Mimata Chieri
I kept watching, but no further suspicious incidents occurred with Mimata Chieri. Daily life simply continued to flow as usual. During that time, American media outlets funded by rival pharmaceutical giants relentlessly attacked Health Miracle. The stock that had been trading at eleven hundred dollars just days earlier kept crashing, plummeting all the way down to four hundred dollars.
They said it would fall to three hundred, but since I couldn’t remember the exact bottom, I liquidated near four hundred. Tax calculations and other complicated issues meant I still didn’t know the precise figure, but one thing was certain: I had gained an enormous fortune.
Now that I had earned enough money, the real question was what to do with it. The first idea that came to mind was acquiring one of the countless PMCs—Private Military Companies—operating inside Japan.
Until World War III, Japan had never amended its peace constitution, so it had created an enormous temporary army in the form of public-enterprise PMCs through every legal loophole available. Once the war ended and there was no longer any need to maintain such large numbers, the government privatized nearly all of them except for a handful of quality outfits. The giant conglomerates like Taira and Minamoto snapped up the best ones, leaving the rest to survive on their own in the Japanese market.
Some had adapted beautifully to private enterprise and continued to thrive. Others had gone bankrupt. A few had slipped into the shadows, competing with the yakuza or subordinating themselves to them. Still others had become tiny operations barely scraping by. Their fates were diverse.
Since the original story The Youngest Son of a Japanese Conglomerate Family had featured an event where the protagonist hired a Japanese PMC, I already knew a cost-effective outfit. I planned to use that knowledge to acquire one now.
But when I looked into the actual acquisition process, it turned out to be far more difficult than I’d expected. To become president of a PMC you needed several certifications, including the rather imposing-sounding Private Military Company Administrative Technician license. They were notoriously hard to obtain.
Even though the government had released most of them to the private sector because they were no longer necessary, they still couldn’t allow just anyone to lead a PMC. The complicated qualification process existed to prevent exactly that. If an enemy spy operating under a false identity bought a PMC and used it to attack Japan, stopping them would be nearly impossible. That was why the barriers were so high.
Still, every system has its loopholes. These procedures existed to block people who might harm Japan. Therefore, a person with zero possibility of doing so could establish or acquire a PMC. The way to prove you were such a person was simple: obtain a guarantee from a respected public figure. A member of the National Diet or the CEO of a sufficiently large corporation would do. Their endorsement would let you bypass the red tape.
When I thought about it, the chairmen of the major conglomerates certainly hadn’t studied for those certifications when the government first privatized the PMCs. They had simply given themselves self-endorsements and taken what they wanted. Dirty deals between the political and business worlds must have been involved.
I already had one favor I could ask of Grandfather Taira Danjo. I would use that favor to request he act as guarantor for the PMC. The moment I decided on the request’s content, I dialed Fumimoto Takayuki, Taira Danjo’s chief of staff.
“Yes, this is Fumimoto Takayuki.”
“Chief Secretary, this is Taira Ryuta. I’d like to see Grandfather. When would be convenient?”
“May I ask what this concerns?”
“I intend to use the favor Grandfather gave me last time.”
“Please hold. I’ll check his schedule.”
“Of course.”
Taira Danjo wasn’t someone I could meet the moment I wanted. As head of Japan’s largest conglomerate, his schedule was packed beyond imagination. Still, he had personally promised to grant one request, so he would make time.
“He suggests lunch at the main residence next Monday.”
Today was Friday, so the slot had been arranged surprisingly quickly. Grandfather was probably curious about what favor I would ask and had cleared his schedule accordingly.
“Understood. I’ll see him Monday. Take care, Chief Secretary.”
“You as well, Young Master Ryuta.”
I ended the call with proper politeness. Fumimoto Takayuki was one of the true powers inside the Taira Group; there was no downside to treating him with respect. I had heard he had served Taira Danjo across two generations. The depth of that trust was so great that even Taira Ichiro, the eldest son, could not act carelessly around him.
After hanging up and sitting in my room for a while, a LINE message arrived.
Because he loved fighting more than breathing, Kiyohira always demanded a sparring session whenever he saw me. In middle school I had beaten him black and blue. In high school, after he began systematic training, our win rates evened out. From the second half of our sophomore year onward, I was the one getting pummeled. Technically I was superior after learning Shinkai Yatsude, but I couldn’t overcome someone who trained their body with military precision. He wasn’t still holding a grudge from all those middle-school beatings and using sparring as payback, was he? Still, after my possession I had become overwhelmingly strong. Even if I wanted to lose, it wouldn’t be easy. I’d just have to take it easy on him.
After finishing the LINE chat with Kiyohira, I called my mother, Jin Mija. I didn’t visit the house in Edogawa often these days, but I called frequently, so I wasn’t completely unfilial… right? Plenty of families in Korea only saw each other during holidays anyway.
While I was busy rationalizing my own behavior, the ringing stopped and Mom answered.
“Hello? Yongtae?”
“Yeah. You free this Sunday? It’s your birthday and both Kazuhiro and Kiyohira want to come. Thought we could have a meal together.”
“I have plans Saturday, but Sunday’s open. After all the effort of you remembering my birthday every year and feeding, housing, and practically raising those two during all three years of high school, it feels worth it.”
“I never washed them, though.”
“It’s a figure of speech. So where are we eating?”
“I’ll handle the reservation.”
“Good. See you Sunday~.”
As always, conversations with Jin Mija were short and to the point. That same dry, cool personality was probably why she and Father—Taira Saburo—had only met briefly before parting ways.
Feeling guilty about not visiting often lately, and even guiltier for forgetting her birthday until Kiyohira reminded me, I decided to book a high-end restaurant. Since both of the guys coming were professional athletes, a meat place was mandatory. They had probably been missing the Korean food they used to eat at our house, so I chose a luxury Korean-style barbecue restaurant. I called and reserved a private room for four, then sent the location via LINE to Kiyohira, Kazuhiro, and his mother, Jin Mija.
On Saturday I was supposed to meet some of the 74 Group people in Tokyo, so I could buy presents then. For now I had something else to do. I opened my door and headed downstairs. When I reached the first floor, Yukiko was waiting for me on the sofa, completely naked.
Our first time together had been on this very first-floor sofa. That was why Yukiko had wanted to do it here today. While the housekeeper was gone and Yukiko prepared the “set,” I had stayed upstairs and taken care of several tasks. At least I had used the time productively.
“Mmm♥ Why are you just standing there? Come here quickly…”
“I was burning this image into my memory.”
She really was breathtaking enough to want to store permanently in my mind. Her body seemed to grow even more voluptuous and lewd after every time we were together. Was it because I kept filling her with yang energy?