"Before I got here, I thought my day was perfect," Lu Mingfei said, glancing at the performers on the dance floor. A shiver of disgust ran through him. Pale-faced, he stared down at the plate of pastries in front of him. He didn't want to eat them, but he was afraid that if he finished, he'd have no excuse to keep his head down.
"It's rare for you to share my aesthetic," Morin said with a faint smile.
Beside them, Chu Zihang was also looking down, staring at the long blade laid across his knees. To him, the sword was far more interesting than the performance.
Only Caesar sat with his chin propped on his hand, staring straight ahead. However, the occasional twitch of his pupils and the way his hand kept drifting toward his drink betrayed his inner turmoil.
There were many performers on the floor. Their movements were perfectly synchronized, their expressions seductive, their looks top-tier, and their physiques sculpted like magazine covers. From a professional standpoint-control, rhythm, presentation-no one could call them amateurs.
The problem was that they were all men.
To use a more professional term: they were hosts.
This was one of Japan's highest-end host clubs, its status comparable to Tokyo University in its own field. Every host was a top-tier figure in the industry, their booking fees astronomical. Wealthy socialites spent obscene sums just to watch them perform. No matter one's preferences, this place could satisfy them-provided the money was right.
Tonight, an unbelievably rich tycoon had rented out the entire club. The cost was staggering. The hosts, shocked by the client's wealth, had prepared to go all out and showcase their "masculinity."
Then they realized something horrifying.
The guests... were all men.
Being veterans of the industry, the hosts had seen men with "special preferences" before. Rare, but not unheard of. As top-tier professionals, they were trained for this.
So they prepared to approach and provide "service."
Only to be waved away like ghosts.
The hosts were baffled. If they weren't allowed to get close, why come to a host club at all?
Looking more closely, they realized something even stranger: every guest was handsome enough to compete with them. The blond one with the broad chest looked like a noble heir-elegant, dominant, radiating confidence. The other three, all black-haired and black-eyed, had entirely different auras: one calm and unfazed by everything, one cold with eyes only for his sword, and the last one... clearly giving off a "submissive" vibe.
The hosts' imaginations ran wild.
This is a classic setup!
In romance dramas, it's common for a weak, delicate woman to be surrounded by several outstanding men. They had simply swapped the genders!
Three men fighting over one, while another had rented the entire place just to declare, Pick whoever you want-this one is mine.
And they, the hosts, were merely the goods on display.
Morin, who had casually activated his telepathy, felt his temple twitch.
What kind of twisted logic is this?
Is this a case of 'it takes one to know one'?!
"Boss, your face looks weird!" Lu Mingfei yelped when he caught sight of Morin's expression. "Did the street food earlier mess up your stomach?"
"...Actually, you might be onto something," Morin mused seriously. "I only had a little sashimi, but it was raw. Parasites are a possibility..."
Then he turned to Caesar. "Why are we still here? Why are we torturing ourselves? Art should be accessible-but it shouldn't be this... underground. Literally."
"You're absolutely right," Caesar said instantly, relief flooding his face. His earlier composure had clearly just been bravado, waiting desperately for an escape route. He didn't care about being seen through in the slightest.
Just as Caesar raised his hand to signal the manager to stop the music and end this suffering, the door suddenly opened.
Heavy footsteps echoed inside.
"I believe I rented this entire venue," Caesar said coldly to the manager. He didn't like this place, but that didn't mean he would allow intruders into somewhere he'd paid for.
"My apologies! I'll confirm immediately..." Cold sweat broke out on the manager's forehead. He spoke urgently into his headset, then turned pale, his voice trembling. "Sir... the people entering say they are your friends."
"I see. It's not your fault," Caesar said calmly.
Through his Spirit, Kamaitachi, he had already heard the exchange in the headset and knew exactly who had arrived. His irritation faded-not because of their status, but because he had technically invited them.
He had said it casually, without expectation that they would actually come.
Caesar looked at Lu Mingfei, Chu Zihang, and Morin. "Genji is here. Along with the Syndicate Patriarch... and someone named Inuyama."
"Japanese people are really twisted," Lu Mingfei muttered, his face full of disgust. "They actually have this kind of hobby!"
"I agree with your conclusion, but I doubt they're here for the hosts," Morin said calmly. "This place belongs to them. They're here for the video."
"They couldn't wait," Chu Zihang added.
"Then it's time to squeeze them," Caesar nodded. "But I really don't have the courage to say we were having too much fun with the hosts. If we do, with their efficiency, I bet each of us will have one waiting in our room tonight-probably in some kind of strange outfit."
"Congratulations," Morin said dryly. "We've reached a consensus on Japanese eccentricity. I have no doubt they'd do exactly that."
Caesar frowned. "What do you mean they didn't bring only subordinates?"
Before he could ask further, Genji appeared, accompanied by two elderly men.
The eldest led the way, wearing a black kimono and a gentle smile. To his left stood a slightly younger man with a stern expression, and to his right was Genji-who had been "tortured" by this group all day long.
For Genji, accompanying these people around Tokyo while knowing they were deliberately pretending to be idle was a special form of psychological torment.
The entire club fell silent.
The hosts froze in place.
As elites of their industry, they were familiar with the underworld-if not directly, then through reputation. And the crests embroidered on the approaching men's kimonos made their blood run cold.
The Sixteen-Petal Chrysanthemum.
The Gentian.
The Red Demon.
The crests of the kings of the underworld-the Tachibana, Minamoto, and Inuyama families of the Syndicate.
No one would dare forge such symbols.
Anyone who tried would be sunk to the bottom of Tokyo Bay as a concrete pillar by morning.
"Everyone, leave," Inuyama said lightly.
The hosts didn't hesitate. They bowed deeply and hurried away. If they weren't afraid of drawing attention or tripping over themselves, they would have sprinted.
Caesar frowned, about to protest that this was his rented space-but then remembered what had been happening on that stage.
He stayed silent.
Broad-minded or not, he wasn't about to pretend he enjoyed that.
"Apologies, Mr. Gattuso, Mr. Chu, Mr. Lu, and Mr. Morin," Inuyama said, bowing deeply with a smile. "I assume men like yourselves aren't actually interested in... that."
He clapped his hands.
Soft music replaced the previous rhythm. Paper umbrellas spun gracefully as beautiful women in kimonos entered the hall. Their appearances were flawless, their movements elegant and refined.
Lu Mingfei and the others felt as if their eyes had finally been cleansed. This visual antidote came just in time to erase the earlier trauma.
"Now this is what men should enjoy!" Inuyama laughed. "These are family geishas, all of spotless reputation. If any of you take a liking to one, just say the word. I am Inuyama, head of the Inuyama family. We handle most of the entertainment and tourism industry. Professionals, I assure you."
"Thank you, but I already have a girlfriend," Caesar declined without hesitation.
"I'm not interested," Chu Zihang said flatly. No one doubted him.
"I... I already like someone!" Lu Mingfei said after a brief pause. For some reason, Zero's icy expression flashed through his mind.
"I already have several girlfriends," Morin said calmly. "I'd rather not create additional complications."
The atmosphere froze.
Caesar, Lu Mingfei, and Chu Zihang all stared at Morin.
I didn't know you were that kind of guy.
"Don't look at me like that," Morin said, sipping his tea calmly. "Men staring at men in a place like this leads to misunderstandings."
He glanced at Genji. "Mr. Minamoto, won't you introduce them?"
"This is the head of the Tachibana family, and the current Patriarch of the Syndicate," Genji said stiffly.
"I've heard much about the Academy's specialists," Masamune said with a gentle smile. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."
"A pleasure?" Morin asked. "On a scale from one to a hundred?"
Everyone: "..."
"...Mr. Morin has quite a sense of humor," Masamune said after a brief pause, his smile unwavering. "On a scale of ten, it is a ten. A great pleasure."
"Why is it a pleasure?" Morin pressed.
"...Naturally, because I am meeting such talented juniors," Masamune replied.
"Fair enough," Morin nodded. "The new waves push the old."
"Pfft!"
Lu Mingfei burst out laughing.
He immediately thought of the second half of the saying: the old waves die on the beach.
Of course, the foreigners didn't know that. Masamune's relaxed smile made it clear he thought Morin was agreeing with him, not insulting him.
"Ahem-sorry!" Lu Mingfei tried to cover his mouth. "I just remembered something funny."
Masamune, perhaps fearing that asking what was funny would invite something even worse, ignored him and turned to Caesar.
"Then this must be Mr. Gattuso, leader of this specialist team."
"I am," Caesar said solemnly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tachibana. I didn't expect you to have an interest in host clubs. Please take care of your health."
Masamune: "..."
Damn it. These kids are slipperier than eels.
"It seems Mr. Angé neglected etiquette training," Genji interjected.
Inuyama froze and sighed inwardly.
Young Master, your mouth is still too straight... you just handed them an opening.
"That's obvious," Morin said immediately, eyes lighting up. "After all, in the past day, we haven't seen much evidence of the Branch's 'education' either, Mr. Minamoto-perhaps it simply wore off over time."
He leaned back slightly, perfectly composed.
"At the Academy, we mainly learn how to kill dragons with precision and efficiency. We didn't expect the Branch to be so disrespectful to Academy specialists-failing to initiate work protocols and instead attempting to corrupt our iron-like battle will with capitalist decadence..."
Genji: "???"
Iron-like battle will?!
You people landed here like a tour group, ate everything, played everywhere, and now you're blaming us for "luring" you?!
Have you no shame?!
Genji stood there, speechless with rage.
In all his life, he had never seen someone so utterly shameless-
Especially someone he couldn't hit.