Chapter 3: An Extra Charge Is Necessary!

Chapter 3: The Price Must Go Up!

No sooner had Yellow Hair finished speaking than several members of the Iwata group couldn’t hold back any longer.

“That old bastard! What the hell does he want by calling now?”

“Trying to check if the young master is dead? Impossible!”

“The Moriyama group ambushed us! Do you think Suo-kai doesn’t know? Idiots!”

“Boss! Forget the call! Let’s just go and wipe out the Suo group!”

The Yakuza have their own logic. They’re not stupid—Moriyama’s group ambushed Iwata’s, so Suo’s group must be involved.

But it was clear that Suo’s group was powerful.

Still, they wanted to attack—such is Yakuza logic. From this angle, it was undeniably foolish.

So, if they continued down this path, what would be the outcome?

Amid the ruckus, all eyes were on their leader.

But Oni no Takeshi seemed unbothered, absorbed in flipping through a newspaper.

The rustling sound carried an almost hypnotic effect.

Though Iwata Takeshi stayed silent, it wasn’t long before his men quieted down as well.

The Yakuza exchanged glances.

Suddenly—

Bang! He slammed the table.

“Idiots! Do you think your leader is dead?!”

The entire Iwata group froze, holding their breath.

Terrifying…

Oni no Takeshi’s reputation was well-earned.

However, in their fear, they overlooked the strange stack of papers on the table—more than one copy, all featuring news about Misora Hibari.

One headline read: “The nation’s songstress, Misora Hibari, recently discharged from hospital… The voice of the era will continue to echo over all of Japan…”

***

The next day, the sun shone brightly.

Tokyo’s streets were still bustling with crowds, people hurrying to and fro.

In the 1980s Japan, the economy was still growing, reflected in the vibrant spirit on many faces.

This vigor showed in their attire—adult men were nearly all in suits.

As if ready to transform at any moment into corporate drones, willing to sacrifice everything for the steel-and-concrete beast called Tokyo.

Shinjuku, known as the city that never sleeps, was rife with legends of the Yakuza.

Before a modest three-story building, four men appeared.

They were all in suits, and full of energy.

But their energy was different from that of the salarymen—it was the kind that made you want to pick a fight.

These four were none other than Iwata Takeshi and his three subordinates.

One Fish, One Cat, and Yellow Hair Akiyoshi.

“Akizakana,” we know about the fish, but what’s with the cat?

Simple—he’s the guy with the tiger tattoo on his chest.

His name is Akira Ryoma. Originally timid, he tattooed a tiger on his chest to boost his courage.

As the saying goes: with a fierce tiger on his chest, Ryoma remains a coward.

They jokingly called him ‘Ryoma the Cat.’ He would protest a bit but eventually accepted the nickname.

Yesterday, Iwata Takeshi had taken a call from that old man Suo, and with just three sentences, set today’s mediation meeting.

Clearly, this meeting was no simple matter.

So Iwata asked about their group's strength—which really meant how much money they had.

Cat, who handled the finances, reported only 30,000 yen left…

Such little money?!

Even Natsuki wouldn’t recognize you as an uncle!

Facing ‘Oni no Takeshi’s’ terrifying gaze, Cat immediately shrank into a meek little kitten.

No choice—Cat, Fish, and Aki were the strongest fighters Iwata had. If not them, then who?

Thankfully, true to his ‘Oni’ nickname, Takeshi was not only fierce-looking but his physical constitution was remarkable. After a good meal and a full night’s sleep, his injuries had healed considerably.

He wore a dark indigo suit, no tie, and the bandages on his head were conspicuous—but this was intentional.

When they arrived at the Suo group’s small building, several Yakuza in black suits and sunglasses blocked their way.

The Yakuza’s dens were relatively low-key.

The Yamamoto group’s headquarters was a modest two-story building, looking much like a private house but with black walls. Although small, two large parking lots nearby were filled with luxury cars.

“The boss has been waiting for some time,” said a dark-skinned man with a beard, descending from upstairs and respectfully greeting Iwata Takeshi.

Oni no Takeshi nodded, and the group followed the man inside.

Just as they sat down in the office, a cough echoed.

“Ahem… you bastard, you’ve come.”

A short, stout old man with heavy bags under his eyes and a fierce expression stepped out of an inner office. His eyes betrayed a man who indulged heavily in drink and women.

Iwata knew this old fellow was Suo—his own uncle.

“Uncle! You must stand up for me!”

Despite his fierce visage, Takeshi’s expression was one of deep grievance, truly moving.

Especially with the heartfelt way he said “uncle.”

Suo’s large, round face suddenly recalled many past memories.

He, Moriyama, and Iwata had once ruled the underworld as brothers. How many bastards had tried to block their money or kill them? And now…

No, no use dwelling on that. This kid was just reckless.

Suo composed himself and said:

“Tetsume, why did you go and provoke Moriyama’s lot?”

There was little kindness in his tone, mostly reproach. Normally, Cat, Fish, and Aki would have already flipped the table and started a fight.

But not here. And besides, the young master had already said to follow his lead.

So, what was the young master’s lead?

He hadn’t given them any at all.

“Uncle! I didn’t provoke the Moriyama group!”

Such a big grievance.

Suo knew this ‘Oni no Takeshi’ was telling the truth, but…

“Who’s been talking shit behind my back!”

The Moriyama group arrived.

***

“Who the hell’s cursing?”

“Die, you loser!”

“Baka! Want to reincarnate early?”

“Bastard! I’ll kill you!”

A typical Yakuza meeting scene.

Five from Moriyama, plus four from Iwata—that made nine—while Suo’s group had two or three people present.

A dozen or so shouting curses crowded into a small office, quite uncomfortable, especially in summer, even with the air conditioning on.

Moreover, the Yakuza had strict hierarchies: bosses sat, subordinates stood.

The room was hot, cramped, and tempers flared, ready to ignite at any moment.

“Baka yarou! You bunch of scum!”

Finally, Suo spoke, his curses striking the room like thunder.

Japanese curses are limited, mostly variations on “baka yarou” repeated endlessly, but the Yakuza have many nuances.

Like a boss, the way they speak includes a rolling, rattling sound, almost like thick phlegm about to be spat out.

This technique is called the “tongue trill.”

Longtime Yakuza use this to discern rank.

Everyone fell silent; clearly, Suo was a master of this art.

Moriyama Goro was a lean middle-aged man in his fifties, with small eyes that fixed intently on Iwata Takeshi from the moment he entered.

The other, Kitaoji, was flashier, wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses and a more stylish suit, with croc-skin shoes clearly visible.

Iwata Takeshi’s gaze was equally fierce, as if yesterday’s fight hadn’t put him at a disadvantage.

Now, silence reigned, but the eye contact was like a samurai duel—tense and perilous.

“Moriyama! You owe an explanation!”

Suo finally began mediating, seemingly upholding justice.

Moriyama said nothing, just waved his hand behind him.

Kitaoji spoke slyly:

“One finger will suffice, right?”

A severed finger—that was the Yakuza’s way of apologizing.

Yet only a low-level thug came forward from Moriyama’s side.

In other words, Kitaoji, the culprit, was not cutting his own finger—an insult.

Cat, Fish, and Aki from Iwata’s side were about to lose it, cursing again.

The others naturally retorted, as if a fight was moments away.

“Akidou Matoi.”

It was Iwata Takeshi speaking, but a smile appeared on his fierce, ghost-like face.

Everyone was shocked, even experienced men like Suo and Moriyama.

The son of sworn brothers was growing up… quite something.

Then, Takeshi smiled and said something completely unrelated.

“Uncle, sir, a friend told me something—Misora Hibari’s leg condition isn’t good. I’m worried. If possible, I’d appreciate it if you two could help convey my regards.”

What… did he mean?

Moriyama Goro didn’t understand and was about to respond when Suo suddenly cleared his throat.

“Alright.”

???

Moriyama looked at his elder brother, puzzled.

Kitaoji waved off the thug about to cut his finger, then asked Takeshi with a smile:

“So, young master Iwata, what do you think we should do to earn your forgiveness?”

Iwata Takeshi replied calmly:

“Forget the fingers. That would damage goodwill. We weren’t hurt badly. Just the money and medical expenses—that’s all.”

Kitaoji’s attitude shifted.

“As for the money…”

“Cash!” Takeshi said firmly.

Now that it had come to money, Moriyama grew angry, shouting at Takeshi:

“I’m your senior, your uncle!”

Now he’s bringing up uncle?

Iwata smiled.

“So…”

So what?

Everyone leaned in curiously, only to hear:

“The price must go up!”

Well, a cover was made, though it’s unclear if it’s any good—the black market side isn’t great. But everyone can invest safely, rest assured.

(End of chapter)