The top floor was a world apart.
Everything was immaculate. The soft yellow lighting glowed like an exclusive lounge. A single glass wall looked out over the capital.
And at the far end, guarded by silence and opulence… was Araki Shimura's office.
Kenshiro exhaled, his breath steadying.
But just as he took a step, a sound stopped him.
Rustling...
From a side office nearby. Light spilled out through the half-open door. Kenshiro got curious and turned his head slowly, stepping toward it without a sound.
Peering inside, he found a young man in a pristine navy-blue suit hunched over a pile of documents. The man muttered to himself, fidgeting with numbers and cursing softly.
His office tag read: Suda Riku — Executive Secretary
Kenshiro's eyes narrowed.
Perfect.
He had already planned to eliminate Araki and vanish. But killing a man of that stature would launch a manhunt across the nation. He needed a scapegoat for that... a weak link.
Someone who was already inside the system. Someone who wouldn't be missed for a few days.
And that person was the Secretary.
Kenshiro slipped through the half-open door like a shadow.
Suda didn't hear a thing, ot until it was too late.
There was a sharp tap, a pinpoint strike to a nerve cluster behind the neck, and Suda's body froze in place. His hands twitched once, and his legs buckled before he collapsed onto the desk with a thud, unconscious.
Kenshiro caught the edge of the table before it rattled too loudly.
He examined the body and checked the pulse.
He'll wake up in a few hours. By then, he'll already be the number one suspect in a national scandal.
He worked quickly, placing Suda's fingerprint on an encrypted data pad and leaving an incriminating note half-written on his desk pad.
Just enough to fuel the narrative of betrayal and revenge.
Kenshiro stood.
The Secretary's room had no cameras, a rare stroke of luck, or perhaps arrogance on Araki's part.
He walked to the window, pulled the blinds shut.
One final step remained.
His hand slid into his coat as he made his way outside.
He opened the secretary's office door and stepped back into the hallway, now entirely empty.
The Chairman's office door loomed ahead.
Kenshiro exhaled.
For Mother. For Father. For everything you took from me, Araki… I've come to collect.
With silent footsteps, he approached the dragon's lair.
And he raised his hand to the doorknob.
------
The thick oak doors to the chairman's office shut behind him with a muted click, silence swallowing the room.
The office was vast, larger than any normal executive suite. The wide glass windows covered the entire back wall, showing a panoramic view of the sleeping city. It glowed like a galaxy below, unaware that a man who thought himself a god was moments away from judgment.
Kenshiro stood at the edge of the office, cloaked in black, his body still from the intensity of his purpose. His sharp eyes swept across the room, observing everything inside the room from the mahogany bookshelves, a shelf full of foreign liquor, polished trophies, an ornate sword on display, to a deep brown leather sofa, angled beneath a low-hanging lamp.
And behind the executive desk was the man himself.
Araki Shimura.
The great beast of the business world stood like a king on his balcony, sipping amber scotch from a crystal glass. His back was turned to Kenshiro, the reflection of the city dancing over the lens of his glasses. He looked relaxed in his flawless suit.
Araki had no idea death had entered his throne room.
Kenshiro's breath slowed, and his heartbeat was calm despite the killer of his parents standing in front of him.
His footsteps didn't make a sound as he walked forward, step by careful step, his entire body a weapon in motion. Every muscle honed to serve one singular mission.
This is for them, He thought. For my mother… for my father… for every night I woke up missing their warmth.
He closed the distance like a phantom.
Suddenly, Araki straightened, then tensed as a shiver ran down his spine.
In that split second, instinct screamed in his mind. He spun sharply, eyes wide, raising his scotch glass like a blunt weapon, years of street survival pulsing in his muscles.
But it was too late.
Kenshiro's hand moved like lightning. He caught the glass mid-swing when it was just inches from his face, and slammed it back into Araki's forehead with brutal force.
Shards exploded in all directions, and the amber liquor splashed across the air like blood.
"Gah!" Araki grunted, stumbling back, his head snapping sideways.
But even as pain spread across his brow, the old lion didn't fall.
He dropped into a basic fighter's stance.
Kenshiro's eyes flickered with the faintest hint of surprise.
So he had some training after all.
"You're... not just some thief," Araki spat, blood mixing with glass on his temple. "Who the hell are you?!"
Kenshiro didn't answer, just dashed forward.
A clean elbow jab to the gut, then a twist followed by a strike to the neck. And finally, a sweeping leg kick that dropped the older man to the floor like a sack of bricks.
The entire fight lasted no more than five seconds.
Araki groaned, trying to move, but Kenshiro was already on him, grabbing his collar, slamming him into the executive chair, and twisting his arm behind his back in one clean motion.
Then came the tape.
It was a thick, black tape that Kenshiro had snatched earlier from the secretary's storage cabinet. He had planned every step of this. And now he used the tape with precision, binding Araki's arms and legs to the ornate chair like a prisoner awaiting execution.
"W-Wait... You... You don't know who you're messing with—!" Araki hissed, veins bulging in his neck.
"I know exactly who I'm messing with," Kenshiro finally spoke, his voice cold, emotionless, yet deadly calm.
He tore one last strip of tape with his teeth and wrapped it around Araki's ankles, knotting them tight around the chair legs.
Kenshiro stepped back and took a slow breath. He stood tall, looming over the bound titan of industry like a shadow from the abyss.
Kenshiro smiled faintly, a smile devoid of warmth.
Without a word, he raised his fingers and pressed them into Araki Shimura's body. His movements were precise and controlled.
His fingers moved like scalpels, targeting specific acupoints across the shoulders, ribs, neck, and spine.
A deadly dance of internal violence.
Araki didn't react at first, but then it hit him.
"Gkk—!"
The first convulsion came like a thunderbolt striking bone.
Araki's eyes flew open, pupils dilating with sheer agony. He shook violently, his muscles tightening until veins popped from his forehead.
Then came the sensation which was worse than any blunt force.
It was like thousands of insects crawling beneath his skin... biting, tearing, and gnawing at the flesh and nerves from the inside.
Every inch of his skin felt like it was being chewed alive.