Kazuma and Chiyoko boarded a train bound for Sumitomo Construction headquarters in Shibuya Ward.
Chiyoko was still wearing her sailor uniform from the morning, but she'd already re-sewn the button she had pulled off earlier—using a needle and thread borrowed at the police station.
It had only taken her a few minutes to stitch it back on, much to Kazuma's admiration.
The train wasn't crowded. The morning rush had long passed, and it was still too early for the evening rush.
Even so, two students in uniform stood out during this off-peak hour.
The other passengers kept their distance, probably assuming they were truants up to no good.
To top it off, both Kazuma and Chiyoko were carrying their bamboo swords—though these had been taken as evidence to the station earlier, they'd been returned once it was determined there had been no malicious assault.
Now, with the bamboo swords wrapped in cloth, the Kiryu siblings looked even more like a pair of delinquents.
Staring out the window, Chiyoko suddenly remarked, "So many places are under construction."
"Yeah," Kazuma replied casually, though inwardly he was still turning over how best to convince the executive director.
An executive director might be the lowest tier of a Japanese company's upper management, but even that "lowest" tier was far above the reach of ordinary folks—a figure who lived high above the real bottom rung.
Someone Kazuma's old self would have looked up to.
For a rank-and-file employee, making it to department head was usually the ceiling.
To become an executive director, you either needed to come from an elite family—born with a silver spoon—or have graduated from a top university.
In Japan, entering a prestigious university was truly a ticket to class mobility.
Come to think of it... how did the Kiryu family end up in this situation?
The question tugged at Kazuma.
With a dojo that size, they must have once been quite reputable. And yet now, it was just the two siblings left, with barely enough savings to see them through university.
What had happened in between?
Kazuma began combing through the original owner's memories for any clues.
Just then, he felt something heavy on his shoulder. He turned to find Chiyoko leaning against him, eyes closed in sleep.
Kazuma smiled softly at his sister.
Between yesterday and today, she'd been scolded by her "big brother," confronted thugs head-on... she must be mentally and physically exhausted.
Watching her, Kazuma couldn't help but think: Maybe this is what they call a true Yamato nadeshiko.
The train rocked gently, the clatter of wheels on rails filling the car.
**
At that very moment, Nishiyama-gumi Wakagashira Bandō was sitting behind the wheel of a van, fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel.
He and a few subordinates had been staked out here since early morning.
This road was part of Chiyoko Kiryu's route to Etsukawa Girls' Middle School. Their plan was to kidnap her and use her as leverage to force Kiryu Kazuma to sign the dojo sale contract.
In this era, Japan's public safety wasn't nearly as pristine as the image presented to the world. Yakuza kidnapping someone wasn't unusual at all.
Japan's yakuza problem didn't begin to improve until the enactment of the Act on Countermeasures against Organized Crime Groups during the Heisei period.
And the very existence of that act spoke volumes—the yakuza were so entrenched that instead of eradicating them, the government designated certain groups for "special monitoring," essentially granting them semi-legal status because they couldn't be eliminated entirely.
Yes, since 1992, Japan's major yakuza organizations were effectively legalized—though smaller groups were simply wiped out.
Plenty of actors in Japan's entertainment industry, the ones who always seemed perfect for yakuza boss roles on TV or in movies, were... well, actual yakuza bosses.
Back in 1980, the yakuza were entering a period of rapid expansion. Sensing golden opportunities, they became ever more ruthless and competitive.
Kidnapping a young girl was nothing to them.
The problem was... Chiyoko Kiryu hadn't shown up.
Afternoon dismissal was approaching, and Bandō's crew still hadn't seen any sign of her.
Even someone as composed as Bandō was starting to feel anxious.
Their district still had plenty of stubborn holdouts refusing to relocate. Every wasted day cost them real money.
Other groups were watching like wolves, ready to pounce on any sign of weakness in Nishiyama-gumi.
"Damn it... where the hell is she? Ōta! Take two men and head to the dojo. If you spot her, grab her and get out."
"Got it!" The young subordinate Ōta slapped the shoulders of two guys reading manga next to him. "You two, let's move! Damn it, manga again? What kind of yakuza are you?!"
Wakashu—in Chinese slang, something like "49er"—anyone who watches Hong Kong movies would know the term.
Once you became a wakashu, you earned the right to wear the group's crest. Without one, you weren't even properly initiated—lower than a 49er.
Ōta led the two out, but Bandō suddenly called after them, "Hold it! Idiots, you forgot the radio!"
He grabbed a radio and tossed it over.
It had taken quite a bit of effort to acquire this surplus equipment from the U.S. military stationed in Japan.
There were no cell phones or pagers in this era—communication was extremely difficult.
To stay competitive, yakuza groups scrambled to equip themselves with radios.
When trouble broke out, this was what they used to call reinforcements—far more reliable than, say, shooting off a signal arrow.
Ōta caught the radio and left with the two younger guys.
Bandō returned his attention to the Etsukawa Girls' Middle School gate.
These private schools employed professional security guards. Bandō didn't dare get too close.
Even yakuza avoided crossing the truly wealthy and elite families.
He knew there had been some trouble at the Kiryu dojo today, but he figured Chiyoko would have come to school after leaving the police station.
Surely they wouldn't skip school…?
According to the intel he had, Chiyoko Kiryu was a model student with a perfect attendance record. In both her first and second years, she'd received full attendance awards—reportedly the only student in Etsukawa Girls' to do so two years running.
"Bandō-san," one of the underlings spoke up. "It's almost dismissal time. Maybe Chiyoko Kiryu really isn't coming today…"
"Shut it! We're staying here until the last student leaves!"
Bandō barked the order.
One of a wakagashira's primary duties was keeping the underlings in line. Bandō was fulfilling that duty well.
But he understood their impatience.
He was getting impatient himself.
If we spend the whole day here and still don't grab her, the boss is going to be furious.
The boss had a Hannya demon tattoo on his back, but his actual fury was a thousand times scarier than the ink.
Bandō had no desire to face that wrath.
"Damn it... where the hell is she?" Bandō muttered, waiting anxiously.
(End of Chapter)