Chapter 173
Chapter 173
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 173
Chapter Title: Blocking the Incoming Disaster (5)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
A high-rise building in the heart of Shinjuku, a short distance from the Tokyo hotel where the Korean special envoy delegation was staying.
Reflected in the glass window overlooking the massive crosswalk teeming with crowds was the menacing face of a middle-aged man.
A scar running unbroken from above his cheek down to his jaw—marking him as someone from the back alleys. And peeking from beneath his yukata, the grotesque tattoo of a yokai demon.
He exhaled a puff of hazy cigarette smoke onto the fogged-up window, then posed a question to his groveling subordinate.
"So, the prime minister's direct line from the LDP is coming all the way here themselves? To make sure we know they've got our backs?"
"That's right, Boss. Though they added that if things keep going smoothly and they hold onto power safely."
The man nodded in satisfaction at his subordinate's report.
Ganayama Hayato—or Kim Hwa-pyeong in Korean naming—was a Zainichi Korean yakuza boss.
His massive organization commanded dozens of companies, from entertainment agencies to newspapers.
"Those political aristocrats always leave themselves an escape hatch like that. It's nothing new. More importantly..."
Ganayama stretched his arms toward the sky. He resembled a sleek black panther, poised to bare its sharp fangs and lunge forward with vicious intent.
"They say you gotta go big on the people business, and damn if it isn't way more profitable than I thought."
"Heh heh heh, what more is there to say? Once they're in the noose, they don't dare make a peep."
People business.
The dark underbelly of Japan's entertainment industry, dominated by the yakuza.
Those who got tangled with Ganayama's group rarely met a good end.
Whether it was a beautiful celebrity forced into improper tributes, or some high-and-mighty official caught by the ankle after a night of indulgence—neither side fared well.
"Videos of them paying those tributes are the perfect digestive aid whenever business hits a snag. Keep 'em securely stored."
"We've got double security to prevent deletions or leaks, so no worries, Boss."
"Good. We've got leashes on the key bureaucrats for now... but what about those LDP politicians? They weren't tempted at all?"
"Ah... well..."
The subordinate yakuza scratched his head awkwardly.
Embarrassed by his own shortcomings, he trailed off into a lame excuse.
"See... they're the type with lots of ears listening. They've probably heard the rumors about what happens to guys who get their noses pierced."
"Hah! Sly foxes. Figures they'd avoid anything that tarnishes their old kazoku family honor."
Politicians from old kazoku houses—hereditary landowners, the nobility of sorts.
Unlike bureaucrats who'd clawed their way up from the bottom and lost themselves to greed, these lofty politicians never botched things by going gaga over celebrities' looks.
They simply covered up the yakuza's dirty dealings and periodically extracted blood money and manpower.
*Snap!*
Ganayama flicked open a gold-embossed traditional Japanese fan, then snapped it shut. He smacked his lips with regret, muttering to himself.
Words laced with ambitions too grand for his station.
"Whatever. In the end, everything boils down to the people business... It'll be mine someday. One way or another."
*Slide...*
A slight gap opened in the sliding door made of woven rush tatami.
From outside came the voice of another subordinate yakuza.
"Boss, the LDP secretary-general has just arrived."
"That old fart moves fast. Like the Korean proverb says, speak of the tiger and it appears—spot on."
Slipping into wooden geta that clacked with each step, Ganayama headed to the annex with the reception room.
With every stride, his fierce expression softened artificially.
As soon as the tatami door to the annex slid open, his beaming face wore a mask of utter subservience—the polar opposite of before.
"Sir, it's been too long. I hope you've been well."
"Ah, yes. Ganayama, good to see you after all this time. I'm the same as always. Don't just stand there—sit down."
In the warm atmosphere, their conversation flowed.
Time passed enough for the bamboo water fountain in the courtyard to fill and tip several times.
The LDP secretary-general poured steaming green tea for Ganayama, offering pleasantries.
"Korea-Japan relations and this election—your contributions have been huge. Things are falling into place smoothly, without all the usual complications."
"It was nothing, really. Your kind words make me happier than I deserve."
"Heh heh, always so humble."
"Um, Sir..."
Ganayama trailed off.
Through the slits of his mask, meticulously painted with subservient hues, his narrow eyes gleamed.
No words needed, no debate required. He was conveying a message to the exalted politician before him.
What if, after the election, the far-right anti-Korean group he controlled became expendable? Wouldn't it just end in being discarded like a worn-out shoe?
"Hmm, still got that glare, eh? Didn't I tell you to watch yourself?"
"My apologies, Sir."
The secretary-general crushed him with an imperious tone steeped in authority.
"......"
An uncomfortable silence settled in.
The chill wind that had blown into the warm room only subsided after the secretary-general moistened his lips with green tea and replied.
"Don't worry about useless things, Ganayama."
"Sir?"
"A hunting dog like you is more useful chasing rats than stewed in a pot."
"...I'm grateful for your understanding."
A vague response, half dissatisfaction, half contentment.
As always, this exchange—where each saw the other purely as a tool—ended on the secretary-general's orders.
"Get your organization moving more. Bolster the anti-Korean groups with manpower and stage a big anti-Korea rally in front of the Korean embassy."
* * * *
*Zzzt*—the grating microphone feedback stabbed at my ears.
But that annoyance was mere appetizer. The main course of nonsense that followed was incomparable to mere static.
-Takeshima is inherently Japanese territory! You filthy Chonks, stop your baseless claims!
-The Korean military and police must withdraw immediately from the illegally occupied Takeshima! Let's reclaim it swiftly and restore the glory of the Great Japanese Empire!
Near the hotel in Tokyo where the special envoy delegation was staying, along the road in front of the Korean embassy.
Must be nice eating fancy meals with nothing better to do. Their voices, armed with bizarre logic, had been tormenting my eardrums since morning.
"They really do it all, don't they, Chairman? Renting trucks with LED screens means they're gearing up for something big."
"Indeed. And looking at those people, more than anything..."
I pointed toward the anti-Korean protesters in response to Aide Yoo Se-na's comment.
Aside from a few performative women up front, the rest of the crowd was all burly men. The kind who screamed back-alley thugs at first glance—fierce and intimidating.
"Every one of them has some weird tattoo on their nape. Those shoulder tubs are all yakuza-style, bulging menacingly."
"Ugh, they look just like Dad's old... no, like my uncles who worked with Dad back in the day, Chairman."
Yoo Tae-chon, now reformed—or at least settled into legal bounds, if not a total new man.
Last night. Or rather, early this morning. He'd answered my call with a groggy voice.
I'd rushed over to ask about the yakuza group supposedly puppeteering the anti-Korean forces. Specifically, who their boss was.
"Well, I'll be. Calling at the crack of dawn just to ask about Ganayama, that pufferfish bastard?"
"Pufferfish?"
Luckily, Yoo Tae-chon already knew the yakuza in question. In his gruff voice, he continued.
"The guy's looks and antics are just like a pufferfish. Can't control his greed, puffs up that pathetic body of his, and bristles with spines."
Being Zainichi Korean, Ganayama was fairly well-known in Korea's underworld circles too, it seemed.
I'd thought he was just some political thug, but according to Yoo Tae-chon, he ran several legit-sized operations.
"He controls Japan's entertainment scene. In pretty sleazy ways, too."
"Sounds like a hassle all around. Thanks anyway."
"Forget it. My girl's got the rest covered—just don't forget that favor, Chairman Han."
He'd dropped that cryptic line and hung up unilaterally.
As I tilted my head, puzzled by his parting words, Aide Yoo Se-na, who had arrived unnoticed, spoke up.
"Chairman, we're here. The kendo dojo you mentioned."
*Whack! Whack! Wrist! Head!*
The crisp crack of a bamboo shinai splintering echoed with the spirited kiai shouts.
Inside the dojo, barefoot on the mat, a nineteen-year-old girl matching the photo from the ambassador bounded forward—just as pictured.
"By the way, Chairman... what exactly do you plan to do now?"
"What do you mean?"
Aide Yoo Se-na's voice carried a hint of unease.
Her follow-up question was pointed and valid.
"Even if the Imperial Household backs us, if we can't weed out the yakuza manipulating the anti-Korean forces, won't it all fall apart?"
The Emperor and Imperial Family served as national symbols to the Japanese. But symbols stayed symbols—they couldn't wield real power beyond that.
In the end, as she said, detaching those yakuza from the LDP ruling faction was key.
However.
"I was worrying about that until just now. But here's a thought I just had."
*Whack! Whack! Waist! Head!*
The match resumed, and the lively thwacks resumed.
It ended in overwhelming dominance. The princess shed her heavy black bogu, her sweat-dampened hair catching the sunlight and sparkling brightly.
Beautiful and elegant, plain as day.
"You know... this might actually work out perfectly. If that princess over there stars in a plausible drama with me."