shinjuku. But his overwhelming abilities, his ruthless nature that shed neither blood nor tears, and his impeccably clean handling of jobs had earned him a spot among the Prophets.
In the original story Alice in the Multicolored Garden, and even now, he played the role of the organization's action captain. With his formidable powers and wealth of real-world combat experience, he neatly swept away any obstacles in the Prophets' path. The incidents he touched almost always ended up as unsolved cases or simple accidents.
He twitched his lips and inspected his weapon—a slender dagger about 15 centimeters long. After checking the edge, he slipped it into his waistband and concealed it. Today, he planned to deliver a simple warning to Iwamoto Yoshio, the fool who had dared to lay hands on a fellow Prophet.
The fact that Shinsuke had crossed the line first was irrelevant. Having spent so long in the organization, Saburo knew full well that staying quiet in a situation like this would tarnish the Prophets' reputation itself.
Fault didn't matter.
What mattered was who landed the finishing blow.
Today, Iwamoto Yoshio would pay dearly for underestimating the Prophets.
"Saburo-san. You still in there?"
Saburo scowled at the voice coming from outside the door. It was the uptight, sharp-nosed Dennis. She wasn't exactly high up in the Prophets any more than he was, but Saburo couldn't stand her high-handed attitude and haughty demeanor.
After guys like him or Shinsuke handled things "hot and heavy," she acted like they belonged to some other world entirely. That's why Saburo saw Dennis as a loathsome hypocrite. And this was the woman who had crushed two boys to death like tomatoes in the courtroom, yet always played the innocent victim.
Saburo believed there were no innocent victims in this world. People died because they deserved to, and you killed because they deserved killing. It was the creed he'd carved into his heart from the first time he gripped a blade as a kid. That's why he tried to avoid running into Dennis as much as possible.
"Dennis. What is it? I've got cleanup duty straight from the top, so I'm busy. If it's nothing important, beat it."
"That's why I came in person about the cleanup. You never pick up my calls."
"The top have more orders? If so, text me."
"Cleanup's canceled. Open the door."
Only then did Saburo grimace and yank the door open. He'd gotten all geared up, and now this—another last-minute cancellation on "cleanup." Irritation boiled up as the door swung wide, revealing Dennis's blank, prim expression. The moment he saw it, Saburo twisted his lips and spat:
"So, what? Why's cleanup off? Has the top finally decided to surrender to Iwamoto Yoshio?"
"They sent a few organization members to back up your plan at Yoshio's place, and they all got beat down and sent packing. Apparently, they got a warning too: 'We don't want to make a big deal out of this, so go home.' They were all fairly capable, so the top's worried that mishandling Yoshio could blow things up. We're just getting started on our plan—drawing eyes with some pointless mess would be a disaster."
Saburo snorted at Dennis's words.
"What, so he had some backup after all? And you're saying you think I'll lose, so hands off Iwamoto Yoshio? That's the conclusion? I know his type well. The kind who always thinks things'll go his way. What matters now is striking when his guard's down—right when he thinks we won't charge in, that's when you hit him hard and fast."
Saburo looked ready to draw his blade and storm Yoshio's place right that instant. Dennis responded to his rising agitation with a firm, icy tone.
"Lucky for us the top aren't the 'strike first, think later' type like you. We've finally pinned down the factory location and kicked off research—if the factory owner suddenly gets dragged into a power clash and drops dead, the research stalls, and worst case, we might have to pull out of the whole area and scrap our foundation here."
Saburo licked his lips, sinking into thought. He got what Dennis was saying; even back in his yakuza days, blind charges often earned reprimands, not praise. Killing a big shot in a fit of rage never led to anything good.
"Fine, so what're we doing? I get it, but sitting here sucking my thumb after getting punked doesn't sit right. You might be thrilled that a lowlife like Shinsuke bit it, but I'm not."
Saburo thought of Shinsuke. Seeing that punk strut around bragging he'd nail it reminded him of his own younger days. Back then, Saburo had been a mad dog too, relying on raw talent and power to rampage freely.
But he'd gotten lucky and never crossed the line fatally. Shinsuke got unlucky and poked the wrong bear—then died.
Saburo shook off the thought, shaking his head as he spoke.
"Not that I've got any personal grudge, mind you. I just don't want the organization I belong to looking like losers. Especially that Yoshio prick—dug into his background, and get this: volunteers at orphanages, does all sorts of 'good deeds.' Can't just let a slimy hypocrite like that touch the Prophets and walk."
Saburo leaned back against the sofa's armrest, fiddling with his dagger and muttering half like sleep-talk.
"I hate hypocrites. Nah, anyone who pretends to be 'good'—I can't stand 'em. That includes you, Dennis."
Dennis didn't flinch at the threatening tone aimed her way. Saburo might act like a lunatic, but he wasn't the type to snap and kill his own. If he were the sort to off people just for being annoying, he never would've made it into the Prophets.
"Iwamoto Yoshio—we don't know what that human scum's after, but I figure he won't go off the rails any further. Why? Because his daughter's in one of our facilities."
Saburo, still staring at the ceiling, replied to Dennis's words.
"What if he just sees his own kid as disposable? Attacks our guys even with her in our hands?"
"Maybe he's calling our bluff. Or maybe he's got another plan. No way to know. For now, the directive's to watch and wait, so put the weapons away and take a breather, Saburo."
"Tch."
With the top calling the shots, even Saburo couldn't throw a tantrum. He clicked his tongue, tossed the blade carelessly into a corner, and only then did Dennis rise from her seat. As she opened the door to leave, Saburo cracked open the fridge and pulled out a beer.
The front door clicked shut, and he chugged the beer down in gulps before unfolding the local paper.
15 Years of Continuous Goodwill: The Hidden Face of Iwamoto Industry
A article tucked in the corner of the local paper caught his eye. Wiping beer foam from his mouth, Saburo muttered:
"Iwamoto Yoshio."
Saburo's mind drifted back to the distant past. He vividly recalled his teenage years, the first time he'd dipped his hands into crime.
He'd grown up in an orphanage. The director was a local celebrity for her "good deeds," even appearing on regional TV panels to build her fame.
But behind the scenes, she begged for handouts everywhere. The orphanage was just a front for laundering money. The director, who played the saint on TV who wouldn't harm a fly, would come back and rule the place with beatings from her belt.
The kids were used for all sorts of crimes—from drug mules to theft, lookout duty for gang hits, even destroying evidence to sow confusion.
And Saburo had gotten swept into that criminal abyss too.
In his mind's eye, the orphanage photo surfaced. There was Iwamoto Yoshio, beaming cheerfully with the kids under the colorful sign.
"You're evil. You're evil too."
Saburo gripped the newspaper tight, chanting the words like a mantra.
"I know your kind all too well. You're a hypocrite, nothing but a filthy villain."
His eyes gleamed over the crumpled paper.
"...Filthy hypocrite bastard."
Outside, the weather was unusually fine. The mansion where Saburo lived always exuded a gloomy aura, its back to the sun.
Saburo, slumped on the sofa, clutched his face.
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