The air inside the carriage was quiet and condensed.
Through the black bulletproof car window, the suburban avenue ahead was completely blocked by more than a dozen black sedans.
The cars didn't turn off their engines; all their headlights were on, the blinding white beams intertwining to form a suffocating blockade.
Kyoko, sitting in the back row, remained calm and composed when she saw this scene, showing no sign of panic despite being surrounded by dozens of people.
She slowly turned her head to look out the window, her tone calm.
"It seems these people are here to see you."
Ryuzaki Makoto raised his hand and slowly straightened his slightly wrinkled collar.
A playful smile curved his lips.
"I know."
Kyoko looked away.
"Do you need me to get rid of these people for you?"
Given her status and position, these obstacles would disappear completely within ten minutes with just one phone call.
Ryuzaki smiled and reached out to open the car door.
"No need. The bidding just now was your home turf, but this place is mine now."
"Bang!"
The sound of the car door closing was particularly clear in the open countryside.
Ryuzaki stepped out of the car, his leather shoes making a crisp sound on the asphalt road.
Facing the blinding beam of the car headlights, he made no move to shield his eyes, but instead strode forward a few meters.
"Hey friends, if you want to catch up, that's fine, but let's respect the order of arrival. Make way for my friend, it's getting late."
Ryuzaki Makoto's voice was loud, echoing along the road that was unusually quiet due to the lockdown.
The opposing vehicle formation did not respond immediately.
This silence lasted for about ten seconds, as if they were weighing their options, or as if they were consulting with the mastermind behind the scenes.
Then, the two cars blocking the middle of the road slowly started moving and reversed to the left and right respectively.
The originally impenetrable defense line naturally gave way to a passage that could only accommodate one vehicle at a time.
Nakamura gripped the steering wheel but didn't rush to press the accelerator. Instead, he slowly rolled down the driver's side window.
He looked at the man standing in the middle of the road whose back looked rather thin, his gaze somewhat solemn.
"Kid, are you sure everything's okay? Don't you need to notify your brothers?"
Since the other side dared to set up an ambush in such a place, they must have made thorough preparations, and their numerical advantage was obvious.
Ryuzaki Makoto turned to the side, glanced at Nakamura with a sidelong look, and then let out a long sigh of relief.
His tone was laced with frustration and resentment.
"Nakamura, if you knew how unpleasant I was during the bidding process, you wouldn't have asked this question."
The pretense and maneuvering at the bidding conference, the bloody yet subtle exchanges of interests among those powerful figures—all without knives—made him, someone accustomed to solving problems with violence, feel incredibly stifled.
The feeling of being bound by the rules of the upper class made every pore of his body scream and vent.
Nakamura noticed the faint red light flickering in Ryuzaki Makoto's eyes and instantly understood what he meant.
This is because they were upset at the bidding meeting and wanted to vent their anger on someone.
If someone else were to say they wanted to vent their anger in the face of such a situation, Nakamura would only think that the other person was crazy.
But the person in front of me is Ryuzaki Makoto.
Nakamura Tai knew Ryuzaki Makoto's fighting strength.
This is a monster born purely for killing and violence.
Unless the other side pulls out a sniper rifle or a heavy-firepowered automatic rifle, these dozen or so thugs are no match for Ryuzaki Makoto alone.
Nakamura didn't say anything more. He pressed a button on the control panel and slowly rolled up the car window.
The engine emitted a deep roar, and the car smoothly passed through the specially cleared lane without stopping, accelerating away immediately.
Until the red taillights completely disappeared at the end of the road, the road returned to deathly silence.
In the middle of the road, Ryuzaki Makoto stood alone, facing the steel-built line of cars in front of him.
"Click".
The silence was broken by the crisp sound of a car door opening.
A young man wearing a floral shirt got out of the Mercedes-Benz that was leading the way across from them.
He straightened his clothes, put on a professional fake smile, and quickly walked to a few meters in front of Ryuzaki Makoto, stopping and bowing slightly.
"President Ryuzaki, our President Zenshin wishes to see you. Please come with us."
Although it was said as "please," the combination with the way they were blocking the way clearly left no room for refusal.
Ryuzaki Makoto extended his little finger, casually picked at his ear in public without a care for his image, then blew on his finger, his tone flippant and full of contempt.
"Hey, that stray dog, Shanxin, is so rude. If he wanted to invite me for tea, he should have come and knelt down in front of me himself. What's the point of bringing some Tom, Dick, or Harry?"
Such public humiliation would normally be enough to trigger a bloody fight.
But this young man in the floral shirt had clearly received strict instructions, or perhaps he was extremely shrewd.
He didn't feel humiliated or angry; he simply maintained that fake smile and clapped his hands.
"Slap! Slap!"
Applause rang out on the empty road.
That was a signal to take action.
"Splash—"
Those were the sounds of car doors opening in unison.
All the doors of more than a dozen cars opened at the same time.
Immediately afterwards, forty or fifty burly men in black uniforms poured out of the car.
Everyone had a cold expression and a burly build. Every single one of them had their eyes fixed on Ryuzaki Makoto, as if they were looking at prey that had already fallen into a trap.
What's even more oppressive is that everyone is carrying a long, unsheathed sword.
It was a typical Japanese katana, with a black scabbard and a tsuba (handguard) that gleamed with a cold metallic sheen in the setting sun.
As they drew their swords in unison, a series of metallic scraping sounds sent chills down one's spine.
Dozens of sharp blades reflected a chilling white light under the blood-red glow of the setting sun.
When Ryuzaki saw this, he showed no fear whatsoever. Instead, he turned around and looked around.
It was sunset, and the orange-red light spread across the worn asphalt road, stretching all the shadows long.
This once bustling suburban avenue was now completely deserted.
This strange state of emptiness is most likely due to believers using their connections to block both ends of the road.
However, regardless of whether it's the power of the believers' association or some other reason, this undisturbed environment is actually more in line with what Ryuzaki Makoto wanted.
After all, at this crucial juncture of developing the nameless street, any negative news could become a fatal blow.
Be careful in whatever you do, and don't let anyone catch you doing something wrong.
Ryuzaki Makoto slowly raised his arms and stretched lazily, his bones cracking loudly at that moment.
He lowered his hands, raised his chin slightly, and beckoned to the other person with an extremely arrogant gesture.
"Since reasoning won't work, then we'll have to use our fists to teach you what rules are."