Washio Ryu neatly folded his suit jacket and placed it on the wooden box beside him.
It was very cold in the warehouse.
Several corrugated iron sheets near the roof had broken at some point, and the early morning wind continuously poured in through the gaps, blowing the old wires suspended in mid-air to sway gently.
This was an abandoned warehouse near Kawasaki Port, which previously belonged to a small transportation company.
After the bubble burst, the company went bankrupt, and the warehouse consequently became vacant.
Being located in a remote area close to the waterfront, people rarely came here ordinarily.
Washio had hidden here only two hours ago.
The situation outside was completely out of control.
At the very beginning, there were still a few trusted aides following by his side, but later he drove them away one by one.
Now, only he himself remained in the entire warehouse, with a bottle of sake that had been mostly drunk placed beside him, along with a tantō brought out from the office.
The blade had been pulled out from the cloth wrapping, and after being wiped, it was neatly placed in front of his knees.
A folded jacket was also tossed on the ground nearby, with half of a mobile phone sticking out of the pocket——the battery had long been dismantled by himself.
After the news from the ryokan was transmitted back, Washio knew that everything was completely over.
Abe and the others were blocked inside the delivery truck and could not come out.
As for whatever people those Americans arranged behind the scenes, he had not even met them, let alone be able to command them.
Then Miss Saionji was taken away by helicopter.
Taken away meant she was not dead.
People were not dead, and matters had escalated to this point.
Washio stared at the tantō in front of him for a long time.
In fact, he had never truly used this kind of thing before.
Previously, he heard the older generation in the clan talk about how there was a rule in the Yakuza: if a matter was botched, the person responsible had to use himself to clear the accounts for those above.
Seppuku to apologize with death.
He used to think that was just the old folks bragging.
Now that it was his turn, he discovered that his hands were indeed shaking.
Washio clenched his back molars and gripped the tantō in his hand.
The cloth strip wrapped around the hilt was soaked with sweat, feeling slippery to the touch.
He pressed down on the blade surface with his other hand, adjusted the direction of the edge, and aimed it at his left abdomen.
His hand shook once more.
He took a deep breath.
He took another one.
He gritted his teeth until they ached, and finally began to push it inward——
"Boom!"
The corrugated iron door was kicked open from the outside with a single kick.
The entire door bounced directly against the wall, then bounced back with a "clang", and immediately the second kick completely kicked it flying out.
Seven or eight people swarmed in with a rustle.
"This bastard is fucking here!!"
"Fuck! He is going to commit suicide! Hold him down!!"
The two running at the very front practically threw themselves onto Washio.
One person grabbed his wrist, desperately prying the tantō outward.
Another hugged his shoulders from behind, forcefully pressing him toward the ground.
Washio struggled a bit.
"Let me go!"
No one paid attention to him.
His wrist was bent almost to the point of dislocation, and the tantō dropped to the ground, immediately kicked far away by someone.
Someone grabbed his back collar, hauled his entire body up, and pressed him back onto the ground.
His knees slammed fiercely against the cement, hurting him so much that his mouth split open in a grimace.
"You fu—"
A slap landed on his face.
The person who hit him squatted down, grabbing his hair and pulling upward, forcing him to lift his head.
"Washio."
That person's expression was darker than the sky outside the warehouse.
"If you dare to die right now, I will dig your FamilyMart up from the graves."
Washio opened his mouth and panted for several breaths before recognizing the person in front of him.
Direct lineage of the Sumiyoshi-kai.
Before he had time to speak, several footsteps sounded outside the warehouse once more.
This time no one ran anymore.
Several people walked unhurriedly, yet everyone present automatically made way to both sides.
The first person to enter was Watanabe Yoshinori.
Behind Watanabe followed Hoshino.
Further behind was Yuhiro Inagawa.
With all three people appearing here together, Washio's brain went "buzz."
Watanabe Yoshinori looked down at Washio kneeling on the ground without saying a word.
Hoshino did not speak either.
Yuhiro Inagawa extinguished the cigarette in his hand and tossed it beside his feet.
The warehouse remained quiet for about a dozen seconds.
"Watanabe sen—"
"Shut up." Watanabe Yoshinori's voice was not loud.
Washio closed his mouth.
Watanabe walked up to him and slowly squatted down.
The fifty-something third-generation head had bloodshot eyes all over the bottoms of his eyes, and the flesh on his cheekbones was pulled tautly.
He stared at Washio for a long while before speaking.
"Do you know what you have done?"
Washio opened his mouth.
"I—"
"I am asking you if you know!!"
Watanabe's voice suddenly raised.
Hoshino moved slightly aside, but did not stop him.
Yuhiro Inagawa only watched, with no expression whatsoever on his face.
Watanabe reached out and pointed toward the direction outside the warehouse.
"Miss Saionji was sitting in that car tonight, and then you led people with automatic rifles to attack her—"
The veins on his temples were bulging as he spoke, almost as if he would pounce forward and eat Washio alive.
"Grenades!! You fucking used grenades!!!"
His finger almost poked onto Washio's nose.
"Where did those things come from? The Americans gave them to you, did not they?"
Washio's face turned flush red, yet he could not say a single word.
Watanabe spoke to the point of almost being unable to catch his breath, stood up, and took a step back.
Hoshino finally spoke.
His voice was much steadier than Watanabe's, but the content he spoke was even more chilling.
"NHK started broadcasting breaking news forty minutes ago."
The warehouse grew quiet again for a moment.
Hoshino pulled a fax sheet from his pocket, unfolded it, and tossed it in front of Washio.
"See for yourself."
Washio lowered his head.
Printed on the fax sheet was the text transcript of NHK's breaking news.
The headline had only one line——
"Major Shooting and Explosion Incident Occurs within Tokyo Metropolis, Suspected Use of Military-Grade Automatic Weapons"
Washio's hand pressed down on the paper for a moment, then withdrew.
Hoshino squatted down.
"You think what you did tonight was merely offending Saionji?"
He used his finger to draw a line underneath that line of text on the fax sheet.
"Automatic weapons, grenades, foreign gunmen."
With every word he spoke, his voice sank by a fraction.
"With all these things added together, how do you think the government will view this?"
Washio did not reply.
Hoshino suddenly raised his tone.
"This is a fucking terrorist attack, do you know that?!!"
"A terrorist attack, do you know that!!?"
These words landed in the warehouse. Even the few people standing aside who had not moved all changed their expressions simultaneously.
Yuhiro Inagawa finally stepped forward at this moment.
He was the oldest of the three. When speaking, he did not even raise his voice.
"You always felt that the distribution plan proposed by Saionji was unfair. Your casinos, sex industry businesses, and underground finance underneath you were going to be cleared out. You were not convinced."
"We all know these things."
"Last month at the ryokan, the three of us sat before Saionji and also argued on your behalf."
Inagawa paused for a moment.
"Then you felt that we were risking our lives for Saionji, and you felt that we had gone soft."
Washio clenched his teeth tightly, uttering not a single sound.
"Have you ever thought," Inagawa's voice was very slow, "why we signed that document at that table?"
He bent down, the distance between him and Washio so close that he could almost see the bloodshot veins in the other's eyes.
"In order for the Yakuza to continue living in Japan."
After saying these words, Inagawa straightened his body and turned toward Watanabe and Hoshino.
"Yet what about now?"
Watanabe took over.
"You took guns given by the Americans to attack Saionji's motorcade. Saionji's people died. Automatic weapons resounded on the streets of Tokyo for half an hour. Television and radio all over Japan are already broadcasting it."
"Tomorrow morning, every single newspaper will print the words 'Yakuza', 'automatic rifles', 'grenades', and 'terrorist attack' on their front pages."
"Then the Japanese Parliament will begin discussions."
Watanabe's voice sank.
"Do you think they will still discuss how to continue managing you guys?"
"No, no, no, there is only one question now——discussing how to uproot you all from Japan entirely."
Washio's Adam's apple rolled once.
Hoshino had already stood up, turning toward the people beside him.
"Take him away. Treat his wound, do not let him die on the way."
"Where to send him?"
Hoshino glanced at Watanabe, then glanced at Inagawa.
"Saionji."
Washio's body suddenly stiffened.
"No... Watanabe-sensei!"
No one paid attention to him; two people had already hoisted him up.
"The three of us will send him over together. Everything our men have investigated—clues, contact methods, transaction records—give it all to her."
Watanabe turned his back.
"Then kneel down to apologize."
"Beg her to leave a path of survival for the Yakuza."
Washio struggled desperately.
"I can die——just let me die! She will not let us go!"
Hoshino turned his head and glanced at him.
"Do you think you still have the qualification to choose death now?"
"What is the use of dying? Do you think Saionji Satsuki is the kind of person who will vent her anger upon receiving a single head?"
Washio was dragged out of the warehouse, his roar gradually fading into the distance.
Yuhiro Inagawa stood in place, not following along.
He felt out a new cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and took a deep drag.
"With this kneeling," he pinched the cigarette between his fingers, "the Yakuza will probably never be able to stand up again."
Watanabe turned his head.
Inagawa did not look at him.
"But if we do not kneel, it is hard to say whether even the two words 'Yakuza' will still exist next year."
Ash fell to the ground.
None of the three people spoke again.