Chapter 174
Chapter 174
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 174
Chapter Title: Blocking the Approaching Disaster (6)
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“Kaneyama! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
Crash!
The expensive table setting shattered spectacularly.
On the tatami floor of the high-end Japanese restaurant lay a wrecked table mixed with broken dishes and scattered food.
And there, as if he’d anticipated this exact turn of events, Kaneyama Hayato simply stared at his opponent in silence.
In a low, gravelly Yakuza drawl, he slowly opened his mouth.
“Hey, calm down a bit. Mr. Tax Commissioner.”
“You crazy Yakuza bastard! Calm down? You know what you’ve done, and you’re still spouting that bullshit?!”
Thud. A yellowed envelope on the floor. Inside were several photos.
Snapshots of the Tax Commissioner in a secret rendezvous with the stunning actress Kaneyama had offered as tribute.
“I know. What I’ve done.”
“What...?!”
The Tax Commissioner glared with murder in his eyes, seething with rage. But Kaneyama merely picked up a fallen sake bottle from the floor and poured the remnants down his throat.
Then came his next words.
“That business. The one you ordered the tax audit on.”
“...!”
“You know damn well it belongs to our organization. How’s a guy with so many weak spots gonna pull that off?”
The Tax Commissioner’s fists clenched tight.
But the trembling didn’t last long.
The fear hitting him like reality. If these photos—and likely a video—got out, his entire career was finished.
“You bastard, Kaneyama...!”
“Well, your guts are hanging out. Guess I’ll have to shove ’em back in.”
He hung his head.
Rising from his seat, Kaneyama straightened his yukata collar, then gripped the Tax Commissioner’s shoulder hard.
“Let’s play nice. You get what I mean?”
“...Fine.”
The Tax Commissioner slunk away, deflated.
Kaneyama pulled a cigarette pack from his waistband, lit one, and exhaled a long plume of smoke.
“Tch. Already got enough money pits, and now this pest buzzing around. What a headache. Hey! Anyone out there?”
Slide. The sliding door opened.
One of his sharper underlings happened to be nearby. Kaneyama barked an order.
“Bring the books. Not the front ones—the secret ledgers.”
“Yes, boss.”
The secret ledgers, scribbled messily.
Packed with red and black ink, they told a clear story.
This Yakuza outfit, teetering on the edge of legality, was racking up bigger losses than expected.
“Ha! These LDP nobles—how much more tribute they gonna squeeze outta us? Manpower support? What’s the point if there’s no payoff?”
They’d been gobbling up media and press companies one by one for years. The reckless investments were breeding rot.
Add in the black money funneled to the LDP, and it was a mountain of debt piling up.
“Poured a fortune into these, and they ain’t worth shit.”
“How about cracking down on the underlings’ discipline, boss?”
“Discipline?”
The underling spun a theory: Run it like a regular corp, and the grunts get lazy, like civilians.
Maybe because of the Tax Commissioner dust-up earlier, Kaneyama found it ringing especially true today.
“Yeah... discipline. Discipline.”
Decision made.
Oblivious to how it might boomerang on him, he swung a meaty fist through the air and issued the command.
“Tell ’em: Bring me something big this month.”
“Something big, you say...?”
“Exclusive scoop! Useless punks are no better than bugs—tell ’em to cough up a real solo story or I’ll fumigate the parasites.”
Raw savagery on full display.
No taboos off-limits—not even the Imperial family. He’d back them, just deliver results.
With those final words, he stood.
“Squeeze from the prez on down to the street rats till they can’t breathe. Something’ll pop.”
* * * *
Princess Hina.
The nineteen-year-old Japanese princess, about to start college, had a rather unique personality.
‘Dad! I gotta talk to you. Super important.’
‘What’s up, Hina?’
She’d shoved a zeroed-out test paper—slashed with red pen streaks—along with her future dreams essay right in the Emperor’s face.
Grades meant zilch for imperial folk anyway, but her voice boomed with a confidence that screamed regal cheer.
The follow-up nearly made the Emperor grab his neck in shock.
‘I wanna be an idol. School’s a lost cause, so I’ll start with some street band or whatever.’
‘Hina, what kinda nonsense is— No, that’s insane...?’
Zero didn’t faze her one bit. Eyes sparkling, she tugged at the Emperor’s sleeve.
‘Entertainer! Top star! Feels like my destiny, so I’m doing it. No matter what!’
‘Lord help me. You’re dead last in school, and it doesn’t bug you? After taking that fat zero?’
‘Is that the point right now, Dad? I’m gonna be an idol! In a girl group!’
Yelling didn’t work.
Scolding didn’t work.
No—her brightness made yelling pointless.
That was Princess Hina.
‘Sigh. How’d I end up with a daughter like this...? Just go to school properly! Don’t drag the imperial family’s name through the mud!’
‘I keep it secret anyway. No need for the nagging.’
Hide her status all she wanted, a national princess was still a princess.
Duties piled high on the shoulders of a conservative nation’s conservative royal—and she ignored them all.
-[Sunday Tokyo] Rock band gig at a small Shinjuku theater. Vocalist looks just like Princess Hina!
The princess who shouldn’t draw eyes was the top culprit rotting the Emperor’s nerves, hopping from street performances to band gigs day and night.
The girl who stirred typhoons at home had one outlet.
“Eoryeoryeorya! Head! Head!”
Kendo.
“Victory! Shout it loooud!”
“Um... Hina?”
The dojo master, gauging her mood, pointed somewhere. His wrinkled finger aimed at a young couple.
Pretty girl, handsome guy.
“What’re those cockroaches? Lovers? Married? Affair?”
“Ahem, no clue...”
“Don’t like ’em. Some people get to date freely, while I’m stuck with this princess crap forever.”
“...You never cared about the title before. Anyway, those two are from Korea, looking for sparring partners. If you’re up for it.”
Dojo empty this hour— just Hina, the master, and a couple instructors.
Today, even the usual sparring instructors called out sick.
Master’s wrists ached with arthritis, so he slyly pitched his wish to the overflowing-energy princess.
“If you’re game, Hina, why not spar with them? They say... they’re pretty skilled.”
“Skilled! So I can go hard?”
“Probably...? Not my expertise. You handle it.”
Hina’s lips curled at “skilled.”
Perfect timing, she thought. That lovey-dovey couple irked her—time for a proper schooling.
Channeling her boyfriend-less woes into her shinai grip.
“Send ’em in. Both lovebirds.”
* * * *
Glossy black bogu, lacquered smooth to a natural sheen. A top-quality bamboo shinai gripped lightly at the end of outstretched arms.
Perfect gear. Gotta have this level to get in close with that brute kendo black belt for some forehead bash-fest.
Ah, not me, though.
“Please, take care. Aide Yoo Se-na. I’ll cheer from way back here.”
Yoo Se-na Aide’s the one doing it.
“Um... Chairman?”
Her eyes flickered more than usual today.
Can’t be helped, really. Different genders, wildly different builds, and between us, only she’s even dabbled in kendo as a hobby.
“I only know iron-pumping and boxing. And I graduated from ‘kendo vs. boxing—who wins?’ curios ages ago.”
“I did one year in the university kendo club, that’s it...?”
“Oh, right. This.”
Figured a year’s experience would suffice for Aide Yoo Se-na. He handed over a small electronic device.
She’d remember it—not in her head, but her body.
“In-ear? What’s this...?”
Then, waving a black square thingy right in Aide Yoo Se-na’s face.
“Walkie-talkie...!”
Finally feeling the avatar game vibe? Her face went sheet-white.
Dunno the details, but she’s good at this niche, so she loves it now. Time to pump up her confidence.
“You tried it last time, so you know. Against that state councilor, you were morning-drama lead material on the spot.”
“No, wait, Chairman. What kinda crap is—!”
Modesty at this critical juncture from Aide Yoo Se-na.
Too bad—no time for that luxury.
That “crap” bit at the end bugged me a tad—probably picked up from Uncle Kim Won-cheol. Ignore it; appeal to the heart.
I grabbed her gloved hands tight, eyes welling up like a fawn’s.
“Please, I’m begging you. You’re all I’ve got right now.”
Did it work?
Her face twisted in complicated layers.
Looked skyward, groundward, shook her head—then stomped like pre-match ritual and seemed to surrender.
Hand to forehead, she conceded with a sigh.
“Sigh... I must be nuts. Fine. So, what do I do?”
Classic Aide Yoo Se-na. Incredibly capable.
I personally tied the bogu straps for her, then issued orders in a grim commander’s tone.
“Stick right to them. Close.”
“Huh?”
“Their princess’s style is blind charges into forehead clashes anyway. Won’t even need to close—she’ll come to you. Then.”
I subtly pointed outside the dojo.
The suited guys screamed spec-ops alumni; even with shades, their eyes gleamed sharp.
Of course, soon enough... they’d face an unimaginable tidal wave.
“You can whisper freely without those scary bodyguard uncles noticing. Follow my instructions in Japanese from there.”