On Eichi's side
He felt his heart hammer against his ribs—but beneath the nerves, a spark of opportunity flared.
He squared his shoulders and met Kanemura's unreadable gaze. His wooden katana trembled in his grip, but his voice was firmer than he felt.
"Kanemura," he called out, his words echoing off the stone walls, "let's settle this one-on-one. Whoever loses… pulls their men back and leaves the rest of us in peace."
Silence hung between them for a heartbeat.
Then Kanemura's lips curved into that faint, knowing smile, as if he'd been waiting for exactly this moment.
"Very well," he replied softly. "One-on-one it is. May the better fighter win."
Eichi inhaled sharply, bracing himself. In that instant, everything else faded—four hundred enemies, the fate of Bakurocho, even his own fear—leaving only the two of them facing off in the dim, tense glow of the underground casino.
Kanemura's voice cut through the tense air, calm but sharp."Are we going to fight with fists, or are you just going to keep holding that katana?"
Before Eichi could answer, Kanemura moved with lightning speed, delivering a powerful bash that struck Eichi's wooden katana—snapping it clean in half.
The crack of breaking wood echoed through the hall as Eichi stared in shock at the shattered pieces in his hands.
Kanemura's cold eyes locked onto his."Fists it is, then."
On Riku's side
He didn't panic.
His expression remained unreadable as he took a slow step forward, eyes fixed on the strategist who lounged in the dimly lit room.
"You think I'm going to turn back just because you sent some men to my boss?" Riku's voice was steady, sharp."He's not weak. He's the future of the Arata Clan."
Riku narrowed his eyes and took another step forward."Now… wanna talk about your plan? Or not, mister?"He tilted his head slightly. "Oh—right. I still don't know your name."
The man in the chair chuckled quietly, brushing a hand through his shoulder-length black hair.
"You came all this way without even knowing the name of your enemy's strategist?" he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips."How unprepared are you people?"
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried that quiet arrogance—the kind that scraped just under the skin.He leaned forward, resting his elbow on one arm of the luxurious chair."No wonder you're all dancing in the palm of my hand."
Riku scoffed, cracking his knuckles as he stepped closer.
"Well, maybe I don't need to know your name," he said. "Maybe I'll just beat you up right here, finish this mess myself—then head out and take care of your men, too."
The strategist raised an eyebrow, amused. "Hah… straightforward, are we?"
He stood up from the chair slowly. Despite his lean frame and calm demeanor, something about him felt… off. Dangerous in a way that wasn't physical.
"But that's the thing with brutes like you," he continued, straightening his cuffs. "Always thinking everything can be solved with fists."
The man smirked and began, "I'm Takeshi Morimoto—"
Before he could finish, Riku sprang forward, delivering a sharp punch to Takeshi's face. He followed with a relentless barrage of blows, each strike precise and unrelenting. Takeshi tried to defend, but Riku's assault left no room for resistance.
After a moment, Takeshi stopped struggling, clearly beaten and silent.
Riku stepped back, breathing steadily, and said coldly, "You made three mistakes.
One: Eichi is our strategist. If you thought outsmarting him by sending all your men to the casino would work, you failed.
Two: You disrespected Eichi—my young lord, the rightful heir of the Arata Clan.
And three—I know exactly who you are, Takeshi Morimoto. Or maybe you don't know who I am. I know you're the son of Hajime Morimoto, the right hand of the Unuodera Clan leader.
Now, since you're a strategist… guess who's about to become a hostage?"